The chill of the twilight air nipped at Bathilda's exposed skin as she surveyed the meager collection of discarded wood. It was a motley assortment: splintered planks, warped door frames, and gnarled branches, all cast aside by the city's inhabitants. The stark contrast between the sturdy, imposing walls of the city and her pathetic pile of refuse was a bitter reminder of her unwelcome status.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and deep indigo. The city, a dark, impenetrable silhouette against the fading light, seemed to hum with a quiet, hostile energy. Every rustle of leaves, every distant murmur from within the walls, felt like a silent condemnation.
With a sigh, Bathilda began the arduous task of constructing her makeshift shelter. The wood was rough, the nails rusty, and her hands, though strong, were ill-suited for carpentry. Each hammering blow echoed in the stillness, a defiant rhythm against the city's indifference. She worked with a grim determination, the sting of rejection fueling her efforts.
Every so often, she would take to the sky, her wings beating the air with a quiet, powerful grace, to scout for more materials. The city guards, ever vigilant, responded with a volley of arrows, their sharp points glinting in the fading light. The arrows, harmless against her enchanted skin, were a constant, irritating reminder of their hostility. She ignored them, her focus unwavering, her jaw set in a stubborn line.
"Ungrateful," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely a whisper against the wind. "They should be throwing me a parade."
The memory of the scream, the sudden terror that had pierced the quiet, was still fresh in her mind. She had reacted instinctively, her magic surging forth in a wave of healing energy, only to find that the danger had passed before anyone was truly harmed. A wave of frustrated energy, a sense of anticlimax mixed with relief, rolled over her.
"At least they probably feel better," she grumbled, her eyes scanning the haphazard structure she had erected. Three walls, leaning precariously, and a roof that looked more like a sieve than a shield. "A masterpiece of... rustic charm," she said with a dry, self-deprecating laugh.
Weariness tugged at her limbs, a heavy weight after a day of labor and rejection. More rejection. She crawled into the cramped space, the rough wood digging into her back, and closed her eyes. Bathilda wasn't sure she needed to sleep anymore, but the habit persisted.
"Maybe you should have waited for a few injuries to accrue," a voice echoed within her mind, a familiar, sardonic tone.
"It might have worked, but I couldn't do that," she replied honestly, her voice soft. "As soon as that girl screamed, I was there. Nothing else mattered."
"Hopefully, I can get a good sleep tonight," she thought, her eyelids heavy. "We can focus on problems tomorrow. It's been a long day."
"Indeed," Hiro replied. "Hopefully, this... Thing, won't fall down on you in the middle of the night."
"Don't say shit like that, Hiro," she mumbled, her thoughts drifting into the realm of sleep.
The night was long and restless. The wind howled, rattling the flimsy structure, and the city, a dark, watchful presence, seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a groaning, splintering crash, the shelter collapsed, burying Bathilda beneath a tangle of wood and leaves.
Morning arrived, a pale, watery light filtering through the clouds. Bathilda emerged from the wreckage, her hair tangled with twigs and leaves, her face streaked with dirt. She shook off the debris, her eyes scanning the scattered remains of her shelter.
"That's not going to cut it," she declared, her voice firm. "Granted, it was just a quick job because I was tired, but today's efforts will be much better. There's nothing this nurse can't do these days!"
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She surveyed the surrounding area, her eyes searching for sturdier materials, her mind already forming plans.
Her gaze swept across the surrounding landscape, a dense forest of towering trees, her mind already racing with architectural possibilities. In the distance, the imposing city walls stood as a silent, formidable barrier, a challenge she intended to overcome. She would rebuild, stronger, more resilient, and she would earn their attention, their respect.
With a decisive motion, she began to dismantle the remnants of her previous shelter, discarding the splintered wood with a dismissive wave. Then, with an almost casual display of her enhanced strength, she began to uproot the massive trees in her immediate vicinity. The earth groaned and trembled as the colossal roots tore free, the sound echoing through the still morning air.
The sight of these fully-grown trees being tossed aside like mere twigs did not escape the notice of the vigilant guards on the city walls, nor did the rumbling sounds go unheard by the inhabitants within. Yet, Bathilda remained unfazed, her movements fluid and purposeful. Within minutes, she had cleared a substantial plot of land, leveling the uneven terrain with a few swift gestures.
"Magic and stats are truly… remarkable," she couldn't help but pint out, a hint of awe in her voice.
The felled trees lay in neat rows, their massive trunks a testament to her newfound power. With a series of precise (Reality Tears) she severed the overgrown roots and trimmed the unruly branches, leaving behind sixteen perfectly cylindrical, colossal tree trunks. The entire process, a task that would have taken days for a conventional lumberjack, was completed in less than ten minutes.
Starting with the widest trunk, Bathilda extended her sharp, obsidian-like nails, slicing through the timber as if it were soft butter. She squared off the trunk, then bisected it lengthwise, repeating the process until she had created twelve, ten-foot-long, perfectly squared posts.
Her mind, once filled with medical knowledge, now delved into the realm of construction. Back on Earth, she had been an avid researcher, a relentless seeker of information. But her practical application of that knowledge in this new reality proved frustrating. After twenty minutes of fruitless attempts to fashion wooden nails or find suitable fasteners, she let out a frustrated sigh.
"This is bullshit," she cursed her impulsive start. A task she was now determined to finish.
Deciding to leverage her accumulated skill points, no longer needing to conserve them as the "Queen of Monsters," she meticulously reviewed her available abilities. Eventually, she settled on a skill that perfectly suited her needs:
Lesser Creation Magic: 100 Skill Points
Testing the skill, she conjured a small, five-centimeter nail. One mana point vanished from her pool, a negligible cost considering her vast reserves. She smiled, then created a second nail. But then, an epiphany struck.
"Why bother with such tediousness?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening.
Concentrating on the image of her ideal home, a cozy log cabin, her mana pool began to drain at an alarming rate. A blinding light erupted in the clearing, illuminating the forest with an ethereal glow. As the light subsided, a breathtaking sight emerged: a beautiful log cabin, complete with a pitched roof, a small porch, and a vibrant blue front door. Bathilda's mana was nearly depleted, but the magnificent structure before her justified the expenditure.
Lesser Creation Magic has evolved into Creation Magic.
Creation Magic:
- The ability to conjure matter and energy from nothing, shaping reality to the user's will. From simple objects to complex constructs, the limits are defined by the caster's imagination and power.
MP Cost: Undefined
"I'm not complaining," she said, her gaze fixed on her new home. "Look at that, Hiro."
The cabin was truly impressive, a stark contrast to the crude shelter of the previous day. Bathilda stepped onto the porch and entered the spacious interior. Large windows lined the walls, offering panoramic views of the forest and the distant city walls. The cabin was unfurnished, save for a rustic wood stove, and two doors led to separate rooms: a bedroom and a bathroom.
"Magic is incredible," she marveled. "If this existed on Earth… the possibilities. Imagine the medical advancements, the solutions to homelessness. Granted, the mana cost is significant, but the potential is immeasurable."
She conjured two comfortable armchairs and summoned a clone for Hiro, now that they were safely hidden from prying eyes.
"We need to address your appearance," she said, examining the clone. "And your voice."
She turned her attention to the reflection looking back, marveling at her transformation. Her once-childlike features had matured into a stunning beauty. Silky-white hair flowed down her back and crimson eyes gleamed with unbound power. Her pale skin, now radiant even under the sun, was a source of pride.
"What do you mean?" Hiro asked, his voice identical to her own.
"Can you use illusion magic to alter your appearance?" she asked. "How come... Normally you have half the amount of mana I..." She stopped, realizing the error. "Ah. My mistake. Sorry, Hiro."
"Sorry about what? Oh, for…" Hiro’s clone faded from existence.
"Fucks sake, Bathilda!"