Ashes Of the Führer

"Can't we just cut it open, Mister Otto?" one of the doctors muttered, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. His voice was tense, eyes locked on the chained beast before them.

Otto didn't look up from the notes he was scribbling.

"And if we cut it open and the glow fades? If the magic within it dies the moment it's spilled?" He clicked his tongue. "Then we've lost the one thing that makes this creature valuable. It would be foolish."

The doctor swallowed hard and gave a slow nod. "I… understand."

Another aide, arms crossed near the back, spoke up. "So where is Virella, then? Isn't she the only one who can actually sense this stuff?"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

All heads turned. The heavy oak door groaned from the impact, the sound bouncing off the cold cellar walls.

"That'll be her," Otto said, eyes flashing with anticipation. He rushed to the door and flung it open without hesitation.

There she stood — pale, wind-burnt, and visibly exhausted, her long coat dusted with frost and her silver-blonde hair matted to her temple. A faint blue flicker still shimmered in her eyes, barely held in check.

"Hello, Otto," she said quietly.

Otto gave her a quick up-and-down look and chuckled. "You look like you crawled out of a collapsed mine."

Virella gave a tired smile, stepping forward. "Close. Teleportation across the spine of the world will do that to a girl."

Otto stepped aside and motioned her in. "Well, lucky for us, you're still in one piece. Come — we need you to confirm if the creature possesses true mana… or something else."

"Will do," Virella said with a soft exhale.

Her pale eyes scanned the dim, circular chamber as she stepped forward slowly, the heels of her leather boots tapping against the stone with each measured stride.

"So," she murmured, brushing a gloved hand across her white leather pants, "this is the creature that required my attention so urgently?"

"Precisely!" Otto said with a spark in his voice. He motioned toward the bound beast at the center of the chamber. "It's been four days since we administered the strongest potion we recovered from the demi-humans. Initially, it stayed unconscious. But last night..."

He paused dramatically, his face tightening.

"It woke up. Not just stirred—woke. Fully. It tore two restraints from the wall before we sedated it again. And since then... our best potions only keep it asleep for three hours at most."

Virella's expression darkened as she approached the table, eyes narrowing on the creature's pale, twitching frame.

"It heals," Otto continued. "Fast. Internal wounds vanish in twenty minutes or less. Bruises fade in seconds. Something's going on inside it — and I need you to test for mana."

The group moved as one, silent but tense, stepping closer to the iron-bound platform. Their shoes made quiet splashes in the condensation pooling beneath the stone. The air grew colder. The flickering torchlight danced across the creature's muscle-bound form, still twitching faintly beneath its pale skin.

Virella halted at the edge of the table, closing her eyes. She took in a breath — steady, slow — and held it.

She raised one hand, palm facing the creature's chest.

A sudden pulse of blue light cracked the room — bright, instantaneous, and gone in the blink of an eye. The torches flinched. A gust of cold wind surged outward like an arcane shockwave.

Virella staggered back a step.

"What the—?" one of the aides gasped.

Otto raised a brow. "What was that? What did you see?"

Virella didn't respond immediately. Her eyes were wide, lips parted slightly.

"…It has mana," she said softly, "but not its own."

"What does that mean?" a doctor asked, clearly confused.

Otto folded his arms. "Be specific, Virella. What type of mana? What tier?"

She slowly lowered her hand, then looked them in the eye.

"This creature… is a Second Circle being."

The room fell into silence.

"...And that means?" another doctor asked, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified.

Virella turned slightly, folding her hands behind her back as she spoke.

"There are ten Circles of Magic. Ten levels of power. The Tenth is... theoretical — we call it the 'God Tier.' In over a thousand years, no mage has reached that level. According to my master, only one person has ever reached the Ninth — and even they vanished from history."

Her voice became colder — distant.

"I'm a Seventh Circle mage. There are perhaps a hundred of us on this continent, if that. We can cast high-grade magic without tiring — reshape terrain, command lightning, heal fatal wounds, manipulate spiritual energy. But..."

She paused.

"A Second Circle creature? That's barely magical. A teenager could overpower one. At most, it can ignite a fire the size of a lantern. Or perhaps enhance physical strength — make someone as strong as a pair of adolescent boys. Its regeneration is sluggish, incapable of repairing true internal trauma or organ damage. And yet—"

She turned back to the beast, eyes narrowing again.

"—this one regenerates organs. It withstands sedation. It moves like it remembers commands. But it has no native mana signature."

Otto stepped forward, intrigued now. "Then... how?"

She gave a tight exhale.

"It was given mana. Not born with it."

One of the aides shifted uneasily. "Given...? By who?"

Otto's eyes narrowed sharply. "And what Circle is capable of doing that?"

Virella didn't hesitate. "A Sixth Circle mage can do it. With enough preparation, we can inject mana into a weaker vessel and artificially awaken their circuits. But it's rare. Dangerous. Temporary."

Otto looked at her carefully. "...Can you do it?"

Virella nodded. "Yes. But only barely. My enchantments could create a Fourth Circle creature — strong, fast, even capable of casting simple fire magic or regeneration spells. But doing so would consume almost all of my mana."

Her voice dipped lower.

"If I didn't have another source to draw from... I would die from mana depletion."

Otto's eyes gleamed.

"Interesting," he murmured, turning toward the creature again. "Very interesting..."

Otto closed the journal he'd been writing in, turning to Virella with an oddly calm expression.

"Virella," he said smoothly, "I need you to create a small battalion of magic users. Ten—maybe fifteen. Just enough to defend key positions. Nothing ambitious."

Virella blinked—then froze.

She took a slow step back, her voice low but sharp. "No."

Otto raised a brow. "No?"

Her fists clenched at her sides. "I will not do that. I told you before—I could kill someone if I try to force their magical circuits open. It's not a ritual. It's not like handing out swords or armor. It's violent. It's tearing open a door that was never meant to be opened."

She turned away from him, pacing with growing fury. "Even if the body survives… the soul might not. I've seen it. I've felt it. The screams don't come from their mouths — they come from inside."

Otto stepped forward, tone neutral. "And if I told you this request came from the Führer himself?"

Virella stopped.

Her shoulders tensed. Her breath came heavier, jaw clenched so tightly her teeth nearly cracked.

She turned — slowly, eyes ablaze with blue fire, the glow intensifying as her fury swelled.

"You're lying."

Otto didn't flinch. "It's written in the directive. He wants mages. Trained or created. It makes no difference to him—so long as they are loyal and effective."

Virella's voice exploded, echoing across the chamber. "He doesn't know what he's asking for!"

The torches flared unnaturally, reacting to the magic rippling off her skin.

"You think this is about power?! About military advantage?! Otto, there is a reason only a hundred of us exist! Because the rest—the ones people tried to awaken by force—died screaming or went mad!"

Otto stayed still, watching her rage carefully. "Then tell him yourself. I'm sure the Führer would be open to your insight. Perhaps he'll craft a solution."

"Gods above, Otto!" Virella snapped, stepping toward him, her voice full of disgust and sorrow. "You're brilliant—but your brilliance has made your soul cold. You treat life like it's a puzzle. A calculation."

Her voice cracked slightly now, fury mixing with pain.

"These are people, Otto. Not just subjects. Not just mana sources. They bleed. They break. And what you're asking… would turn them into living experiments."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Even the aides stepped back slightly, watching the storm in her eyes.

Finally, Otto sighed, folding his arms.

"I didn't ask this lightly."

Virella's breathing slowed, but her voice was no less sharp.

"Then don't ask it again."

Virella's hands trembled at her sides, her voice still echoing faintly in the cold stone chamber.

"No more," she hissed, glaring at Otto with such intensity that even he—calculating, distant Otto—was forced to take a step back.

Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel. Her boots scraped against the floor as she stormed toward the door, her long cloak whipping behind her in a rush of air and anger.

As she passed the aides along the wall, one of them — a young man no older than twenty — stared at her, eyes wide in stunned silence.

Virella snapped her head toward him mid-stride.

"What are you looking at?" she snarled.

The aide flinched, his breath catching in his throat. He turned his head down immediately, shoulders hunched, eyes locked on the floor.

The others didn't move. No one dared.

She reached the heavy wooden door and tore it open with a sharp yank. The iron hinges groaned in protest as she stepped through.

SLAM.

The door shook the frame behind her, the sound reverberating down the stone hallway like a gunshot.

Outside the chamber, in the quiet corridor lit only by flickering torches, Virella leaned back against the cold door. Her shoulders slumped. Her breath came fast.

She slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn close, her cloak pooling around her like a crumpled shadow.

"…Did I go too far?" she whispered, voice shaking.

But then her fingers clenched into her coat. Her eyes stared blankly at the ground, lips trembling.

"No. I've seen what it does to people," she muttered. "I watched it… eat away at their minds. My peers—brilliant, kind mages—ripped apart by the power they couldn't control."

She swallowed hard, the memories clawing their way to the surface.

"My master tried to reach the Tenth Circle... He was the closest we've ever had. And it broke him. He screamed for days. Tore out his own eyes just to stop seeing the things the magic showed him."

Her voice cracked as a sob escaped her lips.

"I know what this does to people…"

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she covered her face briefly with her hands, trying to breathe—trying to stay composed.

But then—slowly—she lowered her hands.

Her shoulders straightened.

She wiped the tears with the back of her glove, standing shakily at first… then taller. Her chest rose with a sharp breath as a blue glint returned to her eyes.

"I have to warn him. The Führer will understand. He has to."

She tightened her cloak, a faint magical hum rising in her fingertips—not from rage this time, but purpose.

"If I can make him see… he'll show compassion. He must."

With quiet resolve, Virella stepped away from the door and started down the hall, her stride slower now — not out of fear, but clarity.