In this world, Magic is Everything. All people, all races, are granted with the power to perform mystical and magical feats via grimories, mystical tomes granted to each and every child on their 15th birthday. Those blessed by the mana can have their names written down in legend.
Shattered Grimoires is the work of the mind(s) of Ardere & Shattered Grimoire's staff. All characters and content are copyright their creators, and may not be replicated without their creators' permission. Black Clover is owned by Yuki Tabata and published by Viz Shonen Jump. All images belong to their original owners. The theme you are currently viewing was made by Eliza of ElizaCodes exclusively for Shattered Grimoires.
Amidst the tumultuous aftermath of Gawain's mighty blast, Amon's keen eyes discerned a fleeting window of opportunity. The catacomb's shadows, still swirling with the lingering residue of their magical clash, momentarily veiled his movements, granting him a precious fraction of concealment from the ever-watchful eyes of the Blade Stalkers.
With the remnants of Charlemagne's existence dissipating like an ephemeral mist, Amon seized the very essence of the moment. His armor lay shattered and battered, yet his determination blazed more intensely than ever. In that split second, the Blade Stalkers, momentarily distracted by the cataclysmic aftermath of the explosion, found themselves utterly unprepared as Amon bridged the distance separating them with breathtaking celerity.
His sights were firmly set on the closest Blade Stalker, its misty form still reeling from the devastating impact of the Stone Hand. Before the assassin could regain its bearings or muster any semblance of defense, Amon unleashed a meticulously precise strike. His fragmented blade cleaved through the swirling shroud of darkness, and the Blade Stalker's anguished cry echoed through the catacomb as it fragmented into oblivion, dissolving like smoke in a gust of wind.
Amon's decisiveness did not escape the notice of the remaining assassins. The three Blade Stalkers, their predatory instincts now resurgent, turned their collective malevolence toward him. The catacomb's eerie calm shattered into discord as they abandoned their graceful circling and advanced upon Amon with synchronic maleficence.
Though Amon's heart raced within the crucible of his chest, he remained resolute. His very survival hinged upon his capacity to exploit the distinctive vulnerabilities of these assassins and carve openings for himself. Echoes of his grandfather's wisdom reverberated within, urging him to exercise patience, acute observation, and an unwavering readiness to strike when the opportunity manifested.
The Blade Stalkers closed in, their blades gleaming with a sinister promise of doom. Amon, attuned to his very core, meticulously scrutinized their movements, seeking that one pivotal moment when their defenses would waver. The catacomb's hoary stones bore silent witness to this macabre ballet of life and death, where Amon, fortified by his indomitable spirit and tactical acumen, confronted the remaining Blade Stalkers, poised to seize the burgeoning prospects that would manifest amid the crucible of combat.
Meanwhile, Gawain, endeavoring to recuperate from the overwhelming expenditure of his potent spells, endeavored to regain his composure. The battle had not abated, and Amon remained in dire need of his assistance. Veiled within the concealing shroud of shadows, the assassins lingered, and the destiny of the valiant magic knight hung in precarious balance. Gawain steeled himself, his resolve unwavering, resolute in his determination to confront the lingering threats within the ancient catacomb.
As the triumvirate of remaining Blade Stalkers descended upon Amon, their misty forms pulsating with predatory intent, the ancient catacomb seemed to hold its very breath. Amon's heart thudded with fevered intensity, his senses honed to the zenith of their potential. The impending crucible bore down upon him with the weight of impending doom, yet he refused to yield to the encroaching despair.
The Blade Stalkers, their movements choreographed in a deadly ballet of calculated strikes, unleashed their blades with relentless precision, each stroke seeking to cleave Amon's life from his very being. But Amon's tumultuous journey, rife with countless trials and tribulations, had honed his skills and etched his instincts into a razor-sharp edge.
Drawing upon his formidable training, Amon gracefully sidestepped the initial lunge of the first Blade Stalker, as if dancing with the wind itself. The blade's passage, a mere breath away, whispered its deadly intent. The second assassin, a harbinger of death from behind, lunged with lethal determination, yet Amon's senses ignited with an almost preternatural acuity, alerting him to the imminent danger. He pivoted with grace, rolling forward with balletic finesse, narrowly eluding the sweeping arc of the assassin's blade.
Simultaneously, the third Blade Stalker advanced, its form melding with the encroaching shadows, a harbinger of doom. Amon, a master of the moment, pirouetted with unmatched dexterity, his fragmented blade cleaving through the very air. The assassin's form fragmented, dispersing into a chaotic swirl of malevolent mist, vanquished like a fading nightmare, leaving two shadows in its wake.
The remaining Blade Stalkers hesitated, an ephemeral flicker of uncertainty dancing within their misty forms. It was the critical opening Amon had been steadfastly awaiting. His determination aflame, Amon held his ground, unwavering in his resolve. With unwavering intent, he channeled his inner magic, invoking his spell, Earth Creation: Pebble Gun.
Extending his index finger and thumb, Amon conjured a ping pong-sized earthen pebble from the wellspring of his grimoire. The pebble, poised upon his fingertips, quivered with elemental energy. With the gentlest of taps, his thumb met his index finger, and the spell was set into motion. The pebble, honed to a razor's edge, streaked through the air, its trajectory set to strike one of the remaining Blade Stalkers.
The pebble struck with pinpoint accuracy, eliciting a convulsive cry of anguish from the targeted assassin. While its destructive force paled in comparison to Amon's prior onslaughts, the pebble gun ruptured the assassin's coherence, a dire threat to its very essence. Amon understood that each ounce of damage inflicted marked a step nearer to victory.
The wounded Blade Stalker, writhing in torment, staggered, its misty form unraveled by the unexpected assault of the pebble gun. Amon, a whirlwind of action, hesitated not a fraction of a heartbeat, capitalizing on the brief interlude of vulnerability. With blinding speed, he lunged forward, wielding his fragmented blade as a surgeon might wield a scalpel. His motions, a seamless fusion of precision and swiftness, sheared through the vestiges of the assassin's darkness.
The catacomb resounded with the eerie lament of the dissipating Blade Stalker, leaving but two adversaries in its wake. Witnessing the demise of their brethren, the remaining assassins seemed to cocoon themselves within an intensified aura of malevolence. They circled Amon with renewed aggression, their gleaming blades poised for a final, desperate gambit.
One of the assassins, propelled by ruthless determination, lunged with murderous intent. Amon met the lethal strike with a fusion of agility and earth magic, executing a nimble evasive maneuver that narrowly eluded the blade's deathly kiss. Simultaneously, Amon, his mastery over earth magic unwavering, summoned forth yet another earthly projectile, invoking the spell, Earth Creation: Pebble Gun.
In the crucible of the ongoing chaos, Amon, with relentless determination, unleashed the second earthy projectile with unerring precision. The earthen pebble, propelled with deadly accuracy, found its mark in the heart of the Blade Stalker. The assassin contorted and cried out, its misty visage writhing in anguish as the pebble continued to disrupt its ethereal form. The catacomb's timeworn stones almost appeared to sympathize with the haunting cries of the wounded entity, as if echoing its torment.
As the final echo of the spell reverberated through the catacomb, Amon, fueled by sheer determination and running on the fumes of his magical reservoir, felt a surge of exhaustion envelop him like a suffocating shroud. Every sinew of his being strained to maintain composure. With a resilience that defied the weight of his wearied body, he faced the remaining assassin, his eyes gleaming with a fierce tenacity.
But the relentless exertion and the strain of his formidable magical endeavors exacted their toll. Amon's resolve, unyielding as it was, could no longer stave off the inevitable fatigue. With a profound weariness, he dropped to his knees upon the ancient catacomb floor, a solitary figure amidst the lingering echoes of his magical onslaught.
The remaining Blade Stalker, though battered and disrupted, seized upon the opportunity presented by Amon's momentary vulnerability. It lunged forward with a desperate, final strike, its gleaming sword poised for the kill. The catacomb, witness to the ebb and flow of this tumultuous battle, held its breath as Amon, drained and weary, faced the imminent threat with his every ounce of resilience.
Statistics
POW: 12 DUR: 16 SEN: 00 STA: 20 CON: 10
SPEED: 5m/s HEALTH: Senior + Senior MANA SKIN: senior MANA POOL: 55 / 55 MANA REGEN: 20 IC / 10 OOC
Name of Spell: Earth Creation: Pebble Gun Elemental Type: Earth Rank & Spell Type: Junior | Attack Creation Range & Speed: 25m | 10m/s Mana Cost: 10 | 5 Stats Effected: N/A Applicable Perks: APEX PREDATOR Description: Upon saying the name of his spell Amon will extend his index finger and thumb and shoot a ping pong size pebble of dirt formed from his grimoire at the tip of his finger. Tapping his thumb to his index finger will trigger the firing of this spell. More can be shot afterward as per ammo rules. This deals junior damage.
Notes
WORD COUNT: 1315 TOTAL WC: 8730 Mana: TAG(S):Gawain 3 Stalker remains. One full health and two half health. The one I stab in the chest will come back as it was a spell that caused it to dissipate.
Taking in several deep breaths as he slowly exhaled to find his center in all of violence, Gawain had no choice but to close his eyes temporarily. This would allow him to block out the rest of the world for a while, focusing instead on the flow of mana inside of him. Releasing spells of the magnitude he had been, especially since his body had never allowed for it up until now was a considerable feat for the young man. But one could not expect to fight a foe as powerful as Charlemagne without pushing themselves to a higher level they previously could not reach. Slowly beginning to find his center and grounding himself with both feet planted firmly on the ground, the realization that Charlemagne had perished had really only just sank in when he looked at what was right in front of him. A deep trench dug through the floor tiles and a hole in the far wall.
Feeling the flow of the world in a short space around him, part of him felt that all was well, and that he wasn’t going to be erupting due to using too many powerful spells any time soon. Part of him had imagined that overusing too many powerful spells so quickly after unlocking the ability to do so would put him at risk, however this seemed to be a gross overdramatization of the facts. Because the facts were that he was still very much alive and well, actually feeling incredibly well and being about as healthy as he could be. But as he looked ahead of him, the same could not be said for Amon, not for a whole lot longer at least. For as one of the warriors began his advance and aimed to strike the purple orca with his blade, there seemed to be very little the guy could have done about it after fending off so many of the warriors already. But as promised, the man could count on his help now that Charlemagne was done. So with a forward thrust of his palm, a blast shot forward and intercepted the man in mid air.
Feeling no sense of fatigue as the man got flung through the room like a ragdoll thrown by an angry child, it all felt even more empowering. Because in all honesty, Gawain felt reborn. Extending his index and middle finger, he released several powerful bullets of compressed air into the room, aiming them at the remnants of the warriors that remained in the room. Making sure that none of them would get the chance to kill anyone in here ever again while at the same making sure that the only one who got to desecrate this massive tomb with grave robbery would be himself, the ashen haired youth controlled the bullets with a lot more flair than usual. Directing them like conductor did to his orchestra, the pressurized bullets soared with such power that simply hitting their intended targets caused their bodies not to shatter apart, but to leave bullet sized holes that did not even bleed for the first second.
As if their hearts and brains hadn’t actually registered the damage at first, they still managed to run for a few steps before they just collapsed to the floor, followed by a cascade of blood. With their collapse, it would appear as though every living or unliving soul that might have stood in his way had been put down hopefully for good. And as he looked at the man, for a moment, there was the thought that pondered the idea of what would have happened if he had died here. At that point, literally everything that was uncovered down here was his and his alone, meaning he would earn a whole bunch more money based on the items and relics he might be able to sell. While it was not enough to muse the thought of actually killing the guy for a bit of money, Gawain knew plenty of people who would most certainly have considered it. Hell, his even younger version that was a slave to the Villtsung would have done more than consider it. He would have done it, and he wouldn’t have felt bad about it for even a second.
“You should get out of here while you still can, get someone to see to those wounds before you end up collapsing or killed by whomever else might stroll in here. I’m going to see what else there is to learn from this place before heading back on my own.”
Instructing the older man to get fixed before one of the greenskins outside might come in looking for easy prey, Gawain very much intended to check out the actual tomb to see if there was anything else to be learned about this Charlemagne and what made his sword such a legendary tool. Once he was done with that, he’d begin looting anything that seemed like it might be worth a bit of money on the black market. It was within his nature to make sure that whatever he did ended up making him better in some way, which meant he could come out stronger, more well equipped or simply richer. All of these things were entirely acceptable to him. By no means was he going to miss out on the best part of dungeon delving, not when he had gone through so much trouble to reach it in the first place.
Name of Spell: Puncture Used Twice Elemental Type: Air Pressure Rank & Spell Type: Intermediate | Attack Creation | Sensory (Homing) Range & Speed: 40m | 25 m/s Mana Cost: 20 | 10 Stats Effected: - Applicable Perks: Overpowered | Quick Shot Description: Putting his index and middle finger together, Gawain will point his right hand at his target, using the tips of his fingers as a vocal point from which it is fired. This a sphere roughly ten centimeters wide for the purpose of puncturing the target. The attack itself is non-lethal, unless direct contact with one's vitals is established, as well as causing painful cuts and bruises on people and breaking most unreinforced walls, dealing Intermediate rank damage. In addition, the accuracy and chance to hit can be further improved by utilizing Homing rules, including following the target in adherence to those same rules. The bullet follows the target that was initially pointed at until it hits, runs out of space or hits another object. To those without at least 20 sensory, this spell will be invisible, appearing as a wispy green ball to others.
Name of Spell: Move Elemental Type: Air Pressure Rank & Spell Type: Intermediate | Attack Creation Range & Speed: 40m | 25 m/s Mana Cost: 20 | 10 Stats Effected: - Applicable Perks: Overpowered | Quick Shot Description: By extending the left hand and pointing an open palm (stop motion) and holding a half-ram sign with the right hand, Gawain's eyes flare up with a wispy green hue as a means of initiating the spell and as a vocal point for the release of mana, a blast of wind is released into the chosen direction roughly three meters wide and tall. Aiming to envelop the target and blasting them and everything else caught up in the blast back, the spell uses a fairly powerful knockback effect capable of tossing targets back up to nine meters + an additional 5 meters for every 10 Power. The attack itself is non-lethal, unless contact is established with one’s vitals, though capable of causing painful bruises and breaking through most unreinforced walls, dealing Intermediate rank damage. To those without at least 20 sensory, this spell will be invisible, appearing as a flat wispy green square to others.
As Amon knelt on the cold, ancient catacomb floor, the aftermath of the intense battle hung heavily in the air. His body throbbed with exhaustion, every muscle aching from the relentless combat. Gawain's voice reached him through the haze of fatigue, urging him to leave, to seek medical attention for his wounds and escape while he still had the chance. It was a voice of concern, a voice that reminded Amon of the bond they shared as comrades.
Amon turned his head, his eyes locking onto Gawain's as he nodded weakly, acknowledging the wisdom in his friend's advice. The concern in Gawain's eyes was evident, but Amon's gaze was fixed on the yawning entrance to the catacomb's inner sanctum. There was something in there, something of immense significance, and he couldn't turn his back on it now, not after the trials and tribulations they had endured to reach this point.
Thank you, Gawain, Amon replied, his voice a hoarse whisper, yet resolute. But there's something here, something important. I can feel it. I can't leave it unexplored. I promise to be cautious.
With those words, Amon gathered the last reserves of his strength, slowly pushing himself upright. His hand grasped his fractured blade, the weapon that had served him faithfully throughout this perilous journey. He cast a last look at Gawain, his eyes conveying gratitude and determination before he turned back toward the tomb's entrance.
The catacomb's interior beckoned, and as Amon ventured further in, the atmosphere seemed to change. The air grew colder, carrying with it a palpable sense of history and power. The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate carvings and symbols, telling stories of long-forgotten battles and heroes.
At the heart of the chamber lay the stone sarcophagus, its lid partially ajar as if inviting Amon to unlock its secrets. He approached it with a mix of caution and reverence. This could be the final resting place of Charlemagne, a legendary figure of myth and history.
With a deep breath, Amon pushed the lid fully open, revealing the contents within. Inside the sarcophagus, he found not just the mortal remains of Charlemagne but a treasure trove of artifacts and relics. Ancient tomes, their pages filled with knowledge spanning centuries, lay beside enchanted weapons and intricately designed armor. Relics of immense magical power radiated with a subdued aura that sent shivers down Amon's spine.
It was a historian's dream come true, and a treasure hunter's paradise. Amon's eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight before him. He knew that he couldn't carry all these priceless items alone, but he could, at the very least, document what he found and return with help to preserve these treasures for the world to see.
TOPIC EXIT
Statistics
POW: 12 DUR: 16 SEN: 00 STA: 20 CON: 10
SPEED: 5m/s HEALTH: Senior + Senior MANA SKIN: senior MANA POOL: 55 / 55 MANA REGEN: 20 IC / 10 OOC
Spells
List spells here, would recommend using spoilers if you include spell descriptions