Tatum raised his arms to just let them fall to his sides with a *fumph*. “Why me?”
He knew why, but was deflecting. “Fine. Just don’t make it rain tar while I’m getting chased by that bundle of Incarnate feathers. Have you ever needed to fight an S-ranked critter before? It’s horrible. They’re horrible.”
Tatum threw his head back with a groan and void-stepped to Hel. Wanting to deal with the honker right away. Territorial pain in his—Ow. He should have never let Artorian oversee his patch of soot! Now the cobra chicken liked to bite people in the ass. Great.
He had once been one of the most powerful people on the planet, feared and respected across all the lands as The Master! Now look at him. Ah well. The goose had a body now, rather than merely appearing as a skeletal rack. “Guess it’s time to brush up on those butcher skills.”
*Honk*!
“C’mere you!”
Back on the Niflheim topside, Dani wobbled as she tried to walk. Luckily, she had a free-floating Dawn to hold onto as a support platform. “How are you doing that? I took this form because as a Wisp I’m just plastered to the ground. Same with Gracie and the others.”
Exhilarated to exist, the in-the-proper-body-again Fire Soul just smiled. Her supernova irises swirled while her long hair drifted behind her as a twinkling nebula. Dawn freely let waves of power roll from her S-ranked skin, just to enjoy it.
Her consciousness realized late that she had been addressed, but the question filtered in, and she answered. “It becomes natural when you’ve gone through the progression path yourself. I imagine that, for you, it feels like you are suddenly in the shape of a body that does what you want, sooner than you want it. Incarnate forms are responsive like that. There is no delay between thought and action, for your form is your thoughts, and your thoughts and soul are one. Or it should be, if it wasn’t for the disconnect that you are a mind occupying that form without the natural progression.”
Dawn paused, recounting a piece of information her own teachers had once told her. It made more sense now that she repeated it. “My every action is an effigy to a personal truth.”
“Since when are you wordy?” Dani narrowed her eyes at the woman waxing poetic. “That’s the other one’s job. Just tell me how you’re flying. Or however. I’m not sure what you’re doing.”
Dawn gently shrugged without blowing up a chunk of the Niflheim topside. “My explanation won’t be useful. Let me use someone else’s words. Think of a Mage as… one of Cal’s spells. It is contained before going off. You’ve got something to say ‘not yet.’ Since, as a Mage, keeping your power reined in is one of the big breaking points of staying alive. So for people living as Mages, that gets serious practice.”
Dawn differentiated. “As an Incarnate, the first difference is that you no longer have the ‘not yet.’ You are a spell, continually exploding and going off in the world. You cannot stop, there is no container. That’s why for unskilled Incarnates, that grayscale field is so rampant. It’s a safety net to keep the rest of the world safe, even if it causes side effects such as lockdown. When it comes to flight, or what you currently see as flight…”
She mulled it over. It would be easier if she had Sunny to explain, but he wasn’t at this stage yet. She’d fill him in eventually. “Our favorite long-beard would say, ‘That’s a misconception.’ Complete with a waggle of the finger and pacing about with an arm across his lumbar.”
They snickered, and Dawn continued. “The second big leap is that you don’t actually have a body. Or I don’t. What you see is the effect of that spell never stopping. My power has to do something, and it has to do it all the time, because my soul cannot suddenly stop existing. So my effects can’t either. The more power you have, the more you need to invest it somewhere. So usually, Incarnates spend the first chunk on a body, which they then inhabit. As we are so, so very used to having an ambulatory form. Almost nobody is a Deverash, able to live as an object for long periods of time.”
Dani rolled her wrist, wanting her to get on with it. She just wanted to know how to fly in this thing. Dawn just smirked. “The thing about this body being just a thought is that it moves with the same function. Just a thought. You walk because you think you walk. You breathe because you think you breathe. You fly, because…”
Dani’s feet ceased touching the ground when it clicked. She hovered about free as could be, and rolled around with all the agility and flawless aerial grace one would expect of a Wisp. She beamed, and then flailed as she lost the thought-thread of just flying, and instead held the thought not to fall. That kept her in the air, but removed all the fine movement control. “I had it for a second there!”
Dawn said nothing. Dani recovered just by thinking of flight again, her thoughts placing her body where it needed to be. The Incarnate form just followed. Thought, to action. The Wisp mom snapped at the oversensitive controls. “This thing has no filter!”
Dawn nodded, as that was correct. “On average? Takes a century for a true S-rank zero to manage existing without feeling like a floundering fish. Less if your mind is more deep-thought inclined. So, all those prodigies and geniuses that fly through the lower ranks without a second thought? Usually much longer for them.”
A realization struck her. “Oh, I should also clear up that misunderstanding. It’s just S-rank. There is no S-rank zero. I misspoke because of how the rest of your system works. There are nuances in the soul ranks that make the oddities in the A-ranks look like playground arguments. Unless someone takes the second step, it is outright impossible to tell an Incarnate’s specific level, or create any sort of measurable differences.”
Dani practiced hovering, then just walking but without touching the ground. To her surprise, that functioned without flaw. “I am walking on nothing, but am still moving. Like I am… This is so strange.”
Dawn slunk over and poked the human-form Wisp in the hip. Rather than send her tumbling and hurtling away, it was akin to booping a soap bubble and gently pushing it off course. Dani kept walking, influenced by the new direction. “Uh… well. I can go forwards, but I don’t know how to undo the tunnel effect you just caused.”
The Fire Soul decided to make it easy on her, stabbing a straight line of fire through the air. “Walk on that. Just think about it. Honestly, that’s it and that’s all.”
With the straight line in place, Dani’s mind meandered to it. Her form hovered to the starting point. As she did, her body once again aligned as normal with the ground. “How…? Did my body just align because I thought I should be right side up?”
Dawn shot her a simple thumbs up. “You have a unique case, as you both are and are not a natural Incarnate due to being a bonded Wisp. Your mind is in the spirit body. So while you don’t have the full benefits of Incarnate power, how to operate the thing functions much the same. Your Wisp body is plastered to the ground because it is an A-rank form existing in a realm of S-rank pressure. It needs to be Incarnated properly.”
That earned Dawn a sharp look of confusion, so the Fire Soul did her best to clarify. “You have a separate soul. You might share one of the most solid connections there are, but that doesn’t include you in Cal’s Ascension club. He likely forgot that, and thought you’d have an Incarnate form by default. That’s not how it works. You need a facsimile of the Wisp form. Cal Incarnated. You… did not.”
Dawn made placating hand motions. “I know, I know. Connected. Still a no. On second thought, that also means Tatum was wrong before. You can’t fall through layers unless you’re a true Incarnate. Having a toe over the line doesn’t count. That’s why Cal fell, and you didn’t.”
Dani burned a hole into her friend, her sad words causing the air around them to fracture as the ground pulverized. A field of gray stopped the worst of it before fading away. “Why nooooot?”
Dawn thought that was obvious. “Is your idea of Acme the same as Cal’s? Exactly the same? Even then, there can only be one S-ranker per Node. So when Cal hits double S, your soul will likel
y First-Step, taking his current position. Until then, welcome to the wonderful world of Incarnate confusion. You’re in for a few millennia of ‘why did that happen’ and ‘I had no idea this worked that way.’ Trust me, it is going to happen constantly. Some of them outright will not make sense. So don’t panic. Just call out. We will hear you. Some Incarnates keep an item around for grounding if needed. Traditionally, it’s a towel. Tatum and I know how to keep our ear to the layers for Cal. There are only a few places we outright ignore and don’t go. If he ends up in one of those, we will definitely know.”
Dani’s form collapsed, and a luminous Wisp frame uncertainly bobbed through the Soul Space. “Whoa… That… What?”
Her friend slapped her knee with a laugh. “I just told you, that you’re in for a few millennia of ‘I had no idea.’ Let me guess, you thought of being a Wisp. Believed it with an utter certainty, and then were confused when your form shifted?”
The Wisp didn’t think Dawn was a mind reader… so that guess must have just been experience. “That’s right, but I didn’t expect my human body to be able to just change like that. I thought Incarnate bodies were stuck forever once they were that way?”
Dawn waggled her hand. “It’s complicated. For most people it’s a hard yes due to some… events. That happens when you’re an Incarnate. There are moments where holding onto your personality is of the utmost importance. Cal’s Soul Space helps prevent those moments, which lets true Incarnates be more malleable. I suppose there’s three types.”
She counted on her fingers. “A true Incarnate, whatever you are, and a facsimile Incarnate.”
Dani thought she had this one in the bag. “Let me give this a go. A fake Incarnate is a person in a body of Spirit, but doesn’t have the natural powers or drawbacks a true one has. So a C- or B-ranker could have one and be fine, but advancing further will be difficult. You are a true Incarnate, so in a Spirit body you have full access to all your toys. I am in the middle due to my connection with Cal, but I am essentially no different from a fake one, since my soul didn’t do the thing. Spirit bodies are weird.”
The Fire Soul repressed her giggle, but smirked regardless. “What is a body? I don’t know how Sunny does it, repeating lessons to students all the time.”
Dani, much happier with her Wisp form, settled on Dawn’s head to be done with this uncertainty nonsense for the moment. “He doesn’t. I have rarely seen him explain things twice. It’s the students. They’re either gifted, or he makes them gifted. He gives them information that goes over their heads, but is never out of their reach. I remember the eyes of the young, twinkling and full of hope and wonder. What was the thing he used to say? During that thought game he let students play?”
Dawn smirked. Parroting the words with the same old-man tone and elderly smile before calling it a day. “You can certainly try.”
The Wisp matron laughed, setting in place. “Ha! Well, at least he’ll be able to rest for a while. With his tier what it is, I don’t think we’re waking him up anytime soon.”
The Fire Soul snickered. “Artorian’s favorite! Lazily resting. I wonder where he got that trait.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Run, boy, run!”
The old authoritative voice boomed when it found out he’d done it again. Encouraging a young boy to bolt. It was so loud, that the words reverberated through the halls of the branch family home. The child heaved as he ran, running at full sprint away from his previously silent father. Who chased him. Fast. How was his father always faster?
Branch family members clapped their hands, cheering and laughing as the boy shouldered through an already partially opened door. They were who had told him to run. Water carriers entered the house as he did, and their clay pots fell and shattered as the kid fell on his rear to slide between the porter’s legs. That’s what his father got for ordering the floor to stay so shiny all the time. They were slippery and smooth!
Bright sun slapped his face as he tumbled onto the courtyard path. The youth’s previously immaculate robes dirt-stained immediately. Just another thing he was going to get chastised over. As he did with everything, apparently. All those dumb tasks, he loathed them! On his feet and back on the run, he was face-deep in bluegrass before the doors behind him nearly blew from their hinges.
Crackers! There was Father. Holding those dreaded, awful-tasting pills in hand. He didn’t want to take more of the medicine! He wasn’t sick. It was the pills making him sick! He knew for sure now! He’d stopped taking them for a few weeks, hiding them away under a floorboard after sneaking them into the hem of his child’s robe when he was supposed to take them. The most minor act in sleight of hand. Always useful to know how to palm. The scroll had said so!
How he loved scrolls.
How his family hated finding him tucked away in a corner with yet another memoir or ledger. So what if he didn’t understand the numbers! He liked seeing the squiggles. He enjoyed tracing his fingers over the material, wondering how such pretty scratches were made.
Still bolting, he was breathing heavy when passing another porter that was filling pots from a piece of redirected river. That porter snickered, and smiled with deep wrinkles. The branch family member knew the drill, shouting as the lad passed without having a moment to stop.
“Run, boy, run!”
What did they think he was doing? Bluegrass slapped him in the face, and his father was once again gaining ground. Pushing foliage out of the way, he hated how blind he was in this tall field of bluegrass. He was too slow! He needed to be faster. Faster. So much faster.
He drew a breath, and forced another foot in front of the other at speed. The porter at the river laughed. The boy knew the man pointed in his direction. Nobody challenged Father. It was folly. So why did he keep doing it? Right. Father had a plan for him. A way he wanted his son’s world to work.
“Merli, you come to your patriarch this instant and take your medicine!”
The boy grit his teeth, wincing as he tried not to let the pain of his heart get to him. Would it kill Father to actually call himself Father, instead of patriarch? He didn’t need some high-title family leader in his life. He needed something far more personal, and it didn’t exist in the main family hall, nor the branch family hall. It didn’t matter where he was taken. Father was there with his imperious will, telling him ‘no’ at every turn.
Stand in the corner and don’t speak, Merli. Sit behind this bench and don’t move, Merli. Take this awful set of pills that makes you sick, Merli. Do what you’re told. Do what you’re told. Do what you’re told.
His eyes were full of tears, jaw grit as the sun dipped below the horizon. A painting of colors presented itself, forming the lengthy evening aurora. A corona of lovely oranges, reds, and violets that painted the sky under which he ran. Now that. That was worth running to.
Forget the stark, organized halls. The rules and the dumb customs. The pills, and being sick. There was color ahead. Color splashed onto the canvas of the sky, unbridled and wild. Free. Liberated. A canvas filled with nothing but choice.
How he wished he had a choice.
His feet took him, and took him. Hands pushed away the tall grass to keep moving, but his heavy breathing betrayed his location. He knew his father had found him. When Merli dared glance behind him, there was only the reaching grasp of a demanding, open hand. How he feared this hand. This ever-reaching hand.
No! Without thought, he shrieked, then jumped! The reaching hand did not find purchase, and Merli gasped his next breath twelve feet up in the air.
The patriarch’s voice was panicked. “Merli, no! You must take your medicine. Your vital energy is unstable! You are not well!”
The boy didn’t hear his father. He was on the canvas. He was in the canvas. He was one with color, and sound, and the wild of the pattern. His heart pounded, his eyes were wet, his cheeks stained. His mind knew fear, but his spirit?
His spirit was free.
Merli’s vision went dark before he ever
collapsed onto the ground. The vital energy surging, spiking, and forcing the young body —which was unprepared for such a high-tension use— to pass out. Merli never hit the dirt. His father caught his unconscious form.
The patriarch slapped his cheek a few times, but Merli’s eyes were gray and glazed over. Reflecting the quiet tapestry of colors above, rather than the spirit that lived within. The medicine was forced into his mouth as his father fussed. “You hellion. You broke both your legs, again. Your vital energy is as wild as your spirit, but if we don’t get it under control, it will kill you, my son.”
Silence followed.
It made Artorian’s bonfire world all the more dark.
Dark, but full of falling petals of simple silver. They reflected light that didn’t have a source, but provided enough illumination for Artorian to see when he opened his eyes in his bonfire space. His gaze dropped, watching his own open hands listlessly lying on his knees as he sat. Discomfort had him. Now that he was mentally awake, he sighed and assessed his situation.
He didn’t like this space so much anymore. The sanctum was currently more of a prison, as the looming pair of pink eyes watched him from above. Artorian knew they were there without glancing. He sighed, and slunk back against the Silverwood Tree in his bonfire space. His voice sounded despondent. “I never knew. He actually called me his son. Oh… Father. What a hellion you indeed have.”
He wiped his tear-stained face with his sleeve when the ‘rain’ came. After a few minutes of just letting himself feel, he looked up at the pink irises staring back down. The old man felt ancient, cracked like a mirror. His heart wasn’t ready for this. Yet here he was.
Anima: A Divine Dungeon Series (Artorian's Archives Book 6) Page 14