Primordial Prestidigitation

I marked another entry in my journal, documenting our latest losses to Omadzaburik's deceptions. The ink smeared as my hand trembled with rage. Two thousand three hundred and forty-seven soldiers lost in the past month alone. Good men and women, swallowed by quicksand or dashed upon rocks hidden by illusions.

"My King, another fairy nest spotted ahead." Captain Deren's voice pulled me from my dark thoughts.

I looked up from my writing desk to see her standing at attention, armor stained with the silvery blood of the fae creatures. The troops had taken to calling it 'starlight gore,' a poetic name for such necessary butchery.

"Burn it," I commanded. "Burn them all."

She nodded and left my tent. Minutes later, I heard the whoosh of flames and the high-pitched screams of dying fairies. My chest tightened at the sound. These were not evil beings, merely playful, mischievous creatures. But we could not show mercy, not when their pranks led to soldiers drowning in bogs they thought were solid ground.

Queen Ayen entered my tent, her usually immaculate robes now muddy and torn. "The scouts found another false path today. Lost twelve men before we realized the mountain pass was actually a cliff face."

"How many illusions must we pierce before we reach the heart?" I muttered, more to myself than her. "Two years of this. Two years of watching our forces dwindle to these cursed tricks."

"The Primordial of Prestidigitation lives up to their title." Ayen's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Every step forward is a gamble. Reality itself bends to Omadzaburik's will."

I stood and walked to the map table, studying the charts we'd painfully assembled of this treacherous forest. Red marks showed where we'd discovered deadly illusions, black X's marked where we'd lost troops. The parchment was more red and black than blank space now.

"We must press on," I said. "Each illusion we uncover is one less that can harm us. Each fairy nest we destroy weakens their influence. Slowly, we are stripping away the layers of deception."

A commotion outside drew our attention. Screams erupted, followed by the clash of steel on steel. I grabbed my starstone sword and rushed out with Ayen close behind.

What looked like a regiment of our own soldiers was attacking the camp. But as I watched, their forms flickered, revealing grotesque creatures made of shadow and light. Another of Omadzaburik's illusions, this one meant to turn us against each other.

"They're not real!" I shouted to the troops. "Trust nothing your eyes tell you!"

I marked another year's passing in my journal, three years now since we first entered this cursed realm of illusions. The swamp's putrid water seeped through my boots as we trudged forward, each step a battle against the thick muck trying to claim us.

"Tell me true, old friend." Mulmin's voice carried a hint of mirth despite our dire situation. "When we first set out, did you imagine we'd end up knee-deep in piss water?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, the sound strange in this desolate place. "I pictured many harrowing trials ahead of us, Mulmin. Battles with creatures of nightmare, scaling impossible heights, even walking through fire itself." I shook my head. "But this... this particular indignity never crossed my mind."

"Movement ahead." Ayen's voice cut through our moment of levity. Her keen elven eyes pierced the thick mist better than any sapien's could.

I followed her gaze and saw it. There was a soft glow penetrating the fog, pulsing like a diseased heart. As we drew closer, the mist parted and I beheld Omadzaburik in all its otherworldly horror.

The Primordial of Prestidigitation defied mortal comprehension. Its form seemed to shift between that of a massive mushroom and some tentacled horror from the ocean's depths. A single massive eye dominated its center, yellow as preserved amber and just as ancient. That terrible orb fixed upon us, and I felt it peering not just at my flesh, but at something deeper: my very essence. My soul.

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Thick tendrils drooped from its floating mass like the roots of some cosmic tree. Each one bore glowing orbs of flame, with lightning dancing between them in mesmerizing patterns. Above its bulk, a white crown of impossible geometry circled what appeared to be a perfect miniature of our world, contained within a crystalline dome.

The creature made no move to attack or flee as we approached. It simply watched, that unblinking eye studying us with an intelligence that felt older than time itself.

I opened my mouth to give the order to attack, but a thick mist suddenly swallowed Omadzaburik whole. The creature vanished before my eyes, leaving nothing but empty swamp air.

"Mulmin?" I turned, finding only silence. "Ayen? Lord Burien?"

No one answered. The thousands of warriors who had marched into this forsaken place with me had disappeared. Only the bubbling of the swamp and the buzz of insects remained.

I wandered through the endless marsh, calling out until my voice grew hoarse. Hours stretched into days. When my waterskin ran dry, I resorted to drinking the brackish swamp water. Weeds became my only sustenance.

The weeks blurred together. Months passed, then years. My armor rusted. My bones ached. My hair turned gray, then white. Still I searched, hoping to find just one familiar face in this endless green hell.

As I lay dying in the filthy water, my strength finally spent after what felt like a lifetime of solitude, a firm hand gripped my shoulder. A sharp crack across my face scattered the vision like broken glass.

Mulmin stood over me, his concerned face replacing decades of loneliness. Reality crashed back; we were in the midst of battle. Omadzaburik loomed above, its tendrils crackling with deadly energy as they lashed out at our forces. Lightning and flame struck down dozens of warriors in seconds.

Our archers loosed volleys of starstone arrows. Those that found their mark left angry red wounds in the Primordial's shifting form. The creature's roar shook the very air, a horrific sound that somehow combined a whale's deep cry with an infant's wail.

More lightning split the sky. I watched helplessly as King Herros, that mountain of a man, fell with a smoking hole burned clean through his chest, his starstone greataxe splashing uselessly into the muck.

The sky itself seemed to tear open then, and burning rocks began to rain down upon us.

"Vardin!" Mulmin's voice cut through my paralysis. His rough hands seized my shoulders, shaking me. "We need you here, my friend. Now!"

I blinked away the last remnants of that terrible vision. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh filled my nostrils. All around us, soldiers fought against Omadzaburik's endless tentacles.

"With me!" I gripped my starstone blade and charged alongside Mulmin.

We passed Ayen, her silver hair crackling with static as she loosed arrow after arrow at the massive creature. Her aim was true as each shaft buried deep into the Primordial's writhing flesh.

The creature floated above us like some nightmare house, its bulk casting an unnatural shadow across the watery battlefield. Mulmin and I dove between its thrashing tendrils, our blades flashing. Each cut severed another tendril, sending them splashing into the swamp water.

I rolled left as a massive tentacle crashed down where I'd stood moments before. A soldier nearby wasn't as fortunate. The tendril struck him full force and his body simply... disappeared, transformed into a red mist that settled on the murky water.

More arrows darkened the sky, joined now by throwing spears. Our forces had rallied, focusing their attacks on Omadzaburik's main body. Through the chaos, I spotted one spear strike true, piercing directly through that massive amber eye.

Light erupted from the wound, blindingly bright. The air itself seemed to tear apart as Omadzaburik's form destabilized. The creature's bulk began to descend.

"Move!" I grabbed Mulmin's arm and ran. We splashed through the swamp water, desperate to escape the Primordial's falling mass.

We barely made it clear before Omadzaburik crashed into the marsh. The impact sent waves of filthy water washing over us, but we were alive.

I watched Ayen wade through the swamp's filth, her silver hair matted with mud and gore. Despite the exhaustion evident in her movements, determination blazed in her eyes. We had chosen her for this moment, to take the Mantle of Prestidigitation. Her magical prowess was unmatched among our forces, yet against the Primordials she'd been forced to rely on mundane weapons like the rest of us.

Mulmin gripped my shoulder as we observed her climb the fallen creature's bulk. "She's earned this," he muttered.

I nodded, unable to take my eyes off the scene. The massive form of Omadzaburik still twitched, its countless tendrils writhing in death throes. Ayen kept her balance atop the shifting mass, her movements precise despite the unstable footing.

She drew her starstone dagger, the weapon glinting dully in the murky light. Without hesitation, she plunged the blade into the creature's flesh again and again. Her face, usually a mask of elven serenity, twisted with both hatred and eagerness. Each strike was accompanied by a grunt of effort, each stab driven by years of watching her people fall to this monster's illusions.

Omadzaburik's final cry shook the air around us, a sound of such profound wrongness that several nearby soldiers collapsed, clutching their ears. Then, like a mirage dissolving in desert heat, the swamp simply... vanished. The putrid water, the choking mist, all of it melted away to reveal verdant fields stretching to the horizon.

A brilliant blue light erupted around Ayen's form. She threw her head back and laughed, a sound of pure triumph and joy. The Mantle of Prestidigitation began to settle around her like a cloak of living energy.

Her laughter transformed into a scream of terror, her eyes wide, seeing something peering at her from beyond the veil of the world. Her body began to contort, flesh writhing as if something beneath her skin was trying to escape. The transformation had begun.

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