A Zombie's Path to Power

Gryphon watched in frustration as Azel failed again. The zombie had understood the theory behind magic rather easily, and yet when it came to putting it into practice... Well, the weak sparks dancing along the zombies pinched fingers spoke for themselves.

Gryphon was having him learn a fundamental technique for a novice mage. How to restrain spells. Most beginners would fly off the rails with their magic, either pouring to much magic into their chants or not enough, so to limit the destruction that naturally came with these errors Gryphon had to limit Azel's visualisation.

Chanting was the standard technique to cast spells, it was effectively just communicating with the mana what you wanted to happen. Of course, this was an odd thing to do.

Gryphon knew of hundreds of different magic languages that all slightly effected the output of the spell, and then there were hundreds of different nuances in the chant that could affect the spell as well. In fact, it was such a meticulous task that a rookie mage would never be able to pull it off.

So to counter this, Gryphon advised Azel to narrow his visualisation, both figuratively and literally. The zombie had pinched his thumb to his index finger, almost like an 'okay' sign. That way, the zombie didn't have to worry about spell targeting something in his peripheral vision, but could instead direct the magic at whatever he saw through his fingers.

His other hand was outstretched towards a small wooden statue that the two were using as a target. The flickering embers danced along his index and middle finger, as these two were the only ones that are outstretched, but nothing more came of it.

The shop keep couldn't help but feel that he held some small portion of blame. Gryphon had decided that Azel would learn serpent speak, the language of the basilisks and other serpentine creatures, it was a rather niche magic language that had only one true payoff.

In exchange for longer chanting and weaker results, the cost of mana required to cast spells was about a third that any other mage would have to pay. Of course Gryphon also attributed Azel's slow progress to his fractured soul.

Azel scowled at his own hands, muttering something under his breath that Gryphon suspected wasn't polite. "This serpent speak... are you sure it's the best choice for me? It feels... wrong. Clumsy, even."

Gryphon snorted, folding his arms. "Of course it feels wrong. It's not supposed to feel natural at first. Serpent speak forces you to control your mana more efficiently. With your... unique limitations, you need that efficiency more than anything else."

Azel gave him a sceptical look, flexing his fingers as if willing them to spark again. "Right. Efficiency. Because sputtering like a broken lantern is what you'd call efficient."

"Mock all you like, corpse," Gryphon said sharply, "but serpent speak is the best option you've got. Once you get the hang of it, you'll be able to cast more spells with less mana—and trust me, you'll need every scrap of advantage you can get when your reserves are already as unstable as they are."

Hanging his head in exasperation, Azel grabbed his cloak and said, "I've got the method down, I'll meet you tomorrow after I've had some overnight practise." Without waiting for a response, he slipped out the door, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

<---o--->

Stopping at a secluded clearing, Azel unfastened his cloak and draped it over a low branch. He flexed his fingers, the faint warmth of mana still tingling in his fingertips. "Alright," he muttered to himself, "no Gryphon, no distractions. Just me and this stupid chant."

Repeating the low, almost inaudible mantra, The zombie felt his mana churn within him. Almost like an electrical circuit without any outputs, the energy grew scalding hot.

Fighting the urge to grunt, Azel continued his mumbles and tried willing the mana to exit through his outstretched hand. At first, there was no visible change, but then his ghostly pale finger tips begun glowing a nuclear orange.

Sparks begun spewing from his hand in a stable stream. But just as he thought he had a handle on it, the mana surged unexpectedly, the orange light expanding into an erratic burst. The sudden spike of energy startled him, and the spell fizzled out with a sharp pop, leaving behind a faint trail of smoke and a scorch mark on the ground where the sparks had landed.

Azel stumbled back, shaking his hand as if to dispel the lingering heat. He stared at the scorch mark, his frustration bubbling up. "Dammit," he muttered, clenching his fists. "So close."

"Looks like you're having some trouble there, corpse." Said a warm voice from behind the zombie.

Conjuring a blade from his mana Azel spun around and pointed the dagger at the newcomers neck. "What did you just call me," He hissed.

The figure, Azel now recognised as an older woman with heavily tanned skin that you wouldn't earn from such a temperate island., quickly responded with a nervous smile.

"I didn't mean to offend, stranger... But you are rather pale," She said, brushing her dark hair behind an ear. "Surely you wouldn't kill such a beautiful woman over a poor joke?"

Azel's grip on the conjured blade wavered for a moment, though his expression remained hard. His glowing eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the woman with suspicion. Did she truly mean it as a descriptive factor, or was she aware of his necrotic nature?

Azel kept the mana blade steady, though his grip tightened momentarily. The woman's demeanour seemed casual, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that belied her light-hearted tone. Her comment could have been an innocent observation, but Azel wasn't about to let his guard down.

"You're rather conceited, aren't you?" he said in a low voice, the edge of the blade humming with energy, "Tell me, does the name 'Rio' mean anything to you?"

The woman's smile faltered for a brief moment, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Azel caught the shift in her demeanour—it was subtle, but it was there. She had recognized the name. In response Azel's blade grew brighter as the concentration of mana inside it increased.

"Who doesn't know of the famous lost knight?" Tilting her head in thought the tanned woman paused, "Ah, but she's no knight anymore, what was her new title again...?"

The mysterious woman's eyes widened as she remembered, "The herald of tomorrow! That was it."