Awakening... was I not awake before? I don't know. The crystallized magic cocoon was a foolish move, but it was the only way to remain close to my physical form. I'm certain no one had ever tried this before, but I was so angry... damn it! I don't know what drives the Orcs to be so bloodthirsty; I suppose it's in their veins. The problem is that I lost my temper. I am not someone who should act on impulse, yet I did. Because of my mistake, the Lich's attacks increased. I'm sure of it. I think.
The worst part of being inside this cocoon is that I can't recognize anything surrounding me. These Blackcloaks did the Elves' work with terrifying precision. Every stone is prepared to absorb any magic I try to generate. My field is concentrated—something I don't quite understand. It's a corporeal manifestation of my magical field. I had discussed the theory with the Overlord once, but to find myself so weak... after nearly losing consciousness from punishing those Orcs, my awareness was reduced to something floating. I searched for experienced warriors while they transported me, but I only recognized two small minds: the first generation of Succubus and Incubus offspring.
When they were born, no one believed it. Elven modifications were supposed to be permanent and designed so we could never have descendants. But many of our kind sought children—not for the concept of legacy, but because they truly wanted to be parents. However, it didn't work. Every woman of this new species who becomes pregnant carries for only four months. They have twins, and after that... they die. All of them, without exception. I tried many times to control the growth, the absorption; I gave the succubus magical supplements and hundreds of men to "feed" upon, but it was useless. The growth is abnormal. For a four-month-old twin fetus to have the development of a nine-month-old, it must consume the mother. Thus, at birth, only a hollow shell of the progenitor remains. For now, I have remained calm. My species increases, albeit slowly. Incubi are only allowed to impregnate a succubus if she accepts that she will die in childbirth. So far, they accept. Yet, there isn't much to be done for their children.
Thris and Puck were first-generation children. At less than five years old, they already look twice their age. They are intelligent but, like all adopted children, a bit withdrawn. The difference between them is barely thirty minutes, but they always know who the eldest is. They were spying on the Goblin camp, likely out of innate curiosity or the desires inherent to our species. The point is, they heard me. Neither said no. Their mother passed away without a true partner, so they were cared for by several people, none of whom felt comfortable with the desire these children emanated. But, faithful to me, they avoided touching them.
With my mind, I educated them as much as I could. I taught the eldest to read, and now I teach her how to write elven runes. My mind floated all this time; I knew what they were doing to keep pace, and thanks to the Lich's attacks, they managed to push the caravan forward and reach the city far ahead of schedule. However, I lost sight of them. My ability to sense them was limited within that cocoon I made. I hope they survive—not for my salvation, but because they are precious to me.
We passed through many villages. In each one, they flaunted their trophy. They attacked me, and I pretended it hurt, but simple magic like theirs could do nothing to penetrate the shield. The soul stones, on the other hand—those pieces of filth kept trying to drain every spark of magic I attempted. Runes are difficult; they are elven in nature, and my knowledge of human magic is of no use here. Even so, it's easy to create a dictionary. To do it, one only has to look at the items brought to the Blackcloaks for charging. Many of them are elven, so I can see every detail: the rune for light, for shadow, for movement. The writing itself seems to be more about concept than communication. I review the tangle of letters on each stone; they are clones of one another. Their commands are to store; once full, they send the magic elsewhere. I can guess where, but for now, I must keep learning.
We reached the city where the Blackcloaks reside. It's a miserable town. They have no interest in agriculture, education, or even a proper waste system. I see the excrement of many animals paving the road—I don't doubt some of that filth is human. To my relief, I sense them. Those two little ones... they made it!
From that point on, I experienced a few minor miracles. Their leader—the only one with enough brain to see if something was failing—grew tired of using his magic against me and left to seek true mages. In his absence, I began to influence everyone around me. Bit by bit, because I cannot use direct magic on them, only small commands. Simple things that made them, of their own will, hire my little ones. Thus, from a shorter distance, I made them learn. Everything I knew of the runes, how they were placed... neither they nor I will likely ever write a poem about the dawn flowers on Moon Beach, but it wasn't necessary. With the little they learned, I made them draw closer, to read what was in their libraries—ancient collections probably stolen from their former headquarters. Each time with more haste, for a grim fate awaits us if the Blackcloak returns with truly damaging magic. I am not so egomaniacal as to feel invincible.
The night I emerged, I was still looking for a way to break free. The runes were ready. Those things made of souls—what kind of monster decided souls were a good source of magic? Only an Elf—were just waiting for me to charge enough magic to knock them out of their cycle of stealing mine. But I couldn't do it from within. Every time a tiny fraction of the crystal broke off, it was immediately absorbed by those stones. I could overload them, but I would be left too weak to face all the Blackcloaks. I was in those contemplations when a wild surge flooded me. Impossible! That should only happen if the runes were inverted. That would make the magic of those marked feed me, along with all the power accumulated by the stones. For the first time, I could extend my consciousness without fear, but I had barely advanced a few meters when I wished I hadn't.
I was still trapped in my cocoon; nothing a few minutes of concentration couldn't handle. But it seemed there was no time. Outside were my children... my little ones were agonizing! I cannot believe they sacrificed themselves. Not like this! I don't want to survive if they die! Thris! Little one, you've already left us. Puck is still alive! He is badly wounded but alive. If I break this protection, the backlash will kill several humans in its path... including the boy. No! There has to be another solution. I have seconds. my protection dissolves and integrates into my field. That and the magic help me accelerate everything, but here comes one of the superiors. I have to finish now!
I see him arrive and begin to scold the naked mages who are lending me their magic. Seeing Puck, he recognizes him. He doesn't have the power, so it must be some artifact. He's going to kill him! I can see the determination in his small mind. He is not protected; no one here is defending against mental attacks. I run a test: I cast an illusion, just two meters to his right. The man doesn't even notice. He hurls a flame at what he thinks is little Puck. That gives me seconds. He continues preparing more spells; they are definitely brutes, but they have power. Not to mention the force on its way—the Blackcloak leader is almost here.
I have diverted almost all the attacks. In the process, the Blackcloak's secretary has killed two of his own students. I could do nothing else. He knows Puck is alive and is determined to eliminate him. So, I decide to detonate the few fragments I have left. It's ridiculous—he keeps trying to kill a child while I break free. He hasn't looked at me once. All the while he attacks, like a mindless beast. The explosion is small, yet I see with pain that some splinters bury themselves in the little incubus's face... That makes me angry! I scream at the secretary to flee where my fury cannot reach him—that not even a hundred sons of his family will quench my bloodlust, my rage. The man wants to cast a spell, but thinks better of it and retreats to the room's entrance. I have no time for him. I kneel as fast as I can, but I cannot use any healing magic. The poor boy already lies in my hands; I feel his life fading. There is nothing I can do!
Frustration consumes me. Black flames surround me, licking the stone floors as if they were logs soaked in oil. It doesn't matter! These bastards did harm in the forest! They harmed my children! No one has power over me in this moment. They will all burn! A small hand grips my scale-covered arm. It's Puck. His voice shakes me. "Did we save you, mother?" he asks. I tell him yes, but that they shouldn't have suffered, that we could have found something to free me while they stayed alive. "For what, Mama? We are alive because you helped us get here. We are products that weren't meant to exist in this life, but you gave us affection. I felt loved from the moment I met you. What is wrong with dying for that?" I want to answer him, I want to restore him. My magic crackles, but I cannot do it. Because of the elven curse, I cannot. I hate them more now than when they changed me. Before, at least, I carried the misery alone. Now, I carry the deaths of two innocents.
When the human arrives wielding his magic—his changing hand casting fire and lightning spells at where I am supposed to be—I let him. With tenderness, I move the bodies to a quiet corner. My illusion keeps him seeing me on the pedestal. Fine. I hope he keeps attacking me, keeps insulting me, keeps thinking he is a great mage. I will take care of him. I wanted to eliminate all this trash he calls a guild, but I have a better idea. He will help those he hates, those he despises. He will serve to prevent the weak dark beings from dying in this useless conflict... he'd better.