Metal Mage 14

by Eric Vall

  I made it out to the hall without toppling over, though, and after it took me nearly five minutes just to get my pants on, I gave up there as I tossed my shirt over my shoulder instead. Then I headed for the stairs, and I groaned at the expanse of marble steps blurring in front of me.

  I knew I didn’t have it in me, so I ended up just sliding my way down the whole flight on my ass, and when I landed in a sprawl at the base of the stairs, Alfred was peering down at me with a stack of letters in one hand.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” the butler said with a nod. “I trust you had a pleasurable evening.”

  I grunted in the affirmative as my eyes opened another sliver. “Does the word coffee mean anything?”

  “No, sir,” Alfred replied. “Should it?”

  “I guess not,” I sighed. “Do you have anything warm and drinkable that’ll make muscles do muscle things?”

  “Certainly, sir,” the butler assured me. “Shall I carry you to your shop, or would you prefer to wait on the floor?”

  “I’ve got this,” I wheezed as I groped around for the diamond-studded railing, and with great effort and some assistance from Alfred, I was swaying on my feet again. “I didn’t know ejaculation could cripple a man. I mean, I’ve considered the concept several times, but… ”

  I shook my feather light head as I tipped straight into Alfred, and the butler caught my weight as he chuckled a bit.

  “Shall I send for a healer, perhaps?”

  “Nah, I’ve got one upstairs,” I drawled. “She’s just tuckered out, otherwise, I’d be bartering with her for some Tiorlin berries. Warm and drinkable muscle juice would be good, though. I’ll be trekking that way if you need me.”

  I raised a wobbly finger toward the hall, and once the butler tucked my stack of letters in my palm for me, he wished me good luck before he promptly headed for the kitchen. I labored one shuffling step after another as I made my way to the shop, and halfway there, I realized I lost my shirt on the stairs, but it wasn’t worth the effort to go back for it now.

  Eventually, I made it to the atrium, and when I dropped onto my stool, my spine rippled once more as my dick instinctively twitched.

  “Down boy,” I muttered while I tossed the letters aside, and I tried rubbing my face back to life.

  Then I heard Stan’s little metal feet tapping along the worktable, and I squinted down to see him with his two tiny flags in hand again. He waved them in a questioning way as he looked up at me, and I chuckled like a drunk as my arms flopped heavily against the tabletop.

  “Hell yeah, buddy,” I sighed. “Wave ‘em high. Victories were had last night. Repeatedly.”

  Stan delivered the world’s littlest cha-cha as I snickered at his twirling flags, and when he ended in a one-kneed power pump, I nodded in agreement.

  “Damn right,” I chuckled. “Pretend my body’s capable of doing that.”

  The little metal man tilted his head to the side as he gestured to my healing rune, but I just shrugged.

  “No idea,” I admitted. “I’ve never been unable to sit up after one orgasm, but considering I spent most of the night on my back, I’m doubly confused. I know this is gonna sound dramatic, but I think I electrocuted my dick last night. Or Nulena electrocuted it for me so I would keep pumping sperm into her?”

  I stared off into space as I furrowed my brow, but thinking over that moment only made my spine ripple once more, and a violent shiver twitched through me like my dick was buried in the Baroness’ womb all over again.

  Then I looked at Stan tapping his chin in thought, and I waved the whole ordeal off with a leaden arm.

  “Anyways,” I sighed. “Let’s get into some rune shit. Don’t have to stand to do that, right?”

  The little metal man bounced eagerly as I summoned some fresh steel and copper over, and I used my powers to retrieve my engraving kit as well, even though it was only three feet away from my stool.

  “Alright, Captain Stan,” I said as I grabbed a slip of parchment. “Stealth destruction is your primary operative, which means none of my weapons are ideal. Lucky for you, though, I was onto something before that last channeling gem mysteriously killed itself.”

  Stan made a point of avoiding my gaze as he focused intently on the blank page in front of us, and I snorted as I began sketching out the elemental degree mapping. Then I drew the beginnings of a rune Dragir had helped me balance when I stopped by House Quyn about the rockets, and when I finished the last line, I shifted the paper to present it to Stan.

  “This is an altered form of the fireball rune I’ve been using for the 1911s,” I explained. “According to Dragir, this seventeenth degree will counter the flash of the flames, so while they’ll still be burning, they won’t give off a blaze. I have no idea how that’s supposed to work, but we’ll have to see when we do our first trial run. This line that intersects both the sixty-fourth and eleventh degrees is the silencing method we’re going with. Ideally, not even a crackle will give you away. Initially, I was gonna make you a fun little flamethrower, but--”

  Stan nodded vigorously as he rubbed his hands together, and I sent him an apologetic smirk.

  “I don’t think it’s gonna work, though,” I continued, and the little metal man deflated. “I know, but your intelligence last night got me thinking, and despite how powerful this rune will be, it doesn’t change the fact that tiny elemental degree lines tend to be less powerful. Using a weapon your size, you could be standing there all day trying to burn up one engraving with an exterior flame attack. Now that we know you’re up against foot-tall defensive runes, though, I’ve decided we need to pack a bigger punch straight into your target without running out the clock. Ideally, these burns should be able to carry on with the same strength while Solana books it to the next target, and one jet of enchanted flames doesn’t accomplish that.”

  Stan could see the logic, and I could tell he was trying not to look too bummed out about the flamethrower.

  “I think you’ll like our alternative option, though,” I assured him, “because I already have a highly effective way of achieving our goal, and if this balance of silencing elements works as it should, then it logically follows that its properties would transfer to whatever it’s being channeled through. For example, a bullet.”

  Now, Stan slowly looked up at me, and I sent him an evil grin.

  “That’s right, buddy,” I confirmed. “It’s miniature gun time.”

  The little metal man shot to his feet, and the way he exalted like a maniac with his arms out wide and his head thrown back made me wonder if this was his version of a villainous laugh. Then he started gunning down every scrap of metal in the shop with his invisible guns, and I briefly questioned if I was making a poor decision.

  “Before we begin, I’d just like to point out Cayla and I are huge fans of proper firearm usage,” I informed the little metal assassin, and he froze. “I think we both know how impressed she would be to see you handling the responsibility of a weapon with some modicum of professionalism.”

  Stan casually holstered his invisible guns, and he strolled back over to seat himself beside the parchment before he offered a calm nod.

  “Moving on,” I muttered, “I was actually thinking along the lines of a more long-range firearm on account of the power issues of tiny runes, so you won’t need those little holsters. We want your laced bullets to have as much force behind them as possible so they can impact the walls of the fortress without fail.”

  I began sketching out the runes I’d used on my AR-15s while Stan tried to be a stoic little man about it, and I smirked as I sensed his mounting excitement with every passing minute. Then I spent some time experimenting with the line density calculations I’d worked through last night, and I gradually shrank the runes down while trying to accommodate for the lack of size. When I sat up and considered the specks on the paper, though, I bit my lip because the result already looked too small to be effective.

  “I guess we’ll just have to see,” I mumbled,
and I summoned a small lump of steel before I started on a two-inch long replication of my semi-automatic rifles.

  Once I had one fully formed, I carefully took it apart piece by piece, and I attempted to engrave the runes on the inner contact points. Unfortunately, instilling a line as tiny as a flea’s leg at the proper placement on a shrunken degree mapping was an infuriating process, to say the least, and my brow was beaded with sweat as I hunched with my nose a centimeter off the table to try and manage it.

  I started over more times than my patience could handle as the erratic elements surged through the air around me, but after muttering every curse I knew on repeat, I finally succeeded in engraving just one of the necessary runes to power the tiny rifle.

  Then I took a long, shaky breath as Alfred arrived, and I was grateful for the distraction since my irritation hadn’t even begun to ebb enough for the next rune.

  “Here you are, sir,” the butler said as he placed a mug in front of me, and I stared at the dark blue liquid while tufts of blue steam billowed out of it.

  It smelled distinctly sharp, but I couldn’t compare the peculiar scent to anything in my memory, and while I swirled the mug around a bit, I realized it was a thicker consistency than coffee.

  “What is this called?” I asked as I raised the mug toward my lips.

  “Boiled bruja secretion, sir,” Alfred replied, and I promptly set the mug down as I turned to the butler.

  “What is a bruja?”

  “The bruja is a species of cat native to the southwest deserts of Cedis,” Alfred explained. “They’re the primary predator of their region despite being one third the size of the largest carnivore inhabiting the same area.”

  “And what part of the body did we extract this stuff from?” I clarified.

  “It’s actually an interesting bit of Cedis’ history,” the butler replied as he folded his hands. “Ancient healers embarked on a decades long study of the bruja some three hundred years ago, and they discovered the species possess a gland unlike any other creature at the base of their jaws. It secretes an oily substance when they hunt, and this activates the predatory kill instinct in their brains to a degree never before seen. One bruja is capable of mauling an entire pack of gillick hounds, which is no small feat. A single gillick hound could devour a man twice your weight in under ten minutes.”

  I nodded slowly. “So… it’s kill juice. Potent kill juice.”

  “The glandular secretion interacts differently with the human body than it does a bruja, sir,” Alfred assured me. “However, I believe the testing of boiled bruja secretion on elves went rather poorly. It was quickly made illegal to sell it beyond the borders of Cedis.”

  “That makes sense,” I muttered with a nod. “Probably should avoid serving it to ogres, too.”

  Then I cautiously eyed my steaming mug, and I couldn’t deny, I’d mainlined energy drinks back on earth with ingredient lists I was too afraid to dissect.

  Kill juice was pretty much organic by comparison, so I shrugged and took a sip, and I was pleasantly surprised to find it tasted a lot like earl grey tea. There were undertones of something musky, though, and I smacked my lips together as I tried to decide if I felt like a wildcat yet.

  “Huh,” I mused. “Not bad.”

  “Yes, it’s quite palatable and highly effective, sir,” Alfred replied as he slid my breakfast tray over. “Never drink more than sixteen ounces in a day.”

  I furrowed my brow while I watched the butler leave the shop, and Stan pushed the mug a little farther away from himself.

  Then I took another long swig before I shoved a whole buttered biscuit into my mouth, and I focused on chewing rather than the infuriating little lines I attempted to engrave for the next twenty minutes. By the time I finished my steaming mug of kill juice, not only were my limbs functioning again, but my mind was on high alert, and I suddenly felt like taking up cross country running.

  I didn’t have any inclinations to maul anyone, though, and my spine only felt a little wonky, so I decided I could get behind a beverage like boiled bruja secretion.

  It had also helped me complete the last rune on the mini AR-15 with much less difficulty thanks to my clearer mindset, and I had a full magazine of pellet-sized bullets loaded and ready to go shortly after. Since the trigger was too tiny for me to pull, and I didn’t want to risk blowing up Stan, I channeled my newfound energy into designing a miniature bench vise to mount it in. I could have used my metal powers to pull the trigger, but I didn’t want to use too much and blow us all sky high. So, I bolted the vise down to the table and recreated the same malleable steel I used for my snatchers’ netting systems, and I secured one end of the string to the two-millimeter trigger.

  “This will be the smallest trial run in history,” I told Stan as we crossed to the other side of the room.

  I let my metal man mime the countdown since he was super excited by this point, and when he got to one, I gave the string a light tug to pull the trigger.

  A pellet-sized bullet tossed itself from the barrel right on cue, but it only made it a very anticlimactic foot before dropping onto the table. I snorted as the pellet slowly rolled its way to the floor, and it sounded as light as pin-drop when it hit the stonework.

  “Okay, so I’ll have to chunk up the elemental lines a bit,” I muttered.

  I was wide-awake now, though, so the engraving process was less irritating to work through, but after two more trial runs, the pellet still only made it a measly two feet from the barrel. I sighed as the pellet pinged to the floor once more, and Stan kicked the air in his frustration.

  “See, this is where a channeling gem would’ve solved a lot of power issues,” I pointed out.

  The little metal man stiffened for a moment, but then he quickly became fascinated with the stitching on my vest, and I rolled my eyes while he studied the thread work from every possible angle. Then I removed the tiny rifle from the vise, and I sat back on my stool with a sigh.

  “I definitely can’t fit any larger engravings onto this,” I told Stan. “Without being able to extend the length of the lines into larger elements, we’ll never propel anything with enough force to penetrate a wall. We need some kind of external power pack, or it just won’t work.”

  So, I broke off a chunk of copper, and I decided to create an inch-long power hub in the shape of a battery that I could secure to the top of the buttstock. This made it possible to engrave a large enough trigger rune, and once I added a half-sized pack to the side of the handguard near where the gas port would be, I engraved the proper rune on the copper before I altered the copper wiring and remounted the rifle.

  “Alright, tiny test run number four,” I announced while I crossed the room again, and I let Stan pull the string this time.

  The little metal man leapt for joy when the AR-15 finally managed to fire the pellet-sized bullet faster than my eyes could track, but when it struck the wall, the bullet dropped to the ground without even making a dent.

  Stan slumped down as he let the string drop, and I dug the bullet out from under a shelf to find the small lump of copper had actually warped from the impact. My little metal man was so frustrated, he chucked his helmet across the room, but I patted his head as I returned to the worktable.

  “Hey, this is a problem I can easily fix,” I assured him. “Copper isn’t a very strong metal, especially in such a tiny package, but since we need to work with copper in order to conduct the power of the fire rune beyond the just the magazine, I can tip the bullets with tungsten, and then they should be strong enough to break through the wall.”

  I jogged to the training hall real quick and grabbed one of the tungsten axes I’d gotten from the warriors of House Syru, and when I got back, I found Stan struggling to hold up his new AR-15.

  I furrowed my brow. “Shit. Is it too heavy with the power packs?”

  The little metal man stubbornly shook his head, but when he finally managed to lift the rifle, he abruptly tipped forward from the weight.


  “Okay, we can fix this,” I decided. “I’ll siphon the copper from inside the packs to hollow them out, and that’ll cut the weight substantially.”

  The end product was somewhat cumbersome for Stan, but I could tell he’d get the hang of it with only a little practice, so I finished tipping the bullets in his magazine with tiny tungsten points, and then I gave him the all clear to try it out.

  Stan took aim at the same wall of the atrium, but the second he pulled the trigger, both of us were thrown backward as the power pack exploded in a flash of blue light.

  “Shit!” I yelped as I flew through the air and slammed into a rack of glaives on the opposite wall, and I scrambled out from under the Halcyan blades as I realized my bazooka rack had broken loose and crashed onto the worktable, too.

  Solana was struggling to get out of her crushed scrap pile while she frantically clawed at the table, and I rushed to help her out before we both began digging through the mess to find Stan.

  We found him headless at the bottom of the pile, but as alarming as this was to see, his rune was still intact while he swayed from side to side in my palm.

  “Godsdamnit, I’m so sorry, buddy,” I groaned as I rifled around for his little head, but then I hid it instead because Solana was upset enough without having to see Stan’s head had blasted clean open.

  The metal dragon was prodding Stan with her snout while she ran panicked circles around him, and she periodically bit my hand to make sure I knew how mad she was.

  “Ouch! I’m working on it,” I hissed as I attached a fresh head to Stan’s shoulders, and once he was able to turn it from side to side again, he let the dragon snuggle her head up on his lap as he looked up at me.