“That was amazing,” he said when he was dragged away by the arm. “I’ve never heard of ore being split like that. It’s incredibly sophisticated!”
“That it is. How come you forgot the enchantment to get the aerators out? It’s pretty simple.”
“I didn’t forget it,” grinned the necromancer. “I never knew it?”
The man frowned. “Then how come-“
“Always been good at lip reading,” Azrael informed him.
“Wow, that’s pretty handy. Here, we’ve reached advisor Bakas’ office. Come on in.”
“Advisor? I thought she worked in water purification.”
“That was years ago! How long has it been since you two last spoke?” asked Mattias, still leaving no room in his heart for suspicion. Azrael cursed his memory silently.
When the two knocked, they were greeted with a cheerful, “Come on in!” the red haired man chuckled to himself, and Azrael realized that he’d found a kindred soul in the man. They both loved to have their fun. Knowing that there was little reason to keep up his façade. He let the fake accent drop with a sigh, letting his true Aetherian extravagance shine through. “Well then, master Finch. I thank you for the tour, but shall be able to take care of the rest quite well enough on my own!” Leaving the man standing outside, Azrael stepped through the door, shut it behind him, and turned to a now slightly alarmed Sera.
“Who are you?” she demanded with a pointed finger from her seated position. In response, Azrael took off his brooch. She almost jumped right out of her own skin. “Az- Az- Az-“ she spluttered, still pointing a finger.
“Yes, Sera,” exclaimed the now tall thin raven haired necromancer. He had wished for a brooch to actually change his features, but needed to settle for a psion’s artefact designed to affect the sensibilities of those around him. “It’s me. I died that night, like you heard. You can tell what that means, I assume?”
“Ye-Ye-Ye-“ she confirmed, shaking only a little but realizing what she was looking at.
“look, I know that it’s going to be hard to explain, so I’ll summon Raime to help me explain. I can do that now.”
“No,” she said suddenly, sitting back down in her seat. “There’s no way.”
“Yes there is. I just told you, I died. You don’t know what I can do now.”
“No, you can’t do that,” she said, somehow getting his nerves up.
“Sera, now is not the time for that, just-“
“I said no!”
“Ugh, fine, look!” with a gesture, Azrael pulled his power from deep within and shaped it with an age old spell. The spell was the same one employed by necromancers from the Purple Skull guild, but with his vastly superior powers it took on a different nature. A cold whisper could almost be heard in the air and Sera’s breath fogged over. The overhead light, which seemed alchemical and looked like a glowing knot, suddenly sputtered as his death energy flared. His wife appeared, first as a glowing orb, then just like he remembered last seeing her, in a beautiful white dress and little to no make up on her skin. Her eyes had been a brown which he insisted was honey based and she believed to be muddy, but now all of her, even her hair, was that pale grey glow. She was undeniably beautiful, what with a strong jaw and shoulders coupled with creamy skin, but he felt sad seeing her like that.
Raimy said, “Boo,” but Sera had already fainted by then. “Great,” she added with a disappointed sigh, heading over to Miss Bakas and trying to poke her with a finger that went right through her nose. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.” Azrael Windslayer moved over to a red armchair and splaying himself right on it with slight disappointment. His hands rubbed against the velvety red for a few seconds as he glanced about. The office was warmly furnished, mostly in reds, yellows and deep browns. Sera’s desk was especially impressive, and he envied her it a little. You could see ocean through two windows to each side behind the desk, and they offered a breathtaking view of fish and blue. Along the walls, practical shelves were lines with books and essays, many being simple reports written by simple researchers looking for advice. He headed over to one particular shelf. “I’ll need to rethink how I explain things. Do you want to pop into heaven till then?”
“Nah, I’ll help. You’ll need help telling her that you’re practically a god now, and planning on making sure nobody ever dies again –Which I’m still not sure I approve of- but that in order to do so, you need to manifest a portal into the realm death resides in.”
“Well, if you put it that way,” remarked Azrael in a slightly hurt manner. “It does sound bad. But I really need her help with the force conversions. If I do it wrong, I might end up releasing the true spell.” He pulled out an essay on automatic ore fission, took it to his seat, and set into it with the hunger of an avid reader.
“What would that do again, honey?”
He fidgeted. “uh. Well…” Under her stare, the Fourth unchained in known history relented. She knew what it was going to do, he’d told her right after raiding that devil worshipping temple and finding the scroll. “It might unleash demons of death and kill more or less everyone in the world.”
Chapter 2
Glint Stryger ached from toe to toe. He’d enjoyed a rough evening the night before, for Lord Aje had thought instructing multiple higher class first circle guild members to gang up on him. Luckily all were fourth and fifth rankers, and so were no true match for him. Then again, there had been five of them, and so he had to deal with a knee halfway sprained as well as more bruises than you could shake a blade at. He groaned, and the young man’s bracers began to glow softly. Slowly, the pain subsided and the warrior was able to slightly bend his left leg. Moaning still, he swung his legs over his bunk bed, almost smacking Sung as he did. “Oya, Glint,” exclaimed the tall boy in a deep voice. His eastern features contorted in mock anger, then he laughed at the look Glint gave him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, “You know I’m just playing. Ready for smithing practice today?”
Glint had completely forgotten about the day’s schedule, and his face brightened up as the clangs of metal against metal came from a few floors beneath them. Sung chuckled again, and both raced against one another to get dressed and go downstairs. The slightly slanted eyed boy, who was about to turn seventeen and was hailed as a prodigy, managed to brush his teeth first at the first rank’s shared station, but lost to Glint’s tenacity: At almost twenty years old, the sandy haired warrior had neglected his hair and a change of clothes. With a sigh, he exchanged a burst of power with the slightly ornate bracers at his arms. The metal spread, and in no time at all he was encased in seamless plate armor and a helmet with a Y shaped hole to allow breathing. His armor also boasted no fancy designs, other than the outline of a helmet just like his own, a barbute, where his bracers would have been. With that done, the race was practically over because almost no one in the first circle, even amongst the first rankers, could boost their armor like Glint Stryger could.
The youth was downstairs in no time at all, standing before Lord Oubo with hands at his sides. The room was still empty, fires still left unstoked. Oubo Snakeskin was working armor over a cold anvil with the sheer fire in his body. It was a sight to behold, for he was the only one in Quicksilver who could do it that finely. It crackled, sputtered and thundered as flashes flitted here and there, but staying mostly in a stream between his right hand and the armor’s compressor. The more skilled you were, the closer these tendrils of lightning stayed. When Glint tried it once, he’d almost shot lightning across the room, and so could truly respect the red caped man’s skill. Moreover, Oubo was named for how often his armor was changed, like a snake shedding skin. Many speculated at what the final form would look like and how it could be used. “Good morning,” he said, looking up at the warrior. Glint thought about mentioning to the man that his braided hair, despite being united in a single ponytail at his shoulder, was looming dangerously close to a stray tendril of lightning. Then the man moved one of his
shoulders and his hair fell back over his back.
“Good morning, my Lord,” he greeted the man instead.
Oubo frowned, easing the lightning at his fingertips. The compressor, where liquid armor was kept while being worked on, buzzed slightly. The roars turned into lowly sputters. “Child, where are your colors?” asked Lord Oubo. Glint looked down then groaned. By the time he raced out of the room, Sung burst in with a wide smile.
“Hey there, Slowpoke,” he chuckled, before turning serious and giving their instructor a salute. His green tabard flapped almost with a will of its own, Quicksilver’s crest of a ring with a drop beneath it flailing proud. Glint grumbled, almost certain the boy had used some sort of trickery to hide his own, but trudged along wordlessly before being prompted by a second circle high ranker by the name of Maester Vlaire and breaking into a sprint. The old man had been content to stay second circle, and despite being an extremely well respected instructor at Quicksilver, he’d never attempted the switch to third circle. None doubted his bravery, for he’d fought valiantly in multiple guild wars, and so there was much speculation regarding his stagnant ranking.
When Glint came back, a place had been made for him between Sung and another boy who was considered a shining star amongst his peers, but one that Glint preferred to avoid. Ori Kubwa promised to become every inch the ability user that his father was, although his specialty in their art was different. Lord Oubo had somehow neglected to right the twisted thorn that his son seemed to be, however, and so young Ori considered himself superior to others due to his lineage as well as his glistening skill. Of course, he didn’t dare act thus before his sire, but Glint wished he would, just to see him get that disappointed look Lord Oubu gave from time to time. Noticing the youth’s look, Ori pulled himself to that impressive height and gave him a condescending “Stryger,” by way of greeting. His teeth shone like a starry sky. Glint gave him a measured smile in turn, not wanting any trouble.
“Class? Are you all ready?” Lord Oubo’s voice made its way across the brick room like butter. At the same time, he pulled a lever by his side, sending a river of molten metal flowing from a huge vat by his side into twin streams that made their way towards where Glint and the other high rankers stood in the back, allowing the weak precedence for instruction. They answered in unison, Glint’s mind already beginning to wander as he watched the red glow light up the room slowly. Then it reached him and welcome heat took some of Mount Ash’s chill away.
Barely breaking his stride, Lord Oubo began to explain to his class of about fifty young warriors. “Today in our purification class, we shall be speaking of a technique called dueling lightning. As you all know, our qi –as well as our metal- should be purified to the utmost limit.” There were hundreds of instructors like him in the guild, many teaching at the same time. This Glint wasn’t surprised to hear combat from the inner court.
A young boy raised his hand, momentarily catching Glint’s attention. Ori groaned audibly but was shushed by Natalie Hearth, who was two rows ahead. The warrior thought it was ironic, because she was the biggest chatterbox he’d ever had the pleasure of encountering, a specific necromancer notwithstanding. “Sir, when do you-“
“Lord,” Corrected someone and Ori, who was about to say something, went quiet with a smirk.
“Let him finish, Thomas,” chided Lord Oubo softly, his shadow looking a little like a slumbering panther. “You were asking, child?”
“When do you stop purifying your qi?”
“Ah, an excellent question, although the answer is never. Well done, boy. Your name?”
“Markas,” answered the boy, who Glint knew couldn’t have been older than nine. Oubo was known to bring out the best in people, but it was remarkable that the small boy could be so confidant. Then Glint noticed that little Markas was missing an arm, his right tonic sleeve being tied into a knot just above where his elbow would have been, and a shiver went through him.
“Well done, Markas. The best comparison for qi purification is water. Can someone explain-oh, what a surprise. Our number one student, Glint Stryger!” Emboldened by the child, Glint had lifted a shaky hand. His heart pumped hard and an invisible hand clenched it, waiting for him to embarrass himself so it could end his existance. Many students chuckled, for although Glint was indeed the highest ranked first circle member at Quicksilver, it was only in practice. His was not a mind for energetic theory despite his affinity for other forms of knowledge, and the warrior relied almost exclusively on instinct when using his abilities. This, however, he’d been made to learn by heart. To steady himself, he allowed a trickle of lightning to pass between him and his bracers. Physical strength had a way of lending itself to other forms of confidence.
“It’s like a water container with a filter above it, and you improve both,” he said, and Oubo’s eyebrow curled in pleased surprise. “First time you purify, you’re looking for stones, my lord. The second, it’s pebbles, then dirt, and finally the smallest pieces you can’t even see. It looks like the water’s pure, but there’s infinite improvement, and for some reason you actually can get more power out of these tiny improvements than from those rocks at the start.”
“Very good. I hadn’t thought you could put it that well. Do you know what that ‘some reason’ is?” Glint could not, for Azrael had never explained it. All he knew was that it felt like the smaller particles inside of him had more power.
“If we use the analogy young Glint has so graciously provided,” said Lord Oubo as some students began to sweat because of the heat, “then it’s because of surface. A handful of sand has more exposed surface area than a rock of similar size, and so will end up blocking more water. Naturally, Qi is a form of energy and its impurities have no surface area, but the theory stands. We filter metal and lightning qi with intent and the following breath: Long inhale, short exhale, then short inhale followed by a short exhale. This separates the yin and yang, then purifies each, with the proper intent.” At that point, Glint was thinking about lunch. “The metal in our armor has similar impurities, and although the most prominent are filtered out by our natural flow, there is a method to go deeper. With your metal in liquid form, you separate the yin and yang within, then draw in the two together with force….” For a while, the youth looked around to see if anyone was as bored as him, then saw that all were focused on the class. The youth got the idea when he heard the word ‘explosion’, and was pretty sure he could do something like it when Lord Oubo finally got around to the practical part. He sighed as quietly as possible, knowing that he didn’t have it in him to draw away Sung’s attention from the class.
Suddenly, Lord Oubo’s voice trailed off. “Yes, Ori?” he asked, still in his ever patient tone, drawing the warrior’s attention once more. Glint wondered if for once, his neighbor hadn’t understood something.
“I think Stryger already has it all figured out and wants to demonstrate, Sir.”
Oubo looked at Glint, and the youth could tell he was trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes. They both knew he could do it, but Glint announced, “I said nothing, sir. No reason to stop your lesson.”
“No, no,” countered the ebony skinned man, brushing something off the front of his light brown tunic. His armor, held as a green metal belt shaped like snake eating its own tail, glistened in the red light. “Might as well do it and get on with your training.”
Glint looked to his right and Sung gave him an encouraging whoop. Keeping his heart silent, the warrior turned his attention to the compressor directly before him. It was essentially a suspended black iron box. It was well supported by many metal arms, and could be adjusted for height, even so far so as to place it upon the anvil beneath it for strikes at full force. It had a hole on top, and Glint placed his arms there. His bracers melted, bidden by his mind, and the silvery liquid filled the compressor. A knob was turned, sealing the thing, and the youth placed his hand beneath the object, allowing lightning to crackle within the thing. When another lever was pulled and molten
fire ran onto his anvil, the youth removed his left hand and lowered his device halfway into the small stream. A small amount of light shone through a hole in the box as Glint took a hammer in his right hand. He could hear Sung cheer and felt Ori’s ire rise as if it were grating on his own skin.
The warrior, as he had been shown, allowed a lightning ball to form within the liquid. So far so good. That was the basic method for purifying metal using a compressor. Now onto the new part. He split the ball of lightning into what he could only perceive as hard and soft lightning, like two small sparks of different natures, struggling to be one. As he swung his hammer, a command went through his mind. Explode!
A crack resounded from the blow and a shudder went through Glint as the two sparks collided into what must have been the tiniest lightning storm. Again and again he struck, each time increasing the number of lightning balls until he had five splitting and combining again like stars in his mind’s eye. Of course, the others could barely see anything, for the scale of what he did was small indeed, but he bet that had it been dark, there would have been the hint of a spark coming from his compressor. As he worked, tiny traces of impurities left his metal, joining the molten metal flowing away towards the other end of class and back towards the large container behind Oubo. Just as imperceptibly, other traces of metals matching his lightning and armor seeped into the liquid from that river, replenishing what he’d lost and making the armor better.
“Well done, Glint!” announced Lord Oubo. “You may keep on purifying while I explain the technique you’ve just preformed to the others. Do you happen to have any questions?”
“No, sir.” Glint didn’t mention that he was curious about what would happen if he flipped the process by placing hard and hard lightning together rather than hard and soft, for he could feel the class’s impatience, and behind him he had a dark skinned young man fumed.
Tales Of Grimea Page 17