Dark Parasyte
Chapter 33: Six Days Late, Still on Time

Chapter 33: Six Days Late, Still on Time

Corvin sat cross legged in the center of his warded lab, completely still. The humming crystals lining the circular chamber pulsed faintly, reacting to the recent injection of the MAG1.0 strain. Unlike the physical strain before it, this one brought no pain, no surges, and no visible transformation. Just a pervasive quiet, like the calm before a storm.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and began to descend inward. His breathing slowed, heart rate dropped, and the walls of physical sensation melted away. What remained was a growing pressure, not uncomfortable, but undeniable.

Breath by breath his mind slipped deeper.

He was standing before a massive, glowing lake made of shimmering blue crystal light. The water like surface didn’t ripple, didn’t reflect anything. It simply existed, infinite and full of radiant energy. The light moved beneath the surface like swirling galaxies caught in glass.

This was his mana pool, the central wellspring of his magical existence. But it was different now. Larger than before. Much larger. It was deeper, brighter, and far more stable. The air around it was heavy with arcane density, he could see the mana particles flowing throug the lake below with every pulse and every inhalation buzzed through his mental form like a tuning fork struck hard.

As he stepped closer to the edge, he could see streams of energy flowing outward like tributaries from a mighty source. Each stream had a color, a frequency, and a sensation attached to it. These were his elemental affinities, and now, for the first time, he saw how they truly functioned.

A vivid red stream drew his attention. As he approached, the air began to shimmer with heat. Sparks danced along his arms.

Fire.

The stream radiated control through passion. It was fierce, but obedient to his will. He extended his awareness toward it, and it pulsed in answer, wrapping his thoughts in warmth without pain.

A brown stream moved to intersect the red. Their convergence birthed a new flow. A molten orange stream that crackled with intensity. It moved slower but carried enormous weight.

Magma. A blend of Fire and Earth.

He felt a small rush of satisfaction. The MAG1.0 strain hadn’t just enhanced his magical energy, it had structured it. He began to recognize that secondary affinities were forming naturally at these intersections. They weren’t forced. They were logical extensions of elemental proximity.

Turning away, he approached a blue stream that cooled his skin and slowed his thoughts. The essence of calm and adaptability.

Water.

Above it flowed a pale silver green stream, cool and light, moving in rhythmic patterns that reminded him of wind through alpine peaks.

Air.

Where they met, a new icy blue stream split off. It shimmered and crackled with frost.

Ice.

Cold and exact. Sharpened focus embodied.

He reached further. Beyond the familiar combinations lay more elusive energies, subtle and strange.

A twisting violet ribbon floated lazily in the distance. He focused on it, and it responded. Its brightness shifting in tune with his thoughts.

Psychic.

A stream of introspection and projection. Its patterns bent gently shaped by his focus alone.

Beneath the other currents, a deep crimson stream moved slowly, like crimson river pulsing through ancient veins.

Blood.

Emotional, resilient, tied to memory and inheritance. It responded not to thought, but to intention, to what he carried in his core.

A midnight black stream slithered along the outskirts, oily and nearly invisible. It whispered things that did not shaped in words but emotions. All the negativity of emotions bearing in his soul when focused.

Dark.

Elusive. Dangerous not by definition, by nature alone. He shivered by how little he understood it. It was the weight of secrets.

Above them all, a silver spiral wove between every stream, subtly influencing their flow, never overpowering but always present.

Aether. The universal thread. The balancing force. It was not the strongest, but the most crucial.

Then there was the black prism shaped stream, motionless, pulling faint arcs of light from every direction.

Gravity. It didn’t need to move. It was inevitability incarnate. It influenced without demanding.

In the far distance, Corvin saw signs of energy barely formed. Time flickered like a half forgotten memory, coiling and vanishing. Void was barely more than a cold absence, yet it pressed on the edges of his mind.

They were not yet ready. But they were there. This was the most amazing exploration he made ever since he arrived to this world.

Then something else caught his attention. Tiny filaments of multiple streams began to braid together in spirals, forming new sub streams. Hybrid affinities. He saw glimpses: a sharp golden thread where Fire and Air met, Lightning. A green violet shimmer from Air and Psychic, Illusion. These threads flickered and writhed, not yet stable, but clearly forming.

He walked the circumference of his inner lake, tracing the flows, watching how one stream fed another, how each intersection created new potentials. It was like a celestial map of his soul, and it was growing more complex by the second.

Each new affinity felt like a door just cracked open. Each stream hinted at further evolution, more to uncover. MAG1.0 hadn’t just enlarged his mana pool. It had reshaped his magical infrastructure. Made him relize how pitifully low his understanding of magic was.

He wasn’t just becoming more powerful.

He was becoming something else entirely.

A being not simply of spell and sword, but of living structure. An intelligent design written into the language of arcane law. A synthesis of understanding, intention, and power.

MAG1.0 was more than a strain.

It was a blueprint for what came next.

--

He opened his eyes. There was a serene, ghostly light glowing from within them. A quiet storm of new understanding settled in his gaze. As he stirred, he noticed Bob standing at the edge of the runic circle. The massive Bearkin had remained there the entire time, as if guarding his master, ready to intercept anything that dared interfere with the process.

Corvin stood slowly. His limbs felt lighter, more responsive, and yet grounded with purpose. He gave Bob a warm smile. "Still there, huh? You really are like the old Bob," he murmured, his voice quiet with memory.

Of course, he knew this loyalty came from the necromantic bond, the obedience etched into the marrow of undeath. But the sentiment, the posture, the silent vigilance.. it reminded him so much of the man from his former life that he couldn’t help but wish. Maybe, just maybe, this Bob could become something like a brother.

He stepped out of the ritual circle and walked toward one of the runic arrays. The polished obsidian platform responded to his approach, lighting up in soft sigils of red and gold.

He raised one hand. Mana followed.

He began simply. Fire first, a flickering orb appeared in his palm, stable and eager. Then Air a twisting breeze spun in his grasp, cool and compliant. He cycled through the primary elements. Earth. Water. Each came without resistance, forming in perfect shapes with no delay.

Next, he combined them. Fire and Air became a jet of flame spiraling in a helix. A serpent made to burn, after increasing the intensity it transformed into lightning. Water and Earth merged into a rising pillar of mud. Every combination bent to his will like well trained hounds.

He pressed further.

Secondary affinities. Ice. Magma. Metal. They responded instantly, forming complex shapes at his slightest whim. Ice shards formed midair, suspended like sculptures. Molten magma curled in graceful arcs, balanced between heat and control. Metal coiled into ribbons, dancing around him like protective armor.

Then the rare affinities.

Dark. Light. Psychic. Blood.

They appeared, not with force, but with precision. Dark swallowed the air around his fingers, a shadow blade forming without words. Light answered with a radiant flare that dimmed his surroundings. Psychic energy pulsed with threads he could pull and release, brushing against echoes of minds of his undead. Blood shimmered thick and alive, shaped into tendrils at his command.

Finally, the true challenge.

Arcane elements. Aether. Gravity. Space.

Aether wrapped around him like a silk veil, silent and knowing. Gravity bent the floor slightly beneath him, condensing weight before releasing it. And Space, Space obeyed him. He could feel the pressure and the pull. With a sharp breath, he blinked, teleported more than fifty kilometers away and returned within an instant. His limits weren’t shifting.

They were dissolving.

Yet further testing would have to wait. He’d been gone for six days, lost in trials and transformations. The Synod would be beyond furious.

He chuckled. "Let’s see what sort of lecture they’ve cooked up."

He turned to Bob and the rest of the crew, now gathering near the edges of the chamber.

"Keep things under control till I’m back, mate," he said.

Bob blinked slowly. Then, in a deep, rumbling echo, repeated, "Mate."

Corvin laughed aloud. The sound echoed off stone. The idea of a Bearkin speaking in a Yorkshire accent amused him to no end.

"Perfect," he muttered. "Absolutely perfect."

--

Before meeting the Triacrh, Corvin took a moment to shift his appearance. With care, he reverted his body to its previous form, removing all physical traces of the enhancements granted by PHS1.0 and MAG1.0. His height lessened, muscles compressed, and his arcane presence was carefully folded in on itself. To any outsider, he now appeared exactly as he had before the trials began: muscled, composed, and sharp. Synod was already suspicious of his talents; there was no need to give them further reason to investigate. With a thought he dissappered.

Corvin emerged far from the reach of sight, standing on a thick bracnh of a tree just outside the defensive range of the Obsidian Gate’s outer sentries. With a thought, he cloaked himself in shadow and bent the threads of space around him. Both Dark and Space magic folded at his will. There was no resistance, only precision and obedience to his will. He moved unseen, unheard, and untraceable.

The Synod’s sentries, normally hyper sensitive to illusions and cloaked figures remained motionless. These were elite guards, trained specifically to detect the faintest disturbances in mana. Yet not one stirred. Corvin grinned to himself. "So much for master sentinels," he murmured.

He approached the gates of obsidian. The sigils woven into their frame flared briefly but found no target to mark. With graceful confidence, Corvin stepped directly in front of a guard and let the cloaking veil dissolve.

The Dark Elf yelped, clearly startled, instinctively unsheating a dagger to one hand and conjuring a small fireball in the other. But as recognition set in, the tension dropped from his posture.

"Raven..." he exhaled, lowering his hands. "You are expected. The Triarch demands your presence immediately."

Corvin offered nothing but a smirk, stepping past the man with slow, measured poise. "Of course I am."

The Obsidian Gate closed behind him with a deep rumble, echoing through the dark stone corridors as he made his way toward the Triarch’s Hall.

As he entered the chamber, the familiar triad was waiting him.

Archmagus Vaelorin stood at the center, flanked by Magus Kel’Mara and Magus Seredai. All three bore solemn expressions, the chamber’s obsidian light catching the grim lines of their faces.

"Raven," Vaelorin began, his tone clipped and formal. "You were expected earlier. Your absence caused concern."

Corvin raised an eyebrow slightly, letting the silence stretch before offering a polite nod. He didn’t need to answer that. He had been busy evolving.

Vaelorin continued, voice laden with a practiced gravitas. "You are to stand before a higher court of the Synod."

He deliberately avoided naming the Hexarchy, attempting to sound vague and ominous, as though such concealment would unsettle him.

But Corvin, who had already walked their minds and rifled through their thoughts, merely smiled.

"Lead the way, Archmagus."

His voice was calm, his confidence unmistakable. There was no dread in his tone only amusement.