betterillusionist

[betterillusionist]

Modern Amaze (AmberxBlaze) my lil crackship from Shadowbound!

we determined she carries the stool around via straps like a backpack <3

[betterillusionist]

Speaking of the worst guy ever

I catboyed him for his crimes

[betterillusionist]

Test Realm: Zafaria

That lazy smile of his, always plastered onto his face. Not that they hate to see it. But... it's different. They can't quite place what about it is. It seems like everyone they meet is so... so...

Plastic. Fake. Stale. Lifeless.

As always, they are more than helpful with finding words for them.

“'ey, Wizard, you listening?” Snap! Snap!

I am, they confirm with an over-exaggerated nod. They're not. Not really.

There are too many emotions bouncing around inside them to muster up anything beyond that of apathy as they stare at their surroundings. Not that they don't care, either. They do. They also don't. And everything in between. Like always. Like normal.

The skybox is yellow. The terrain is also yellow. The mud is brown. The enemies... lions of varying colors. There's a new gardening NPC somewhere. Something, something... That's about it. All that's interesting so far, anyway. There's a story going on, too, they suppose, but with them clamoring over everything they're having a hard time focusing on the smaller details for themselves.

Aaron blinks back at the Wizard. He, too, hardly emotes much at all, always in a passively chipper mood to match his blank grin and basic red and white beginners robes. And yet - and it could be their eyes playing tricks on them - it seems like Aaron is ever so slightly... hurt? Perhaps the [DEVELOPERS] have made some tweaks to him since last the two have seen each other.

Aaron puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head to one side, his forever-smile seeming to drop ever so slightly. "Yeah, I know. Test Realm is a bit chaotic for ya. Lots of opinions. Lots of feedback." He pauses momentarily as his eyes are drawn to something just off to the side, visible to him but unseen to the Wizard. "Welp, that'll need to get fixed later..."

I am excited, they try to reassure him as best they can. A new World is always interesting.

"Man, I'd love to talk about all the Worlds I'm scouting out for the future, buuuuuuuut..." Aaron chuckles. "[DEVS] said I gotta keep it a secret."

I understand.

"Hmmm..." Aaron holds an arm up to his face and pulls back his sleeve. It looks like he's checking a wrist watch for the time despite the fact he doesn't have one built onto his model. "Hows about we call it quits for today? I'll need to close the place up for the night soon anyway."

Sure.

Even so, there's countless disappointed wails from the ether. They always hate it when Test Realm has to close. Sadly, it's not like Aaron can keep this subdimention open forever without it becoming greatly unstable. And so the Wizard, despite seeing it to be a good idea, is also sad as he watches Aaron work his own magic. With the simple clap of his hands, the two of them are teleported away from the yellow Savannah and into the flat cornflower blue expanse that is Aaron's domain.

Here, it is quiet. Their collective shout disappears from their mind, leaving behind a very hollow and aimless character as a result. The Wizard looks around at all the stuff Aaron has collected here with no thought or feeling towards anything in particular. Large signs shine over each pile of seemingly random junk:

DANGEROUS (but cute)

!!! POINTY !!!

REMOVED: [???]

Made me angry

Looks like a missing texture

Mine

As endless as this domain appears to be, the piles occupy but a small fraction of the limitless space, crammed all together as if Aaron thought these piles weren't going to continue to grow in size over time. And this is only the second newest World since the end of Arc 1.

And yet there is a sense of coziness to this place, too. Some of the things from the nicer piles jealously removed from the Spiral for their pleasing aesthetics have been scattered about the place, forming small cozy seating areas and wall-less room mock-ups. Lamps line the large central pathway they stand on and mark the corners of the many piles around them despite the place already being well-lit by some unknown, unseen light source.

"Ahhhhh, home sweet storage space!" Aaron beams, letting out a long stretch.

I have to go, Aaron, the Wizard states. They weren't expecting to be brought here at all. They are needed back in the Spiral - the real Spiral - for them.

"It's server downtime there too. We've got some time," Aaron reassures them with a dismissive hand wave. Once more, his expression appears to falter ever so slightly. Is his model breaking?

"Actually, I wanted to show you something I found."

The Wizard doesn't reply, but a large question mark briefly appears beside their head. They can say they are curious but they know that the emotion is incomplete without them around to borrow from. Nonetheless, Aaron motions for them to follow him.

At the end of the large central walkway is a series of screens floating in the air and a large static rift behind them. Text crawls across the screens at a rate the Wizard can't even read, though they doubt they'd even be able to understand them anyway. This is Aaron's place, after all. It's all for him and him only, not them.

But it's the rift that catches the Wizard's eye. They're not quite sure what the rift is supposed to be, nor have they asked or Aaron offered an explanation of his own accord. But stuck in the center of the white and gray noise is some kind of flat, jagged black crystal. The Wizard pauses momentarily, a flash of... something uneasy filling their hollow being. But Aaron walks right up to it unconcerned and grins wider as he presents it to the Wizard as if it were a trophy the [DEVELOPERS] modeled specifically for him.

What is it? the Wizard asks.

"It's just a mirror. Well, a piece of one, anyway. It works, too."

The Wizard steps up to the shard of broken mirror a little cautiously. They can't quite shake this dread within them. It is not from them, either; it feels like they are the one feeling it for themselves. And... it is just a regular mirror, it seems. They can seem themselves in its black reflection quite clearly despite the dark surface. Their smooth, porcelain face and shadowed eyes stares back at them. Despite their face not once breaking from their usual blank scowl, their reflection furrows its brow and its mouth falls into a scowl. Likewise, Aaron's reflection beams with pride and joy he usually cannot express with his model.

Something else stirs within them, as if they have returned yet... they have been condensed into a single voice. Quiet, weak, trying to find some sense of presence. And it is telling them that this is rather unimpressive.

This is it? they inquire, their emotionless tone taking on a slightly sharper edge to it.

"Cool, right? We can break our models with it!" Aaron puts his fingers up to the edge of his mouth, and his reflection stretches it wide and sticks its tongue out back at the two.

Where did you find this?

"Dragonspyre. That's why it was so late getting released."

The Wizard's reflection seems to raise an eyebrow, but it's hard to tell with their face being so obscure with shadow. But it reflects their interest. This little thing caused the delay of the finale of Arc 1 from being released on time?

All because of this mirror?

"Yep."

Why?

Aaron shrugs, his reflection pursing its lips with a confused expression. "Dunno. But it was screwing with the link back to the [DEVS] so it had to get removed."

And so you keep it with all your personal things?

Aaron's reflection scowls with annoyance. "Geez, I can't like being able to stare at myself?"

The Wizard is annoyed too, the emotion swelling within their chest. There are plenty of other mirrors.

"Yeah, but I like this one. I can make faces with it."

You don't even know what it is, do you?

"If you don't like it just say so," Aaron sighs with frustration. He turns away from the mirror and the Wizard to take a deep breath.

He was feeling enough to need to calm down?

I... do not, the Wizard tepidly confirms, also breaking eye contact with their reflection. At once, the little voice fades away once more and they fall back into their usual hollowness.

It isn't like them to make 'I' statements at all. There is no 'I'. 'I' implies they are one being, one identity, one voice. But they are a representation of them; there is no room for individuality when a collective must be served. And being their vessel is their only purpose.

And yet... it feels like something has changed within them. It's so slight it's barely even noticeable, but in the silence the Wizard can feel it. Hear it.

That singular voice, barely an audible murmur buzzing in their ear.

It is not someone from the Spiral. It is not them. It is not the [DEVELOPERS].

I should return now, they state.

"Oh, yeah, right," Aaron hums, having forgotten that the Wizard is not supposed to be here. "See you later, Wizzy!"

An inexplicable burst of frustration boils inside them. Don't-

But they are returned to the Spiral before they can even finish their thought without so much of a sound. Whatever strangeness they were feeling is drowned in an instant by their voices once again. Telling them what to think, to feel, to do, to be.

Everything and nothing. As they should be.

[betterillusionist]

Hunger and Despair

Duncan can't stay inside anymore. Physically, he can't. His stomach hurts and his mouth waters. So, reluctantly, he ventures beyond the four walls of his depressing home.

This is not something he is unfamiliar with. The silent seething at the world as he trudges alone down the street, wrapped in his robe not because he's cold but to tighten his armor. Only this time he isn't ignored. The blacks and silvers he wears draw stares and leave behind whispers in his wake. Pity permeates the air. But most just don't care. Maybe they should be paying more attention.

Resurrection, after all, is not a victimless chase.

It's not good enough to be able to call the ghosts back to the living plane. It's not good enough to live with zombies and wraiths. There is an unspeakable allure to the concept of resurrection, to bring the dead back in their entirety. Many have sought to crack its secret, the ultimate form of Necromancy.

For as much as he hated to hear the remarks brought against his Professor, he is far from surprised to have heard he, too, chased after it. The Dragon Titan and the Krokonomicon sounded to be quite the risky experiment. Sadly, he paid the price for trying. But he came close. That gives Duncan hope. And a starting point.

About all Duncan can afford to buy is a sandwich. It disappears in a matter of seconds. His stomach demands more. He wishes he could have more.

But where did Malistaire himself start? Where did he source his knowledge from? If Duncan could figure that out then he'll be able to pick up where he left off. Perhaps there's a better way to be capable of resurrecting the dead besides resting on the hopes of being able to control a Titan. He doubts he'll be able to make as much progress as Malistaire made on that front anyway. He doesn't want to raze the Spiral that bad. What's the point in resurrecting someone if there's no world for either of them to live in?

He doesn't want Malistaire to return to a hellscape alone. Neither Sylvia. Nor his own mother.

Quietly Duncan wanders through the streets of Wizard City aimlessly lost in thought. Wondering what to do, where to go, who to ask. The next step is so incredibly nebulous, but once he finds it, it should hopefully be smooth sailing from there. At least, that's his hope.

“Ah!” a cronish cackle sounds suddenly, causing Duncan to raise his head. He finds himself stopped on the sidewalk of Firecat Alley, the sky a bright orange-red and shimmering with heat. Across the way, a long, crooked nose extends out from underneath a pointed purple witches hat as two bright brown eyes peer back at him. The witch doesn't appear too old despite her graying hair and crows feet, sweeping the front of what he can only assume to be her house with a broom that's been well-loved over the years like she were a young and spry woman. Though there is an undeniable hunch to her back and slight hobble in her step as she leans on her tool for some modicum of support. “If it isn't the young Grimwater, hehehe.”

Duncan doesn't reply. He has nothing to say to Gretta Darkkettle anyway. In fact, he wasn't even expecting to see the former Ravenwood School Alchemist anywhere outside of her house, not even her yard. Yet here she is, greeting him of all people.

“Off on a stroll, I see?” she continues to hum with a grin.

“You... could say that,” Duncan nods back curtly.

“Such a shame what happened with that Professor Drake. Condolences, my poor boy. However have you managed?”

Duncan falls quiet again, his eyes darting away from the witch. Aside from shutting himself away from the world? He's not been managing at all. But he's not about to admit it aloud. Especially not to her. He has other things on his mind he wants to get back to thinking about.

Though before he can leave her quietly behind, she pipes up once more with an enticing offer, “Why not take a break from your wandering and come have some lunch?”

He perks up at the sound of food, perhaps a bit too eagerly for his liking. Food? For free? And she doesn't mind?

Gretta, seeing his very apparent hunger, chuckles and turns back to her front door, gesturing for him to follow after her. And Duncan, without much further question, crosses the street to the other side. He'll take almost anything to eat by this point. Ceren's in class right now so it's not like he can bother him for any snacks he can spare.

Stepping into the house, he is instantly hit with the sound of bubbling liquid and the humidity left behind by steam as Gretta hobbles her way over to her little kitchen area. Almost every surface is filled with glass vials and beakers and alchemical ingredients and equipment. In a large black cauldron, some kind of thick broth boils over an open flame. It's from this cauldron that Gretta spoons out a heaping helping into a bowl that doesn't quite appear to be used for normal meals. Regardless, she plucks a spoon from a drawer and sets the “meal” down onto the clearest spot she can find.

“Go on, give it a try,” Gretta invites, nodding to the bowl. “It's an old family recipe of mine. Good for growing children such as yourself.”

“Thank you.”

Though Duncan finally pauses once he cradles the bowl in his hand. It's warm, of course, and looks just like regular soup. Little bits and pieces of solid chunks float about in the murk, briefly revealing themselves to him as they float about lazily, unsuspecting the hungry being above them.

His eyes narrow at the food offered to him. Then he looks back at the witch that has invited him into her humble abode. She smiles back at him from the kitchen nearby. Watching him. Waiting.

“How did you know I was hungry?” he asks her.

“Hmph! Is inviting people in to try my soup a crime now?” Gretta replies. “It's not poisoned if that's what you're so worried about.”

“No.” Well, yes. Sort of.

“Come now, boy. Not eating a meal served to you is a tad rude, isn't it?”

Duncan purses his lips. His stomach growls. The aroma of the soup fades back into focus, stronger than before.

He takes a deep breath and tries a bite. She has a point. And he is hungry.

“Mm...!”

A burst of flavor washes over his tongue. Hot with warmth and spice, though not too hot for his liking. Just enough to give the broth boldness. He bites down on a cube of meat, soft enough to be broken up and swallowed with relative ease. It all slides down his throat with little resistance to be felt, and it settles in his eagerly-awaiting stomach gently.

Silver eyes sparkling, Duncan begins to scarf down the bowl.

Gods... he's a lot hungrier than he thought he was.

“Like it? There's more if you want-”

Duncan holds out his empty bowl. “Yes.”

And without much else said, Gretta serves him another bowl.

Now, Duncan finally sits in a plush recliner, munching away a little slower on his seconds, enjoying the taste, licking the spoon after each and every bite he takes. A small pang of sorrow stabs at his heart that he tries to bury beneath the taste of the soup. It reminds him so much of his mother. When was the last time he's had a nice, home-made meal? Besides Ceren's sweets of course.

He's... not sure.

He falls quiet and still in the chair, staring down aimlessly at his bowl.

“Though,” Gretta's voice fills the room as she finds a seat for herself nearby. She continues to clutch her broom as she stares at the young Necromancer, “you're not completely wrong. There is something I wish to discuss with you. The food is but a bonus.”

Duncan glances up at her again, his eyes narrow. “What is it?”

Gretta grins, her face scrunching up with her many wrinkles. “Tell me, boy, how interested are you chasing the research of your dearest Professor?”

[betterillusionist]

Second Time a Broken Heart

Duncan can't face going outside anymore. Outside is where everyone lies in an attempt to mar his heart. He won't stand for it, nor them. Even if it starves him, he'll remain here, safe and sound with what he knows to be true.

It's only been a day and a half, he is at least aware of. His snacks are dwindling quickly as his hunger grows. He missed seeing Ceren last morning and getting a sweet treat for his troubles. And he misses him today, too. He wonders how he's doing. If he's heard at all. He probably has.

That Malistaire Drake is dead.

But how can he be? The greatest Necromancer anyone has ever known, dead. At the hands of someone barely younger than he is, no less! Impossible.

All anyone has been waiting on is an excuse to openly mock and ridicule a great man. The fruits of jealousy emerging from former students of his class finally ripening, having never reaches the same heights as their teacher.

He stares at the picture hanging down from the bookcase by a thin string listlessly. Malistaire's hand on his shoulder. Malorn beneath a proud Sylvia. Those lively grins feel worlds away from the nightmare that is today. So alive. So carefree. Thinking it would all last forever. The private studies. The warm meals. The laughter. The bickering.

He can't be dead. He simply can't be dead.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Duncan?” comes a call from outside, just beyond his curtained window. “Duncan, I know you're in there!”

Of course Malorn is here. Why wouldn't he be?

Duncan takes his time unwrapping himself from his pretzel-like state on the couch, a weave of scrunched limbs and the thin blanket he sleeps under. Malorn will remain at the door until he emerges, he knows. That's just how he is. Has been. Always will be.

He's grateful for him. More than he expresses. Though he feels like he wastes his time trying to bring others up to his level over improving himself even further.

He opens the door. Malorn promptly pushes his way inside, causing Duncan to take a few steps back down the dark hallway. His face is a concerned as it is somewhat annoyed.

“Where have you been, Dunc?” Malorn asks, his brow furrowed. “You know class is–”

Duncan just shakes his head, a wellspring of emotion stirring in his chest. “I can't, Mal. I just... I can't hear them talk about Malistaire like that. He can't be dead! Why are they all saying that?”

Whatever it is Malorn is feeling melts in the face of his distress. He shifts his staff from up at his side to across his chest, holding it in both his hands. His jester hat appears to deflate somewhat as his head bows ever so slightly.

A pit begins to form in Duncan's gut as he watches his friend's demeanor change. He doesn't like where this is going.

“Look, Dunc,” he begins to speak in a calm and even tone.

Duncan feels the need to interrupt him before he continues his thought. His heart throbs over seeing the need to ask him, “You... You don't believe them, Mal, do you?”

Malorn's shoulders tense, his chest and arms and staff rising as he takes a deep breath. Duncan doesn't like his face. There is no anger to it. There is no defiance. Nothing to indicate that he has been combating against the rumors like him, suffering in silence as everyone around him beats him down with their assertions.

But then Malorn exhales, and his softness steels. He lifts his chin to face Duncan with as much courage as he can muster.

“It's not rumor; it's fact,” he asserts. “Malistaire is dead.”

A heavy silence passes between the two of them.

Duncan's first reaction is to cry. His tired eyes sting with tears and his heart stabs against his chest. Something inside him withers and dies, barbed thorns stabbing at wounds he's been barely holding together. So small and vulnerable. Needing somewhere to run off to and hide for a little while, where he can rock himself to sleep from exhaustion and heartache.

But it quickly turns to anger, his gut boiling as a sneer paints his tearful face. How dare Malorn come all the way here, into his house, to tell him to give up his hope. His last remaining fragment of a normal life. Of something he loved and cherished.

Has he been lying to his face this entire time?

His body acts before he can think. His hands shoot out, landing square on Malorn's chest as he gives him a hefty shove. He pushes the Acting Professor out of the house and down to the ground. Then he grabs the front door and slams it shut in his face.

Locks it.

Steps away.

Takes a breath.

Staggers back into the living room.

Fumbles with the books holding the strung picture in place.

Grabs it on either side.

Rips it right down the middle.

And throws himself back onto the couch.

He's breathing heavily. His heart races. His head spins. Tears roll down the sides of his face in thick waterfalls. His nose clogs. And held loosely in his hands are the two halves of his beloved photograph, the thought of having done so making him sick. He desecrated the last thing he has of his Professor.

He holds up the one with him and Malistaire. The last time he saw his face, he was so distraught. Hardly even regarded the concerned Duncan at his doorstep, wondering where he had been the last few days, missing him greatly.

He can't be dead. How can he be? Why does he have to be the last one to find out? To be told the news through sneers and backhanded comments. Even Malorn is with them. How long has he known for? How long did he keep it a secret? Why didn't he just say something?

And Duncan is alone again in a dark and empty house. Cold. Starving. And angry.

[betterillusionist]

Chasing Relics

Concept Art

Hi all! Lately me and @betterillusionist have been cooking up a fic idea that’s been stewing for the last several months, so be on the lookout for when it drops!

Unofficial Summary:

Simeon Firemane grows suspicious of his elusive training partner: Roland Silverheart. Simeon’s past as a dragonspyrian spy leads him to question the mysteries shrouding the old knight.

But the more he uncovers, the bloodier Roland’s past gets.

Additional Art:

This is an NPC centric story developed using personal headcanons!

~~Ask Box is open~~

[betterillusionist]

Everyone gets hit with the Band AU beam I fear AKA I saw Babymetal and now idol AU living rent free

[betterillusionist]

Happy pride to the biggest losers in the spiral

[betterillusionist]

Ivan Soulsinger and Simeon Firemane <3

[betterillusionist]

A lil doodle dump of characters from my friend Storm's book Shadowbound!!!

Go read it > here!

[betterillusionist]

Shadowbound Audiobook Artwork

Finally finished making all of the sketches I drew for the audio book streams! The last one was in the works for a while because I got so busy, but I'm glad it's done now :D

Doesn't look too shabby if I do say so myself.

Also, this is your bi-monthly reminder that, biases aside, Shadowbound is actually a really great book and I think you all should read it. I love Blaze so much and I really wanna talk about him please let me talk about him- If you don't wanna buy the book, then there's always listening to the audiobook for free on the author's YT :3

And did you know the second book will hopefully be coming out sometime this year? Well, now you do :D

Story by @betterillusionist! Go check her out <3

[betterillusionist]

A kind plea (that will most likely backfire) to all the scammers out there to stay out of my ask box. Thank you :)

[betterillusionist]

just wanted to say your art is making me wanna play wiz again!! i miss the wizard city npcs so bad esp my boys duncan and marlon 🫰🏻

They miss you too =D

But honestly thank you :,3 it’s always so touching knowing that my art serves as an inspiration

[betterillusionist]

“Your heart is heavy. Allow me to alleviate your burdens”

Shadow!Ceren >:) idea and drawing request from my writing buddy. We’ve been infecting a lot of the NPC’s with shadow magic lately

[betterillusionist]

"The boss sent me."

The Cabal hideout is a complete mess. Bodies litter the halls and chambers; all those that fought back were met with the consequence. Those that stayed their hands were not exempt from the beating, either. The dead and the unconscious are hard to tell apart.

Banners are torn to shreds. Furniture is either overturned or obliterated into many wood and metal fragments. Lights struggle to say on, with some having been killed outright, casting swaths of the hideout in darkness.

The shadows themselves ooze mysterious goo, blacker than any void and colder than the harshest winter. Simply being near but an ounce of it is enough to inflict fear upon even the strongest of wills.

And those four words ring in his head, nearly making him want to go deaf then and there.

The boss sent me.

The figure's stare bores into him as he quivers on the ground, one hand raised protectively in hopes that it'll keep the beast's wrath away from him. Their black robe is formless, covering their body from head to toe. Their face is bathed in thick shadow. Their warbled voice is haunting to hear, carrying with it the thick stench of magic – dread and death.

The boss never "sends" anyone unless something went seriously awry, which is not often since each branch is largely autonomous from the others. But there are times where larger plans hinge on the smaller ones, and it's simply up to chance on whether or not anyone is informed at all.

"P-P-P-P-Please," he stammers, "spare me..."

The figure approaches slowly, their footsteps inaudible, as if they were but a mere ghost. Looming over the poor Cabalist, the figure extends a long purple-blue hand, fingers as long and sharp as claws. They wrap around his green Cabal-issued robe and lifts him up into the air with ease.

"Well," the figure hisses, "since you begged so nicely, I just might. On one condition."

The figure pauses, waiting for the Cabalist to reply or maybe even beg for his life more, only to be met with disappointment. His voice is completely gone, the poor recruit scared speechless.

"You all just stumbled upon a very important plan," the figure continues. "While I'm sure you didn't intend for that Drake to die, some of us were. So I'm here to take charge of your little operation and make sure everything continues to run smoothly. And if anyone has any problems with that, I request for them to be sent directly to my office."

The Cabalist nods furiously, as furiously as he can from hanging in the air by his collar.

"Good." The figure releases the Cabalist from his grasp, letting him fall to the floor like a bag of trash, and quietly glides over his shivering body. The poor recruit doesn't dare to lift his head until the figure is out of sight. The only problem to his plan is that the figure is so quiet that he doesn't know when - if - they're gone.

"Oh, and one more thing," the figure speaks once more, their hooded head appearing directly next to the Cabalist. All the blood in his body runs cold as he becomes perfectly still, petrified by terror. He can't see the figure's face, but he has the strong feeling that they're smiling. Whether or not they're reveling in his great despair or at something else entirely is hard to tell.

"If anyone asks," the figure chuckles, "tell them that they now answer to Deimos."

[betterillusionist]

Oc’s and NPC’s

Pyromancers and their silly purple guys

[betterillusionist]

Guys, the new Gacha Story Visual Novel Creator is looking amazing! I can make my blorbos in it!!!

Thanks to @ecogirl2759 for actually playing the game so I didn't have to :D