Prism Fury and Big Daddy's Proposal
Pew! Pew pew! Psssh! - Shwaaack!!
"Talk's all you got, blood contractor."
"You damn bastard!-"
Shwaaack!!
Synchronized with my hand signals through the skin of Ostis's face, the prism mirrors I'd set up everywhere began absorbing light and unleashing laser beams in a frenzy. The White Tower, domain of light magic. It all started with mages who developed Light spells to illuminate the dark nights. Sure, lighting fires with flint or oil is a hassle even now, but back then, it was pure drudgery—practically slave labor.
I'm talking about that hand drill method, where primitive folk rub a thin, long stick against a dry wooden board, stuffing dried grass in between and frantically twirling it with their palms. Rubbing it like mad until friction heat sparks an ember in the stick and grass. They say humanity's progress began with fire: mastering quicker ways to ignite it for body warmth, moving from raw food to fire-cooked meals, even inventing pottery to hold it all. Fire was indispensable to civilization's advance—no exaggeration.
But the hand drill had a fatal flaw: you couldn't light shit in humid weather or rain. In damp caves or pouring night storms, you needed light for visibility, but the process was grueling and weather-dependent. So naturally, from ancient times, mages developed spells to conjure light.
Just as the fire-worshipping flame specialists gathered in Magus Civitas's Red Tower, the White Tower was born from humans craving light—one of the continent's oldest towers. Darkness was once synonymous with terror, and what banished it? Light.
The pinnacle of light magic. Through the skin of White Tower Lord Ostis, I unleashed Prism Laser.
"Prism Laser"
In simple terms: hexagonal pillar-shaped crystal prisms floating around me gather light and mana to generate optical laser beams. High-density lasers slice the target from all directions. Think of it as a refined, wide-area version of Solarion—a massive mana-fueled magnifying glass focusing sunlight into ultra-hot laser death from above.
Light magic's edge over others? Minimal mana cost compared to most towers. You pull heat and energy from ambient mana and sunlight. The challenge is precise light modulation and coordinate control.
The downside: primary offense relies on sunlight. Overcast skies, heavy rain, or nightfall? Useless. White Tower mages have tried fixes, but since attacks depend on sun, they fight like regular mages at night—forced to master off-specialty elements.
That's why that night at the fortress, Ostis and his crew got wrecked by Derek and Allen without landing a hit. Worst matchup for mages, and at night? Tragedy.
They were cursed with the unluckiest timing. Even daytime against Derek would've sucked, but night? Doom.
Derek wasn't fused with a demon like the others. More like a collective of hell beasts forming a human shell named Derek. Outwardly normal guy, but every part was hell spawn. His shadow: fell hounds. Torso: city-sized behemoth whale on four legs. Legs: Black Kraken from Styx River, big enough to sink battleships. Arms: four-winged, fire-breathing hell double-headed eagle Sisyphos, wings spanning two-horse carriages.
Only his face was human. That's why he mutters nonstop—to soothe his beastly components daily.
Last time he unleashed a fell hound, I asked about it. Got a bizarre answer.
Derek said, 'Boss... my kids are nicer than they seem. They listen real good...'
'...Hell beasts... nice?'
'Yeah. But look away a sec, and they wanna play with people.'
'Play?'
'Yup. Our world's so novel to 'em. Wanna bite folks, toss 'em around like toys.'
...Point where massive hell beasts wanna "play" by chomping passersby? Conversation over. Like a giant dog wanting to "play" by gnawing newborns. Explains the muttering.
Pewww! - Pewww!
"Grrraaagh! Damn it!- Old bastard!!-"
"They hyped you as a 666 demon contractor, but you're nothing special. Endless regeneration's neat, though."
"Shut up!!- Brady Phenerechio!"
"Brady Phenerechio"
Pssshwaaack! - Like some bio-zombie flick, pinpoint laser beams diced Big Daddy relentlessly. But his blood demon contract let geysers of blood seal every severed edge mid-chop. Even diced into # chunks, he hurled attack spells at me. They vaporized in my Prism Laser before reaching.
"You rotten geezer!- With this puny light?!"
"Daring to insult our tower's magic? Ignorant trash. You and this city—I'll burn you all to ash!-"
This psycho?! Losing control!-
Mages are arrogant by default. Wielding mana like toys for bizarre spells, they see themselves as chosen. Magus Civitas elites? Drunk on pride. Tower Lords? Innate mana sense and talent amplify it.
Right now, I was fully immersed in Ostis's role. Insult to my tower's magic? Time to erase this demon contractor and exile-continent dump.
Fuck! Stop! Halt, damn it!-
"You dare threaten my family and city?! Think I'll allow it?!-"
"""Actor!"""
"""Boss! Calm down!"""
"Vanish! I'll etch true light magic into your ignorant eyes!!- Prism..."
"*$@#*%※ No... Stop... Boss."
Shwaaack! - Crunch!
"Guh! You... Derek..."
At the brink—ultimate strike to dust the whole city—Derek's fell hounds bit my shadow. Clamping my shadow's limbs, agony shattered the chant; mana dispersed into nothing.
Stunned, glaring at Derek to snap—
"*$@#*%※ª... Peel the boss's face skin..."
"Good job, Derek! Sorry, boss—hold still!-"
"Jean! I'll pin the legs—skin him quick!-"
"You bastards! Can't let goooo!!-"
Whoosh! - Splat!
"Kuhak!-"
"""Huh?"""
Air-whipping roar: a massive muscular woman charged, slamming a fist into my gut. Perfect body blow heaved my breath; I crumpled, collapsing.
"S... sorry, boss. Sis held back max—sleep a bit."
"Ugh... Rina... sis..."
Thud!
Rina's tense apology as I blacked out. Last thought: Did sis mess up the power control? Or... does she hate me? Hate-punch?
Thump!
...
......
"Nngh... Hack! Cough! Huhk! Where...?"
Woke from Rina's knockout in an unfamiliar room. Ornate armor, fancy wardrobe. Bed big for four, plush as hell. Nobles' mansion vibes—we and the kids were there.
"Huh? Boss! You're up?!"
"Boss!~ Morning!-"
"Actor bro. You're awake?"
"Guys! Where are we?!"
"Bro. Bad guy's house from yesterday."
......
"Eh? What? His house?! Enemy base?!"
"'His'? Hah! Rude to your gracious host."
"Gah! When'd you?!"
Kids explained; stunned—Big Daddy appeared outta nowhere, glaring daggers. No clue what happened while out, but kids alert, not battle-ready. Some deal went down.
"...Big Daddy. What's the deal?"
"Big Daddy."
"Hm?"
"Call me Big Daddy. Brad Big works, but city's nickname sticks."
"Tch! Fine, Big Daddy. Spit it out?"
"Straight shooter—good. My offer: join hands. Contractor of the Manbianja, Dantalian."
......
"Eh?"
Big Daddy's sudden alliance pitch left me reeling.