Exiles of the Netherworld

Darkness shrouded the world, yet mankind held light in their hands.

......

"Roar!!!"

A series of low, terrifying howls suddenly echoed through the empty underground valley! Like claps of thunder in the unknown darkness, the chilling sounds assaulted the eardrums of a black-robed youth by the lakeside, who winced in pain with his hands over his ears.

The black hood slipped off, revealing refined, handsome features of aristocratic bearing, though his complexion was ghostly pale with blood trickling from his ears. Yet his eyes remained lucid and his expression steadfast once again.

Alberic-a humble apprentice of dark magic.

Just then, the cavern ceiling crumbled as in an avalanche, sending rocks raining down around Alberic, who could only scramble frantically.

"Roar!!!"

Another earsplitting bellow echoed mockingly, as if scorning the utter insignificance of this human before the maw of absolute power. All struggles and defiance would be futile.

The roar's owner was a mid-level magical beast - a Brine Crocodylus.

The underground lake at Alberic's feet was its habitat.

Now the crocodile ceased its roaring to glare at the human, lashing the rocks violently with its gigantic tail. Still catching his breath, Alberic shuddered under its horrific pressure!

Ghostly light emanated from its pale eyes amidst the gloom, much of its head burnt and blistered-evidence of injury from Alberic's earlier spells.

To the crocodile, this insolent human had clearly provoked and challenged it.

Though fear of death had not completely overcome the apprentice, the beast's patience was utterly exhausted!

It hurtled towards Alberic, gaping maw poised to crushing his skull within those jagged teeth, rank drool dripping...

In that split second, Alberic made his move!

The chance he had been waiting for finally came!

His left hand scattered a handful of iron phosphorus powder!

His right fingertips unleashed the secondary fireball spell gathered through his remaining magic power-

Secondary Fireball!

In a flash, a soccer-sized fireball shot forth at lightning speed!

"Boom!!!"

The powder instantly combusted upon contact, detonating with the fireball in a thundering explosion!

The ear-splitting blast shook the entire cavern, shattering the crocodile's massive jaws into pieces amidst scattered flesh and blood.

Blown back three or four meters by the shockwave, Alberic staggered to his feet, gazing excitedly at the crocodile carcass as he pumped his fist.

I knew it!

Thanks to the explosive iron phosphorus powder, this secondary fireball that Alberic had placed high hopes on unleashed power beyond his imagination.

......

With the battle over, Alberic's face had become ghastly pale from the extreme drain on his mental and magical powers - his energy nearly spent.

Mustering a shred of strength, he first gritted through the pain to stand. Then he swam to a small island in the middle of the lake, picking three vibrant glowing Starlight Grass. He made his way back to the battle site, claiming the Brine Crocodylus's most precious magic crystal, as well as harvesting its massive, power-suffused skull. With the spoils of victory secured, he swiftly departed the lakeside.

In truth, Alberic had claimed no more than half the spoils from the Brine Crocodylus' corpse.

He was forced to abandon the remainder of materials and the beast's blood suffused with elemental magic. It was not that he was unwilling, but in this subterranean world, peril lurked at every moment.

His powers utterly depleted after the intense battle, Alberic dared not linger any longer in this domain of danger.

The three Starlight Grass had been his ultimate purpose in braving the crocodile's turf-the fundamental reason he risked his life in this mismatch.

"Huff...huff..." Heavy breathing echoed out of the darkness.

The sound seemed to emanate from the lake's edge.

Alberic quickened his steps without another glance back at the place of calamity.

......

Mosobla City.

As the center of the subterranean realm known as the "Gloom Territories", this was the one and only city established by dark wizards in history - a place revered by all creatures of shadow.

Twenty-meter high city walls revealed the passage of ages through their azure bricks, soaked over epochs in the blood of countless slain beasts. Arcane sigils of suppressed power shimmered in those crevices, speaking tomes beyond words.

After two days of hurried travel, Alberic arrived at this magnificent city, finally reassured that his safety would be secured.

"Hey, Alberic. Looks like you got beat up pretty bad!" A mocking chuckle rang out from the parapets as Alberic approached the passageway reserved for mages.

Over a dozen people garbed similarly to Alberic in black robes stood atop the city walls. The one who had spoken was a scar-faced, swarthy man at the center.

Though he and Alberic harbored no mortal grudges, he held no qualms in reveling at the latter's misfortunes.

While the other apprentices present refrained from verbal mockery, cold indifference dominated their countenances.

Their cold-bloodedness was no surprise, for it was simply the way of this underground domain.

Rivalries between Mosobla's apprentice mages were commonplace. Might reigned supreme as the solitary doctrine in this subterranean world, leaving no room for the meek or the merciful.

Survival of the fittest was the cardinal rule.

Including Alberic himself, no one would selflessly aid another without cause.

If he witnessed a fellow apprentice meeting misfortune, he might even feel a twinge of relief at one less competitor for scarce resources.

Paying no heed to the ridicule from the mage atop the walls, Alberic produced his insignia to the Minotaur Captain guarding the gates. "I'm an apprentice sent by Master Mossitore to gather materials from the surface. Let me into the city at once!"

The brawny Minotaur Captain, whose might rivaled a high-level magical creature, now showed utmost deference and compliance before this lowly apprentice.

What he revered was not Alberic the stripling, but the status of a black mage and the master whom Alberic had invoked - Mossitore the Elder.

Within Mosobla City, as across the entire Gloom Territories, the black mages represented the ultimate authority.

Alberic paid the apprentices' cold mockery no heed, passing through the gates without incident - much to the disappointment of those eager for dramatic confrontation.

Alberic's name carried weight at Mosobla's Academy of Dark Magic. Now sixteen, he was on the cusp of advancing to Intermediate Apprentice.

But his talents alone failed to account for this youth garnering the praise of several esteemed archmages. What truly commanded respect was the recognition granted by masters of the dark arts.

None could predict when Lady Luck might smile on Alberic, allowing him to be taken under the wing of some lofty archmage.

Should Alberic become disciple to a preeminent spellcaster, his standing among Mosobla's apprentices would rocket into the upper tiers in an instant.

"Hmph!" Alberic's frigid disdain incited that scar-faced apprentice's fury.

In truth, the scarred apprentice had no intention of directly antagonizing Alberic - rather, he was more wary of the latter's girlfriend.

His eyes flashed cunningly as he muttered orders to his lackey: "Inform Yrque that Alberic has returned gravely wounded."

"Those two are arch-rivals. Heh heh, I'll bet Yrque has no wish to see Alberic strutting before him one day as an Intermediate Apprentice."

While the scarred mage himself boasted middling power, his lackey was a recent arrival to Mosobla, having started learning magic less than two years past. The newcomer could barely be considered an Entry-level Apprentice.

In the Gloom Territories, those lacking personal power must cling to the shadows of stronger patrons.

The lackey dared not defy his scarred master's bidding, even knowing it would pit him against Alberic and his deranged lover.

Should Alberic truly fall at Yrque's hand, that mad sorceress would surely wreak a vengeance beyond reckoning.

As for the scarred apprentice?

He had his own august patron. Thus he had no fear of that sorceress.

In fact, the scarred mage competed directly with Alberic's lover in certain spheres of influence.

Hence his resentment towards Alberic, cohabiting with that woman.

"Kakaka, well done Alberic, procuring mature Starlight Grass specimens no less... They happen to be just what I require for an upcoming experiment..."

A raspy voice emanated from the black-robed mage before him, features obscured below an expansive hood.

All that was visible was a withered expanse of leathery skin akin to an ancient mummy, and one yellowed eyeball.

Alberic had faced the brutish crocodile without losing nerve, yet before this warlock, he couldn't help but tremble.

Alberic believed if this sorcerer deigned to lift a finger, the fiercest beasts would docilely grovel at his feet like kittens.

Such was the might of magic, the majesty of a warlock - the true epitome of terror and despair.

"Now then, Alberic. As mages, we generally adhere to equivalent exchange. So go ahead, name your price," said Mossitore, lightly tapping his sorcerous staff as he eyed the youth.

Alberic took a deep breath to steady himself, but the agitation only disturbed his wounds anew, a crimson stain blossoming on his chest.

But the pain did not hinder Alberic's words or movements one whit.

He bowed deeply before replying in the most reverent tone: "I wish to become Master Mossitore's disciple, to serve and assist you while unlocking magic's deepest mysteries."

Alberic's bowed torso received no reply, so his deferential posture remained frozen at ninety degrees while awaiting the archmage Mossitore's decision.

"Tick... Tick..."

The rhythmic magic hourglass marked the sluggish passage of time.

Unable to glimpse the archmage's expression, Alberic could only watch a gaunt, bone-white finger lazily rapping the sorcerous staff.

It was deeply vexing to have one's fate held hostage.

Yet Alberic understood that if Mossitore accepted him as disciple, his future – and destiny – would lie firmly in his own hands. Far more so than the great majority of Mosobla's mages who might abruptly find themselves reduced to specimens on some magic-user's experiment table should their master wake up in a foul mood.

The waiting dragged on interminably. Blood now dripped freely from the gnashing wound on Alberic's chest, forming a small crimson puddle at his feet.

Under normal circumstances, defiling an esteemed archmage's sanctum would invite severe punishment.

Yet oddly, Mossitore evinced no displeasure even as scarlet pooled below his supplicant. Of course, consumed with anxiety over his pending request, such trivialities utterly escaped Alberic's notice.

"Heheheh, I've heard old hag Angelinia and codger Colonso just can't stop singing your praises for your magic classes."

"Why not take one of them on as master?" Mossitore suddenly asked, rupturing the brooding atmosphere with faux casualness.

Alberic naturally had his own reasons for seeking Mossitore's tutelage instead of the others.

But honestly confessing them would have been too outrageous – as if he could openly state finding Mossitore the "most normal" of the academy's archmages.

Unlike mad Angelinia's occasional manic episodes, or Colonso's penchant for vivisecting his own apprentices during magical experiments...

At the academy, Master Mossitore taught introductory alchemy and fundamental fire element studies - perfectly suiting Alberic's innate affinity. Furthermore, what little magic he commanded centered on fire spells.

After careful deliberation, he had decided the seldom noticeable Mossitore was best qualified to mentor him. Hence, this understated archmage received his earnest petition.

The three Starlight Grass specimens he'd risked life and limb obtaining were crucial neutralizing agents in alchemical procedures.

To most mages, their intrinsic worth was negligible.

Yet Mossitore found them valuable indeed. For the temperamental herb defied all attempts at domestication, only sprouting in the wilderness.

After some deliberation, Alberic replied in low tones: "Because I believe you have ventured farther into the mysteries of sorcery than either Master Angelinia or Colonso, sir."

"Only by following your teachings may I grasp the true essence of magic."

His response promptly elicited raucous laughter from Mossitore. Yet the wizard's innate raspiness only amplified the unsettling qualities of that cackling echoing bizarrely around the dim sanctum.

Mossitore relished both the flattery and Alberic's subtle disparagement of his senior colleagues.

Yet the decisive factor in accepting the boy was the second half of his appeal - the desire to unlock magic's true secrets rather than pursue raw power.

"Heh heh heh! Alberic, if you truly comprehend that a mage draws strength from knowledge itself... why, you would exceed nine-tenths of the academy's students."

No sooner had elation bloomed than bone-deep fatigue asserted itself, his healing wounds beginning to itch maddeningly.

"Go rest first. I shall take you on as my fifth disciple," Mossitore declared. "There is still a trace of toxins in your blood... You've used Blue Moss for your injuries, yes?"

"I have, Master. I applied Blue Moss poultices en route to the city to treat my wounds," Alberic respectfully replied, savoring the novel appellation of "Master" from his own lips.

Blue Moss was a common, mundane plant boasting negligible magical value. Yet it possessed anesthetic properties to numb wounded tissue, albeit at the cost of being toxic itself without an antidote to purge the poison.

Archmage Mossitore exuded an eerie mien, but Alberic's choice had been indubitably sound.

Mossitore produced a large flask of intermediate antidote from his robes, along with a short staff and insignia bearing the unmistakable aura of magic.

It was Alberic's first glimpse of genuine enchanted artifacts.

The former was a wizard's staff - Mossitore's token gift to his new disciple.

Though the archmage modestly dubbed it a "trifle" crafted in his spare time, to Alberic it was an indisputable treasure.

For enclosed within was a vial of corrosive acid potent enough to dissolve the armored hide of formidable magical beasts.

The insignia granted Alberic future access into Mossitore's sanctum, another clear symbol of discipleship.

"Go rest now. Return in three days to assist me with an experiment." Having presented the three gifts, Mossitore dismissed Alberic with a wave of his cadaverous hand.

Only now did Alberic dare meet Mossitore's gaze, the hood revealing aquiline features and jaundiced eyes that belied the archmage's mystical mien.

Departing Mossitore's sanctum, Alberic hurried through the sprawling Academy of Dark Arts towards his cramped lodgings.

The archmages and their charges did not reside in adjoining premises. Passing the soaring lecture halls, he spotted other apprentices also hustling to and fro, none tarrying to chat.

Frigid academy edicts fostered only patron-vassal ties between mages - beyond that lay only hostility and rivalry. "Friendship" remained an alien concept here.

The last stretch passed through a murky grove of white cedars enclosing Alberic's refugee.

Yet awaiting him was an ambush.

"Heh heh, that scarred blabbermouth Jock was right! You're half dead on your feet," a shrill voice rang out in mockery.

"Rather than suffer a slow demise, let me end your misery now!"

An apprentice garbed in black robes and wearing a white mask sprang abruptly from the roadside woods of white cedars.

He matched Alberic in height but had mottled grey hair contrasting Alberic's enviable golden locks.

Feuds between apprentice mages were commonplace. Theirs stretched back a decade to when they were both abducted as children into the lightless realms. Back then, a starving young Alberic had once battered a fellow captive to seize desperately needed rations - an unforgiven, unforgotten defeat for Yrque.

Unfortunately, that youth was none other than Yrque's own brother.

In the decade since the starving abductees first arrived in the lightless realms, those surviving human children had grown into fledgeling mages.

Yet Yrque's brother had perished before the Academy's recruiters arrived - his strength sapped by meager rations and Alberic's devastating blow.

Though even without starvation, his chances would have been doubtful.

Clearly Yrque assigned full blame onto Alberic for this demise.

As to why he had not immediately sought vengeance then... Perhaps young Alberic's freakish power had intimidated him.

In the academy since, at least a dozen clashes left both enemies gravely wounded - each almost killing the other on two occasions.

Their feud had long since passed the point of no return. Such bitter bloodshed between apprentices was hardly uncommon in Mosobla City, however.

Strangely enough, the lofty archmages never intervened in these internal power struggles. If anything, they spectated with amusement, watching fledglings battle to the death as an entertaining diversion from their esoteric research.

To those mighty mages, these were experiments of a different kind.

Aware their clash must end swiftly before officers of the academy intervened, Yrque wasted no time once his taunts concluded.

While Alberic trained in pyrologic sorcery, Yrque specialized in botanical magic.

In fact, Yrque's accomplishments in the Academy's botanical gardens had earned him that ghostly pallid mask - a junior-grade sorcerous artifact from the instructors.

Clearly without greater strength, he hardly deserved to even face Alberic.

At Yrque's muttered incantations, three verdant arrows materialized and shot forth - whereas the common variant of this spell only formed two. This showcase revealed Yrque also neared promotion to Intermediate Apprentice.

Yet Alberic remained unperturbed by the approaching peril targeted at his head, heart and nethers respectively - a swift death assured by this triple threat.

Battered and exhausted after his recent travails, he currently lacked the mental focus and magical reserves to manifest his signature Secondary Fireball.

Compounding matters, Alberic's injuries prevented evading the hurtling projectiles.

Beneath his pallid mask, Yrque's lips curled into a smile, assured of imminent victory.

Due to finite mind-force and magic capacity, apprentices could unleash only sparse spells before exhaustion. At peak form, neither could manage more than a couple Secondary Fireballs or Thorns.

To fell Alberic, Yrque had already expended his utmost. Smug confidence seemed warranted with his foe so greivously encumbered.

A single Thorn would have sufficed to puncture Alberic's skull. Three promised certain demise.

Yet the smug confidence behind Yrque's mask eroded into incredulity at the sight of the enchanted wand retrieved from Alberic's robe.

Too late forbackup plans - Alberic's vestiges of will powered the stave. The engraved acid payload launched toward Yrque in an unstoppable torrent!

As befitting its maker - an artifact gifted from Archmage Mossitore himself. Despite being casually brewed amidst alchemical trials, this enchanted stave endowed young Alberic to challenge mages well above the apprentice ranks.

Aside from discharging high-level corrosion draughts, the wizard staff also slowly regenerated its bearer's magic and mental reserves. Alberic had kept firm hold ever since departing his patron's sanctum - providing barely enough restored power to cope with any academy contingencies.

Advanced corrosive acid and junior Thorns - hardly comparable ordnance.

Whether judged by power, velocity or precision, Mossitore's dreadful concoction outstripped Yrque's paltry attack.

The menacing green shafts melted into teal vapor beneath that searing golden shroud.

Its power undiminished, the trailing draught engulfed Yrque - too swiftly for a counter-spell or evasion.

"Arghh!!" Agonized screams erupted amidst insidious sizzling that set teeth on edge.

Soon, Yrque's cries faded to silence.

Approaching, Alberic noted his foe's head remained largely intact, unlike the charred ruin below.

Revolting stench perfused the air.

Yet the grisly sight barely registered on Alberic's composure.

Already, sounds of movement echoed outwards - apprentices or academy guards attracted by the confrontation.

Paying them no heed, Alberic calmly knelt to claim his spoils of victory.

Yrque's pallid mask was the first item stripped from that misshapen severed head.

As a junior-grade artifact, the pallid mask bore only a single etched spell - Nightvision, enabling clearer sight in gloom.

While in no way comparable to the puissant stave Alberic carried, this still proved valuable plunder.