Chapter 2: Fulgar Armotris

Congratulations, the Mark chose you, the powers given to

you grant you the gift of Magic.

Name: Arthur

Brand: Inexpressive

Rating: Wretch

Descendants:-

Race: Human

Unique Weapon:-

Attributes: [Conjurer], [Miserable]

Conjurer: From the earliest times until now, conjurers convey the strength of the Mark,

prophets of Grace. This attribute allows the bearer of the Mark to exert its power

through spells.

Miserable: Being insignificant doomed to failure, you are worthy of nothing, only

disgrace will accompany your path, the Mark neglects you. This attribute restricts the

initial capacity of spells and their strength, the amount needed for evolution is

increased.

Brand Power: 0/1000

Spells unlocked were:

[Alarm]

[Duel]

[Prismatic Orb]

The voices came in his head, echoing through the darkness, his eyes opened, his mouth

opened trying to suck in as much air as possible.

His lips cracked, completely dry, his helpless structure expressed itself even more, he

raised his hands to the sky that was now dark in the night with the bright points of stars

- Water - with difficulty, with his throat torn by drought, he begged .

Trembling, he got up with the little strength he had left, limping dragged by the

wreckage, the few flames of the ship's destruction were the only illumination he had.

"Water." It was the only word that went through his head.

He wandered among the debris, he would cry if he had enough water in his body, he

fought not to pass out again, until something flashed in his eyes, a canteen of water on

the waist of one of the pilots dead among the wreckage.

He ran, at least he tried to run, when he fell, he dragged himself, in desperation he held

the canteen as if it were gold, the water was a miracle, Arthur hadn't believed in those

things, but at that moment he thanked the heavens.

He drank halfway "If this water reaches the end, so will I." He'd tucked what was left

into his waistband, common sense overcame despair when the thirst was gone, Arthur

was finally sane.

He was calmer, but it wasn't time to rest.

He walked away from the wreckage a considerable distance to try to find some building.

"Where am I?" He looked around, all he saw was gray sand, as if something had sucked

the color out of the world, it was a morbid sea of nothingness, no matter which direction

he looked, he could only see the gray sand.

He was trying to reflect what action to take, he knew well what valuable resources were

in the ship's wreckage, but how could he steal from the dead? He didn't believe it, but he

felt bad about the idea, he didn't want to look at that hell of bodies again either.

He tried to avoid that, tried to think of other things that would get him out of the

situation, he was suddenly aware of the Mark on his chest, of the voices he had heard

while he was out.

"My Mark has awakened, well, I guess I've suffered enough. I well remember hearing

that I gained the gift of Magic." For a moment an evil smile spread across his face, of

course, he thought of being a healer, but a mage is the most coveted class among the

Marked, he couldn't help but snub himself, a commoner with the most powerful class! It

sounded good in his head.

"Let me check the rest." He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs and closed his eyes,

concentrating, he already knew how to access the information, it was like an instinct for

the Marked.

"Conjurer... new spells... Miserable... disgrace."

The change of mood was quick when he finished reading everything. He didn't brag

anymore. Before he thought fate was cruel, now he was sure.

"At least I have spells." He had tried to comfort himself anyway.

"How could I use them? Do I need to make a gesture? Recite something?"

"OK let's try." He closed his eyes, thought of spells, started thinking of "Prismatic Orb".

He concentrated his breathing, felt something take over his body, a breeze coming from

within him, a small and pleasant burning in his chest where the mark was. It all felt so

natural to him.

[Prismatic Orb]

Condition of Use: The caster must offer something of value, the spell manifested by the

caster's appreciation for something.

Description: Throws a 4-inch-diameter sphere of energy at a creature you can see within

range, then makes a ranged spell attack against the target.

"Something of value? What the fuck, I can't even test that magic." At least it was an

attacking spell, and Arthur valued having something to defend against.

"Well, I have time to see the other two."

He repeated the process, concentrating now to check the other spell, "Alarm".

[Alarm]

Condition of use: Touching something solid, being within a range of up to one kilometer

from the area.

Description: The caster can set an alarm against unwanted intrusion in a square area of

up to 6 meters. Until the spell ends, any unwanted creature that enters the area will

trigger a mental or audible alarm, at the caster's choice.

"This one is useful, I think I got two good spells, it's not the end." Checking the spells

calmed him more than expected, the feeling that all was not lost was pleasant, warm.

Finally, he arrived at the last spell, "Duel".

[Duel]

Condition of Use: Being within 30 feet of the creature.

Description: For the duration of the spell, the chosen creature will be trapped with the

caster in an area of up to 9 meters, neither can leave until the spell ends, with the

creature dead, or the caster.

"But who was the bastard who had such a bad spell idea?" His peace of soul was gone

after reading the last one.

He considered it pointless, it would be impossible for him to use a battle to death spell

against any creature outside the wall, he knew well what the result would be if he went

against any one. Defeat, in other words, death.

But it wasn't the time for regrets, the cold of the gray desert was unbearable, his skin

shivered with the cold front penetrating him to the very bones, hunger did not give him

rest, his thirst was returning, he needed to sleep, he couldn't keep up like this in the

night.

He was out of options, but the idea of going back to the wreckage darkened his face, he

trembled, the trauma had already marked him, but he didn't have the luxury of choice,

he couldn't do it, he needed to.

He clenched his fists, gathered all the courage he could muster and headed back towards

the wreckage.

He tried his best to look away from the bodies, he didn't want to look at that party of

dismembered bodies.

He found shelter in the rudder of the plane that was stuck in the sand to cover the light

of the night and to keep the boy a little from the cold. Before going to bed he set a

mental alarm in the vicinity of the debris, he knew well that he would die if a creature

found him before he found it.

The smell of dried blood impregnated his nose, the flesh was already rotting, the smell

of death was inexplicable, but at the moment, that was the best place to sleep that

Arthur had.

At first it was difficult to sleep, he was too energetic to sleep, even though he knew it

was the only way to get away from hunger, but after a while, naturally his eyelids

slowly closed, until he was finally able to sleep.

"Hey, outsider, can you hear me?" – the voices began to emerge. Suddenly he was on

his feet, he was in the gray desert, but he didn't see the bodies, he didn't smell the rotting

flesh, or the dried blood, just the colorless vastness.

In front of him was a man, his face was wrapped in bands, only one of his eyes was out,

he was wearing only some old rag clothes, with worn leather boots, but what caught the

most attention to him was a huge object in the shape of a cross, also covered by white

bands that he carried on his back.

- Who are you? – An innocent question, Arthur still couldn't think straight.

– Outsider, what are you looking for in such distant lands? You know, well, you don't

have the strength to stay here – the man started scratching his neck and face over the

bandages.

Arthur didn't know what the man in front of him wanted, much less could he know his

expression beneath the bandages.

– A Wretch, forgotten by the Mark, whose only ambition is to stay alive one more day.

It has no descendants, much less the direction. Your destiny is death.

Arthur, he was confused, but the words of the man in sashes were starting to irritate him

- You came to tell me the obvious?

– Go north, look for a reason greater than survival, look for direction. Even a wretch is

worthy of ancestry if he seeks to prove himself worthy – the man continued to scratch

his face harder, until some of the bands were giving way, almost showing his face.

Arthur was hooked by his curiosity, he noticed the tracks that were about to fall – Who

are you?

– One day, remember, Fulgar Armotris – Arthur had never heard such words, he didn't

even know if he could pronounce them – Don't pay attention to me, there are dangers

closer to you that you must be careful of, stranger.

Arthur was about to see the face, he tried to say something, however, suddenly, the

strong sharp sound echoed through the place, it was the alarm being activated.

A grunt, strong footprints, the sound of something being chewed, Arthur woke up and

knew that something dangerous was watching him.