《Astral Escape, a Scientific Progression Fantasy.》 Prologue My eyes slide open. I stare at my ceiling, the sight that I wake up to every morning. My eyes roam over the map, spray-painted over easily made plastic. A map of... home Haaah. I miss it dearly. And soon I will see it all again. With a monumental effort, I get up. Today¡¯s the day! Alright, come on, let''s get this show on the road! With great effort, I pull off my well-loved soft wool blanket and jump up. As I rise, I look out my window to see the familiar ball of flaming iron nails screaming into sight, signaling that it¡¯s time to start my day. So, I stumble into my shower on the other side of my room, finding an egg of blackened plastic filled to the brim with pipes. I approach the screen and wonder. "Hmmm, what shampoo should I use today? Aero so my hair could float at my will?" I ponder. "Or maybe I should use the Ursula package for some tentacle hair, baby!" I say pumping my fists. "Eh, the tentacle hair is a pain to wash away." I complained. "I''ll go for Aero since it matches my outfit." I said with a shrug. I press the button at the top, and silver flames leap wildly from the pipes, enveloping the room with burning light. After only a few seconds, I step out completely clean. Not a speck of dirt, not even a bit of mussed hair, is present on my person. And of course, my hair floats ethereally a silver sheen surrounding it. "Oh, this is so much better than a regular shower. I¡¯m done so quickly, plus there is no need to sit on the toilet waiting for your hair to get done with the conditioner. I love it! It¡¯s just so cool!" I say with happiness clear in my voice. I giggle as I head to the armory, my bare feet slapping against the hard floors of my home. I step into the circular room that is all but filled to the brim with artifacts I have made and found. From an eternally spinning rack on the bottom, which held all of my clothes, to a litany of glass cases on the top, holding special artifacts I sigh. So many things in this room that would drive people mad, anyone with a mere sliver of my collection here could total a city, and anyone who would dare to buy one of them would have to bankrupt a country to even attempt to. And I''m walking away from all of it. I glance at an old binder and tomes of runes. I see ancient weapons and a magnificent collection of crowns, robes, and capes fit for any emperor. Amidst the chaos, I grab a single, right-handed diamond-encrusted glove capable of guiding me where I need to go. I slip on shifting mercury stiletto heels, each as tall as the length of one of my hands; each heel is covered in menacing runes, granting me the power to moonwalk. I grab my favorite crown from my extensive collection, an elegant and simple piece made of spirit silver with a band that slowly rises to a dangerously sharp tip that holds the spirits of dozens of ancient kings and queens. And finally, a robe made by an idiotic and sadistic vizier, composed of strips of the minds of close-minded people, shielding my perspective from spirits. It encloses me completely in tightening and loosening bands, wide and thin, that refuse any perspective but their own. I slip them on and walk to my final breakfast here on this side of reality, my stiletto heels clicking-clacking on the plastic floors of my home away from home. I grab some cereal and milk from the fridge and toss them into a bowl before sitting down at the table in front of the window. Through the window, I can see the artificial sun that I personally forged from infinite iron nails and the endless expanse of thought blooming with all the colors of the soul. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "This is really it. This is the last day I, Tara the great Emotionsmith, will ever spend in my beautiful prison." I say with melancholy drifting through my words. "I¡¯ve earned it. I¡¯ve spent years figuring out the rules of this topsy-turvy world. I¡¯ve journeyed farther and learned more than anyone could have ever expected me to. And yet I am still so afraid of what comes next... It¡¯s been so long, and I¡¯ve done so much." I say smiling wryly. "And I¡¯m just supposed to... what, just walk back into an ordinary life as if nothing happened?!" I speak angrily into the void. I sigh, holding my head in my hands. What a lonely creature am I? Talking to myself in the depths of a space station so grand that it would shatter the perspective of a passerby. Am I really complaining about finally achieving their dream after countless years? It might be painful, but change is necessary. In the end, no one can stand unchanging, not even spirits. So I stand up, gather my strength, and smile at my reflection. "It''s GO time! Better get off this tin can while I can muster the motivation to do so." I said with a smile at my reflection in the glass. And so I walk straight into the glass and shatter it with my strength, letting go of the weight of my home so that it will fall into the star I forged from my very blood and ingenuity. I won¡¯t let any grubby scavengers take my arsenal of artifacts. At least not without a proper challenge. Looking back at the impending wreckage, I nod. If someone manages to get something from that, they deserve it. I sigh, because, well, we must move on. I step on gouts of mercury as I walk on nothing at all. Leaving behind the closest thing I had to home for a while. But before I do, I gaze upon my prison, my home, and my paradise. I search for spots of blue wonder amongst the putrid greens, dim pinks, and searing reds. These colors form the landscape, each blooming and dying in tandem with the thoughts of the masses. Ugh, it hurts to see so much and yet know so little of what happens on the other side of the glass that separates this reality. I see the signs of war, yet I do not know if war with the Estrati erupted as was predicted in my time or if the war is occurring centuries in the future between participants I don¡¯t even know. For all I know, the scarlet war could be conjured by the fight between ant colonies. The bloody clashes of war might not even be borne of human thought. After all, human thought is not the only thing that makes up this peculiar landscape I live in. An ant¡¯s dreams are just as real as a human''s; they are just as colorful and true as any dream you or I might forge. But the thing about the astral, you know, the thing we go through to get pretty much anywhere in a reasonable amount of time, is that it¡¯s not a simple road or some tunnel we use to quantum leap; no, it is a quiet, peaceful expanse as large as our own universe that is oh so beautiful and oh so empty. In a moment of whimsy, I turn off my boots and take the time to just float. "You know, if I didn¡¯t know that the infinite expanse means that I would never be found or rescued, I think I could spend eternity here just watching the entire universe think in tune with me," I remark while miming myself holding a star born of a unified belief. As I start to spin with uncontrolled momentum, I chuckle. Ignorance truly is bliss. I muse on the fact that this is quite literal in my case. After all, your truths dictate your perspective in the astral. I wonder if I could have been rescued if I had held the common belief. The dull perspective of those who don¡¯t see the possibility in the idea of a plane that collectively holds all thoughts that will ever happen. "Why could I even get research that would have exploded the heads of scientists centuries ago while ordering groceries?" I exclaim, waving my hands around in frustration, causing me to slowly spin in the void. You see, a while ago, through the collective research of humanity¡¯s scientists, we figured out that the astral plane is structured through expectation. So if you step through a portal and all prior evidence suggests that you would come out the other side, you WILL come out the other side. And I guess that''s what I expected when I thought of this place in between the stars and the realm of pure thought. I imagined a world of color that blooms with every idea that is ever made. Every single emotion, idea, or concept from the warm gratitude of a mother to the soul-crushing grief of a survivor is painted amongst an infinite expanse. I sigh, melancholy rippling out from my position in this world. I suppose I should be grateful that my prison is so beautiful that I can gaze upon families embracing holiday cheer, parades held in honor of peace, doctors defeating death, and battles fought for freedom. But why allow it all? I shrug my shoulders, for there is no need to fret; I¡¯ll figure out the truth soon enough. Wait! I see a bit of blue wonder over there. I arrest my movement with a whisper of certainty and use my diamond-encrusted glove to conjure a tether to the coordinates before continuing my spacewalk. I¡¯ll need to collect a bit of wonder for my next step. Or, well, I guess my last. Regardless, I¡¯m going to have to pass through the scarlet bloom of war to get there, but I should be fine traveling through it. I push through the blooms of war and hear the clangs of swords, the yells of debates, and the quiet of explosions in a vacuum. The bloom pushing into my mind the very concept of war from the scratch of quills to horrifying violence. But I keep walking through my slightly demented robe of strands protecting me. My steps are steady; no more swimming for me. I¡¯ve grown and seen so much in here, but it all comes down to this. I tear up as I think of all I¡¯ve accomplished, the research I have spent years on, the adventures through the infinite expanse, and the conversations with people with such different perspectives from mine. I think I¡¯ll miss the astral plane just a bit, but above all else, I¡¯m glad that my perspective is mine and that I see wonder rather than just a boring, plain road from A to B. But as I hear the gleeful laughter of children and see eyes glistening with tears from the tops of mountains, I know that I¡¯ve arrived. And so, I pull my carefully constructed portal out of my pocket. It is a long-lost familiar sight: airports and terminals, all ending with a portal of gleaming white plastic and silver metal. It was something so ordinary that I used it for my daily commute, and yet it will now be the thing that will bring me home, although admittedly, it is inscribed with enough runes to drown a city. I laugh. "It¡¯s so silly that I still use these runes. English would work perfectly fine if I had the belief, but I guess I never thought of English as magical enough," I giggle. Oh, the quirks of magic so much stronger for those willing to laugh at the absurdity of it all. It makes me think of was a phrase coined a long time ago. It was made far past my time by people I could only meet due to the strange place I found myself in. But they taught me much and that damning phrase still rings. So before I leave, I say it to the mundane world on the other side of the astral. "You should fear the insane; they know nought of what is impossible" And with that last thought given to the infinite expanse, I step through the portal. "Ta-ta and goodbye, Astral Realm." Ch.1 The Trip Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump, my suitcase ragged as it rattles on the battered black of the airport''s floor. I see the sight of the bustling airport a finely tuned machine of transportation herding humans into their designated places quickly and efficiently. The airport is mostly made up of black rubber scratched by countless pieces of luggage and a dull grey metal forming the hexagonal dome high above us, with yellow arrows pointing on the floor guiding you with walls made out of hardened photons taking the place of old-fashioned fabric barriers. I make quite the sight with my massive amount of curly hair held up by hardened light constructs, a pair of white sunglasses, and gold hoops that complement my warm brown skin. All pulled off with my electric blue suit with aggressively sharp shoulder pads, contrasted with a blackish red bodysuit, and a violently purple pair of flared bottom pants. I overlook the massive horde of people at the airport, but instead of heading with the crowd, I go to an isolated and small sector of the corner all by myself. With annoyance in my eyes, I look at the dilapidated Homeworld Terminal. Ugh, why does Grandmama still live on Homeworld? It¡¯s so goddamn far away, and it doesn¡¯t even have any of the commodities of the great human empire, no immersive consumption, thought injection, or alien cuisine. Hell Homeworld doesn¡¯t even have any A.S.A.A.I''s. I swipe my wrist summoning Stevens. God, these customs are awful; they¡¯re so strict, and for what a ball of dirt!¡± I say an undercurrent of deep-set annoyance in my voice. ¡°Well, milady Homeworld has a lot of cultural value considering it is, well, humanity''s home, its cradle. Where humanity was forged from gunning each other down for the very same things choking the sky to a space-faring species that¡¯s shaken the universe,¡± my A.S.A.A.I Stevens replied, floating along a string of photons in the shape of a old butler from the before years. I spurted, ¡°Really Stevens, come on, do you really believe that? You see anybody lining up to take a sacred pilgrimage there, and frankly, if Grandmama wasn¡¯t there I would suggest we turn it into a graveworld. We already ¡®preserve¡¯ it in its time period, why not just leave it to spin around in space empty to ah what''s the word ¡®preserve¡¯ it¡± Stevens, with a slightly upturned lip, says, "Oh, you know, milady we A.I¡¯s aren¡¯t allowed to hold any opinion, be it politics or of how frightfully empty your pack is.¡± As I continue to advance down the lanes formed of hardened photons I say ¡°Whoever made that rule is an idiot what¡¯s the point of making something smart enough that it could have its own opinion if it¡¯s not allowed to say it without putting hypothetically in front of it. You say your opinion all the time all of you do! How are you supposed to tell me when my food is ready without telling me your opinion huh.¡± Stevens kept his silence with my last statement, another one of those blasted rules. Eh, whatever I need to deal with officials about right now, it''s not appropriate to talk to him anyway. And so I wave away his display and speed through the empty lanes to get to the only booth with anyone there. But when I come to that familiar booth, I hear the grating noise of that prick''s voice. Uh, uh, Tara, you have to walk at a calm pace at all times or I¡¯m going to have to write up security for suspicious behavior,¡± says Teddy, an officer of the GPSA. I grit my teeth, reminding myself of his position, before saying as sweetly as I could, ¡°Come off it, Teddy, you know me by name, I¡¯m practically the only person you see, do you really think I¡¯m here to transport a bomb!¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Woah, woah, calm down. I just need to get your tickets and certify your ID,¡± that sniveling bastard Teddy says while holding his hand up. ¡°All right, let''s get this over with,¡± I say, giving him my galactic ID and answering all of the invasive questions with all the calm I can invoke. Absentmindedly answering him, I ponder the consequences of my speech. Because woosh, if Teddy decided to make my life difficult there, I could¡¯ve been in for a bad time. Maybe I should treat him with a bit more respect? Nah, I think I¡¯m gonna treat him exactly the same. As I pass by the first obstacle, I think of my Grandmama on the other side. I wish she would move, but it¡¯s all she¡¯s ever known, being the last generation, as she said, ¡°I was born on this very Earth, and I¡¯ll die on Earth.¡± I hope what I¡¯ll bring will remind her of the good old days. I look down in my bag to see some weed and a laptop with MinCroft in it. She¡¯ll feel better about Prithvee when we get, what¡¯s the word? ¡®Zooted¡¯ and build houses in 2d. Stevens, are you sure that she''ll enjoy this MinCroft?" I asked, gesturing towards my suitcase. "Yes, indubitably, my algorithms suggest that the most popular activity during the 2020s was weed, MinCroft, and memes. Additionally since memes make terrible gifts, weed is considered contraband, and due to her only company being family, this is really her only chance to enjoy this type of thing." Steven says with a look of dignified certainty. I sigh and remind myself that it''s going to be okay. But I shouldn''t ambush her. I direct to my A.S.A.A.I "Stevens, send this recording to Grandmama" "Grandmama I''m coming over. Let''s get together for a chill morning. It''s going to be okay, don¡¯t you worry, Grandmama. I¡¯ll fix it; he just doesn¡¯t understand how the world works, you know. Everyone¡¯s a bit stupidly rebellious at his age, and he doesn¡¯t see how this will fuck up his life and make him a social outcast at the age of 17. Prithvi is just 17; he''s got his whole life ahead of him, but in the end, as long as he makes it, it¡¯ll all be okay. Love and kisses from your favorite granddaughter, Tara." I say through Stevens to my dear Grandmama. Well, no need to get ahead of myself; I have to get there before I start fixing shit. Let''s get through this. I walked through all the checks and acceded to all their demands; it¡¯s all just a blur I¡¯ve done it so often. But that Brainalyzer is always shitty; it feels like looking at a reflection as bright as a flash bang. But that was routine too, so I just kept pushing through before I got to it. I approach the portal, a beautiful machine of smooth white plastic and silvery metal, a ring cut in half and embedded into the ground with flaring edges made out of some silvery metal jutting out. I sigh with wonder; it is always a grand sight whenever I see it, I think as I walk through. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I step through and see the usual flash of beautiful colors, but this time it doesn¡¯t go away for the safety of the ground. I float there dumbstruck seeing a site no human should see: the realm of thought and emotion, the Astral Plane. I float through a sea of black, interspersed with billions of little stars that look like the seed of something more. Standing out amidst the black, clouds of vibrant colors shift, shrink, and grow, and smaller clouds of different colors twist together to form a new cloud with a new color while larger clouds with more complex colors fray at the edges, revealing unseen shades. All glowing with an undercut beauty. New clouds are born every second, from the size of a grain of sand to behemoths blooming into existence the size of planets, only to die soon after. But I cannot see any of the beauty in my eyes, for my lungs burn with the screams I have let out into this new plane from the very first second I was there. I don¡¯t believe this, I can¡¯t believe this, that I¡¯m just that unlucky. I could¡¯ve walked through that goddamn portal a billion more times, and it still would have only been a 1% chance. Why, why me? Why am I the unlucky bastard who had to get stranded here, WHY! Before long, they weren¡¯t just thoughts, and I screamed into this new place, ¡°WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?¡± Before I realized I was acting ridiculous, the answer to why was the same answer as always. It¡¯s just pure chance that this happened to me instead of anybody else. So my lungs raw, I silently floated in this damned place. It was kind of silly the reason I started to feel sad; it was because I realized I would never show up to my visit to Grandmama and that she would be really worried and pace with her weary bones. She should stay still with her advanced arthritis, but she wouldn¡¯t, and in the end, she would get the news not from a loved one but from a cold government agent who didn¡¯t know that she¡¯d lost everyone but her family and that last thing as well now. With that realization, I broke into a million pieces. I cried and cried into the beautiful landscape around me, my tears whipping off my eyes and my shudders and sobs forming a trail that hung in the air. Before slowly stopping, not because my grief was sated but because I was empty. It was time to come to terms with my situation. I¡¯m going to be stuck without my family around anymore until I die. My bones will never find a resting place; they will float in the Astral realm for eternity. Ch.2 The First Step I drift, curled into a fetal position, passing through the mesmerizing sights of the Astral for god knows how long. But guessing by the fact that I have floated far beyond my landing point I assume it¡¯s been a while. But does it really matter, what¡¯s the point anyway no matter what I¡¯ll still die far from home, so what''s the point in doing well anything? But I¡¯m doing something right now even if it''s just breathing is it really so hard to do something productive? But What can I even try to do here, what¡¯s productive anyway in a place like this, what enemies do I have, what rules to break I¡¯m just floating in a void. It doesn''t matter as long as you do something it''ll get better my goals were always self-made, there''s never any need to do anything, we live post scarcity. Any goals before or now were created, let''s create some more. Plus, to die in the Astral is not the only possibility, 5 other humans have been recorded as not coming out the other side of a portal, who knows they might still be alive, I could try to find them, and get some company in this hellhole. All right I uncurl from my fetal position my bones protesting and my muscles stretching to their limits just to force myself upright. And I come upon my first question, what are my goals, there is the obvious get home, but how do I get home I can¡¯t exactly walk back. Maybe a portal but where do I get the materials for the portal. I¡¯m floating through a void right now! Okay, no need to run down dead ends let''s just start at the beginning what the hell is going on in this strange world? I won¡¯t be able to do pretty much anything here without understanding the new world I am in. But let¡¯s see what we have to succeed I have the clothes on my back, wait STEVENS is he okay, can AI even get hurt? I frantically tap on the A.S.S.A.I¡¯s strip but no matter what I do just a weak puff of hardened photons. Okay Okay, Tara, you can do this don¡¯t panic Stevens might not be available, but he¡¯s a program he can be brought back plus he was housed in a very powerful computer you can still use him. I breathe in and out slowing my ragged breaths filled with panic until they are slow and deep, although still filled with fraught emotions and I begin again. So I tap around the primitive hardware but oh God is it frustrating to use a screen that is so goddamn tiny! But resisting the urge to smash the idiotic watch I continue to look through its function. Hmm looks like while Stevens can¡¯t help me I do get access to his stores of music(the music will at least help me not go insane), a powerful calculator, voice recording software, and his stores of information even if those are held in such archaic ways as writing. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Alright looks like that watch is gonna be pretty useful but let¡¯s move on I also have my suitcase, wait where¡¯s my suitcase. MY GODDAMN SUITCASE, I had so many things in there and now it¡¯s just floating in the FUCKING ASTRAL. I scream my tenuous calm broken and angrily swing at the air or the blackness I have been floating through. Wait I hear something, I hear an ECHO, I can find my suitcase with all its Items I just have to be patient. After the exertion, I slowly return to calm and begin to think through how to reach my Suitcase filled with goodies. I¡¯m breathing in something so I must not be in a vacuum so I can presumably swim over there, but hang on if I¡¯m not in a vacuum why don¡¯t I have air resistance, Ugh this is confusing. Either way, If I can breathe in something that means I¡¯m in a fluid so even if it¡¯s hard I can eventually swim over to my backpack. So with a plan in mind, I spread out my arms and extend my jacket and I sweep my arms and legs backward and I MOVED. YES! HAHAHA I CAN DO THIS, it might not have moved me far but with no wind resistance apparently, I can just keep building speed. And so I start to furiously swim to where I heard the echo come back from. Looking to the world around me like the most pissed-off human frog in all of time. At first, I¡¯m slow but as I continue to do my stroke I start to build more and more speed until I speed through the black, blasting past and through clouds and blooms. And quite soon I see the suitcase in the distance silhouetted by a large cloud of sky blue the size of a house, YES I¡¯M DOING IT. Yet wait with no air resistance how will I slow down here, SHIT! How am I going to get that suitcase with no brakes? I guess I¡¯ll have to ram it, if I try to grab it from the side at the speed I¡¯m going at it¡¯ll slip through my hands. I scream into the astral and I frantically adjust course by waving to the side until I¡¯m on a collision course with my suitcase. AGH I ram into and grip that battered plastic handle with all my strength. A bit later. After that fiasco, I ended up with a bruised chest, and quite a sore throat and body. BUT! I now have my suitcase! I had to slowly kick my way to a stop considering that I couldn¡¯t use my hands on account of the suitcase. I¡¯m never letting go of this thing now after this disaster. I open up the case and take stock of what¡¯s in there I¡¯ve got a sturdy binder holding some cooking recipes from Grandmama, a horde of if I say so myself extremely fashionable clothes, 2 glass bottles of water, trail mix, my 80 page journal along with a couple of pens and pencils, a baggie of weed, and Grandmama¡¯s laptop. Hmm I bet I could jury rig it for a bigger screen on my A.S.S.A.I, I grab the laptop and raise it into the air. ¡°Stevens how do I replace your screen with that of this laptop,¡± I say to no one. And all that is heard is a heavy silence. It¡¯s so jarring that Stevens isn¡¯t here, and I don¡¯t have a clue as to why. He¡¯s helped me out for my entire life constantly from advice to just the safety of always having someone to talk to, and now I¡¯m just waving around the corpse of my most steadfast companion for benefits.I It¡¯s like having your Sun be turned off. Well, I can use my notebook to write down any observations I have I¡¯ll need it to deal with this confusion, plus who knows what I could do with water and sugar here in the Astral plane where it¡¯s so rare. I look at the food and try to pull together the strength to eat it but instead, I just stare at it, I have no appetite at all. Is this from starving myself for a while, or is it magic BS? It sort of makes sense for living beings in a spiritual plane to not need to eat, but if my energy isn¡¯t coming from food where the hell is it coming from? I shake my head to rid myself of such unproductive thoughts I hurriedly stuff the items back into the suitcase except for the laptop. The laptop that should¡¯ve eased Grandmama and I¡¯s pain is now a bunch of scraps to be torn apart instead of used. If this symbol of joy is to be turned into space trash and parts I might as well give it one last hurrah. I open the laptop and stare at the black screen at the reflection only shown in calm, at the symbol of my family, and say ¡°I promise that I won¡¯t languish in here, that I will get back to you, all of you. I will not fall apart for I refuse to break. And I refuse to fail so no matter how long I will see you again my family.¡± I kiss the screen and stare for just a bit at that dead screen, but after that, I close the screen and pack it back up because I¡¯ve got some work to do. I have to learn to escape this wretched place and get back to my family. Ch.3 First Entry Entry 1 Page.1 When I got started I first built a little base. So that all who live in the astral would know that I, Tara the best person to ever exist, existed here. I made a little boundary circle out of clothes so that I don¡¯t float away. It is sad to see so many of my beautiful clothes used like a salt circle. The clothes themselves are grouped together by color with each color representing a slice of my home. The blue meditation, purple sleep, orange work, yellow exercise, and the leftovers are my chillax division. In order to not go crazy from all this isolation I need structure and sadly exercise the bane of my existence. But by whatever divine machination it is, the facts are that if a human doesn''t move around enough it''ll turn into a depressed, motivationless mess. So I have to move and separate work from rest, and rest often. After all, you don¡¯t work well if all you do is work. But in terms of experiments I can¡¯t think of anything so first I¡¯ll start with observational studies. Or in my case just plain looking at the Astral and seeing what I figure out. --- Entry 2 Page.13 I am writing this entry with the most piercing headache I have ever received in this oh-so-pitiful mortal life of mine. It feels like someone pierced my brain with a needle and like that needle is constantly jiggling. It all started when I was looking at the clouds, just looking at the damn things, and all of a sudden while I was just trying to see what a cloud of red was doing. I squinted and imagined unpeeling all the layers of colors. Then I could start to see the sparking, glistening, sheen of pure emotion and thought, that was underneath the surface. I could just intrinsically understand that this cloud is communicating anger, the impotent anger of being crushed by another''s heel, always yearning to burst out but always murdered by fear. I could feel the minds of thousands collectively experiencing the very same feeling that''s being told to me. I¡¯ve figured out that if I squint at them and attempt to ¡°unpeel¡± them, I can understand the exact emotion and the thought that the emotion was birthed from in perfect clarity. It¡¯s so exhilarating to be able to see the true thoughts and emotions of others. People are so often a puzzle with blank faces that still expects you to understand it, and these clouds essentially throw their emotions at me, so simple so perfect. And there is so much to learn too, like the fact that larger cloud''s emotions are usually really vague, and reading them hurts a lot more. But they stick around for longer so you can experience the feeling again and understand more than you could before unlike smaller ones. I know I should avoid them but their emotions are the most fascinating. The ideas and thoughts behind them so much older, and thus more complex, as they interacted with the other blooms around them. One cloud that I saw had this strange ethereal feeling that I call untethered, it felt like a calm surety brought with faith, confidence while remaining humble, ethereal and far, yet close enough to help. It floated away, yet while it was here it brought me beauty, and that is enough. This field is fascinating but for me to continue to do this I need a baseline. What I¡¯m going to do is essentially compile the colors and their respective emotions, in order to hopefully understand more of the landscape of the Astral. --- Entry 3 Page.55 Okay I¡¯ve written down each of the colors and their respective emotions although obviously not all of them. Frankly, I can''t find an edge to the Astral Plane. This makes sense of course considering that we use it for FTL travel and if it wasn''t at least the size of the universe, which is infinite, then it couldn''t be used for FTL travel. And with the sheer size of the available sample I of course could not note down them all. Red: Red clouds usually express either anger or passion, but those two are not necessarily far apart. Orange: Orange clouds always give me such peculiar emotions they usually have something to do with uniqueness or exploration, but they are breathtakingly beautiful Yellow: Yellow clouds all are expressions of joy, but that happiness can get incredibly complicated, from the joy of invention to the happiness experienced in waiting for something to arrive. Blue: Blue is a mixed bag with it containing a breadth of terrible emotions like sadness, along with neutral emotions like calm, and good ones like wonder. Purple: Purple finds itself in one of two ways. August personage, and feelings of majesty and importance, and another far more common option of Fear, oh so many types of fear. In fact, I¡¯ve gotten so tired of just getting variations of fear that I just don¡¯t unpeel purple clouds anymore. At least the ones that don''t feel majestic those are usually far more complex. Good gods, I sound like one of those pretentious wine connoisseurs that I never bothered to listen to considering I don''t take advice from idiots, or drink. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Pink Pink embodies love, worship, desire, and teasing, but it also has quite a cruel and twisted side of it with poisonous sickly envy to be found in pinks corner. You can tell when it''s going to be a bad emotion with pink because they always look curdled. Green Green is quite the contrary color because it holds both the emotions of new growth and steady tradition. In fact, any feeling you find in green you¡¯ll also find it¡¯s opposite here from loud disgust to quiet beauty. Even for the more vague emotions like freedom, and authority. And goddamn was authority terrible to unpeel, it was so vague yet so large it felt like a mountain resting on my chest. ¡ª There is a myriad of other smaller subsections of emotions of color but these are the main ones, and the ones I¡¯ve most often seen. Other emotions don''t have enough data for me to pin them down so these will be the main categories for documentation. --- Entry 4 Page.70 One thing I¡¯ve noticed while cataloging emotions, is that time here, simply put is weird. There is no need to do anything here. I don''t need to eat, sleep, or drink, my nails don¡¯t grow, my hair doesn¡¯t get oily, and I don¡¯t need to piss, shower, or brush my hair. I could just leave all those alone, it would be so easy. I don¡¯t because that is how you slip into the abyss but at the end of the day, there are no markers of time. I sleep but I have no idea how long or when I do so. It feels like that old torture called solitary confinement just an endless sea of nothingness. I stared at the clouds across the expanse for what seemed like hours but I didn¡¯t feel the slightest bit tired while reading for 5 minutes makes my eyes droop into the oblivion of sleep. It¡¯s honestly quite maddening to have no idea when anything is happening. Stevens'' watch stopped as soon as we entered the Astral. So I have absolutely no idea how much time passes no matter what I do. My best time-measurement device right now is 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, and so on in and I hate it. It''s so unstable, and unusable that every time I utter it I want to slit the throat of whoever invented it. I tried to track time by how many times I slept but I failed due to a simple reason. The real time between sleep was so different that I might as well have not written it down. At this point, I hope that I am mad because if I am not then the laws of time, time! are different in the astral plane. And if that is true I fear that even if I escape I might not be able to escape to my time. --- Entry 5 Pg.75 After my existential crisis in an attempt to understand the Astral plane better, I¡¯ve been searching Astral on Steven¡¯s databases. I managed to dual monitor my watch and the laptop and then turn off the watch''s screen to get access to that sweet, sweet, screen larger than my wrist. Although I couldn¡¯t find much about the Astral itself I did manage to access all the records of all those who came into a portal and never came out. 4 humans, one alien diplomat, and 1 metric ton of poor lab animals were tossed through a portal. I looked through all the humans and there was nothing special, just ordinary people, government officials, a microbiologist, an interior decorator, and a diplomat. The article detailing their background didn¡¯t find any common factor between them, so there isn¡¯t much to know. But that article does make me fear that I''ll be on one too. My entire life scrutinized by a bunch of strangers all my failures, and my fears and hopes stared at by millions. I wonder what my two word title will be, I don''t have a job right now, so failed entrepreneur? Anyway, my research on the humans didn''t amount to much but the alien diplomat Tra¡¯jaka however is quite interesting. Due to the fact that its species is essentially large brains that control a bunch of mindless drones, they give birth asexually. Tra¡¯jaka would be able to cover a wide radius of the Astral considering his abilities and is thus the easiest sentient being to find. Looking for a single human would take pretty goddamn long but the lair of a disembodied brain spread over kilometers would be much easier. Especially since asexual reproduction means that for all I know they could have made a society before I even got here! But sentient beings weren¡¯t the only things that have fallen into the Astral, over the years our scientists in order to understand the Astral have thrown trillions of animals into the Astral, considering just how many animals have been shoved in and out of the Astral there have been many who have not gone out. Specifically, lots of bunnies, mice, and ants have been put into the Astral. The bunnies and mice are probably doomed since they are alone. But due to the sheer monumental volume of ants poured into portals. Innumerable ants have gone to the Astral together including hundreds of ant queens. The people might be dead but I¡¯ll eat my non-existent hat if those ants are dead. --- Entry 6 Pg.101 I¡¯ve been noticing that as time goes on motes of red and purple seem to be heading in my direction. Most die before reaching me but the ones that do reach me seem to poof out of existence. I have absolutely no idea what happens to them. I don''t feel their emotion just by touching them, and they don¡¯t seem to have done anything. But I¡¯m worried, and oh so afraid that they are doing something, something terrible that I just can¡¯t see. The fear makes my eyes itch and my ribs ache, the motes are EVERYWHERE. In stranger news, my meditation corner is somehow way more still than the other pieces of my base. For some reason, I can''t discern it is just way easier to stop moving there. Like literally I don¡¯t mean that it feels easier to stop there, it literally takes less time to stop moving there than in other places. In my workstation, it usually takes around 30 Mississippi''s to create equilibrium so that I don¡¯t slowly float into my barrier. In my corner, it takes 5. --- Entry 7 Pg.128 WOOP WOOP BABY. Okay, I¡¯m frantically scribbling this down because guess what. I heard some echoes today! I was outside my base floating around singing show tunes due to a fit of boredom, and I heard echoes not from my back but rather forward in the meditation slice. That means that there are other objects other than me in the Astral Plane. For all I know, I Tara, a regular joe schmo could be the one to make first contact with an Astral society. The echo has so many possibilities it could be useful items, monsters, cotton candy, anything! I¡¯m not done to my satisfaction with the observational studies but soon I will explore this new plane. For now, I know it''s not as empty as I thought and that I can find hope in this Astral Plane --- Entry 8 Pg.152 Okay, I¡¯m freaking the fuck out. Although that might be because of the motes too. I have noted that my emotions have become more. My anger is no longer a floating whimsy easily calmed, but rather a raging storm, wonder allows me to stare at clouds for longer lengths of time than my previous self would have dreamed, my fear makes me collapse in terror. I feel that maybe I have absorbed the emotions that I have touched, taken in those minds Joy, Dread, and Hope. I have noticed other things, my eyes, when I squint I see farther, deeper, clearer. I have been living in this soup of emotion for god knows how long, can I know that I am human? No other eyes can be used as my mirrors, only cold metal. But I can reassure myself these feelings are flimsy because I am human, there is no evidence otherwise, and any conclusions brought by emotions should be held in contempt. --- Entry 9 Page.171 I have notice- ¡ª ¡°Wait a goddamn minute, how the hell am I on page 171 this is an 80-page notebook!¡± Ch.4 Grappling with Infinity I flip through the book, only I find that no matter how far I go, I can never reach the end. The book looks like some insane illusion made out of mirrors, with infinity contained between two pieces of faux leather. I¡¯m holding infinity in my hand, but what in the 2-bit god''s name am I supposed to do with infinite paper? "Make a paper mache house, oh wait, I got no glue! What am I supposed to do? Just slobber over the paper to make a mush that falls apart with the slightest poke?" I say anger roiling within my words. But despite the angry words foaming from my mouth, a smile does come across my face anyway, for a simple reason. "BECAUSE I¡¯M A FUCKING WIZARD BABY!" I yell while rocketing my arms out like I¡¯m a human windup toy. I careen into my surroundings from the motion and collide with and launch a piece of orange clothing into the astral, disrupting the careful equilibrium I have created. But I do not care because my eyes sparkle with the opportunities of MAGIC! I¡¯m so giddy¡ªmagic is the thing that I¡¯ve dreamt of touching through the torrents of stories I¡¯ve consumed, and now I hold some in my hands. Although frankly, after having the existence of magic slapped in my face, I can see that some of the things I¡¯ve done are definitely magical. Not just interacting with the strange environment but actually changing the fabric of reality myself. But as I ponder the possibilities of magic, I realize that I should probably get back those errant pants and return to the subject at hand. Or well, in my hand, the infinite notebook. I now possess I swim past my barrier, my free-floating swims not affecting anything else, like swimming through a placid void. I grab the pants and carefully recreate the delicate balance that my makeshift base of clothes and slowly floating objects live in, which is only possible due to the contradictory nature of this bizarre place. And as I do so, I think of something I missed. Studies are considered worthless without the ability to replicate results, and if I can replicate my results here, then my possibilities of escaping this terrible place will greatly expand. Because although infinite paper isn¡¯t that useful, if this can be replicated with other, more useful objects, I can turn this place from a salt circle placed in hell to an actual goddamn base. As I slowly pull myself into more productive thoughts, I feel my excitement boil over and drift into my meditation corner before coming to a stop. I close my eyes and breathe in, and I imagine breathing in a gigantic cloud of blue gas and breathing out the gas in the shape of a waterfall. The waterfall moves to the top of my head with each deep breath, splitting the new river until it turns into a delta. My delta, the one where my family lived for generations I can almost see the house made of old flaky plaster and well-cared-for wooden floors filled to the brim with family, as it¡¯s supposed to be. Cousins running around with plastic toys in hand used again far past their time, reunions abound between brother and sister brought together for a rare moment of a simple conversation. The smell of food is drifting through the air, courtesy of Grandmama. I sit at the rickety wooden table and see my beautiful and vibrant family only for a bit in my imagination before holding them all close. "I¡¯m getting back to you, no matter what," I promise with a cool certainty far removed from my usual manner. With that, I get up with renewed purpose; I must untangle the mysteries of magic before my family only becomes an idea of home instead of the living organism that I am glad to be a part of, even though I am far away from them all. Alright, the 1st order of business is figuring out exactly what type of infinity this book is because it¡¯s going to be important in the future, even if I don¡¯t make a house out of origami. I drift back into the work slice and hold the book in my hand. I try to feel its weight before miserably failing due to the lack of gravity of this place. But that very same lack of gravity tells me something. My book isn¡¯t a physical infinity, strange as that might seem considering I¡¯m holding it. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Because if it was, it would probably exert enough gravity to immediately turn into a black hole and kill me. Lucky for me, this book doesn¡¯t have a literally infinite amount of pages stuck between the tiny space of these two book corners. My hypothesis is that the strange mirror-like infinity that I saw is a mathematical infinity or one brought about by the division and splitting of a real number. There is technically an infinity between one and zero, with infinite numbers between from looking at smaller and smaller fractions, but a set distance between one and zero. "Wait, can I even take them out?" I ask myself while tapping my chin. It seems I have thought a bit too much about the theoretical, let¡¯s get to the practical: can I even use infinite things? I test it in the simplest way possible: I open the notebook and tear a bunch of blank papers out and throw them into the astral to drift. I float amidst a storm of paper, flying in all directions, and not stopping due to the lack of air resistance, creating a wave of paper that slowly diminishes in density until it dies. 1 little poof of mass and motion before it becomes just scraps in the nonexistent wind. Well, except for one place in my meditation corner, the paper drifts to a stop, freezing in its strange zone of peace. I remove it from my thoughts and focus on my new task, examining the infinity in front of me. Now in order to proceed, I must first test this hypothesis, so I grab the book and flip through my notes. There are no gaps between any of the pages; they seem to be somehow connected together in the sea of pages. Hmm, nice to know that my notebook still works. It would be extremely annoying if I had to flip through dozens of generated black pages every time. I grab the back of the book and draw on the last page a 1. Then I open the book up from the back and flip it around, going up and down the pages, and then arrive back at the last pages only to find it blank. I quickly flip the book back open, and begin the arduous task of finding my marked page, flipping through the dizzying array of paper. I finally find it a couple hundred pages from the end; the book has generated pages between the last and the last pages! I stay my calm but I start to feel giddy as I continue with the experiment. I then repeat the experiment by writing down a 2 on the new last pages, and then a 3 after that. Curiously, while there are pages between, the order is still the same: the 1 is the first and the 2 is the second. I wonder if that is why it still works like a notebook. But why aren¡¯t their sheets in between my notes then? Well, to find out, I return to the last page and draw a smile, then on the second-to-last page I draw a smaller smile, continuously doing so until if you were to flip it, it would look like a crude animation of someone smiling. Then I close and return to the notebook to find its new position. A smile blooms on my face because the result is just as I predicted. The little animation stayed in place because it was intertwined with the end. It just feels right for things that are together to not be able to be separated and to be connected. And while science is built on reason, sometimes great discoveries can come of luck. Anyway, it looks like my hypothesis is right. It¡¯s a mathematical infinity, one where there isn¡¯t an actual amount of infinite pages in my notebook. But rather one that can generate a theoretically infinite number of pages by infinitely dividing the spaces between pages and adding blank pages there. I smile triumphantly at my experiment going exactly as expected before my face gets clouded with the trouble of the origin. Simply put, how the hell am I a wizard? I refuse to believe that what I did had no price; that''s just not how the rules work. It makes absolutely no sense that by just existing in the astral, magic happened. But since magic doesn¡¯t seem to make me physically tired, what does it use? I assume it has something to do with the astral, considering I definitely wasn¡¯t a magical girl back home. What do I know of the astral plane¡¯s substance? I know that it holds all of humanity''s thoughts, emotions, and dreams. Wait dreams I remember something from one of my storage dives; another way to say it is that the astral plane holds all human expectations. Expectations, that might be it, because, well, how does portal travel work? The commonly given answer is that we essentially use the astral plane as a shortcut, where there are no laws restricting FTL travel. So you can travel incredibly fast through the astral and pop out at your destination almost instantly. But that can¡¯t possibly be true; I''m in the astral, and I certainly haven''t seen them. If what they say is true, I would be constantly hit by FTL human meteorites rocketing across the Astral, or other FTL objects. It must be some type of magic, and my hypothesis of expectations allows for this. Because if you expect to arrive somewhere and then walk into the Astral, a place filled with magic, apparently you WILL arrive at your destination because that¡¯s what you expect. And my notebook falls under this; I can explain how the hell I got an infinite notebook. Because I didn¡¯t expect to run out of pages in this plane of magic, I never did. Thus creating an infinite notebook! "But wait¡ªeven before this, I did some things that can probably be called magic." I frown while looking at my meditation corner, holding a freezeframe of confetti within its confines. "How did I expect my way into that?" I wonder while gripping my chin. I never had any expectations that my meditation room would turn into a time capsule; in fact, the development of this was quite the surprise. I try to find a way for me to justify expecting that to happen before concluding that expectation causes magic, is the only theory I have that makes sense. I¡¯ll think of it like string theory; in science, sometimes we have absolutely no idea how something works. In that case, we will make a theory that most likely isn¡¯t true but that still allows us to understand our surroundings more and make experiments around it despite being bullshit. But if magic can occur if I expect it to happen, what new magic can I do? I look over my base, a delicate construction built amongst this strange place, and think about the fact that before, unless I touched something, I didn¡¯t affect it because this place acts like outer space. But the entire principle of my "swimming" in this place assumes that while I might not be breathing in oxygen, I am still in a fluid that I can move with. That means that if I were to wave my hands around, I could expect to create a current. Taking all this information into account, I arrive at the edge of my base, and with closed-shut eyes, I clap my hands, creating a shockwave of some sort of fluid. And open my eyes to see the now ruffled, vibrant orange shirt that makes up the barrier of my work sway off-kilter. HAH! The expectations theory works! I was able to do something I was unable to do before by expecting it to happen. Plus, the delicious thing about this theory is that if it¡¯s true, the more I expect things to happen, the more they will happen! I feel like I''ve finally learned something. I have at least one workable theory of the place, and while it might not be perfect, I will perfect it and make other better theories. I yawn, suddenly feeling extremely tired after running around and thinking so much. After the exciting day I¡¯ve had, I deserve some sleep, so I go to my makeshift bed and drift off, expecting grand things for tomorrow. I wake up to the always beautiful sight of the Astral, the menacing yet enchanting landscape of empty black, dotted with tiny stars, and lit up by blooms of color that reveal jagged emotion. I wake up and do some exercise in order to not go insane, and at the same time, I write on the 172nd page of my now infinite notebook my task for the day: replicate infinity. Ch 5. Chuga Chuga Choo Choo I swim over to the recreation center and grab a gray suit and pants; on such an important day, one can¡¯t be underdressed. And then I head over to the gutted remains of my gift to Grandmama and use its black screen as a mirror, tugging and pulling my sharp steel gray suit until it¡¯s just right. As I touch the ginormous mound of curly hair trailing behind me, I sigh. With my photon braces running out of power, my hair has turned into a bit of a mess. I follow the new but slowly becoming familiar steps of redoing my braids; the process calming, if a bit annoying with the conveniences I¡¯m used to. I take a deep breath and list out my plan. "Okay, so I will first try to do the ¡®dupe glitch¡¯ on my clothes; I need new ones considering how impossible it is to clean them, plus fabric can be used in oh, so many ways, as I should know. Then my pencils and my notebook might be infinite, but so far my writing utensils aren''t, and they will eventually run out. Then my most exciting prospect: a binder with iron nails in its supports.¡± I say this while tapping my fingers along my palm to keep it in mind. My main theory of how magic works right now is that if I expect something to happen, it will. So my plan is that I¡¯ll attempt to essentially lose track of how many of a particular item I have. In order for me to ¡°expect¡± to have more. Let¡¯s Begin --- Infinite Clothes Attempt First Experiment Hypothesis: If I do not know the number of clothes in a container, I can grab more clothes than there actually are. Experiment Instructions
  1. Grab a random amount of clothes from the border; do not count how many.
  2. Place them into the suitcase, taking care not to count the number of clothes there are.
  3. Zip the suitcase closed, but leave a hole to grab clothes out of.
  4. Position the suitcase in such a way that you cannot see inside.
  5. Remove clothes until you can no longer grab any more.
  6. Place clothes back in their places, and if there are now extra clothes, note that down.
  7. Repeat steps 1¨C6 two times.
ICA Clothes put in Clothes taken out.
Trial 1 6 6
Trial 2 4 4
Trial 3 8 8
Failure Errors: Human, I could not remove prior memories, making it so wrong assumptions could be made. Also, I could guesstimate the number of clothes missing by looking at the gaps. Next experiment, I will attempt meditation beforehand to clear my mind, and face away from the base in order to not be able to know how many are missing. Experiment 2 Failure Experiment 3 Failure Experiment 4 Failure . . . Due to the same exact results being given no matter what is changed, I am terminating the Infinite Clothes Attempt. Reasons for failure might include the fact that I just don¡¯t expect to be able to have infinite clothes. And the nature of all the clothes being extremely different on account of variety means I could never expect them to be more. My hypothesis is that the blank pages are all identical copies of one another, and with each of my clothes being different, it is hard to expect an identical copy considering I only have one of each clothing item. --- Infinite Pencils Attempt Experiment 1 Hypothesis: If I place pencils into a container where I don¡¯t know the number of them, I can create more. Experiment Instructions
  1. Place all pencils and pens into a pants pocket.
  2. Then, while not looking, whip out one pencil at a time until there are none left.
  3. Write down how many pencils there are; the original number is 32.
  4. Repeat steps 1¨C3 two more times.
IPA New Pencils
Trial 1 0
Trial 2 0
Trial 3 0
Failure Errors: Human, The pencils were not identical, and I knew the total number of pencils beforehand. Next attempt, I will regularize the writing utensils so that I can¡¯t differentiate everything. Experiment 2 Failure . . . Experiment 3 Hypothesis: If I place identical pencils into a container and then take them out, I will expect there to be more than there are and thus generate new pencils. Experiment Instructions
  1. First, only take pencils that are most of the way to the top and scratch them against the surface, pointing straight down, so that they are all flat and the same height.
  2. Then place all the altered pencils into the same pocket used for all IPAs.
  3. Remove one at a time until the pocket is empty, taking care to not look at the pocket.
  4. Repeat steps 1-3, two times more.
IPA New Pencils
Trial 1 0
Trial 2 1
Trial 3 0
SUCCESS! Errors: EY WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT THAT I JUST DID MAGIC! Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Ahem, ahem, I have made the first success in new infinite object generation. What will be done next is an attempt to replicate this result by repeating the conditions. Experiment 4-6 Success Experiment 7-9 Partial Sucess Experiment 10 Failure Overview. For experiments 4-6, when I replicated the 3rd experiment, the amount of created pencils slowly increased, but during experiments 7¨C9, where we tweaked the experiment in various ways, the amount slowly decreased. But on experiment 10, where I tried to go back to the third experiment, none were created at all. One important thing of note is that the creation of pencils happened in bursts, with increases in pencil creation being linked to how long the groove lasted. Another is that while I took a break in between each experiment in my frustration, I did not take a break for Experiment 10. At this point, with how weird it is, I''m just not going to mess with the winning formula. --- Infinite Binder Attempt Experiment 1 Hypothesis: If I randomly remove nails while not looking at them, I won¡¯t know which nails were removed, and thus I will expect nails to be there. Because I expect nails to be there, I will remove a nail that¡¯s already been removed. Experiment Instructions
  1. First, get the binder
  2. Then position the binder so that I have the spine of the book in front of me
  3. Then, with my eyes closed, remove nails at random until I can feel no more nails.
  4. Afterwards, put the nails back in and write down the number of nails that don¡¯t have a spot.
  5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 two more times.
IBA Extra Nails
Trial 1 0
Trial 2 0
Trial 3 0
Failure Error: I think one of the main problems is that I might not be able to see it, but I can feel it. Additionally, I¡¯m human, and we don¡¯t do randomness; if told to do stuff randomly, we almost always do it according to some sort of pattern. One solution to this is to instate a pattern so that I do that instead of instinctively knowing that something was already removed by making a pattern beforehand. I can do it fast enough that I won¡¯t think about how it makes no sense long enough to summon an iron nail. Experiment 2 Change: Instated a criss-cross pattern; no change in results. Failure Experiment 3 Hypothesis: I already have a method of creation in the form of the IPA. Iron nails are pretty identical, so they will most likely work for the method.
  1. Remove all the nails from the binder
  2. Put them in the IPA pocket.
  3. Remove iron nails until there are no more in the bag.
  4. Note down how many nails were created.
  5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 two more times.
IBA Nails Created
Trial 1 2
Trial 2 4
Trial 3 3
Partial Success Error: It works, but the IPA method is so slow and inefficient that I might as well not have a method for it. Plus, with the weird factors surrounding the IPA method, it¡¯s best to not touch it without an 11-foot pole, and those are hard to find in the astral. But this does give us hope that iron nail production is, at the very least, possible. Experiment 4 Change: I embedded the nails in my suitcase in random positions in order to make it so that I can expect there to be more by making them hard to find. Catastrophic failure Error: Nails weren¡¯t created; they were lost after all the trials were over. I counted fewer nails than were originally in the binder, and I have no idea where they are. I had to slowly recreate nails through the IPA method so that the binder wouldn''t fall into a million pieces. Experiment 5 Hypothesis: I don¡¯t have one, but iron nails are really useful, so I¡¯m fucking trying anyway. Experiment Instructions
  1. First, get the binder
  2. Then while not looking at it remove the nails
IBA Nails Created
Trial 1 0
Failure Error: I just ended up destroying my binder by taking out all the nails, and I had to stop the experiment to put it back together. Yeah, I don¡¯t know what I was thinking Experiment 6 Hypothesis: I know that expectation has something to do with this, so I¡¯m just gonna think really hard at it. Experiment Instructions
  1. First, get the binder
  2. Then grab both the infinite notebook and some pencils and think about the fact that I am literally holding infinity; it isn¡¯t unrealistic for it to happen again.
  3. Then, right after that is done really quickly, yank out a nail.
  4. Then check to see if a nail is still there despite having been yanked out.
  5. If no such nail appears, replace the nail and try again. 2 more times
IBA Nails renewed
Trial 1 0
Trial 2 0
Trial 3 0
Failure Error: I knew it wouldn¡¯t work, but I had to try something. And if I could do crazy things by just thinking really hard at it. I would instantly be doing that everywhere so it was sort of a good idea even if it was stupid. Ughh I¡¯m so tired, I need a break. ______________________________________________________________________________ I give up; I shove away that stupid binder with its stupid but incredibly useful iron nails that are essential for pretty much all of my future plans. Or that¡¯s what I¡¯d like to do. Instead, I delicately pack away the binder into my suitcase. Ever since IPA 4, I¡¯ve been really careful with that binder. I then use that very same suitcase, drape myself in a jacket, and immediately fall asleep. And as soon as I wake, I skip my exercise and almost throw myself over to the recreation center. I wave my hands until I float in a way that is somewhat reminiscent of lying down. I think to myself, "Man, do I miss gravity." There are just so many things you do and habits you¡¯ve built that all just assume something is pulling you towards the ground. Haplessly just to fill the time before I start a new book series about an MC face-slapping his way up the chain of command, then moving to a better place to do it all over again. But no matter how hard I try to blast my brain away from higher thought, my mind is still pulled to the puzzle that¡¯s been troubling me. Even my rest is ruined by that damned binder, so with much resistance, I float back to my workstation and attempt to start again. The core problem is just that I have no goddamn idea how I will expect to have more iron nails than I already do. No matter how hard I try to reason my way through, I can find no way to use prior evidence to allow my brain to expect there to be more nails than there already are. Plus even If I do, I¡¯ll probably repeat the IPA. I worry that even if I find a new way to create new nails, if I create them using the principles of the IPA, they¡¯ll probably have the same problem. So I need a different track; the last experiment might have been born of a tired mind, but it was at least unique. If I can¡¯t science my way into this, let¡¯s try going at it from another route. Why don¡¯t I try to remember that I¡¯m doing magic instead of forgetting it? Hmph, essentially try to create a ritual that allows me to expect that it will happen, and once I find a ritual that works essentially never change it again. Like how you never remove comments, or that one piece of inefficient code because for some reason it¡¯s the only thing keeping everything together. --- Experiment 7 Hypothesis: If I first say in the mirror ¡°I am strong, I am a wizard, I can do this¡±, I will prime my brain to expect that I am indeed a wizard who can indeed perform magic. Experiment Instructions
  1. First, grab the laptop screen
  2. Say to the laptop screen ¡°I am strong; I am a wizard, I can do this.¡±
  3. Then pull out a nail.
  4. Repeat steps 2¨C3 until there are no more nails.
  5. Then put the nails back in.
  6. Repeat steps 2¨C5 two more times.
IBA Nails affirmed into existence.
Trial 1 0
Trial 2 0
Trial 3 0
Failure Error: I have no idea if that worked or not, but I will continue down this path. Experiment 8 Change: Replaced the affirmation with a prayer. Failure Experiment 9 Change: Switched the prayer to first scratching my arm with an iron nail. Failure Experiment 11 Failure Experiment 12 Failure Experiment 13 Failure Experiment 14 Failure Experiment 15 Failure . . . . . . . I rub my eyes; I know I¡¯m overdoing it again, but the hope that I saw at the beginning of this mess is starting to fade. I wipe away the imaginary sweat from my brow and open up the notebook to the saved page and read the heavily indented single phrase written: ¡°MIX IT UP¡±. What I¡¯m thinking is that I will essentially mix the two ideas I had. It is a fallacy to consider the middle ground between two ideas to be the best, but well, I need something new. I''m going to trick and reassure my mind with prior evidence through the use of rituals. My idea is that if I make a hand gesture that signifies empty before I touch an empty hole and another for when I touch one that¡¯s full, I can make the hand gesture for a full hole while touching an empty one, and I will pull a nail out of nothing at all like a magician pulling a bunny out of a hat. "This better work." I say rubbing my head, tiredness embedded into my skull. I yawn and write down Experiment 33 and all the instructions I already know by heart. I¡¯ve done it so many times by now that I bet I could do it in my sleep. And with a familiarity that speaks of many hours spent doing the same task with little variation, I start plucking out nails from the cardboard exterior of my binder, the nails easily giving way before the soft recesses that hold them. First, I don¡¯t attempt to pull out nails from the void, but on the second attempt, I pull out all the nails between two nails, and on the third last run, finally, something new happens. When I pull instead of reaching nothing, I feel it¡ªa nail, a new one. I blink rapidly at the nail, almost dumbfounded, but I continue with my routine as I pull another, a 3rd, a 4th, and a 5th, until all thoughts of sleep leave my mind as I pull out more nails that shouldn¡¯t exist one after another. Until I am done, the familiar sight of nails floating in the astral expanse gleaming with soft-colored light is made special by the fact that the number has grown, and that it will continue to grow. Because the fuel to turn my ideas into reality has just been born. Ch.6 Pulling away I can do nothing but stare for a moment at that beautiful sight, the nails floating surrounded by the gentle light of a pinkish-orange bloom. I grasp one, my ragged nails clicking on its rough surface. ¡°Oh, little thing, we will accomplish much together, to the stars and beyond,¡± I say while cradling that nail forged from expectation and magic. I gently gather all the nails into a ball, place the ball gently in the center, and smile, for I know the job is done, and with that, I immediately collapse into a deep sleep. I awake to a head-splitting headache, a dry mouth, and eyes clogged with fairy dust. I sputter because, frankly, I haven¡¯t felt so scrunkly ever since I arrived here. I sigh, I assumed that there would be consequences for such an insane crunch. And as always, assumptions here in the astral make an ass out of u and me. Ugh, I think my headache is getting worse because of that weak-ass pun. I rub my head and look at the ball¡ªthe ball of iron that will be my harbinger for change, the start of my own iron age. Or, well, hopefully. It¡¯s hard to know with such limited resources, and I laugh. ¡°I have three separate items that generate endless piles of materials, and I still feel as though I don¡¯t have enough,¡± I say while slapping my hand to my forehead. Yeah, I¡¯ve got to look on the bright side; I¡¯m literally living the anti-social scientist''s dream. Many portal scientists would kill for an oppertunity to be all alone while on the forefront of discovery. But sadly, I can¡¯t say the same. That dream it doesn¡¯t have life in it; no repairs done to things that should be thrown away, no hugs, noogies, or hard conversations in this void. I sigh¡ªI''m not the unluckiest human out there¡ªand with a fragile smile. "No, that has to be Captain Limpdick, the most charismatic man you¡¯ll ever meet, with the worst case of erectile dysfunction that has ever been recorded. It¡¯s so bad that even when he got his dick chopped off and replaced with alien cybernetics, the new dick couldn''t get it up either!¡± I say this to an imaginary audience, laughing between the lines. Oh, that story never fails to get me laughing. That man is truly unfortunate; he spent a fortune to import something usually only the richest ever get to even see, and it didn¡¯t work. And cross-system returns just flat out never work. As my laugh slows down, I push back the hair that floated forward and finally enact my plans for a less shitty base. Entry 10 Pg.248 First things first, I streamlined the IBA. I managed to remove both steps one and two. Which is such a blessing considering just how many nails I¡¯m going to have to make, create, or summon. I should really think of a name for the nails that I magic into existence. Anyway, I¡¯m so grateful that the IBA is way less fidgety than the IPA and doesn¡¯t fall apart with the slightest change. For some reason, the IPA just breaks if I don¡¯t use one specific pocket! Ugh, either way, I¡¯ve just been plugging away at expanding the ball of iron nails, inserting them one at a time into the ball. The worst part about all of this is the pure boredom of doing this task, it¡¯s MAGIC so why does it feel like I¡¯m an ancient skeleton writing lines on the board for detention? I occasionally go catatonic from boredom and have to give up and just collapse to consume more brain-trash novels. Log out Entry 11 Pg.257 I¡¯ve gotten much better at the ball-growing task, but man, does that sound weird when you put it on paper. Ugh focus I¡¯ve gotten much better at dealing with the mind-crushing boredom of doing the same task over and over again with little to no variation. It hasn¡¯t gotten any less boring, but at the very least I¡¯m better at dealing with it. Additionally, I¡¯ve found a way to increase nail production. The idea is simple. Do it everywhere; do the IBA while doing your logs, while reading, and in the middle of putting on my clothes; hell, I¡¯m convinced that I¡¯ll eventually work up to doing it in my sleep. This has massively increased the production of nails, but it has also caused some annoyance as well. Because well I don¡¯t want to just have dozens of sharp nails floating around my base after every summon? Goddammit, I still don¡¯t have a proper term for this infinite nail fuckery! Whatever in the end, in order to not turn my base into a minefield of poky nails, I have to throw nails into the ball at the center of the base. And that accursed ball refuses to stay a ball! Whenever I throw my nails at it just a little bit too hard, it explodes as if it were a bullet punching through a skull and splatting out brain matter on the other side. And in this case, it''s way worse because rather than, suddenly useless brain matter flying out of a skull, the nails that fly away from the ball are incredibly useful, and after each time I make a mistake, I have to painstakingly rearrange the ball. But despite the difficulties, I now make nails so fast that I could defeat nailguns if there was ever a competition for throwing nails. This means I have plenty of surplus for my next step, electricity. Entry 12 Pg.273 You see, for my next step in my iron age, I need electricity, which, while a hard thing to get without the conveniences I¡¯m used to, is very much something I can get my hands on. Well, as long as I go simple. Because the basic idea behind the modern engine is, when boiled down to its simplest, just spinning magnets. And the wonderful thing about old computers is that their hard drives required the use of magnets, powerful ones, and what metal do I have access to an infinite amount of? A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Iron, and iron is a magnetic substance that is both attracted to magnets and, with the proper efforts, can be turned into one. All you need to do is rub an iron nail continuously in a certain direction for a bit, and it will turn into a magnet. Plus, with the precedent set earlier when I replaced some nails with the IPA method, I know that I can replicate replicated nails. This means that I can replicate the magnetic nails and the endless binder with the modifications, giving me not only giving me regular iron nails but now also endless magnetic nails. Allowing me an endless source of electricity¡ªit¡¯s called the electromagnetic spectrum for a reason; magnets can create electricity, and vice versa; with an infinite supply of magnets, I have an infinite amount of electricity, no matter how inconvenient. Entry 13 Pg.293 First things first, the magnetic nail experiment was a complete success. I have pretty much used only magnetic nails ever since I ripped out that hard drive. It allows for the ball to be a bit less finicky because now it''s a mass of magnets that all want to stick together. But other than that, goddamn, was I arrogant at the start of this. Turns out the steps for making the building block of most civilization¡¯s technology, are much more complicated than infinite magnets equals INFINITE POWER. I¡¯ve been looking up the simplest possible generators in Stevens¡¯ database, and even those usually need cardboard; all I have is a lot of paper as a substitute. Thank goodness for these old things called DIY channels. Such magnificent sources of information, all done to the tune of such charming music. And you get so many ideas for what you can do with their compilations of magnificent ideas. Although I do wonder why they keep making furniture out of silicone copies of their feet, the people back then must have loved them; there are so many! Generators also always need loads and loads of copper wire. So I had to steal some from that ever-more-ragged laptop. But while I was stripping the laptop of wires, I noticed that there wouldn¡¯t be enough wire for even a single one. I panicked for a bit, but then I remembered how the IPA method worked for the nails, so I tried it with the wires. And it worked! For some reason, it didn¡¯t work when I tried to use a random pocket; it only worked with the IPA pocket. I now assume that that pocket is some type of magical artifact. I wonder if it¡¯ll still work if I remove it from the pants it was part of. I don¡¯t dare to actually do it, but I wonder. Anyway, it seems like the IPA method, while very annoying, seems to work on any identical objects. I tested it out on pencils, wires, nails, and fabric from the same dress, and as long as they¡¯re not differentiated in some way and can fit in that pocket, the IPA method seems to work. It isn¡¯t really useful for the scale of stuff required to build things, but it¡¯ll at least make sure that I don¡¯t run out of anything crucial. Getting back to the subject, through the power of infinity and beyond, I had the materials necessary to build my first generator. First, I wrapped a series of copper wires around the block of paper in two bands, leaving a space in the middle. Then I insert a regular nail into the middle and strap tightly with bits of string I ripped out of my precious clothes 2 magnetically charged nails. Then to finish it off I twisted the tails of the wrapped copper over an LED also graciously donated by the laptop. The first time I spun that generator, it felt like magic, my twisting fingers causing that light to flicker madly before eventually going strong as a new source of light was born in the Astral Expanse, all because of me. SUCK ON THAT AUDREY. YOU WHO IS A POMPOUS TWAT AT EVERY GATHERING, WHO IS THE GENIUS NOW! Entry 14 Pg.312 I write this with regret and gritted teeth. Because the matter at hand is simple: all the generators I can make produce pitiful power, and the ones that produce more just aren¡¯t possible for me to build. The problem is this: steam power. Of the vast array of possibilities for making electricity, the vast majority is steam power hiding in a big jacket. And steam power is pretty goddamn hard to make considering that the IPA pocket can¡¯t fit water bottles inside it. And I can''t exactly just pour water into the fucking pocket and expect something to come out. I tried to research a way for infinite water, but the research had no results no matter what I did, and with how the water dropped after each experiment, I had to terminate trials with no results. For now, I¡¯ll revisit the water problem after I know more about the mechanics of an infinity attempt, and thus can revisit it without losing what is most likely my only source of water. Without access to higher forms of generators, I¡¯ll just have to make do with a shitton of tiny hand cranks. Entry 15 Pg.321 The ball grows ever more, the things too damn big to fit in the base even had to be placed below the base. It¡¯s grown to the size of a house by now, it¡¯s not nearly big enough for what I want, but it¡¯s starting to get there. But other than that, for the past several sleeps I¡¯ve been diligently making that stupid little generator over and over again and then running it again and again. I don¡¯t turn it by hand now. I wind a string around the handle and pull all the strings at once. It sure is a strange sight now, I didn¡¯t have enough space in my base for all the little generators, so now they¡¯re all floating in the astral, stuck together with string so that they don¡¯t fly away. The 50 of them sure do make a sight, although they sure are annoying to reset them all every 7 seconds, I¡¯ve been running them all sleep long. I didn¡¯t have quality, so I made do with quantity; each of the little ones generates around 1.5 watts after I strapped more magnets to them, and with 50 running, I have enough power to slowly charge my hair braces. Because you see the hardened photon technology in my hair braces, it uses, well, photons. And with so many photons tightly packed running through it, it¡¯s actually pretty easy to jury-rig it into a shitty laser with no focus. Thank you, Pop-Pop, for teaching me how to disable the safety restrictions. Ever since that day when you showed me how to quickly turn a pair of hair braces into a laser that would break the mind of an Earther, no boy has bothered me at school anymore. May your soul rest in peace. Either way, I got the casing off my charger and attached the wires to the insides; now I just have to rewind these strings some more, and soon I¡¯ll have a combination welder and improvised flamethrower. Entry 16 Pg.327 I am approaching my industrial evolution in an entirely backward way: through the power of lasers! I¡¯ve successfully hacked my way into a laser, and while it''s charged, I¡¯m going to use it to craft a bunch of iron sheets. The standard Replicator that you can find in your home, in order to craft any metal products, essentially puts metal dust in the shape you want and lasers it together in little layers. And I¡¯ve been doing the same thing. I first rubbed the iron nails into powder by scraping them along the edge of Stevens¡¯ corpse, which is thankfully much harder than iron. Then I laid out a carpet of iron dust on top of my suitcase and pulled it away. Leaving a floating mass of iron that you can melt around the size of a suitcase. The first plate was bumpy and a bit wavy due to my pulling the suitcase away too fast, but when I placed more iron dust in the holes of the plate, it got smooth enough to be useful. Soon enough, I had gathered enough plates to create tables, chairs, and mounts. My imagination burns with the possibilities enabled by my power and ingenuity. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wipe my brow, standing over my base forged through lasers and magic into something more than a desperate attempt to categorize the unknown. The base now has a floor and a low set of walls interspersed with handles so that I might pull myself to my destination rather than swim, with various straps allowing me to stay in place without fear of drifting away. My workstation is now a place of science and creation rather than a tool for not falling apart. The beautiful look of the hexagon that is my base was eclipsed by the sight behind it: a ball of iron nails the size of a hill. It¡¯s big, but it won''t be enough, especially considering it has to be 3¨C4 miles in radius before it can generate enough gravity to keep me attached. But soon, soon, I won¡¯t adhere to the rules of the astral; the rules of the astral will adhere to me! I tighten my makeshift backpack, formed of stolen zippers and torn-apart clothes. Place all the items I simply cannot lose, save for Stevens. And I walk away from my base; off to explore the Astral and make it my bitch! Ch.7 Zooming by Going back to swimming after getting used to grips is torturous. Guess that''s what I deserve for delaying the journey this long. I discovered that there was other stuff out here in the astral hundreds of pages ago in my journal. Sadly, it is still one of my best methods of timekeeping, next to sleeps. I made a map a while ago of the nearby echoes that I can both hear and locate, and I¡¯m heading toward the original echo, but there are two other echoes along the way. I stare at the map; disappointingly, it''s very crude, but well, I''m not exactly a cartographer. I just created a rose compass out of my base and its segments, then used the various persistent clouds as landmarks. Larger clouds are slower to change than smaller ones and rarely grow. Usually they only change when they start to shrink and die. I wonder what those objects I detected could be; my main hypothesis is monsters of some sort, because the animals that could survive and thrive in the Astral would definitely adapt to, I dunno, the MAGIC. With only six people put into the Astral via the only-way portals, it would be incredibly improbable that half of them would be so close to my home. Although it could mean that we all got spat out in the same place, but I doubt it. But if it isn¡¯t people, what is it? I frown because I do not know objects have never been recorded to be left behind in the astral despite there being an extremely large volume of small objects coming in and out of a portal constantly, so it has to be a living or formerly living being. And people probably would have you know explored and made an impact; I sigh and realize that what I¡¯ll most likely find is corpses. I shake my head and start to swim faster, the lack of wind resistance in the Astral allowing me to accelerate to ludicrous speeds. Curiously, my magic techniques that affect the environment are always temporary; whenever I create winds with my expectation, I don''t make them from now on through my actions. This is quite useful because, without it, every single magic technique would alter my world and make former observations worthless, but it is curious. The infinite objects I make don''t have any such restrictions, like the paper not dissapearing after I make it. However, the seeming temporary nature of any nature is both quite ridiculous and not in accordance with my expectations theory. Maybe it''s a rule that I have discovered, this needs investigation. I think while speeding through the astral. You know this is probably magic. My actions are not in accordance with previous observations; it''s an alteration of the fundamental rules and thus magic. I¡¯ve made a lot of items through experimentation, but most of my ¡°techniques¡± are things I created accidentally. While rocketing through the Astral at absurd speeds, I pull out my notebook, the pages not fluttering due to the absence of wind, and write down ¡®make more techniques''. It¡¯s eerie going so fast with almost no sound at all, like I¡¯m not even touching this place, as if I were a ghost interacting with reality but not a part of it. But as I speed through the astral, I look and am alarmed to see a red cloud in front of me; touching those from my previous experiences seems to have me consume their emotion. The last time I touched one of those, I got both ridiculously angry and paranoid. What the hell would happen if I touched something bigger than me? Would I go mad from the infusion of emotions, or would it devour me? I frantically turn around my body and start randomly waving my arms and think, how do I survi- But before I can finish my thought, I plunge through the cloud and reach the other side. I hold my breath and yet nothing seems to have happened; I pat down my body and nothing feels bad or anything like that, plus I got to see the inside of one of the blooms¡ªthey''re much lighter colored on the inside! I breathe a sigh of relief, but something feels off, it feels like something is missing? But I¡¯m not sure what happened¡ªI quickly wiped at my runny nose, only for my hand to come back stained with blood. I stare at it and try to wipe it off, but it just smears, making me see more and more blood. I gasp for air over and over again while holding my hand away. What the fuck does the blood mean? Is my brain bleeding! If so, how and where? Oh, gods, I don¡¯t know anything at all about this goddamn mess. I sob my heart pounding in my ears. I panick, wondering if this is this why I¡¯m bleeding? I scream and shake, and I dig my once-beautiful but now ragged nails into my palm. Okay how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it,how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it,how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, how do I solve it, HOW DO I SOLVE THIS! I breathe deep, gulping breaths over and over, my mind stuck on that one thought, refusing to let go, getting more and more panicky as time goes on. I think FUCK when you heal, you generate new cells. Where the hell am I getting those nutrients from? I tear off the backpack, hearing ragged threads tear as I grab my old granola from my backpack and stuff it into my mouth, the sugary oats, nuts, and berries scattering into the astral, wasted. I grab the scattered granola from the air and keep eating it scared for my life because of a stupid nosebleed. My mouth is so dry and damaged that I turn to reach for my water, almost about to throw the entire bottle down my throat, before I tremblingly place it back into the shitty backpack. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I continue to rocket through the astral, this time with a bit less hope. I¡¯m so goddamn stupid, why can¡¯t I think of dangerous things before they happen and plan ahead of time instead of just letting things happen? And I can''t even say that I''m good at improvising to compensate; the second I was in danger, I got into a hissy fit instead of solving my problems. I sigh and lay my head in my hands. But as I curled in with shame, I am shocked into action by slamming into a pile of bones contained within a colorful robe with various colorful patterns dyed on, filled with various wooden charms intricately carved with foreign glyphs, although those charms right now are being scattered across the Astral. "Shit, I need those!¡± I slow down my speed and head back in the direction of the scattered items. I pondered what to do while gathering the pieces, but only when I saw them all put together did it truly hit me. I just desecrated a body, and right after doing that, I¡¯m going to loot it. I sigh ¡°Too unlucky for you, poor brother or sister. I have no idea as to who you or your gods are, but I hope that wherever your soul will drift, it is filled with peace and love." I say for I might not believe in gods, but that doesn''t mean I disrespect belief. It is a core piece of the human experience that cannot easily be sullied. With that done, I get back to the business of graverobbery, although it does bring to mind why the hell there is a body here. I did expect them, with the Astral Plane only seeming to hold what people brought and themselves. And while death is inevitable, how did they die? I look over the bones; they weren¡¯t broken into pieces, but I do see various crooked bones that healed wrong. I frown things like bones healing wrong pretty much stopped centuries ago. Whoever this was must have lived a difficult life to have so many broken and then healed bones. I didn¡¯t see anything on the bones for it to be death by violence, so it has to be something else. I wonder what it was. Maybe kidney failure, various magical and wild events, or just the vagaries of old age. But why is it just a skeleton? There are no microbes in the astral plane; who would transmit them? Where would they come from? Do they live in the air if so how? There are so many questions that must be answered before microbes are flying around the astral, but while this seems contradictory, so does my speed swimming and the wind waves. So my hypothesis is that the answer to why the hell he rotted is that he expected to rot, and so he did, even without the microbes necessary. Although another hypothesis that could work is that he contained enough microbes in his gut and stuff to rot him. Since the removal of my gut bacteria would make me violently sick, I can presume that it¡¯s still inside me. I have no way to research it without either bodies or studies in Steven¡¯s database, but it is a possibility, no matter how dim. And it''s not exactly like this scenario has ever come up at home, who would have researched it? But whatever the reason may be, I¡¯ve got a dead body on my hands. What do I do with it now? I search through the person''s items and find a great deal of carved wooden charms. With further examination, I can see that while they are made with quite a lot of skill, the charms were made with primitive tools, judging by the lack of photon blades or any signs that they were made in a replicator. So unless one of the people who ended up here was a historical nerd, this man doesn¡¯t seem to have come from the galactic era. Looks like I¡¯ve found a corpse that is at the very least a century old since we only got hardened photon technology through trade with the Aexki. Which was obviously after the invention of portals. So he could have only been around for a very narrow stretch of time, that is, post-portal but pre-contact with the galactic community. There could only have been a few years they could have lived in. And while they might not have brought much with them, I can still use the wood on all these charms for the fire necessary for my future plans. But should I take the body or the clothes? They could be useful, especially the clothes, for some upgrades to the IPA. I shake my head and float in the beautiful astral expanse, stumped. There are no graves for me to respectively place them in; there is no easy moral choice here. I could leave his body here and let him drift in the astral. But that''s not correct either; only a coward makes the choice to leave something that''s bad the way it is with no intention of changing it because they''re afraid of making it worse. Plus, leaving him here would be the equivalent of leaving soldiers dead bodies on the battlefield and that''s pretty obviously wrong. I could also cremate him, but the heat required to turn bones into ash is incredibly hot, and for all I know, the man''s beliefs might place being cremated as the biggest blasphemy possible. I sigh and wipe my still-bloody hands on my face. When there¡¯s no perfect moral option, I must place my hopes and dreams over a morality that doesn¡¯t offer any solutions to the problem. I then with trepidation gingerly place all of the man''s remains into the body along with his clothes and jewelry. Then, hoisting up the backpack, I continue towards the next echo. When I reach the place this time. I stop well in advance. Thankfully so, since there is quite a large obstacle to reaching the echo. I see a man with dark ebony skin anointed in a golden paste forming strange symbols, sitting in a strange position that I presume is for meditation, with his face adorned with a peaceful and gentle smile. But more alarmingly, he is surrounded by three clouds that are furiously spinning around his pristine body. Without any damage to the body, it¡¯s hard to tell if the man is dead, but I look at him and see nothing, he is empty, a void. He cannot possibly be alive. I cannot reach the echo, at least not without an unacceptable amount of risk, but let''s see what I can notice from observation. First I ¡®unpeel¡¯ all the clouds surrounding it; looking first at the bold red and orange cloud and ¡®unpeel¡¯ it to be hit with the unfurling banner of an army of nights, my mind gets slammed by the concept of a Just War. I feel as if someone smashed the theory behind a subject into my skull. So many ideas flowing through my head, wars fought for honor, and blood spilled according to treaties and accords. But as I continue to get slammed with the very idea of a Just War. I begin to understand, Just Wars aren¡¯t perfect, but War will always exist, and a better, more just war means a better world. I reel from the cloud; the cloud not that big but filled with one of the meatiest mind packages I had ever seen. Not only did I process a lot of information, but it was so neatly structured, like an introduction pamphlet on a new subject. I practically had a philosophy lecture on the idea of war just shoved into my head! It¡¯s so strange to feel this pulsing pressure in my head. The pain holding me close like a vice were clamped around my mind. I¡¯ve unpeeled so many clouds over these boring days, that I rarely get more than the tiniest headache while peeling, unless I unpeel landmark-sized clouds. I put my hands on my knees and take a bit of rest before I continue. I unpeel the others, but they are much less complicated than the others. One cloud is a dull white that contains the thought of simple math and ambition. While the other is a vibrant electric blue that contains the idea of sudden inspiration. They are also both structured, but their structure is both more shoddy and an imitation of the first cloud. Like someone copying the writing style of an acclaimed author. I¡¯m unsure of what I can do further. I''m definitely not wading in there, so what the hell else am I supposed to do, just throw stuff in there? I shrug. It is not the worst idea ever; it might tell me the purpose of these clouds. It is quite abnormal for them to be moving and so fast as well. I pull out the binder and complete the steps of the Infinite Binder Attempt, or the IBA and throw a magnetic nail at the spinning clouds. I am surprised to see that the red and orange cloud of just war smacks the nails away while it¡¯s spinning, like throwing a penny at a spinning fan. I pull out my notebook and diligently write down, ¡®Clouds seem to have the possibility of being solid, must experiment further before confirmation¡¯. I place my pencil and notebook back and throw two more nails aiming at the same spot to stop confounding variables, and curiously, only the red cloud could stop the nail, but it moved faster to intercept it. I can conclude that the clouds are protecting the person. But why? And why can only the red one block projectiles, and how did it speed up? I ponder these questions for a bit before realizing. ¡°I¡¯m too tired for this shit I¡¯m giving up." I say rubbing my head in frustration as I get the fuck out of there. While this question and the answers I will find while pursuing it are fascinating, it''s not worth the danger to my safety and the unknown ability of those clouds. Sometimes you just have to give up. --- I approach the original signal quickly¡ªthe first echo I heard and mapped in this world, the symbol of my hope. But as the echo gets louder and louder and as I slow down in anticipation, I see it. My hope, a book whose surface is adorned with beautiful mystic runes that seem to just radiate power, is sadly obscured because it is at the center of an enormous gray bloom. I pull my hands to my legs and just stare at the site for a bit. ¡°Fuck me if I want to get that book, I¡¯m going to need to get through that cloud!¡± I say this while looking up at the menacing cloud large enough to block the sun that stands between me and my knowledge. Ch.8 A Wall of Text I stare at the cloud. A shifting cloud formed of hundreds of tiny white strands with a light gray in between, the white strands that almost look like characters forming, splitting, merging, and diverging. Gathering up in storms only to disappear. A single language branching out into dozens, and the intricate dance of languages merging and splitting. Old words blend into the new to freshen themselves. And new words merging into the old and traditional so that they will outlast countries. "Well, at least the cause of my death is pretty,¡± I say while in a power pose. Because frankly, although it might be really stupid to go in there, that book is definitely magical; it is literally oozing magic. From the looks of it, and the magic fizzling out of the runes, It probably is some form of enchantment, something that really grooves with my vibe. I can¡¯t leave it behind, but how do I get it? Well, what do I have at my disposal to get it out without touching it? I have all my IOAs, or infinite object attempts; I could build an engine the same way I could build a generator; if I attach a blade to it, boom, I have a fan. ¡°And then with my array of tiny fans, I blow the book out of the cloud!¡± I exclaim excitement effusing my voice. But as soon as I said that, I knew that it was ridiculous, plus if I really want to blow it out, I can just do some wind waves. In a void, just waving your hands can be pretty impactful, so plan 1 is to try to blow it out with the Windwave technique. I start by putting in my mind all the evidence that if I am in a fluid that I use to move, then naturally that fluid interacts with each other and draws my hand back. And with a sudden motion, I push the mysterious fluid that I float in towards the cloud, the eerily quiet massive gust of wind buffeting towards the cloud. To do absolutely nothing, the book doesn¡¯t even move a goddamn inch. What the hell? I clearly felt the fluid with my hand¡ªwhy didn¡¯t it do anything? I try again, placing all the evidence and all the reasons I have to expect that my motions will generate wind in my mind and wave... to a result of nothing at all. I try again and again, but nothing happens. My head starts to throb because it can¡¯t be that the waves are too weak; there¡¯s no wind resistance in this place. The wind that I generate with wind waves keeps going and gathering speed until I don¡¯t even see them anymore. And from how far away I am, I should be hitting that book like a truck! And even if I hit it with the force of falling salt, after getting hit so often, something should have happened. Is the cloud protecting the book? That should be possible, but what am I supposed to do now? Wait a second before I try to screw with the cloud, I might as well know what the hell it is. I squint my eyes and ¡®unpeel¡¯ the cloud; my eyes shoot up as I see it: all language. For as long as anything has ever attempted to communicate, language has existed, and while it lives, it grows and develops, dies, merges, and splits into the beautiful tapestry of ideas that form all that we know. I clutch my head and scream "FUCK." I can¡¯t believe I just tried to glean knowledge about the idea of knowledge. How is that even a bloom? Most blooms are formed from fleeting emotions like anger or fear; even if they¡¯re large, fear cannot live forever. Language isn¡¯t an emotion; it¡¯s an idea, an idea that has emotions attached to it but it¡¯s not an emotion itself. Are all the clouds ideas? I¡¯ve never thought of what they could be, but the ideas are broad enough for me to not get fucked over by my own assumptions. Either way, that cloud is formed by the idea of language. But how the hell is the cloud so small? It¡¯s hardly a mountain-sized cloud, and it¡¯s about the concept of language itself, not even specifically language, just communication period. It should be so large that it forms the horizon! UGH. Alright, if the wind doesn¡¯t work and since I¡¯m definitely not getting up in there in a cloud that¡¯s been around since before humankind existed, I¡¯m going to make a really long stick and poke it. So I pull out my retooled and jury-rigged hair braces turned laser smelter and a bag of iron dust. I made sure to pack a lot because I damn well ain¡¯t going to take the time to grind up my nails while floating around. I take a bunch of my magnetic nails and put them into a line like I¡¯m forming a marker lightsaber, then throw the metal dust that falls onto the tips due to their magnetic properties and weld the both of them together with my laser. I smile and blow imaginary smoke off my finger, and I holster my beautiful and dangerous hair braces. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten really good at quickly making structures out of iron, especially after all the practice I had turned my base into a beautiful gleaming edifice of iron,¡± I say with pride in my eyes. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Getting back to the point, I create more raggedy bars and then weld the bars together like I¡¯m stacking a marker lightsaber on top of a marker lightsaber. I continue to do this until my invention unfolds: a 100-meter-long pole made out of thorny iron and laser-welded dust. I smile because, frankly, screw danger¡ªwhy push through a tree when you can walk around one? With a smug smile plastered on my face, I poke at the book from 100 meters of safety. The iron pole pushes through the void, but when it reaches the cloud, it starts to get torn apart by each line of strange text, smashing the pole into pieces. My smug smile drops from my face as it morphs into a rictus of rage. ¡°Alright, I get that the ¡®clouds¡¯ here can just magically turn physical, but when the hell did they turn into wood chippers?" I yell through gritted teeth, my hands balled into fists, due to the simple fact that I¡¯m getting sick of this BS. I stare at the tiny stick of iron that¡¯s left behind and throw it into the shredder, which is my obstacle in frustration, only to see it also reduced to dust. Not helping my anger at all. But I turn away from the cloud and attempt to start over. I know I can do this, so I take a deep breath in, visualize my vibrant house in all its chaos, and breathe out. "Okay, if that pole won¡¯t work due to the word lines obliterating it, let''s try something else; if the pole doesn¡¯t work, let¡¯s just go bigger." I orate my fingertips tapping along each other like I¡¯m a ye olde villain in a swivel chair. Any problem that you can solve with just a bit of hard work is really no problem at all. I pull out the metal slab from my backpack, and I sigh in happiness for all that no gravity is frustrating¡ªit really is so much easier to carry things with no gravity. I grab my hair braces, place a thick layer of dust on top, and forge a new plate. I then heft the plate into my hands and twirl while holding the plate, imitating a hammer throw, letting myself gather momentum before letting go of the thick, sturdy metal plate, which rocketed itself into the blender with alarming speed through the gathered force. The plate shoots toward the cloud, silently traveling with immense speed within the astral. And it slams inside! With mighty clangs, the plate is battered by the storms of mystical words, but it still invades the space and gets into the inner sanctum before being battered out of the cloud. While watching the battered plate drift away, I tap my chin. ¡°It looks like the standard slab that I use for construction is durable enough to get some ways in; it just gets slapped out, not broken, so if I throw it hard enough, I might be able to slam the book out of there.¡± I muse. But wait, if that happens, wouldn¡¯t the book be shredded by the writing? Ugh, now that I know that those little word projectiles exist, any solution gets thrown out the window. If I try to magnetize the book and pull it out, the book will be torn to pieces and thus utterly useless. If I try to push it out, I¡¯ll first have a big, heavy thing slam into it and then have it turn into pieces. No matter what I think, there¡¯s no way for me to remotely grab and protect the book from its surroundings. I steel my expression and try to think of something else before settling on my own nerve-racking course of action. I know that the slab is enough to protect me from the physical threat if I can block the strikes quickly enough, so if I get the book and then slip it into my shirt, I should be able to get the book unscathed. My face contorts into a grimace. I don¡¯t have the ability to get that book out without risking either it or myself, and frankly, I can¡¯t let go of something as valuable as a spellbook. Without any sort of guidance on how to advance in this strange world, I¡¯ll probably die of old age before ever leaving this place. It took scientists hundreds of years before we could even dream of figuring out the secrets of our own universe, and that was with thousands of them specializing in tiny slices of knowledge in order to advance humanity¡¯s knowledge. It¡¯ll have to be me. I ball my fists together before releasing them and breathing out in one fluid motion. With a calmer mind, I think that while I might be risking my life, I don¡¯t have to be stupid about it, and I should take the most care in order to get out of there with my skin intact. I put on a crude iron vest made with two iron plates wrapped tight across my torso, protecting my torso and all my internal organs. I should be fine; there''s nothing crucial in my arms or legs. And since the only helmet I could make would be a bucket, it would be foolish to make it. I¡¯m going to need my sight if I want to survive this. I take a deep breath and hold the image of my beautiful family in mind. With this struggle, I shall come closer to you. I breathe out and start swimming toward the cloud agonizingly slowly; any speed won¡¯t give me enough time to react. I hold the plate on top of my head; in the void, the weight doesn¡¯t matter, so it is as light as a switch. The only reminder of its weight is the momentum and force of the plate. The plate was held as if it were a shield in some ancient war, protecting my head as I paddled deeper into the gray cloud that makes up the bloom of language. My eyes dart around, watching out for the deadly words that I am swimming through. My arms strain as I swiftly change the momentum of the plate so that it could protect me from a bullet darting in to try to attack my skull. Ugh, I swim forward faster to make up for the time lost by the attack, and my frantic kicks have the appearance of the last motions of the drowned. I gritted my teeth because, as if that first attack alerted the rest of the scripts, I kept getting battered by them. I kick and kick as my legs get nicked, the blood oozing out like ketchup spurted out in orbit. I gasp: the swarm is gathering into one large hammer blow. I use a wind wave to boost myself out of the way, but despite my frantic actions, my knee gets slammed by the accumulated force of the words. I scream my pain, echoing out in the mysterious fluid that makes up the in-between of this strange world. But I can¡¯t stay here; I have to keep moving, so I start kicking even harder; speed isn¡¯t on my side with so many blows pushing me off course. But as I desperately swim towards my goal, I feel that something is draining out¡ªbut what blood? Am I even going in the right direction? I look towards my goal, the center of the cloud, seeing it right ahead! I smile with triumph, but when a whip-thin script keens toward me, I have to duck behind my crude shield yet again. But I¡¯m getting there! As blood spreads around me as if I were a crudely scored steak, I keep on swimming; I just have to get a little bit farther. I think with how close I am, I can do this. I tucked my feet in one last desperate attempt to reach the inner sanctum and let my momentum carry me inside. I sprawl into the one safe area of the cloud and see my prize, the book! But what the hell is this? There¡¯s another corpse attached to it! Ch.9 Surrounded I first stared at the precious book stubbornly attached to the corpse before trying to pry the fingers off the corpse, and oh, so many other things, but nothing I did worked. Before I think, "Why the hell do I need it right now?" I need to read it! So I rapidlyshite flip the book open only to realize... that I can¡¯t read any of it for shit! I sigh¡ªit might be a sad and frustrating experience given how hard I worked for this book, but that¡¯s understandable. It is a book of mystical runes that ended up in the Astral for who knows what reason. I doubt whoever wrote the book knew English, so I¡¯m double-screwed on that front. Well, if I can¡¯t read the book, I might as well take a look at the corpse attached to it. The corpse is nothing but bones and sinew, making it quite ridiculous that it¡¯s holding on to the book so tightly. When people say "death grip," they mean it! I take a closer look, and they¡¯re wearing a robe like the first skeleton but in a different style that''s much more ostentatious. The dyes are more beautiful, and the patterns seem expertly done, enhanced by little runes EVERYWHERE on the robes. I take a swim backward for a second. ¡°Goddamn enchantment has to cost something. I refuse to believe that the conservation of energy isn¡¯t a constant! It offends my modern sensibilities. I spit in the face of such stupidity! Anyway, whoever made this sure spent a lot." I exclaimed while looking at the robes again with a side-eye. I push it away. There''s no way I¡¯m putting on a magical item without knowing what it does. For all I know, it has security measures that liquefy anyone who even dares get near and isn¡¯t their owner. Also, the guy is decked out in jewelry that is also adorned with runes. Most interestingly, they wear a band on their wrist absolutely packed with tiny runes and a jewel that swirls within a gray inner storm. If I can decipher this book, I can figure out what they do by translating the runes. Well, that¡¯s for a later time. I need to head back home, so I stuff his body into my pack. But as I pack away the dead man''s things into my pack, I notice something interesting: the cloud moves along with the corpse as if it were affixed to its position. When I turn right, so does the cloud. Well, this stinks. I can¡¯t leave here if the cloud moves with me. I frown and reason that it probably isn¡¯t everything that the cloud is attached to. Therefore, if I move the items one at a time, I can find what I need to abandon to get out of here. I groan because I sure hope it isn¡¯t the book. I first take the corpse out of the book pack and then remove all the items from the body while carefully observing the cloud around me. I try to see if it moved, but if it did, it¡¯s too small for me to tell. So to be more thorough, I grab the bundle of bones and swim back and forth, the cloud not shifting around me. Then I move the robes to nothing as well. I¡¯m getting a bit nervous, so I move the book up in the queue. I move the book around only to be delighted that the cloud doesn¡¯t shift according to its position, so it has to be something else. I then grab the jewelry with the densest runes, the bangle, since my theory is that maybe something with so much magic is the reason for the strangeness. So I grab the bangle and swim forward, only for the cloud to follow me as if I were at the center of its universe. Interesting; maybe it has something to do with that swirl of gray in the center of the bangle. I pull my infinite notebook out to write down my findings, only to burn with fear, anger, and confusion. I can¡¯t read a single word of my piles of research. I breathe in and out like my lungs were transformed into the bellows of a forge. I can feel my skin, and it feels tight. My eyes turn over extremely fast, and my mind speeds along a track. Only to come to the same conclusions. I hold my head but I can¡¯t speak. I want to scream but it doesn¡¯t come out. Did I forget my words as well? How did I forget how to read anyway? It has to be in the cloud, but how do I get it back? I can''t escape the astral plane while being illiterate! I get my research from Stevens¡¯ database by reading! I certainly haven¡¯t memorized the whole of scientific knowledge prior to mind injection, as Stevens has. I groan. I wish he was here so he could reassure me and tell me it¡¯s going to be alright, even when I knew he was lying. Or tell me some weird fact about the human psyche to draw me out of my funk. Maybe even with his advice, I wouldn¡¯t have done the stupid shit that led me here. I chuckle because frankly, when he was around, I just plugged along ignoring him because frankly, it¡¯s really annoying to get perfect advice, like, "Oh, I can eat chocolate when I¡¯m freaking out, and it¡¯ll be better really! I roll my eyes thinking about that moment. Like, thank you so much, I''ll definitely keep a chocolate bar with me at all times. But in this case, I know his advice already. I breathe in and breathe out, my heartbeat slowing, the pounding in my head slowly receding. ¡°Okay, if I¡¯m going to get out of here without simultaneously turning into a shish kebab and a vegetable, I can¡¯t go out through the cloud; it¡¯s too risky, but how?¡± I say with a steadying voice. Then, with an alarmed one noticing my injuries, she said, ¡°But before that, let¡¯s patch me up.¡± I pull my backpack off, take off my rudimentary armor formed of steel plates, and get out the roll of fabric I formed around a bar of iron. I then wrap all the various wounds I got getting in here tightly before tightening them off. "HAH, STEVENS, LEARNING HOW TO DRESS WOUNDS WASN¡¯T A WASTE, LOOK AT ME NOW,¡± I say, my voice infused with snark and pride, before I suddenly stop with a wince. ¡°This is going to be a bitch to heal, especially since I still have no idea how I get my nutrients. Although, frankly, I¡¯m not going to think too much about it lest I expect the wrong things and promptly starve to death.¡± I say this with a voice tinged with sleep and pain while wiping my forehead. Yeah, let¡¯s think about nicer things, like an escape! What could dispel this cloud? Well, the bangle seemed to have something to do with it; it could have generated the cloud, and certainly this cloud is very strange even compared to others. It had its own intelligent defense system that reacted to me coming in here and thought of new ways to murder me mid-ordeal. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Plus, the cloud is formed around a very strange emotion. The emotion of language¡ªhow the hell is language an emotion? I¡¯ve never seen a cloud quite like this; even that cloud of just war I found was an emotion, just an extremely complex one. Mixing dozens of emotions to form the complex idea of a just war, from righteous anger to compassion and fear, all wrapped up into one extremely dense package. So maybe this cloud was made by the bracelet as a protection measure? It was certainly very dangerous. Well, if that''s true, I bet if I break this stupid bracelet, I could get myself out of here. It¡¯s not certain that I¡¯ll get out of here if I break the bangle, but any other idea has its own dangers. I shrug. I don''t have any other ideas, so I guess I¡¯m going to break the bracelet. I pull out my notebook and start writing down my plan, only to stop, pencil above paper, with no idea whatsoever on how to write the thoughts down. I barely resist the urge to scream at the injustice of it all, gritting my teeth. before, in a fit of anger, taking out the stupid bracelet responsible for my problems and slamming it into the battered metal plate that was my shield. Only for nothing other than a hurt wrist to occur. I turn the bracelet over and over, but no matter where I look, there¡¯s not even a scratch on the godforsaken thing! My mind is still fizzing like a pot of boiling water spilling from its pot. I pull out my former hair braces and my now powerful laser and unleash it on that stupid bangle. The hair braces vibrate dangerously in my hands as the laser batters the bangle with focused photons hot enough to melt iron in less than a second. I smile a dangerous grin, my face lit up by the immense light generated by the laser as I imagine my freedom. Only for that expression to drop when I have to frantically turn off the braces when they overheat, my tools giving out before the bangle. I scream with frustration as I leave the hair braces floating in the astral, which are too hot to touch from the fraction of energy they output, while the bangle that received the force was cool as a cucumber. Literally, it didn¡¯t heat up at all! Oh, that bangle must have some protective enchantments in it! And with no magical destruction of my own, I¡¯m outgunned. Plus, with how many runes were packed into that damn bracelet, I probably can¡¯t break the stupid thing. So, what am I going to do now?I won¡¯t be able to break free from the bracelet plan with how unbelievably sturdy the damn thing is. What can I do that could get me out of here? Teleportation? Break the cloud? A Tunnel? I sigh, let¡¯s get through these one by one. Teleportation is obviously beyond my abilities. I could barely handwave and reason my way into just getting a lot of nails, much less walking through two points. Hell, if I could do that, I would teleport back home! And how could I break the cloud¡ªit''s a cloud; what am I supposed to do, eat it like cotton candy? A tunnel of iron might work; it might take a while and be extremely claustrophobic, but if the iron insulates me, I could escape. But I would have to abandon the bangle. It''s obviously an extremely powerful artifact, considering the effects I can directly see. I have no idea what it really does. It would be difficult to leave such a powerful artifact behind; however, knowledge is more valuable than some random item. And I will prioritize my life above all else. So the plan that also provides me a shield from the wall of text is the best. I start by smoothing out the battered slab of iron that was my shield and removing the plates tied around my chest as armor. Using them as the first two sides of the tunnel leaves one plate in order to create more. I place them in the center so that my tunnel does not accidentally dip into the cloud. And I start pumping out slabs, although frankly, past the first four slabs, they get much thinner with less wasted metal. In the beginning, I used all dust, but as time went on, I just used nails and then slapped dust on the outside so it was smooth. After an indeterminate amount of time, I made it¡ªa tunnel of iron for me to crawl out of this godforsaken cloud. The tunnel is a raggedy contraption of blackened iron welded together, the outsides sporting a thorny exterior made out of sharp nails. The insides are smooth, however, and filled with handles spaced at around two arm lengths so that I can quickly pull my way in. The outside has been battered by the text floating through the cloud many a time during the duration of my build, but it has stayed strong. I float in a power pose filled with pride before my creation, although it is ugly, it is finished, and it is strong. But as I am about to climb in, I notice something: the cloud is inside! I look away, and before I lose my cool, I look again, this time expecting that since the cloud is a gas, it can¡¯t pass through solid steel. And this time it¡¯s clear! I smile, but that smile doesn¡¯t stay on for long, as I am scarcely inside the tube before the cloud pushes in. As if my magic were a sticky jar that it was slowly forcing open, pushing past my resistance. AGH! The cloud rushes its way inside, and it feels like glass shattering in my mind as a piercing headache stops me in my tracks. I cradle my head in my hands as my hope for a perfect escape fails. While the tunnel could almost perfectly protect me from the impacts of the script swirling around inside the cloud, it can¡¯t protect me from the cloud stealing even more of my language. Who knows if I could even recognize myself on the other side if I attempted it? I shiver; I¡¯m definitely not going back in there. I refuse to lose myself; I can do this without sacrificing the last bits of my language. I steel my gaze. ¡°Because fuck it, I¡¯m breaking this cloud!¡± with a determined voice and a finger pointed towards the future. If the cloud won¡¯t allow me to escape without paying a price, I¡¯ll do the same. I''m not getting out of here with anything but perfection. And there is one way that I know of to break these things: consumption. Because if I can eat seeds, why can¡¯t I eat clouds as well? I don¡¯t care what happens afterward; I will break this cloud! The problem seemed to be size back then, so why don¡¯t I divide it into portions? My iron slabs managed to resist the clouds for a little while, so I can touch the clouds. That means that I can make a spoon and EAT IT! In a mad rictus of anger and fear, I create a large soup spoon, the handle of which is porous and made up of smelted nails from the IBA, and the bowl of which has a smooth surface of blackened iron. With my face contorted at the rage of failure, I scoop out a bit of the cloud, holding my reasoning in my mind, and eat the cloud! I feel a rush of something like the feeling I get when I unpeel a cloud, and strangely enough, I¡¯m also feeling a bit peckish. So I quickly scooped up another helping of language. The feeling now intensified, like my brain was being added to, like the cloud was adding a point in the intricate grid that was my mind. With the knowledge that it was working, I frantically scooped more and more, feeling more language being added to my brain. My stomach started to spasm with a piercing hunger so deep that I just clutched my stomach with my hands in so much pain that I desired to claw at my stomach. I can¡¯t do anything but twitching with pain so deep that I can¡¯t even muster the energy to eat the last scraps of granola I have. I can¡¯t think, I can¡¯t move, but the pain stops any attempt at sleep, so I just float curled into a fetal position in the center of a cloud of language for ages. And when the pain finally stops, I can scarcely even feel the relief before I immediately fall asleep. ¡ª My eyes flutter open to see myself floating in the slightly larger hollow in the middle of the cloud of knowledge. My mind darted with thoughts born of the strange experience yesterday before I quieted it. I start my workout routine, strange as it is, floating in the astral. I jog in place and swim amidst the mysterious fluid I live and breathe. Before doing a meditation session, I brought my home into my mind¡¯s eye with steady breaths and stood calmer and more sure than before. I stretch my arms out and start my work again. I think I might have found the price of magic. When I devoured the cloud of knowledge, I started to feel hungry for the first time since I arrived in the Astral Plane. The price of magic isn¡¯t nutrients or work energy, but something else. No other magic I wrought made me hungry, and it doesn¡¯t seem like a coincidence that what I did was eat something using magic. I think that the cost of magic is madness, or more accurately, increasing your emotions. And those specific magics increase specific emotions. So if I create techniques with emotions in mind, I can increase the chance of making them. But although this is fascinating and I will have to test it back home, I need to get out of here. I think that if you reach a limit, you can¡¯t do certain magic anymore. Like how, with the IPA, I would randomly stop being able to do it, but as time went on, I could make more and more. If I stop right before I collapse, I should be able to steadily erode the cloud of language until I eat it all. Because why stop at escape? I can turn this tragedy into benefits through my wit and work. With my plan of escape in mind, the experience became a litany of tedium. I slowly consumed my way out of the cloud like I was James from James and the Giant Peach. Except I had no delightfully eccentric bug companions; instead, I just had a skeleton stuck together with grisly sinew. Additionally, I had no escape from my boredom. I worked constantly to get out of there, only taking breaks to make sure that I didn¡¯t collapse into a ball of hunger. I had no books to entertain myself since Stevens¡¯ corpse was left at the base due to the delicate arrangement of wires involved. Without literacy, there are no notes to writeens'' corpse was left at the base due to the delicate arrangement of wires involved. Without literacy, there are no notes to write. Just drawing random things while waiting to feel less hungry So like that, I devoured it, my demonic ladle slowly consuming the entirety of the cloud''s existence, leaving not a single scrap behind, and with one last tired scoop, there was nothing left. The Bangles inner lights dim and die, with the film at the center of the cloud popping out of existence. revealing a clear sky leading me home to take new knowledge and build it into something more. Ch.10.1 Home I fly through the astral at extreme speeds, not paying attention to the beauty around me, thoroughly tired of the shenanigans from my time in the cloud of language. But as I do so, I notice something strange; when I pass by a cloud, I know what it is without unpeeling it. As if the cloud was radiating out its emotion and purpose on a wavelength that I couldn¡¯t detect before. I frown; is this because I devoured the cloud of language? But why? Is my brain so altered that I can intuitively understand clouds now? ¡°Huh, I¡¯m not dealing with this bullshit,¡± I sigh while rubbing my eyes. I blast past wonders that would make any scientist explode into excited confetti, sprawling ecosystems of ideas that merge, fall apart, scatter, and slowly change into each other. I ignore it all in pursuit of home, but as I reach it, I realize that it¡¯s covered in some strange whitish film. My base and the massive ball of iron are the size of a hill that floats beneath them. All behind this barrier, despite being so strange, just feels right. I know I should be afraid of the random, unexplained bubble around my home, but it radiates the warmth of a well-worn home. I understand intellectually that this could be some weird psychic trap, but I don¡¯t care; I¡¯m coming back home. I recklessly touch the bubble, and it pulls me into its embrace. Reassuring me that it would make anyone who tried to invade pay a price. And as I pull in, I see the result of my hard work: the place where I have made the Astral my own. I feel comfortable here, like this place was made just for me. But why? I certainly didn¡¯t use any technique to make this. Or did I learn from my travels that the fuel for magic is emotions? Certainly, before this time, I knew this place was my home, even if I never specifically put a doormat here. And so I infused my surroundings with that feeling of home, influencing the Astral to make it mine. Plus, this would also explain one knot in my expectations theory: the meditation room. It exudes calmness and peace while making any objects that come inside slowly drift to a stop. And using the emotions fuel hypothesis, an explanation is that due to my exuding calm in the meditation corner, I made the meditation corner more peaceful and slowed down movement in order to aid my meditation. If that''s true, then in the astral, your environment slowly changes to be more useful to you. Like a chef who eventually learns to cook your food just the way you like it. I wonder if any other sections of my base have these alterations. Nah, I would have noticed by now; I certainly knew about the meditation room''s quirks soon after it came into existence. Although this does make me realize something, When did I stop getting motes bombarding me with random emotions? I don¡¯t think I noticed it before the invading motes of color stopped invading me. But since the bubble seems to tell me that it would destroy trespassers, those damn motes harassing me certainly count. It might have been to protect me. But if so, how long has the barrier been in place? I open my notebook to check which page number it was that I last noted down the motes coming towards me, only to realize they are staring at me with foreign words that I don¡¯t understand. "Like, come on, I devoured a cloud of languages and I didn¡¯t learn any. Come on, no dead languages like French or Egyptian hieroglyphics poured into my brain. Just the underpinnings of language itself. Which would be really useful, if I knew any?¡± frustration and anger boiling in my voice. I turn my head away. Either way, I know that it stopped around the same time that I discovered my infinite notebook, and I just wanted to check for posterity. I slammed the book shut, the strange infinity of the book''s pages folding into the ordinary 80 pages. But this whole situation brings up something interesting: can I just vibe my way into magical effects? I instinctively laugh but stop because, frankly, I did do magic by just vibrating. I didn''t do any incantations, and no technique was used. I just felt things, and the astral bent to my will. And in the end, is there anything embarrassing or ridiculous, considering I''m in a strange magical dimension researching magical theory in order to teleport back home? But as these thoughts spin in my mind, I yawn; it''s been a tiring whatever the hell amount of time it¡¯s been. I shake my head, place my bookbag down, propel myself to my suitcase bed, and immediately fall asleep. ¡ª----- I rise to the low blackened metal walls, push off the suitcase that forms my bed, and whoops, I float way too high. With an embarrassed smile on my face, I paw my way down. I then grab a metal bar so as not to float away as I pick an outfit. I sigh as I look at my sadly emptier closet than before; some of my more needy clothes had to be scrapped for parts. It¡¯s not exactly like I have an iron here. Although I do my best with what I¡¯ve got. ¡°But you know what I should make,¡± I say while tapping my chin. ¡°Some goddamn needles so that I can sew sh*t up!¡± with eureka in my eyes. I might not have a replicator here to print whichever clothes I want based on my designs, but I could go old school and just use needle and thread. And if I can¡¯t make that due to it being too delicate, I could probably make knitting needles; hell, they¡¯re just long, pointy sticks! Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. As I think about the possibilities of knitting, I shake my head and get back on topic. I grab a poofy shirt with lace collar and sleeves, a deep V held together by tight red laces, off the rack. Then, reaching up, take the clingy dark pink satin pants that go along with them. The white goes really well with my dark skin, and with enough guts, dark reds and pinks always end up looking good. I pull my hair out of its sleepy time cap, and it suddenly poofs out like a dormant spring. I sigh while patting my beautiful locks. My hair might be troublesome, but I love it. Today I braided it into a thick singular braid flowing behind me, almost looking like a tail. My hair braces are occupied as a laser welder, so sadly, I can¡¯t snap my fingers and change my style. Although, frankly, it is soothing to go through these morning rituals, on the other side you snapped your fingers, ate your breakfast, stepped through a portal, and boom, you¡¯re at work. Or, well, that¡¯s the situation for the employed, I think as I massage the back of my neck. Well, my employment doesn¡¯t exactly matter now; my job is to get out of here. Speaking of which, I should head to the workstation. I get out of my closet, grab my backpack, climb the bars along the tops of all the low walls, and pull myself to my workstation. From the outside, the room would look crazy, filled with notes and drawings tied together with iron nails, wires drifting about, and a hatch below to constantly eject nails into the growing ball of iron nails. And it¡¯s also conveniently located right next to the array of hand motors attached to the base. Additionally adding to the craziness is my prototype zero-gravity chair. It¡¯s a mess of fabric loops attached to the floor, made so I can ponder in peace without floating away from my notes. But as I float above my work, holding down my chair, I take out my backpack and oversee my loot. But before that, I start chucking nails through the hatch onto the iron ball; later, I''ll need to pat it smooth, but right now I''m going over the results of my exploration. I dump out my backpack, and it spews out two robes, one magical, the other not, a ton of golden jewelry adorned with runes, a now magically empty bangle, some wooden charms, a clean skeleton, and another, newer, still-rotting skeleton. I stare at the bones for a while before sighing. I don¡¯t really have any use for bones that doesn¡¯t involve either turning them into powder or smashing them to bits. Frankly, I have no idea why I even took them. I''ll toss them into the corner, and I¡¯ll probably encase them in an iron case to give them the closest thing to a grave I can while still leaving me with intact bones. Because, well, practicality always trumps morality. For all the magical items, like the robe, jewelry, and bangle, I¡¯ll put them in the backpack and attach them to my base with a braided cloth rope. I¡¯m definitely not touching random magical artifacts, but they could be useful in my attempts to decode the book. So I¡¯ll keep the items around, just as far away from me as possible. I shudder at the thought of getting melted just because I put on an earring wrong or didn''t have the right blood. But the regular stuff that won¡¯t send me quite as far down to hell is the real stuff. The robe, although beautiful, is going to be turned into just one big pocket. Due to the fact that the IPA only works with that singular pants pocket, I need more; it''s just too tiny! I can¡¯t fit shit in there, so if I make a new one, I can duplicate items way better. And that fits perfectly well with my next goody, all these wooden charms; with wood, I can create fire in this godforsaken place. Fire was one of the most important things to ever happen to humanity, but I¡¯m going to be using it in a slightly different way. I pull out the water from my backpack, grab the ordinary robe, and tie the part with the sleeve off with a bolt of fabric. I then go through with the procedures, which end in failure as usual without the special juju of the original pocket. But this time I am armed with new knowledge, and I do something incredibly stupid. I yell at the magic pocket. ¡°HEY, YOU STUPID IDIOT, START DUPLICATING ITEMS RIGHT NOW!¡± I scream at the inanimate cloth at the top of my lungs, while envisioning those who¡¯ve wronged me, the annoyances I just have to let go of, and the injustice done to me when I was thrown into the Astral. I let this boiling pot of anger erupt, and the strange fluid I float in gets strangely hot as I stare at the failure. No results. I then pull my anger in, as I must always do. And I drift over to Steven¡¯s corpse, the room feeling strangely quiet after such loud screaming piercing through the calm of the Astral. I look over at the wires floating in the astral, the gutted remnant of my gift to Grandmama, attached to broken leftovers of my personal A. I am Stevens'' assistant. I remember that there was a voice recording app on him that still worked. His auditory sensors are quite advanced given that, as an A.S.S.A.I., he mostly interfaces with your other A. Is at your vocal command. With a smile on my face from my clever idea, I scroll through Stevens¡¯ applications, most of them unusable without the A.I. And I find the app because I might not be able to remember any words, but I do still remember what the app looked like. So I press the red button on the bottom and say to the speaker for posterity. ¡°Start Log. Invoking emotions seems to work, but anger did nothing other than make me toasty for a second. Most likely, I used the wrong emotion. Experiment failure: on the next attempt, use an emotion more relevant to duplicating items. End Log,¡± I stiffly say into Stevens¡¯ speaker. I drift back over to the robe and try again. This time I''m trying to invoke the feeling of perfection, the glory of a finished dress that¡¯s just right. But it doesn¡¯t work, so I try again, this time with a new emotion, and fail, so I start over. Over. And Over. Again. ¡­ .. . I sigh, my eyes drooping and my voice hoarse from the unexpected workout of constant voice logs. I drag my hand across my face before I admit it; I can¡¯t brute force it, as I say, and any problem that can be solved by doing it hard enough should be solved like that. But let¡¯s go about this a bit more intellectually. I grab my hair and pull it back. Because what emotions go with the idea of magic in creation? But as I try to go down that line of thought, I stop myself. Just because I figured out a new trick doesn¡¯t mean I have to always use it. Plus, if I keep failing to do the things I want with the new emotional magic theory, I¡¯ll have less expectation that the technique is useful, and thus because I expect it to fail, it will! So let¡¯s step back from feeling our way into magic and take a more evidence-based approach. Or at least not unnecessarily use the most recent and untested theory I have. Well, if the IPA pocket works, why does it? I grab the pocket, attached to a silk pair of grey dress pants. I pull at the pocket, and the reason it works is because of this special pocket. Why don¡¯t I just throw it in here? I yoink the pants and throw them inside and go through the IPA procedures only for nothing to happen. I step back a little and think a little bit clearer, through my hypothesis of expectation dictating magic. What are ways that I could expect to essentially transfer their magic from the small pocket to this robe? Well, for a more mystical solution, I discovered early on with the infinite binder that by doing weird stuff, you can get yourself to expect things that would seem ridiculous. The plucking gesture worked for the IBA, so I¡¯ll make a similar one. So similarly, I will make a gesture for taking away magic and one for inputting magic. So I hover in front of the too-small pocket and pluck the magic out and slap it into the huge robe bag. I then, with expectations, ran through an IPA measure, only to succeed! Yeah, baby, the power of prior evidence supporting your steps! With the new, better IPA pocket running, I take my two bottles of water and create one bottle, then I create another until I have enough water that I could crush someone under the weight of the bottles! With water in hand, I grab a premade container, a pot that narrows into a fan blade attached to a metal wheel. Attached to the metal wheel through a nail melted on one side so that it doesn¡¯t fly off is a strange 4-jointed mechanism that pushes along a block of metal through a tube attached to a slab that is anchored to another slab. In a design that looks like you tore out an old train''s steam engine and retooled it into a shitty hydraulic press. Because that¡¯s exactly what it is, and while ingenuity is appreciated, when I have almost all human inventions and their blueprints, it¡¯s easier to just steal from all those old patents. Now, what I need the press for is simple. The greatest speedbump in my production is my need to essentially hand grind my hard-to-work iron nails into iron dust that can be easily manipulated into the shapes I want. So this is a topic ripe for some modern-day job replacement, so I devised a way to get from a rotary engine to a press in order to crush the iron nails into smaller pieces. And now it¡¯s within my grasp with my dupe glitch water. I grab the charms, break them into indistinguishable shards, and replicate them enough to get a fire going. Placing the pieces into the tray beneath the water tank, I fire up my hair braces only for the wood to melt. The wood refuses to start burning, no matter how hot it gets. Ch. 10.2 The stick refuses to be fire I intently stare at my prepared kindling stacked in a tent shape, the stick refusing to be lit. Why the hell isn¡¯t this on fire? Hell, it even melted¡ªthat doesn¡¯t happen; wood always catches on fire before you reach its melting point. Unless you heat wood in a vacuum, . . . Wait for a second; I always haven¡¯t been able to confirm what I¡¯ve been drifting through. I just know that it is a fluid of some kind, whether gas or liquid, that conforms to my shape. Most likely a gas, considering no liquid has been flowing into my throat. A gas that doesn¡¯t have any dust or particulates and doesn¡¯t even interact with anything, but somehow also transmits sounds. The properties of what I float in are a contradictory mess and are flat-out impossible. I almost scream in frustration, but I stop with a deep breath because this is the reality that I live in. Either way, whatever I drift through definitely isn¡¯t oxygen; I guess I just assumed that since I could breathe it in, it was oxygen. With a groan, I pull up Stevens¡¯ voice recording app; it¡¯s not like I need more holes in my expectations theory. This outcome was entirely unexpected, and as more of these things happen, it becomes less effective. But what am I going to do now? I can¡¯t exactly laser it; I would immediately melt the bottom off. destroying the whole point of a steam engine. Maybe I can drop melted metal in there to get it boiling? No, that is consistent work that would take me a lot of time. The whole point of the steam engine is that it makes hard work easier. What would be the point of me doing hard work constantly in order to run a machine that does hard work constantly for me? I could do induction heating if I managed to make a steam generator, because, well, my hand-crank generators can¡¯t make enough energy per second to boil things. I would need a battery to store the energy required to boil something with my hand cranks. But, and this is a big but, the only ones I have are attached to things. And are far too unique to duplicate. And I can¡¯t exactly cut a chemical battery in half to get two functioning ones. It¡¯s a catch-22; I need steam energy to make steam. AUGH I clutch my head, almost pulling at my hair, before patting it down smoothly. Nobody messes with my luscious hair, not even myself . But ok, in order to make this happen, I¡¯m going to need impossible things, so let''s start with the first option: magic! Ah, my eyes sparkle with the idea that my go-to problem solver nowadays is magic. It just makes the nerd in my heart shine bright like a diamond. I know that pulling in anger increases the heat of my surroundings, so it¡¯s quite obvious that would help in creating a magical technique to heat something enough that it¡¯s hot but not so much that it melts. Like what would happen if I were to pull out my laser. But first I should try using my expectations theory. Although my idea is that the price of magic is essentially adding emotions, And that by knowing the emotion of the magic you want to do, you can more effectively create techniques you couldn¡¯t before is correct. It is also quite new and janky, and so far it just does random magical shite when I start pulling in emotions. And I have to constantly think about them while doing so. I¡¯ll record the experiments via logs. So I don¡¯t miss anything. Hand Signal Experiment Logs Log 1 ¡°For this experiment, I will first make a flat hand and do nothing after. Then, while making a twirling motion with my hand, I will fire the laser from my braces, hopefully allowing me to expect my own portable flamethrower. "*No sounds*" ¡°The first run-through has achieved no results; I will repeat it twice more for scientific rigor.¡± "*Nothing*" "*Zip" "*Nada*" ¡°Start Log. I have achieved no results with this experiment. Next time, I will use gestures that have more meaning to them to increase the weight of my expectations. End Log Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Log 2 ¡°For this experiment, I have looked up several hand gestures that mean fire, one from ASL, one from an anime, and another signal that I can form with my hand that used to be used to warn others about fire¡¯s presence in ancient times. I will start with that one first because it has the most history behind it, then go down in age. Hopefully, by expecting fire, I can conjure magical fire that doesn¡¯t need oxygen. ¡°Sounds of rubbing fingers commence.¡± ¡°First run-through of three attempts has failed. Moving onto the next one.¡± ¡°*Sounds of clumsily tapped fingers*¡± ¡°ASL has failed as well, going onto anime hand signals.¡± ¡°*Sounds of frustrated fingers rubbing and wooshes of air blowing through the opening. ¡°*deep breaths in* Anime hand signs have failed as well.¡± Log 3 ¡°Start Log. Hand signal attempts have failed even after many tries and different variations. Due to the same exact results being given no matter what is changed, I am terminating the hand signal portion. Reasons for failure might be one: I just don¡¯t expect to be able to conjure fire, and even if I did, nothing would happen because there is no fuel or oxygen. I might essentially be trying to make a fire while in the depths of the sea. In the next series of experiments, I will try just thinking angry thoughts. End Log¡± Welding fingers experiment Log 1 ¡°Start Log. I can¡¯t go as big as trying to conjure fire, especially if I¡¯m not floating in oxygen, so I¡¯m going a bit more humble; I¡¯m just going to try to make my hands really hot. Because the thing is using a laser for my welding and melting of iron, it''s a bit inaccurate, especially with how unwieldy and large it is. It¡¯s like pulling out a minigun to shoot flies! What I¡¯m going to do is think of all the things that make me angry while focusing on my hands, and then I¡¯ll grab some iron dust and sculpt it into a bowl! Like all my former pottery classes. ¡°Some shuffling fabric noises as the sleeves are pulled back and I ready myself and a sizzling sound is heard.¡± ¡°AHH!¡± My yelp echoes into the astral. The molten metal in my hands slips off as I shake my hands in a panic, flinging the metal everywhere. It barely touches my skin before sliding off as the skin in my hands melts, until the burnt skin cells form into a soap-like substance that gets it off my hands. I frantically initiate a wind wave, throwing all the particulates off me. A deafening silence reigns through the room, and as I heave air out of my lungs, I want to throw up, but there¡¯s nothing in there, so I just spew out stomach acid into the experiment room. It floats in the astral. I then slowly, gingerly float over to the steam tank that I did all of this for and promptly use it like a sink. I stare at my hands below the water and sigh. ¡°I¡¯m not getting a good night''s sleep today, am I?" dejection and failure tainting my voice. a dozen or so nights later. I look at the still water of the steam tank; that was the whole purpose of this. My hands are covered in bandages formed out of strips of fabric tied tightly into a knot. And my eyes are filled with fear. I was lucky that I had magic; without the wind wave, I most likely would have had horrific burns as the iron stuck to my face and kept burning it, maybe even nerve damage. But I don¡¯t exactly feel grateful for such a humiliating failure. How the hell did I think that melting metal in my hands would turn out alright? And even if I did have magic, if the metal had been colder instead of being hot enough to slip off my hand, it would have melted onto my skin, forcing my hands to touch it and most likely resulting in 3rd-degree burns. Without medical attention, my hands would have been burned enough to be of no use, crippling me and sinking my hopes of getting out of here. At least I found out that invoking green magics like growth and healing can speed up recovery, but I¡¯ve still made a massive blunder. But I have to move forward, so here I stand, in front of the goal I was recklessly running towards. And as I try to muster the effort to do another experiment, I can¡¯t do it. I kick my way to the recreation room, my scalded hands too sensitive to use the handles, and I yell for Stevens to put on some music so I can do something other than stare at what I should be doing. The next night Again in front of the tank, I peel off the bandages, the fabric made sticky by the fluids the burns produced. My hands are covered in blisters and blackened by the flames. The blackness is covered in cracks; I can¡¯t bear to look at it. My hands look like a burnt piece of meat, useless, a scrap to be thrown in the trash. I invoke the emotion of healing, bringing to mind days of rest and diligent work done to fix mistakes, but I can¡¯t do it for long before the images break. I can¡¯t think of healing for too long when I¡¯m like this. I sigh, my voice filled with my stress and lack of energy, my hands looking just a bit better. I have to keep doing it; I can¡¯t draw anything when my hands can¡¯t grip a pen without pain. And what else can I do when I can¡¯t even read anymore? So I dunk my hands into the cool water of the tank and wrap new bandages formed from colorful strips torn from my clothes. Wincing as the cloth digs into my skin. Before drifting into another corner to do nothing at all. 1 night later I float with my elbows hanging onto the edge of the tank as I try to plan out my day. I decide that I¡¯ll do my next experiment after I try a new emotion to heal my hands. But I just don¡¯t. My mind is screaming at me to work, but I just don¡¯t. Activity after activity was thrown into the path of my work. Many nights later I stare at the tank; my hands are healed but my eyes are still ragged, and I start my next log because I have to, no matter how hard it is. So I forced myself to come here because I had nothing else to do before this. Experiment Not-so-hot hands Log 1 ¡°I still need to be able to direct the heat, but I can¡¯t touch the metal to guide it, so my next idea is this. Essentially, pretend my hands are ovens that direct heated beams. Because my hands getting really hot wasn¡¯t what hurt me; it was the molten metal. So if I can expect myself to generate heat from my hands due to my emotions, I can also expect it to radiate out.¡± ¡°*Sounds of some panicked breaths before a long, deep one, and then swimming towards the microphone*¡± ¡°First run through Partial success. My anger did heat up my surroundings, but it wasn¡¯t directed and it wasn¡¯t hot enough. Next time I will imagine pushing the heat out of my hands.¡± ¡°*One deep breath and then a big grunt as air is forced out of Tara¡¯s lungs*¡± ¡°This trial has greater success. The push did have some effect; I managed to heat up my front half only. But there was no change in temperature, so I will attempt the technique again. ¡°One deep breath and one deep breath out.¡± ¡°Start Log. With greater mental effort, I was able to confine the heat to one spot, but it wasn¡¯t enough; the heat wasn¡¯t high enough. I was pretty much just giving the water a day in the sauna. I would go catatonic long before I would boil the water. End Log¡± Log 2 ¡°My idea this time is essentially, instead of blocking off the heat, why don¡¯t I concentrate it? Where does the heat go when I block it off? It should be somewhere, and if the heat is getting stuffed into a smaller place, it gets hotter. So if I keep this idea in mind while summoning anger, I might be able to summon a heat ray! ¡°Sounds of grunting as if there were an intense workout.¡± ¡°I record this log with a smile; it worked! I managed to get the heat to reach half of my body immediately, based on my experience from the earlier exercise, and the heat was concentrated. I need to get the heat into a smaller place so I don¡¯t ruin everything in my surroundings when I make steam, but I should be able to do that.¡± ¡°The same sounds as before are heard, but this time there¡¯s a sizzle.¡± ¡°Hghghg I managed to succeed in my idea; I struggled to narrow the heat enough so that it only heated up the tanker, and I did. But the thing is that any beam narrow enough to only hit it is also hot enough to either melt or ruin it on contact! I¡¯m going to try to essentially see what is the biggest radius of heat possible.¡± A long while later ¡°Aughh! *deep breath out* Alright, so it seems that in order for it to be hot enough to boil but not hot enough to melt and not be so large that I ruin everything around me, I have to be right next to the goddamn tank. If I constantly float next to a hot metal tank, I¡¯m going to be constantly scalded! And I can¡¯t tie myself down because anything soft will burn away, and anything hard enough will also scald me! ¡°Start Log. While this method is technically able to carry out the task, it is so inconvenient and cumbersome that I will not be moving forward with further experiments on it. It takes mental power to concentrate the laser and lots of time to bring the anger to mind and invoke it. All while being horribly inefficient. I will be moving forward with another experiment, this time using expectation methods to increase efficiency and speed of use. End Log¡± Log 3 Many nights later I float off to the side of my base, and the strange contraption of my steam engine melts to the side of the experiment room. This is it, my final attempt. I start off by scratching my left arm with my now-ruined nails and then bringing in my anger, putting in my mind the damage that¡¯s been done to me out of sheer fucking chance. And I do that again 3 more times, and on the 4th, I scratch my arm, and as the pain sparks to life, so does the anger, without me having to bring it to life myself. I make a crooked smile at my success; after many experiments, I¡¯ve found that pain is the best starter for anger invocation. My eyes bloodshot I examine the domain of anger around me and push it out with my hands in a gesture like someone measuring the heat of a stove. And as I do so, heat bursts from my hand and impacts the iron casing of my steam engine. My smile grows wider as the water bubbles and roils, releasing steam that spins a crude fan that itself spins a wheel attached to a four-jointed mechanism that pushes a block of steel made smooth through friction through a tube that crushes dozens of nails at once into pieces and then into a coarse powder. And I cackled at my messy harm, and deranged eyes pointed up as my hands caressed the results of my hard labor. Ch.11 Back to the Books I hastily stop providing the steam nail crusher with heat, closing my palms. And wait for the machine to slow down. I fidget in place, waiting nervously for the results, and when the machine finally finishes, I lunge forward. I do a large frog swim to the steam engine attached to my humble abode and wince when I touch the still-hot metal. Before shaking my head and grabbing handfuls of the dust that I just made. The dust is somewhat grainy and is a dull gray. It sticks together a bit, like clay. And it is marvelous. The main blockage to my building has mostly been the arduous process of hand grinding the iron nails into usable iron dust. From here on out, I can expand! I quickly shoveled the dust into the bag. giggling uncontrollably at the manifestation of my pain and effort. Remodeling Log 1 "Ugh. *sounds of panting* I had to move the base. Huh, Huh So that the ball of iron was above it. It wasn¡¯t growing fast enough when I could only give it nails at my workstation [sounds of wiping]. It was hard to keep moving like that, but since the base has no weight, I could actually move it around before I remodeled it. Although it was still hard, the base has mass after all; that¡¯s a constant. So I could only push it a little bit. But very little force doesn¡¯t mean any force, especially with no air resistance to slow me down. Either way, Tara''s Out.¡± Log 2 ¡°*Sounds off a woop and pumping fists in the background* ALRIGHT. I managed to make some steel, and I¡¯ve replaced the IBA nails with steel! Okay, let¡¯s get back to the start. When I melted the wood instead of burning it, I was at first sad, but I noticed after doing it again that when I melted it, some black stuff was made. And since I knew that you made steel from charcoal and that charcoal was black, maybe I could make some steel even without oxygen. And you know what? I was right! I looked up the recommended ratio for steel, stuck in an extra bit of carbon, and made a steel bar! From there, I shaved that steel bar into a steel nail with Stevens corpse, then used the IBA method on it and generated enough steel for me to use only steel nails. Now I pretty much exclusively use steel. But although it is stronger than iron, that¡¯s not why I care. I care because steel is a lot more magnetic than iron. Steel holds a magnetic charge for far longer than iron; it¡¯s what most magnets are made of. So I can use magnets in a lot more places, and more specifically for collecting nails and dust. Both in the ball and for construction purposes I have the old iron nails in a storage box in the work center. But I mostly use magnetically charged steel. Either way, Tara is now going to optimize the fuck out of this bitch!¡± Log 3 Day 7 ¡°I¡¯ve optimized the process of the production a little bit, made some copper bars from wire, and placed them throughout the station so that I can constantly heat up the water. And when I''m not doing that, it just means that I''m tossing up steel nails. Although, hmm, I wonder what the composition of the ball is now that I¡¯ve switched to steel. Anyway, I¡¯ve also made some steam generators that have their own bars. I tore up all the hand-crank generators to make just one steam generator, but frankly, it¡¯s so much better than the hand-cranks. No need to constantly reset it; I only reset it once they run out of water. And that only happens around every hour of operation. Oh, right, the other thing. Is it that I can now actually tell the goddamn time? I just decided that one full tank of water running out means that an hour has passed, which equals, oh, around 8000 bottles of water. Although I don¡¯t use those nowadays to hold water. I replaced it with big barrels of iron so that I only needed to duplicate two to get enough to refill the water. Although goddamn is it annoying to refill them, you have to push the water out like it¡¯s toothpaste! Eventually, I had to buckle down and just make specialty tanks that look like stupid syringes and then just replicate those for my water, but in the beginning, it was annoying. I also added a separate tank for nails with a magnet on the crusher to attract those at the top. Now every hour I refill the nails, collect the dust, and duplicate some water so I can make some more. And by now, well, I¡¯ve stockpiled enough for what comes next. Log 4.1, Day 34 ¡°I¡¯ve knocked down all the walls in between each other and made it into a central room, which I¡¯ve dubbed the planning room, so that I wouldn¡¯t have those annoying edges at the start of rooms. Then I cut holes in the outer walls to make doors to my new, expanded rooms. The only exception is the meditation corner. It is just the astral, in all its beauty and glory. When I finish certain meditation sessions, I like to open my eyes and bathe in my new home''s quiet beauty. Sounds of a mournful sigh: * I can¡¯t say this isn¡¯t my home now, despite how tragic that is. I¡¯ve certainly molded it enough for it to be my home; the film that surrounds my base made that clear enough. Sounds of rustling fabrics idicating a head shaking and a sigh." Log 4.2, Day 34 "Either way, I¡¯ve made some improvements to basically every room. The entertainment section is stocked with lots of paper for drawing. I made some needles from a steel nail, some crochet hooks, and knitting needles, and now I can make some new clothes. It got so tiresome having to just look at the same old clothes in the metal reflections every day that I took the plunge and tore apart some better-looking clothes. Specifically, the ones I could remake, but I now have access to tons of good-looking fabric. It was a bit hard to make the clothes; [a sound of annoyed sigh] replicators are so much better. You just have to make a model, and boom, raw materials become fully made items damn near instantly. But with my experience, I could make the clothes by hand easily enough. I also can drag around Stevens for music if I need to chill. Oh, right, Stevens I returned him to form by making him into a blocky laptop by encasing the wires in a steel box with the charger, Stevens screen, and keyboard sticking out. Although the music is a bit muffled by the steel, it''s still fine enough. It might look like someone embedded an old smartwatch into a briefcase and then put on top of it a broken laptop, but in the end, it works." Log 4.3, Day 34 "Right next to the Recreation slice to the left is the Sleep room. At the center of a dancing rainbow cocoon of cloth floats my faithful suitcase that I''ve stuffed with satin. The long cloth strips drift constantly from the small shifts in the base that touch them, then touch the other strips, leading to a self-perpetuating shifting sea of fabric only possible in zero-G. Although it might not be zero-G with how the ball is growing. When I look up, it gets bigger by the day; any steel not used for construction is thrown into its depths." Log 4.4, Day 34 "The chillax room to the left of the sleep room is a little bit lacking, however, compared to the last in look. It just holds a couch made out of stolen and then replicated fabric with lots of straps so I can mindlessly consume Stevens¡¯ audiobooks. I might not be able to read anymore. I can slowly use my voice as a shaky mouse to pull up old audio files from old databases. It is strange to think that old databases couldn¡¯t hold all human knowledge. If you wanted to learn about old stuff, you would probably have had to find whatever tiny server held that specific information. What a nightmare! I usually just blast out my brain here when I can¡¯t deal with any of this thinking for a bit. It¡¯s also essentially my junk drawer, where I store random things that I don¡¯t need anymore. Like the old iron nails, extra tanks of water, and my assortment of random artifacts I don¡¯t know the use of." Log 4.5, Day 34 "The workstation is a bit of a mess really¡ªa mess of molten nails, random magnets, and wires EVERYWHERE. It¡¯s this way because it¡¯s where I prototype most of the optimizations, and I can¡¯t be bothered to clean any of them up. It''s not like cleanliness matters that much when you can just slap it away. But other than its untidiness, it is also one of the only two rooms with a roof, so important things don¡¯t float away. This place is where I think of magic I should explore and where I keep that useless book. Although hopefully, it won¡¯t be useless soon. But when the work gets beyond prototyping and ideas, I use the next room." Log 4.6, Day 34 "The last room is the experimentation room. It has much taller and thicker walls than any of the other rooms, and it also doesn¡¯t have an exterior hull, in case of an explosion or any other reason that I want to have the ability to rapidly leave. It would be as dirty as the workstation if I didn¡¯t constantly blow the junk into the ball. which, thankfully, is much easier with one wall missing. Its walls are dirty and blackened from all the weird things I do in here. While the workstation is where I think of magic, here is where I actually use and test it." 4.7 Day 35 Last but not least, there is the planning room. The center of the whole operation is plastered with drawings and the best indications of plans I can make without my full grasp of the English language. In the exact center of my entire base sits my throne, a sleek steel chair polished to perfection, on which I sit right now. Tightly strapped to it by an intricate web of ties. I do not float; I elegantly sit, thinking of the future. But that is interrupted by another thought: . What the hell am I, a dominatrix? Why does the world fuck me over in such a way that the best chairs I can make are ones that would normally be found in torture equipment and sex dungeons? Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I laugh at my own joke as I pull together my future plans. Now that I¡¯ve upgraded my base, I should get to work on pushing my advancement forward. What I need to get done is first relearn English and then attempt to learn the language behind the runes. So many things in this world are cruelly locked behind literacy, and I need something to reference if I''m going to learn magical runes. While doing that, I should log down all the baseline magic so I have a better idea of where to start. Plus, it will give me a litany of small techniques to use. I pull myself over to the workstation on the ubiquitous handles, avoiding the extremely hot copper bars nearly everywhere. I toss steel nails constantly, only stopping when I reach my destination. After all, it has a ceiling. I grab the blocky laptop I forged from various scraps and one empty, incredibly advanced AI. And pull it open and click into the vocal databases, which are luckily easy to find due to the image of a speaker. ¡°Vocal Database, colon, lesson, colon, beginner, colon, English,¡± I say as clearly as possible to Stevens¡¯ screen strapped to the front of the box: any errors can take me to ridiculously wrong places. Once I ended up accidentally pulling up lessons on how to cook pasta along with the entire life story of the writer. Ugh either way I then click on the square, knowing it is packaged into lessons and listed by best rating. And listen to some strange lessons on English scavenged from Stevens database. Augh learning without mind injection is so slow; I wish Stevens had it enabled. But allowing random people to give themselves skills without an expert at hand is kind of stupid. So it makes sense that they didn''t enable that, but well I still need to finish these lessons. Language Log 1 Day 41 ¡°Start Log. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, I have been learning English quickly. I¡¯ve been blazing through the videos and all their requirements. I can estimate that while it would take most others two years of dedicated study to gain a basic grasp of a language, it should take me around three months at the rate of learning I have. I can only assume that through my consumption of language and the subsequent intrinsic understanding of the rules behind language, all language is majorly helping me out. Although it is still very annoying and difficult, most self-teaching programs already assume you know at least one language. At first, I tried to go down the path of incredibly specific searches, but I was frustrated by how clunky the search function is without text. I had to eventually make do with *sigh* books for parents teaching their children how to read; I had Stevens read them to me. I know enough now to recognize the word English" and things like the" and apple. But my god, is it embarrassing to have to look up baby books? Log Day 44 ¡°Woopdidoo, a double-digit identical number; gosh, do I love those. Sadly, my other news is much more depressing: the magic books are evil. Because, frankly, when I ate the cloud, I had stuffed into my brain essentially a perfect understanding of language as an idea. And this book seems specially designed to screw over translation. Which, yes, is fair for those who don¡¯t want their ideas stolen, but it is oh so incredibly frustrating for me. Because each and every single one of these runes is unique. And the main way of deciphering languages is to find where they intersect with others, which is NONE! Or 2: finding similarities in the composition of words or phrases. But since each and every single character in the book is unique, there are no similarities, and I can¡¯t figure out the vowels if there are none. So now I basically just have to guess what things are based on the arcane squiggles that don¡¯t look like anything. Right now I¡¯m trying to essentially find any individual characters that look similar and group them up together. Plus, I can¡¯t even write any of these down without fear of blowing up the paper. So I instead have to write down the page numbers in some strange index. But there is one exception that could save me from the very last page, which has an incredibly complicated rune inscribed on it, one that makes me wonder if their eyes were even good enough to see all the details. It kind of looks like a shield divided into two sections, with swirls, dots, and lines falling inside the divisions. Hopefully, I¡¯ll be able to find repeat patterns among the mess that will allow me to decode the rest. But first I¡¯m taking a goddamn break. *sounds of a book bumping into a wall as it¡¯s tossed away*¡± --- I wake up and go off to my break to experiment with new magic. Work might not be much of a break, but anything is better than mashing my head against the brick wall of that book. So I¡¯m going to investigate it, Baseline Magic. Or what magic does when you just let ¡®er rip! When I invoke an emotion, I essentially choose the emotion of the magic I¡¯m going to do, then execute the technique. Executing the technique invokes the emotion of the magic. So if I create an anger technique, whenever I use it, I get really angry, and if I use it too much, I eventually get into a catatonic state. That is where you are so overwhelmed by the emotion that you just can¡¯t do anything. The baseline technique that I¡¯m using right now is essentially throwing away the second step. In order to see what that emotion does without guidance, give me a hint about what to use. Hmm, I think I¡¯ll split the magics along their color type so that I can generalize my findings, and I¡¯ll categorize the main ones only. I can find out about the weirder ones later, like the specific brand of joy only found at carnivals or the fear of feet. ¡ª Blue: ¡°Start Log. Overall, Blue seems to include slowing and cold magic in its rapporteur. Most other blue emotions are variations of sadness and calm. With the small subsection of high-energy blues that are more diverse in emotion. Including the strange one out, Hope, that increases physical durability. But in general, Blue Magic seems to make things lose energy. Things slow down, darken, and freeze with the use of Blue Magic. In the future, I could use this category if I wanted to take something away. ¡ª Red: ¡°Start Log. Red¡¯s effects were quite obvious given my previous knowledge; they heat thingthings up. I''ve been using red magic for ages now, but you should always rcord and replicate your knowledge. The various emotions found within Red changed things, but only slightly. It was all variations of heat. The usesred red are obviously melting mtand,and, if I ever find anything self-defense related,s3500 ¡ãC. up. I¡¯ve been using red magic for ages now, but you should always record, and replicate your knowledge. The various emotions found within Red changed things, but only slightly. It was all variations of heat. The uses of Red are obviously melting metal, and if I ever find anything self-defense. I doubt most creatures would enjoy being hit with a heat beam that reaches above 3500C. End Log ¡ª Yellow: ¡°Start Log. Yellow clouds are all variations of happiness, while yellow does have the same breadth of cloud types as all the others. They are all just hyper-specific variations of joy, happiness, and excitement. As such, it is quite obvious, if still a shame, that all yellow magics only have one effect. That is increased energy; the baseline technique feels like chugging five 5-hour energy drink bottles and then doing speed. It feels incredible, but the catatonic state for this feels so bad. Even worse than hunger! And that felt like being constantly stabbed while having my guts ripped out like they were a drawstring! The catatonic state of yellow feels like claustrophobia in my head, like my thoughts were expanding and pressing against the side of my skull, bruising themselves. And the speed of thought granted by joy turns into thinking about all your problems incredibly quickly, but you can¡¯t feel any sadness while under its effects. So you feel dizzy and robbed, and incredibly sick, like the grumbles of roller coaster riding if that roller coaster is on the sun! With all the pain and discomfort that comes with becoming catatonic with Joy, I have stopped using the procedure for using a particular magic until I run out. Pain is there for a reason; it tells you something is wrong, and I have no idea what damage is being done when invoking yellow magic. Either way, using Yellow Magic in moderation might be useful if I need to make something incredibly quickly. End Log¡± ¡ª Orange: ¡°Start Log. Orange Magics'' nature seems to be that of exploration, helping me move through the astral and helping me find interesting things. Since the two effects I could find were movement-related and most curiously highlighted interesting or unique things. Wanderlust gives me the ability to fly, and all the others highlight various objects. Overall, it can be seen that Orange Magic could be quite useful on my next expedition. End Log ¡ª Pink "OH, FOR GOD''S SAKE HOW IS MAGIC THIS USELESS? Ugh, pink magic doesn¡¯t do fucking anything at all; it just pulls in more and more of the emotion until you go catatonic in like 5 seconds! I¡¯ve been getting better at judging how close I am to being full of all the other emotions. It feels like a cup about to overflow, but with pink magic, it 1) doesn¡¯t do anything, and 2) since I blow through everything so fast, I instantly end up in a catatonic state thinking about how I want to strangle my more successful cousins. Or, like, I need to have a baby right now. I deal with that sh*t from my body often enough that I don¡¯t need to deal with it while being a wizard! Though this does make me think about how horrifically inefficient most of these magics must be. I don¡¯t have any numbers on it, but I¡¯m able to do other magics like the IBA and the spoon-devouring technique for far longer than these. And for those, only when I devoured the spoon did I go catatonic. All the other ones, I couldn¡¯t even detect the emotion being expressed. And I don¡¯t have to spend my thoughts pulling in the emotion from wherever this price comes from. So I can do other things while utilizing other techniques. So yeah, I fucking give up on Pink Magic. ¡ª Green: ¡°Start Log. I have already experienced many green magics from the growth and healing emotions, but it turns out that the majority of green magics aren¡¯t even that. They mostly seem to be mildly altering magics; some increase the quality of thoughts while sacrificing speed, while others do the opposite. Tradition is a good example of making me unable to accept new information but more cognizant of good old ones. And another: Innovation quickly makes dozens of shitty thoughts, culls the bad ones, and makes more slightly less shitty thoughts, increasing in quality over time. These magics might be useful for research, but I am hesitant to alter my thought patterns for utility. End Log. ¡ª Purple: ¡°Start Log. Like Pink, I have noticed no effect, but with a bit more time and less frustration from the terrible catatonic states that Pink provides, I believe that it¡¯s doing something. My hypothesis is just that I don¡¯t have the necessary conditions to do the magic, so I just absorb emotion for no reason at all. Since the most obvious thing missing from my environment is people, and the emotions found within pink and purple are a bit more social than most, I hypothesize that it does something to people. I have no idea what, but since I don¡¯t have the conditions required, I have laid both of these magics to rest until I meet others. End Log. --- I pluck nails in the specific pattern I made long days ago, working with precision and speed that a mere machine would envy. Tossing those nails up into the growing ball Sitting perky on my throne, the straps dug just a little bit into my shoulder. I smile a gentle yet devious smile, and I don¡¯t have to toss those nails nearly as hard as I used to. It does the work for me now. Continuing to smile, I slowly unstrap myself, pulling off long pieces of cloth and untying small notes, until I drift free of them. But I don¡¯t drift for long before I fall up! With my hands holding onto my dreams of wanderlust, I hold myself in this strange fluid and slowly rotate myself with my mind until I let go and gently land on a ball of metal nails. The surface melted smoothly on the uppermost layer. A strange mishmash of black and gleaming grey stretching on for quite literal miles. Over these long days, I have slowly made an enormous sphere of iron, and steel larger than an entire neighborhood, at the truly ridiculous, size of a 3.5-mile radius! After all, that is what historical scientists determined the minimal size of an object needed to provide enough gravity to keep a human attached. I jump and reach my arm out to the glorious sky above and fall, looking at the boundless seeds of thought flowing in and out of massive clouds of emotion. The low gravity allows for strange feats. So with a smile of triumph on my face, I pull my notebook out of my own handmade suit and write with utter perfection. Entry 17 Pg.444 I done it, I has generated weight in this empty location! Ch.12 A Crash.

Entry 17 Page 444 Continued Now that I¡¯ve generated gravity I had to do some remodeling, although not that much really. I just stuck my base onto the ball of iron and steel with a bunch of rods, upside down. So that the ¡°floor¡± faced outside and so that above me was the planet. In the future, a lot of things will be placed on the planet, but if I want to preserve the unique environment of my base it can¡¯t have too much gravity. Especially since I rely on there being no weight for a lot of my transportation. Although this does make me wonder, could I throw some items into orbit? If I got the trajectory right they would just keep spinning. But although that would look cool, there¡¯s no real reason to do that. I¡¯m going to move the steam engine to the planet soon, with gravity I can just have a massive tankard of water that slowly feeds into it. But I¡¯ll need to make a new one down there so that I don¡¯t fuck up the one up here it¡¯s the key to me being able to produce so much. Either way, TARA IS OUT! Entry 18 Page 449 I¡¯ve been fiddling with a sadness technique since my last entry. Specifically, one that would stop me from moving quickly. Right now it works but it¡¯s not very efficient, and since I need to use it to be more efficient and I can¡¯t do it for long, without efficiency or large stores, this technique will most likely be in the works for longer. I overflow and go catatonic pretty quickly on sadness it¡¯s one of my weaker areas, so despite the fact that technically I could make a technique about anything using any emotion, using the ones that I have more of allows me to make it quicker, perfect it, and then be able to use it more often. Anger is so ¨C *CRASH* --- I jolt, my writing on the throne disturbed by a sickening crash. The sickening shrieks of twisted steel ringing from behind my throne. My whole base shakes from the impact. ¡°Shit, I need to check that out!¡± I say with panic in my voice and dread in my heart. What the hell could it be! I try to wiggle off my throne, the emergency not allowing me enough time to untie the strips of fabric. As my mind panics I think wait, I might not have a knife but I do have magic. So I grab my shoulders, invoking sadness, and a sphere of cold bursts from my heart freezing then shattering my bonds. From there I push off the iron floor, a remnant of my past base, the old floor of my base turned into a single room. I grab the bars ubiquitous in the base. and pull myself to the location of the crash coming upon my Chillax room. But the room is no longer a junk drawer mixed with a couch, it now looks more like a car crashed into a truck filled with packing peanuts in slow-mo. Items scattered everywhere slowly falling onto the tiny planet above. Water floating in the air the mechanisms of the tankers are usually hidden by steel thrown about like confetti. My couch now nothing but shreds of colorful fabric among a crater of twisted metal. And at the center of it, all is the cause of all of this mess. The rotting corpse of a ginormous ant the size of a car. The ant beyond its size is quite strange, it¡¯s bright rust-red chitin almost seems twisted, and malformed. But the malformation doesn¡¯t seem to hurt it. It¡¯s mandibles enhanced by the swirls of chitin, looking wickedly sharp. The thing in general looks fantastical its eyes are ginormous in proportion to its head like the anime version of an ant. I blink struck by the bizarre sight of a magical ant taller than I am. And the ant doesn¡¯t even make sense, ants if grown to massive proportions wouldn¡¯t work, and they would be too heavy. They can¡¯t survive at this size. But as I feel a headache coming on, I realize something. There is no weight here, we float the only gravity I¡¯ve found is the one that I¡¯ve made myself. And that gravity is most likely the problem as well. I was hoping for other things to be drawn by my self-created gravity, not the corpses of magical ants! Ugh well, I should drag this into my experimentation room for study. Who knows what weird adaptation ants would make in reaction to living in this bizarre place? I shrug as I pull the ant into the direction of my lab because well the more pertinent question is where are the rest of them, ants don¡¯t fight alone. Was it a scout, that died on route, or just some unlucky bastard whose corpse drifted too close to the crude planet I built? But as I ponder I see another ant corpse speeding toward me like a comet. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. I lock eyes with the dead ant as its corpse rockets toward me. I squeeze shut my eyes, almost unwilling to believe it before snapping back to reality. I quickly grab my shoulders, and invoke sadness, as a Shiver comes over the world. And as the corpse reaches me it slows down as if a swimmer dived into molasses. Taking that opportunity I wave my hands holding my expectations in mind, and a gust of strange wind bursts out from my hands and knocks the creature off course. The body bounces off the wind as if it hit a brick wall, and stalls a bit in the air before falling almost as if gravity suddenly remembered it. The corpse slowly gains speed as it falls up and crashes into my little planet. Skidding on its welded smooth surface an ungodly clang ringing out I stop, my eyes fluttering in disbelief. FUCK! What do I do now? I can¡¯t sustain myself like this, I¡¯ll eventually overflow and go catatonic in all the emotions useful to stop the flying corpses if the current situation keeps on happening. And I can¡¯t exactly hide in the base I don¡¯t want what happened to the Chillax room to happen to me. I need to do something right now! I grab my head and shake it, alright first I need to protect my shit first. I grab some broken tankards of water, the leftover bits of water streaming out, and kick, my legs swimming towards the steam machines attached to the outside of the base. Then once I arrive I dump the tankards and come back for more. Eventually, I gather enough shitty broken metal to cover the whole thing. I don¡¯t have enough time to make it from powder so what I¡¯ll do is just weld a protective cover on top. I pull out the hair braces, go through the familiar steps to turn them into a laser, and start melting the metal at the edges of the items. Making a thick shell filled with holes formed from a bunch of junk torn apart by the ginormous corpse of an ant. I sigh and wipe my forehead, it might look like a piece of a playground but with all the empty junk between it and empty threats, the steel will crumble before wrecking my beautiful machines. But now I should make a solution for the entire base. So I grab the mountains of steel dust constantly produced by the machine and stuff it into bags of fabric and start swimming toward the film. Strapping the bags to each other to carry more. One of the many advantages of next to no gravity. The white film that covers my home would be a great place to put up a barrier, now that I¡¯ve got the important bits covered. I drag along a train of bags filled with ground-down steel dust, my body undulating like I were a dolphin as I use all I have. I quickly approach the white film and pop through to the other side. I shiver as I reach out, the warm protective embrace of home no longer protecting me. The feeling of constant warmth in this abyss is something I¡¯ve grown used to. Anyway, I need to focus on the current threat. So I look and see the usual astounding sights but I also see something else something strange. Like a jagged cloud of uneven black pieces I squint and I see it. 1, 2, 3, 7, 12, 27, 36, 68, 159, 342, 1241, 2642, 6742, 23418. My eyes dart as I try to count them all, but no matter how hard I search I see no end in sight. Because it seems like a couple of ants isn¡¯t going to be my problem, it¡¯s going to be all of them. For I see a grotesque battlefield covered in the dead mutilated bodies of countless ants, and they are all falling towards my home. Gathering together in a twisted procession not for the dead, but of the dead. My face falls into a grim frown. They might not exactly be speeding toward me right now but they¡¯ll gain momentum. And while I might be able to stop a couple, maybe even large swaths with the properties of a wind wave, the splashes of a child in the water cannot turn back a tidal wave. There¡¯s nothing I can do about the full weight of an entire dead colony falling onto me. The sheer number of dead in this strange war that I was forced into a bystander of mind-numbing. ¡ª My mind running on autopilot I grab a bag and fill it with the essentials first my binder, the IPA robe, the laptop, my notebook. Then with hesitation in my eyes grab my best needles, a strip of cloth in each cloth, some steel dust, thread, and an assload of copper wires. But as I grab things I drift into my closet, and with pain in my eyes turn away. I need to get out of here fast I can¡¯t take with me all of my clothes. Plus with a shaky smile, I reassure myself it¡¯ll be alright I can make new ones. But in the end, I can¡¯t resist taking out the ones with unique fabrics like the fluffy shirt. I try to stuff them inside but it doesn¡¯t fit. I shift the items around to jam them inside, before realizing that would ruin the point of bringing the better fabrics. And ultimately I can¡¯t remove tools for future use, for clothes no matter how rare or precious. So I grit my teeth and swim away. I should be fine eventually, it¡¯s not like there¡¯s an infinite supply of corpses, I just need to wait out the impacts by getting the hell out of here. The corpses will most likely stream in a couple at a time, for a while as the corpses closest by make it to the rudimentary planet. As I turn to leave I sniff, my sinuses might not be clogged but my heart sure will be. My base, the thing that I¡¯ve spent so much time and effort building will soon be torn apart. And for what? Why did bugs apparently lose a war right next to my home? Why were the ants warring at all? What were they warring for? All my efforts brought to ruin by my own folly, and pure fucking luck. I laugh a wry laugh containing no humor at all, for well that¡¯s how it always is. Plus who knows I could treat this like a vacation you know. I put my arms through the straps of the backpack and sweep my hands over the landscape. Go sightseeing in the Astral, for a 3-month vacation. Ugh, that mention of time reminded me of something. I won¡¯t have a goddamn clock anymore. Or an engine to crush my nails, or a bed to turn to, and I abandoned all my clothes. If I want to see them I¡¯ll have to find them again someday. I will have to dig them out from under the corpse of a bug, and even if I did they would be stained by the blood. And at the thought of my pride, my joy buried under a mountain of bug corpses I begin to sob. Curling into a fetal position as my head swims with the unfairness of it all. Cause I¡¯ve worked hard, really hard. I doubt anyone, ANYONE I knew back home could have done what I¡¯ve done. Forced their dreams into reality as I have. And yet what has it all resulted in? Nothing of worth, all my blood sweat, and tears ripped to shreds. My cries ring out bouncing off the dead bodies that have caused my sorrow. My tears fell onto my folly, no longer sticking to my eyes, as they would if I had never built up that stupid planet. It sickens me to think that the things that caused all of this are most likely the thing that will come out of this the most unscathed. It¡¯s just a sphere of melted iron a couple of miles wide. It¡¯ll live but my art won¡¯t. And the sobs that barely started to stop, start again. The process repeating itself as I find more and more worth mourning. only stopping when another ant corpse fell in my direction. My raggedy eyes burning with grief I easily invoke the anger necessary to cut the stupid ant in half with a heat beam. And with the sign of my home''s impending doom, I take a deep breath and sort of pull myself together. A chuckle came out, ''cause well did the ant have to interrupt my moment. I rub my nose wiping away my tears as the tears subside. Today just isn¡¯t my day is it? My eyes burn with the refusal to give up, even after I leave behind my home. Because no day will be mine until I seize it. Ch.13 What do I do now? I paddle my way toward well nowhere I guess. It¡¯s not like I really had a purpose for going out. I just had to get away to not be crushed to death. So what do I do? I could try to make a new base, but what would be the point? Doing all that work just so that it could be wrecked again. ¡°That¡¯s a scam I¡¯ll just move back in when it¡¯s not in danger of being turned into scrap metal,¡± I say with a disgruntled look in my eye, my thumbs in my pockets. I continue to swim away, not really in any direction just away from here, and as boredom consumes me, I whistle, tap, and dream of something, anything. It feels like my brain is trying to claw out of my skull, as I stew in utter boredom. Leading me to a pretty important problem, that I didn¡¯t think of. What am I supposed to do while waiting for the ant tsunami to break my things? If I stay here I¡¯ll just watch from afar as my shit gets torn apart. I don¡¯t wanna see that. But what could I do instead? There¡¯s the obvious one rebuild. Just take my experience and rebuild it better. But frankly, I¡¯m not going to bother with that when I have a perfectly fine base. It¡¯s just at this moment being peppered by corpses that just appeared from nowhere. But if the problem is the corpses let¡¯s solve it. They just popped up right outside my base to fuck my day up. And if I find where they came from maybe I could talk to their leaders. I might not know their language now but frankly. I twirl my fingers to my face in a fit of quietly amused whimsy. I am currently the greatest linguist in all of existence. I instinctually understand the rules and methods of language, ALL language. That includes body language. So even if I can¡¯t talk to them immediately I could gauge how they feel, and do basic communication. Tapping my chin as I float I think, well I¡¯m not sure that I understand all language. But frankly, it would be ridiculous if my devouring the cloud of language, resulted in me absorbing only the pieces for writing. Although that reminds me I should eat some more clouds. I¡¯ll just have to choose carefully because if I ate an extremely large cloud of anger, I would become extraordinarily irrational. Really any primary emotion like Joy, Sadness, or Fear would be terrible to increase in intensity. So the better option would be to consume only more esoteric clouds. Language doesn¡¯t seem to have altered my personality, while those red motes did. Luckily I¡¯m already pretty good at anger-resolving strategies, from my time in therapy. But yes into the notebook goes ¡®Consume some clouds for extra magic, try the clouds magic first. Only pick conceptual clouds, no emotional ones'' But first, let¡¯s investigate while I still can. So I travel forth to engage in Alien diplomacy, let¡¯s head out. I start swimming, slowly gaining momentum, as I move towards the battlefield that has caused my misery. Because while this might hurt, knowledge is power. You can¡¯t solve something you can¡¯t see. I aim myself to stop overhead the ant battlefield, speeding through the astral, piercing through the strange gas that I float in until I suddenly stop in a burst of cold and sadness. I sniff, wiping away an errant irrational tear, but as I do so I notice something extremely strange. I see a carpet of ants covering everything. Gathered in two great lines of immense size spanning miles. The shifting moving bodies of uncountable ants with acid, broken chitin, and body parts floating in the astral, slowly drifting away from their former great battle and heading towards my home. I stare at the corpses resulting from the immense battle. Their immense mass slowly brings the dead bodies together as they fall towards the much denser iron core of my base. But while all of that is alarming it is normal, expected. What isn¡¯t expected at all is that the carpet of ants is flat. They don¡¯t take advantage of the 3d nature of the Astral at all! And the battle while it is being distorted by gravity seems to look like 2 massive front lines crashing against each other. Why would they fight like that when you could fly behind enemy lines? Astral combat should be some strange sphere shape considering the lack of gravity. But they don¡¯t do that. Do their minds not understand that they can move up and down in the Astral? Hell even if I can find the ants home are they even smart enough to talk? Or willing, they seem to be in the middle of a war with another nest something common enough for ants. Hmm, that means that there are at least two colonies and if you see one ant nest, there¡¯s way more you don¡¯t see. So it seems like the ants are a widespread race. I wonder if the ants are fighting are there any differences between the two? Ugh, I need to know more about why the hell ants popped up in my backyard, I huff and approach my home''s doom for a closer look. ¡ª As I swim closer I am tempted to go amongst the fray, but the falling corpses dissuade me. They might be going slow but they have enough mass that even a brush would certainly bruise or break. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I scan them, and now that I am closer, I notice something that I expected, there are clear differences between the two sides. While they both have that strange twisted chitin, one side has little nozzles on its back for acid, and the other has much larger mandibles. Much sharper mandibles as well, I would guess that without the need to dig in the astral, they woud''ve evolved to be more combat focused. I swim over to the side with larger mandibles, going over the congealing mass of rotting bodies, to reach the other side. In order to search for where they come from. But with cold anger running through my mind, I suddenly become still. For I realize that even if there was a trail to wherever they came through. It¡¯s become ruined by the dual gravitational forces of the bodies themselves and the pulling from the iron core of my base. I unclench my hands and sigh, well guess I¡¯ll just have to float in the direction that they probably came for and hope for the best. But as I turn, I notice something, among the immense amount of corpses I see an antenna twitching! This is my chance, I quickly swim toward the ant before it¡¯s too late. But in the process, I bump my shoulder into its abdomen. I wince my shoulder feeling like it I frantically push away from the disgusting carpet of bodies in an attempt to get away from the creature. I breathe heavily as I release my hand from the wound, and see a cavity as if someone scraped away a scoop of meat. I hiss in pain as I cradle my arm, my mind summoning thoughts of healing, and growth. But as I do, I stop, because while the ant is certainly hostile, its body is covered in ginormous gashes. I look at it from my distance and I¡¯m surprised that it even had the energy to hurt me like that. It looks miserable and afraid, my intrinsic understanding of language allowing me to see its desperate hope for life, flashing in its eyes. And as I stare at my arm with its missing chunk, and the dying being in front of me I sigh. This might be stupid but I¡¯m not going to let something die in front of me if I can help it. So I summon thoughts of healing. And improvise by pushing away the unnecessary aura into a beam of healing. And then aiming the beam of concentrated Green magic at the ant. The ant expresses intense curiosity as its eyes shift inside its socket in some pattern that seems to mean confusion. Their head moves back and forth, their antennae swiveling around as their gashes gain a thin covering, and presumably whatever internal damage gets alleviated. I gasp a sigh of relief, at the very least the ant will live. But as I do so I feel the ominous feeling of an overflowing cup as my healing sputters out, and I panic. Because I have accidentally gone into a catatonic state of healing right in front of the thing that just a bit ago, carved away a piece of my arm. But it does nothing simply getting off the innumerable corpses of its comrades. My eyes widen as much as they can, and as I see its strange movements whenever it rises it also moves to the right. Not by pushing off but almost as if it¡¯s sliding, on nothing. It doesn¡¯t move that far, but it¡¯s still ridiculous to see an ant the size of a car, glide like a glitchy NPC. It turns its head in a very quizzical way. And then from a vent in its head, it releases a cloud of dust? I smell it, and for some reason, it smells like blue cheese. I desperately want to sneeze but my green out makes me unable to move or do anything. While others drain me of my resources like a tree covered in parasitic growths. My eyes roll around like crazy, was that a paralytic, a poison, what? But as I wait in a panic nothing happens. And the unnamed ant looks over at my slowly bleeding shoulder and spits on it? I¡¯m confused before I feel a wonderful rush of pain relief. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s helping heal my shoulder since I can¡¯t see it but I¡¯ll take all the help I can get. The ant seemingly satisfied with its efforts sits down on nothing and waits for me to ride out my catatonic state. I slowly breathe in and out as I ride out the greenout. The ant seems to be chill, or at the very least is not taking advantage of me in my vulnerable state. But thankfully soon I stretch out of my stiff state, and the ant sits up and sends another puff out this one smelling like bread. I look over at my shoulder and see that it¡¯s gotten a scab extremely early. Looks like the ant did me a solid. But as I continue to smell the aroma of freshly baked bread. I suddenly remember something quite important about ants. While they are very social animals how they talk are pheromones or well, specific smells. And while I might eventually be able to decode the smells by vibes, and them pointing at very objects. But how the hell are they going to understand me? I facepalm as I come upon the classic problem of first contact, communication. We¡¯ve mostly solved it nowadays by having an A.I instantly decode their language. Since most species use sound to communicate complex concepts. But whenever species didn¡¯t use sound. Humanity always had to spend years creating the technology required to speak to them. And I don¡¯t have the dozens of talented scientists and scientists, or the materials required to make a sound-to-smell translator. I can¡¯t exactly let out a fart to indicate yes, and while I can understand their body language so far their body language uses body parts I don¡¯t have, like compound eyes. But as my thoughts start to spiral, I am interrupted by another puff of dust. I blink away the new dust, which this time smells of smoke, I wonder what that means. But As I wonder the ant gets frustrated, its body closing in. Like a really mild version of a turtle crawling into its shell. My thoughts start to race as I think. What do I do? If I misinterpret their body language and indicate the wrong things with my cross-species charades, I could be dragged to its nest, or even killed. That snap from its mandibles even when it was grievously injured was fast enough for me to not even be able to react. So what could it do now that it¡¯s healed? With nervousness in my heart, I reason with myself with a pretty simple fact. It didn¡¯t kill me while I was literally paralyzed, hell it even did me a solid! So with some trepidation. I grab my nose, sniff in, then tilt my head to indicate confusion. Hopefully giving the message that I do not speak pheromones, and that it should use any other methods it has. But as I eagerly await the reaction from the ant, I get nothing. The ant just walks back a bit and then stays still. But that doesn¡¯t reassure me, my mind racing as I wonder at what the ant is thinking, for my life is in their hands. I myself am about to draw away as they send another puff with their head down, clearly indicating sadness. Then its head slightly turns both ways a hint of shame showing, it walks on the air, up into the sky, and disappears. Looking as if it walked into an attic that doesn¡¯t exist. I just stare at the empty space for a bit before waving my hand at the place the ant disappeared off to. And as I do so I feel nothing, it didn¡¯t go invisible or anything like that. I scratch my head confusion filling my mind. But as I desire to explode from confusion and frustration, I notice something. The dust is floating on the ground. The pheromones of the ant illustrate a floor that doesn¡¯t exist. I can see the ridges and pits in the ground, seeing the grounds outline even while there is no ground for it to outline. At that point, I don¡¯t resist any longer, and a guttural scream of fuck this confusing ass shit rips out of me. Because what the fuck is going on, are ants goddamn 5th-dimensional beings that only brush with this world, is that ant a ninja with air walking techniques. Because this is ridiculous! I take deep breaths in and out. Because at the end of the day, this isn¡¯t even the weirdest thing I¡¯ve seen. And if I can expect my way into exponential speed, why can¡¯t an ant expect something to walk on? But how and why? Previously when I did magic techniques even ones that could be permanent, none actually had an effect on the environment. Presumably, since each runs on a specific amount of absorbed emotion. Each wind wave runs out, it¡¯s not like ever since I expected that wind waves could occur that gusts of wind started flying at every movement. But you know what this reminds me of? That man who decomposed, despite there being nothing to rot him. I concluded that he essentially expected to rot to death, so he did. Could this be a similar thing? Alright, so one hypothesis. That your expectations somehow alter the setting? Giving you ground to walk on or microbes to decompose you. But if that''s true how the hell am I floating, while they are walking on the ground? Those two things can not coexist at once, without entirely throwing everything I understand out the window. So if expectations don''t change the setting another hypothesis could be that the ant knows how to do permanent techniques, and I don¡¯t. Hypothesis 2 is that the ant is just an exception to the rule. There are many variants of this like the ant is a really good wizard, or special drugs make you, or ants can all. But boiled down they all amount to the ant being the exception to the rule. Although one way for 2 things to be true is if both are wrong. So hypothesis 3 The Astral that I interact with is illusory and based on my expectations. And that I don¡¯t really touch or interact with the environment but rather both the ant, and the dead man, and I just interact with essentially fake things. Like you can float in VR at the same time as someone else is walking. And they can see something completely different. This hypothesis seems the most likely considering that the exception hypothesis just sort of ignores the corpse I have on my base. And if we are all interacting in one singular world that is a physical reality, then how can I phase through what someone else treats as ground? Although if I ever find someone I can talk to, I will have to test this hypothesis for scientific integrity. Although now that the ants seem to have disappeared into nothingness. I can get on with the next item on my schedule. Devouring the blossoming emotions of mankind, so that I can surpass my limitations, and reach for something more than what I am. Ch.14 A scoop of soup I rummage through my bursting pack, searching for a certain metallic object, my hands battering various items around, as I reach for this! I grab a thorny handle made of iron nails, and pull it out to reveal my menacing spoon! Its handle is made of dozens of iron nails quickly fused together in a hurry, topped off with a bumpy iron bowl made from just throwing iron dust at the frame. It looks like a madmans ladle, crafted specifically for scooping out eyeballs. But as I hold the bowl of the spoon in my palms I smile, because frankly out of all my magical items, this is the only one that looks cool. Well I presume it¡¯s magic, I can literally use it to eat emotion, something that should be impossible. But I did so without it, so who knows, I¡¯ll still use it just because it looks rad. Either way, rythmically tapping the bowl against my hands, I need to get on to good eating. I¡¯ve noticed that my stores of red magic, is far larger than all my other stores. And since I can use the red magics, of anger, hatred, and war for longer. I can spend more time developing my abilities through practice, and experimentation meaning that the techniques get stronger. Which means I use red magic more often. This leads to an exponential increasing loop of ability and power. Using spells of colors you have high stores of is just way better than spreading yourself thin. But I suspect that the reason I have such high stores is due to those red motes colliding with me, and being absorbed into me. Although a frown spreading across my face. That reminds me, what the hell is the baseline magic of language. I should have massive stores of it from eating the first cloud. And if it¡¯s useful I can leverage it greatly. I conjure times of deep concentration, brought into pleasant memories of reading enchanting books, then I put my tongue out and drag my finger down it. I do this 3 more times before just pulling my tongue and dragging my finger. And like the engine of a primitive car starting, I start invoking language without the need to hold the ideas in my mind. I¡¯ve found that if you do things that are too convenient they don¡¯t work to invoke the emotion. Most likely not using enough effor to pull the emotion into you. And additionally, it can¡¯t be random things, it has to have something to do with the emotion. I sigh if those two rules weren¡¯t in place, I could do some ridiculous things like make tongue clicking the invocation gesture. Something I could do quietly and quickly, so that essentially at any moment I can pull magic out my ass. But oh well what will be, will be. Shaking my head I try to pay attention to the feeling of the glass, the construct I¡¯ve made to feel. But as I check up on the sensation my eyes start to twitch in confusion. Although frankly the sensation isn¡¯t bad. Because frankly I can barely fucking feel it. I don¡¯t even think I can get catatonic using this! Realizing the importance of this discovery. I pull out the notebook with urgency, reading the top in seconds, my eyes immediately understanding anything they touch. Then writing down my observations, my pencil blurring as if the pencil was running at top speed on the page. I frown, snapping the book shut realizing that the ability is speed writing and reading. God how lame is that speed reading as my grand power. My arms fall to my sides as the notebook floats beside me. ¡°It does make sense, language is the power of communication, so if most of its spells are various ways of enhancing communication. It would make perfect sense. But for me that goddamn sucks, the only thing I¡¯ve talked to my entire time in the Astral has been an ant!¡± My arms burst forth, cloth slapping itself as my arms shoot up in frustration. The movement sending me spinning ever so slowly to the right. I sigh, pulling myself back with a minor invocation of wanderlust. Either way, if I can devour a cloud that¡¯s actually useful, then I can essentially choose what spells I¡¯m talented at. And if I choose right I can create a loop of growth with spells that are incredibly useful for me. So I hold my fingers like a mask around my eyes invoking unique. And as I do so lights burts behind a cloud in the distance. I sigh take my hands off my head, and then start pushing to get to my new destination ¡ª I float before a medium sized cloud one around the size of a 4 story building. The color is a soft baby blue, a perfect mix between a piercing sky blue, and dark navy. The clouds also curiously almost looks like an eye. With its rim of inwardly curving clouds gathering towards a darker spot selling the look. Based on my earlier notes, it should be a cloud of wonder, one of the oddballs of the blue category. They come in various shapes and sizes but they have the curious trait of never dying. Any bloom of wonder larger than a seed only gets smaller and dimmer, never blinking out. As I start to reach for the eyeball formed of wonder, I stop facepalming. Didn¡¯t I just tell myself I would check out the clouds magic before eating it. Wonder has a leg up on the others for both pinging an orange highlight, and for being a more conceptual cloud. But that doesn¡¯t mean I should just eat it immediately. Any absorption of a cloud seems to change you. Ever since I saw that cloud of language I¡¯ve noticed a lot more vague clouds. Clouds that don¡¯t really fit the bill for an emotion. But rather things like humanity, smell, and justice. Things don¡¯t really make sense as a cloud of emotion. Or well doesn''t make sense to me, I have no idea. All I have is a ragged patchwork of guesses and jury-rigged magic guiding me. I stare at my hands in despair, the hands that ran away from their home, that orchestrated its doom. I shake my head, I have to move on. Plus this cloud right in front of me will give me the opportunity to grow beyond my earlier failure. And maybe even fix it? Eugh, I chuckle, it''s quite silly for me to think like that. My abandoned station has most likely already been peppered with enough corpses to make it a ruin by now. A fase smile pinned to my face, before I let it go. There¡¯s no need to be overly optimistic or pessimistic, just realistic. I breathe in and out, drawing my hands to my sides, before suddenly letting all the air out of my lungs. My hands at my sides slowly gracefully drawing themselves into an arc above my head. I think of disasters diverted, aunties placated, and enemies dealt with. Bringing to mind the fact that I can solve problems. Quite well in fact, I would say a smile appearing on my face as I open my eyes. My arms slinking back into a more relaxed pose I draw upon memories of the fantastical sights I¡¯ve seen in this desolate grave, and times of profound beauty found in ordinary moments. I hold those precious moments in my mind as I were holding glass shards in my hands refusing to let go. Unwillingly squeezed out tears falling down my face. As I dream of beautiful times, my mind expands beyond what I could have imagined. And I realize that nothing around me matters, and all that matters is people. I smile enraptured by a revelation I already knew. Before I realize that I don¡¯t have any people, to make this life bearable. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. As I realize that the state of mind fades, and my thoughts return to normal. I look to the side in disgust, that cloud was worthless, It¡¯s not like I gained any new thoughts, I just relearned something I always knew. And brought up my own tragedies. I¡¯ve always valued people, but others just seem to not value me. Abandoning me for petty purposes, everyone a simple face that I cannot see past. I know that other human beings joined in the same experience of life with you is what makes this whole thing worthwhile. Yet I¡¯ve been so utterly alone. I¡¯ve taken care of my family, and worked so hard, because I love them, but also because they¡¯re family. They sort of have to love me. They are forced to appreciate me, and my efforts. But in the end, it¡¯s all the same. Do I really know if any of them care about me? What¡¯s the point of knowing the truth if you can¡¯t do anything about it? I raise my head, my eyes empty of tears from both wonder, and sadness. And as my neck arcs upward I see the cloud drifting far away, and getting farther. Well, fuck me the cloud ran away. ¡ª I, with Joy pulsing in my mind, dust off the imaginary dust off the skirt I¡¯m wearing. A beautiful puffy lacy piece that is usually too impractical to be worn due to the limitations of gravity, a design I was only free to create due to the Astral. I giggle before pushing the noise back in, and turning the fauctet off. A grim look falling onto my face, right now there is work to be done. I¡¯ve arrived at the next unique cloud. This one is quite the strange one, it being rather than one cloud it¡¯s around 12 identical joined together with ribbons of other colors. They are a mix of orange-yellow, with a bold yet quiet red. I¡¯ve never seen the like of this cloud before, and the colors aren¡¯t really any hint either. Red, yellow, and orange while they are colors that mix well in reality the emotions inherent in each aren¡¯t really compatible. I shrug guess I¡¯ll just unpeel it. I squint my eyes, and unpeel the cloud to reveal something very familiar. Family, community, the sheer power of humanitys greatest strength, its compassion, and the world born from it. My eyes push past visions of families coming together and communities refusing to fall into chaos to see this. ¡ª I see a pair of broken glasses clutched in my hands, although just barely. My eyes are too blurry to read any of the useful information on the street signs, and graffiti. Worrying me greatly. But that isn¡¯t important right now. I need to find food for Meera, and Sanghi. I continue to trudge along the shattered ground thinking of Sanghi. He was born only a few weeks before the earthquake, and he needs food right now. Meera can¡¯t breastfeed, and we¡¯ve run out of formula. But without it he¡¯ll grow up sickly. I know the stories of boys born of wet rags. But I can stop that, I just need to find some food. I might not be able to see much, but you don¡¯t need glasses to see a market. So I slowly walk through the cracked open streets, warily looking at the dark corners. And as I do something I hear something, a shout. A ragged looking woman steps out from behind a stall with something cupped in her hands. She tells me that she can give me her emergency glasses repair kit, since hers are fine. I try to hand it back seing that her glasses are barely held together by ducttape. But she refuses, I then take the case quickly afraid of some sort of trick. But none comes, she tells me of an encampment nearby that she¡¯s been staying at, she was out scavenging for food to bring back. If there¡¯s a camp I need to go there, if there¡¯s people, there¡¯s mothers, and I might be able to trade for some formula or bottled milk from them. I grit my teeth, and start running towards the building we¡¯ve been staying in, a building that was sturdy enough to not collapse in the earthquake. I burst into the room, Sanghi immediately bursting into tears, Meera is worried but when I tell her of the encampment, a gleam of determination takes over her eyes. We head over together as a family, although we are missing a lot of people, thankfully back in my hometown away from this mess. Navigating the streets that buckled and broke, Meera guides me while I rock Sanghi in my arms. Eventually we reach the place, an old plaza, we push past a rudimentary cloth covering, and are hit by a wave of sound. A cacophony of laughter, conversation, work, whispers, and worries. Everyone working together to make the best of what they can mere days after all their lives were upendended. And with my eyes weak but still able to see due to human kindness. I cry together with my son for when humanity should be at its lowest they are instead at their highest. And in the end, humans are people, and people do their best to help, even when they might not have enough to afford to give. ¡ª As my eyes shift from his to mine, I look at these blooms. This network of interconnected similar yet different blooms that nonetheless work together, and I can¡¯t bring myself to even touch them. It would be like desecrating a grave while cannibalizing my family at the same time. I grab at my stomach as I feel violently sick at the thought of doing such a thing, spewing out my stomach acid and leaving a burning trail in my throat. I cough at the pain, my lungs splattering leftover bits of stomach acid into my hand. As I wave away the dropets of acid I stop my hands on my knees. I know that it¡¯s not a living being, but the idea of consuming something so near and dear to my heart, I just, I just can¡¯t do it. Plus shivering in place, the clouds magic probably wouldn¡¯t be that useful. Most likely being something that raises morale or helps others work together in times of crisis. That¡¯s not something I need all by myself I might be losing out on power by not devouring that cloud. But it¡¯s going to be alright, and in the end, I don''t know anything that would be worth the cost of desecrating something so sacred. I believe in no gods but if anything is holy in this world it is this monument to humanity''s good. ¡ª After that, I drift for a bit giving myself a break before I attempt to do this crazy idea again. Drawing the beautiful sights around me, I sigh the scratch of pen on paper soothing me. My hands move at blinding speed due to my ongoing language invocation. I decided that if the stores never run out, I¡¯ll just keep it on permanently. The technique might not be the most useful thing but I still smile because it allows me to do this. I raise the book above my head, my hands flipping through the infinite pages of my notebook to reveal a little animation, a series of eyes opening and closing with a calm slowness. But as I see past my pages I notice something quite strange, a grey cloud that continually moves and bends in on itself. Like a spinning puzzle cube mized in with a tesseract. I drift closer, intrigued by the strange bloom of emotion. And I scrunch my eyes together as I unpeel the cloud only to receive nothing. No response for the first time ever. I frown it makes some type of sense that it could happen, but how? Is the cloud blocking me? Why? Literally every other cloud just sort of gave me it¡¯s whole deal as soon as I peeled back the layer that covers it. Oh well it¡¯s not like it matters that much. I shrug, guess I will have to guesstimate what emotion it is. Since its color is a dark grey, and somewhat simplisticly darker emotion means darker colours. It¡¯s most likely a painful emotion or concept. And it¡¯s most likely a concept because most clouds are well, a colour, not boring grey. But conceptual clouds just completely ignore this, usually being any color they damn well please. But due to their freedom they are the only clouds who can be black, white, grey, or brown. So it¡¯s the manifestation of some dark concept from dark concept back on the other side. I don¡¯t have any certainty but well guesses that we test the vast majority of experiments. Plus I¡¯ll get a better idea of the concept if I eat it. I felt my brain expanding when I ate the cloud of language, and bursts of anger assaulted me after I absorbed those motes of anger. I pull out my grand spoon of good eating, it¡¯s funky appearance bringing a smile to my face. Swimming toward the cloud, I stop with a flashfreeze of sadness a scant 5ft away from the mysterious cloud. I reach out the battered deranged artifact scooping out a bit of the dark grey cloud. Closing my eyes I bring it to my full lips. Only for nothing to happen. I open my eyes only to see that the bit that I seperated from the main mass has disappeared, returned to the cloud. I groan in frustration, and go for another scoop only to see that as soon as it gets 3 ft away from the cloud it promptly fucking goes back! Is there a tether on it¡¯s mass or something? Ugh, well if it disapears whn it gets too far away, I will just get closer. I slowly scoot myself to the 3 foot mark ,and attempt to scoop out a bit. Only as my face goes closer, I notice the chunk of cloud disappearing so I lunge in! And fall into the cloud. I quickly windwave my way out but I still rub my head feeling like my very being was sucked out by a mosquito. The pain stinging as I deal with the fact that something, got sucked out of me! Aeugh! Alright you scuggly little fucker if that¡¯s how you wanna play take this! I know that good old fashioned metal can at least temporarily affect the cloud. So why don¡¯t I just fucking chuck a hunk of steel at it! That should do something! Ugh, I shake my head in an attempt to calm down, but I fail. I know that it¡¯s just a weird ass object but just as you might take revenge on the table corner, I will receive my due for this transgression! So I pull out the binder and with practiced motions quickly pull out enough nails to make a nailgun proud, swing my hair braces out and quickly melt it into a solid enough block. While pure metal dust is best for making quality items, when you want quantity it¡¯s best to just throw hot metal at your problems. So pushing the still hot crude metal block with my deranged spoon, I get it in the perfect spot before swimming back and slamming it with a gathered wind wave. ¡°FORE!¡± echoing out into the astral. The metal block rockets through the astral and smashes into and through the cloud taking with it a chunk, the piece remaining on the block, but soon enough it teleports and rejoins the main mass. I scream in anger, my face contorting into a rictus of frustration. This fucking dumbass cloud refuses to let me devour it entirely. A completely unreasonable stance. I paw along on the floor almost imitating a bull about to charge. I can¡¯t get out of here empty handed. It took something from me. Although I do not know what it took I refuse to get out of here empty handed! Alright the cloud is definitely affected by metal but it disappears too fast, however the chunks I grabbed with the metal box traveled farther, most likely because it was faster. So if I can make a big metal scoop, and hurl it at the cloud and wait on the other side I could maybe absorb it before it gets taken away! Brilliant! I quickly forge a scoop, shove it towards the cloud and quickly flap my way to the other side as quickly as possible. But as I do so, I notice something strange, another grey cloud behind this one I attempt to unpeel it but when I do I am shocked to learn that I didn¡¯t unpeel a cloud, I unpeeled a building! Ch.15 A Ruin I unpeel the ruin to find everything. I get assaulted by the exact dimensions of the building, the story of the microbes who lived and died on its surface, and the journey it made from rock to building. I grit my teeth as I witness a mass of knowledge that extends past the horizon. I grit my teeth and use my experience dealing with magic bullshit to mangle the information flowing into my brain. I twist it until it forms a stream of images, and it all suddenly clicks into place. I open my eyes and find myself looking from above as a community slowly pushes large rocks into a pile. I seem to find myself in eastern Africa, thousands of years past my time, but as I ponder my circumstances. A man comes into view, his ebony skin covered in strange tattoos, carrying a pristine book, raising his arms up high whispering unfamiliar words as his tattoos shine. All of the energy gathered leading to a crescendo and a flash of light. And as the light fades all the stones gain an array of runes and rise into the air, the sound like a rockslide in slow motion. Arranging itself into a golem, a monstrous creature formed with buildings worth of stone. It roars from a stone throat, majestic, and beautiful. But as I anticipate further action, the monster doesn¡¯t do anything except fall into place. Going into a sleeping position in the rough shape of a grand ziggurat. But the strange magical feat didn¡¯t mean that the work was done, from my gaze from above I saw countless days pass as the people worked on the inside of the piled stone, turning it into a grand structure, with drawings, runes, blood, sweat, and tears poured into the structure. And once it¡¯s done, I see the tattooed man again, he slowly clambers atop the pyramid climbing all of the steps laboriously, the project taking years of his life. He pulls out a hunk of gold ore, whispers some words into it, and slams the piece of gold into the top, His people jump back at the foot of the mountain, as the gold expands, and flows like he summoned a wave of molten gold. White light emanates from the ziggurat as it is covered in a blindingly bright layer of gold. And all the people below sink down in prayer, but the man just seems tired slowly clambering down. After that time seems to speed up. I see the Ziggurat used for everything to from daily community gatherings, to seasonal rituals. I see a city get born from around the structure that towers above everything else. I see love, blood, fueds, and cries of sadness from above. I see the city grow larger, and develop a unique culture of it¡¯s own one that values art, and expression led by generations of magic users. As the city becomes grander and larger I suddenly see a boom of invention, the city expanding greatly. The same golden covering gilding the ziggurat, spreads throughout the entire city, as the city gets slowly covered in more and more runes, fixing small problems, bringing in water, and helping mothers through childbirth. Until even the poorest peasant in the city lived a better life than a king outside of it. But as the city existed, and bursted, it also fell. I see people grow used to the items around them only slowly adding to them, while they stagnate. No longer any more grand bursts of invention simply content to stay where they are. I see the temple get visited more and more as tensions rise in the community, before I see something on the horizon, an incoming army. It swarms over the city nestled around the massive ziggurat and tears it into shreds. Ripping the gold off the walls, and pillaging the items, taking away the people as slaves. But one man refuses to submit, he hides, and waits for the swarm to go away, and sneaks into the ziggurat. The outside now a dull grey, and frantically writes with his own blood a certain symbol that just emanates the truth and grand power of the Astral Plane, and with a crash of stone it teleports here. And it drifts for an impossibly long amount of time. As I see the entire history of the ziggurat in front of me, my eyes roll back, and after the flow is done I collapse ¡ª I rub my head the pain echoing from the side of my head, the mind almost filled to bursting by the painstaking detail of the entire history of the ziggurat. From when it was just a bunch of massive rocks, to the center of a massive civilization, to being torn apart by a neighbor for its wealth. ¡°Fuck me did I just get the life cycle of a rock jammed in my brain,¡± I said rubbing my head, the pain overtaking my entire brain. I slump or well try to there is no ground to fall on, but I make my best attempt to float with ease in the astral soup. As I try to grapple with this new information. For what is my unpeeling? I¡¯ve been using its abilities to learn about the emotions behind the clouds almost imagining that I was seeing behind their skin, but it seems to be something more. From what I¡¯ve just seen I think I can scry objects, maybe even people. But well it¡¯s not like I have any people to try the idea out. Either way, if my hypothesis is true I can look at the information of things with the unpeeling technique. This could be incredibly useful in the future especially since there seems to be so much information that I was missing with my earlier attempts. Since I had to essentially pick the scene in order to not have my brain exploded by all the possible information about the structure. Hmm, a good future experiment could be out me attempting to unpeel a cloud and look at its history, there are many things that I could discover just by seeing it from birth till death. There must be so much I¡¯ve missed by only seeing a tiny slice of them. But first I should investigate this temple. Because well somehow their prayers actually did shit. The various magicians who apparently existed in the past, used a lot of rituals and prayers to do actual magic! It¡¯s obviously possible I do magic myself, and my expectations theory means that if you think your prayers do magic it should be possible to do so. But if that¡¯s the case and you don¡¯t need to be in the Astral Plane to cast spells, where¡¯s modern magic? Because the last magician managed to make this ruin appear in the astral, and that is decisively something a portal can do as shown by me. But if the magician used magic to do it how the hell do modern humans do it? We don¡¯t exactly have state-sanctioned wizards running around waving wands at the portals. So are portals enchanted objects? But if they¡¯re enchanted why don¡¯t we use any other ones in our day-to-day lives, the warm and caring government of humanity would never do such a thing as make our lives worse by taking away knowledge. Each and every human has an A.I that has practically all of human knowledge pre-mind injection data storage. And that¡¯s because you can¡¯t just allow regular people off the street to be allowed to extract and inject memories. You might not be able to learn any skills with it, but you could drastically alter your personality. Your being is made up of your experiences and how you interpret them, if you add new experiences artificially you will absorb them through their lens. I shake my head in the end, I¡¯m definitely going in there, this ruined temple was the site of a ridiculous amount of magical phenomena, and generations of magicians imbued it with what seems to be a ridiculous amount of magic. Who knows what I could scavenge from this site, it might have been mostly torn apart but that last magician teleported it into the Astral. This means that there is at least a way to use magic to transport objects into the astral. Which hopefully also means that magic could be used to exit the astral, and this temple could show me the way. So with hungry eyes, I swim toward the temple ¡ª A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. As I approach the temple, I see that despite all the gold being stripped from the temple, the drawing that I saw form, and fade with my sky high eyes are still there, to tell their story. A story told over generations of work, innovation, and stagnation. I walk in, the stone interior looking less polished but more worn by the sheer weight of people. I smile admiring the art inside as I walk forward, one great thing about the city born from this temple was that everyone was able to express themselves. From the simplest laborer to the richest son, anyone could read, write, and create a story using the temple as their canvas. Although only the most magnificent or relevant works got to be on the outside. I sigh my hands trailing the walls, I wish I could read it but despite the fascinating beauty that is tantalizingly in front of me. I came here not to admire the art but to loot the place of whatever leftover goods it has. I stop floating in the middle of a hallway built by a people long dead and look at my hands. ¡°Goddamn am I an asshat, I¡¯m acting like those losers who rob the graves of foreign peoples,¡± I said I wrench my hands away from my eyes, and gesture as if to wipe them off, because at the end of the day despite my whining I¡¯m not going to stop. I ball my hands into fists because I am going to get home and nothing will stop me, plus I don¡¯t even know the language so what¡¯s the point of staring at swimming text? But as I relax my muscles and let the fist fall into a hand I remember something, one I am most likely the best linguist to ever exist, coupled with the magical ability to speed read. And two, I discovered like 5 minutes ago that I could use my unpeeling technique for more than just clouds. With a half-hearted bonk to my head and a chuckle I squint, and unpeel the text to reveal a storm of information. But with my prior knowledge, I manage to focus the storm invading my mind and drag myself into a scene. ¡ª I bang my chisel into the rock of the old temple, the dink of the blows soothing my ears, I doubt my work will be chosen to stay, but still, I can give my protests here. And frankly, I need to express it somehow, our Shaman is a fucking TWAT! He can barely cast any magic and that¡¯s his entire job! He provides for the tribe by using his magic to problem solve, and he only causes them. The only spirit that would gift him his magic is whatever spirit is in charge of scheming and buffoonery! And since he holds the spellbook of our tribe, the people who are actually talented can¡¯t gain our heritage and are thus forced to do a lot more work with worse spells, burning their souls in an effort to keep our community alive. He¡¯s an utter disgrace to the title of Shaman, despite giving up his name as all shamans do when they inherit their spellbook he constantly uses the fact that he descended from the First Shaman in order to weasel his way into and out of situations. All he¡¯s good for is politicking and schemes! AUGH, I stop as I hear the soothing ting start to turn to a scrape. Great now I¡¯m going to need to redo this, Ugh I better get to it, I¡¯m not letting my voice be silenced. ¡ª I shake my head, my eyes drifting away from that man¡¯s gaze the feeling like taking off a VR headset. I instinctively hold my head but no pain comes, I guess as long as I don¡¯t go overboard I should be fine? But as I ponder that, I shiver, because well I¡¯m not doing that again. Crawling into someone¡¯s brain feels wrong. It¡¯s way worse than mind injections because it doesn¡¯t feel like those have been your memories all along but rather like you scooped out a bit of someone''s brain and shoved it into yours. I need to find a better method than that. It seems like I can steer it a bit from how I managed to see a scene both times, I just need to go in the direction of some text instead. I shake in place before moving on. I keep on walking through the snaking halls my journey dotted with some paintings, and poems, with strange smudges along the walls, as if the walls were a painting that was scrubbed clean. Eventually coming to a crossroads, I see at the center of the room a statue with a man his skin writhing with the same text on the walls offering a hand to a cowering child. The man¡¯s skin an unpainted grey stone highlights the chiseled lines of text, while the child is drawn in excruciating life-like detail. His skin was painted a warm brown his hair, not a block of stone but individual strands of hair painstakingly carved into place. But as I look further into the eyes of the child, I realize something this looks like a younger version of the man who built this temple. His curly hair matting into a series of dreadlocks, that the older man I saw at the beginning grew until it covered his eyes. Intrigued I unpeel the object, and retrieve a piece of text from the sea of information, one that¡¯s surprisingly small and cryptic. ¡®When the great spirit of language gifted us the magic of the Astral Plane¡¯ My eyes flutter easily dealing with the small amount of information. But I still need time to process the idea itself, because is this temple dedicated to spirits? I remember in my last experience the man mentioned spirits associated with magic. Something about specific spirits gifting magics. But although I can see it, and predict how it happened I¡¯m vaguely baffled. Do they really worship the clouds? It makes a kind of sense, humans have worshipped mountains, lakes, and skies for millennia. And the clouds are a sight to behold, magnificent beacons of complex emotions. But in the end, they are as sentient as a rock. A rock formed of human thought and emotion but a rock nonetheless. Well, it¡¯s not like it¡¯s my religion, none of my business what people worship, but how did the guy get gifted magic by the cloud? How did the man even see the writhing spills of text on the cloud of language from the other side? I ball my fists together I need to know this. With determination in my eyes, I unpeel the statue again only to find nothing. As if my search hit a metaphysical brick wall. What the hell is going on, when I went cloud gazing I repeatedly unpeeled clouds always learning something that was just a bit different from the original. But now I¡¯m getting cockblocked by a hunk of stone? I stare at the statue my efforts leading to nothing, the frustration building as I attempt to wrestle more information free of the stone. Why can¡¯t I squeeze any more information out? I try innumerable methods to try to get more information out of the damnable statue but it all leads to nothing. I throw my arms behind me as I decide right then and there to give up. I move on in search of more information and the inner sanctum. Because if the magician bothered to take the temple away from the hands of the enemy it probably has something valuable inside. I rub my hands together in anticipation of the prize, and randomly choose the right side of the crossroads, with no clues I have no choice but to guess. So with full confidence, I press onwards. Hungry for more information I unpeel many paintings, and pieces of text only to get not much of anything. I discover that the earlier trait of no second peeks holds true but otherwise I don¡¯t learn anything important. I witness countless birthdays and funerals, marriages, and births. This time always viewing the scene with only one chance I can¡¯t read only a tiny line of text. Although frankly throughout my studies, I am astonished at the quality of life. The various enchantments mean that frankly, the vast majority lived far better lives than some medieval kings. A common enchantment is one that produces clean fresh water once a day, something that essentially throws problems of thirst, and many diseases, completely out the window. There are dozens of similar extremely practical and convenient enchantments some made by individuals who passed down certain runes that they learned in their bid for an apprenticeship to the Shaman. However, most are made by Shamans who tirelessly work to make sure their community thrives. I witness that for some reason those who use magic seem to burn something? I¡¯m not sure what it is, the community refers to it as soul burn but I¡¯ve never felt such a sensation. And also curiously enough the artifacts are recharged weekly by a ritual where they touch a bracelet, my bracelet. Although admittedly my bracelet lost its subtle light when I ate the cloud of language. It seems like the enchantments were powered by something inside the bracelet. Oh well, guess I shouldn¡¯t have left it at the base. Presumably, it¡¯s been crushed to pieces by the army of ant corpses. So it¡¯s of no use to me to study now. I continue walking forward snaking through the former golem-turned-temple to the spirits. Eventually reaching another splitting point but this time I have a bit more clues on what to do next. The right side of the tunnel is far more weathered than the left. But also in the middle, there is another statue this time surrounded by the city post-boom, with a cocky triumphant smile on his face as he stands above his work. I¡¯ve seen his visage in a lot of paintings, he seems to be referred to as the First Shaman, which is very confusing considering he seems to be the 3rd or 4th magician. Eager to understand more of the puzzling situation I unpeel the statue, and grasp a scene with my mind. ¡ª I chisel away at the stone, slowly revealing the most admired figure in our community, he First Shaman. I sigh setting my tools down on a floating stone slab. He was a true genius, his gifted spells were passed down in the spellbook, the personal inventor of many of the standard enchantments that we still use even today. His mastery of language magic was unmatched and so was his wit. He was a master negotiator able to play off neighboring powers each other while backing his idealogy through enchanted items. Any attempt to destroy him only allowed him to gift his enemies a new scar. But the bravest, and most admirable thing he did was free us from the tyranny of spirits. Trapping the great spirit in his bangle, when he went on a merry trip off the astral negotiating grander and better spells from spirits in exchange for defeating the spirit of language. He is the cause of our success and the artifacts and knowledge he passed on is what allowed us to be one of the great powers of the area. He deserves to live in stone forever, I¡¯m glad that I was chosen to do this, for it is an honor to carve into the world our history. ¡ª I blink my eyes adjusting once again to my own brain. Burdened more by immense confusion. Because how the fuck did he negotiate spells from a bunch of clouds? Even my illusory theory can¡¯t accommodate this, he can¡¯t exactly negotiate with a pile of emotions! But if that¡¯s not the case what is the truth? Maybe he¡¯s just gotten mythologized, I know that the people here worshipped the clouds scattered throughout the astral, and that they believe that their magic was a gift from those clouds. So if he came back from the astral with a bunch of new techniques to people could reason that he gained the spells by talking to the spirits. But that doesn¡¯t explain everything my hands flexing in and out as I attempt to deal with the rag boiling over. Eventually, I calm down, I need to know more about this in order to get the hell out of here. I choose the more weathered hallway, the First Shaman was an incredibly popular figure to create art about so if I go to the more popular section undoubtedly I¡¯ll find out more about him. I pass through but strangely enough, I see no more artworks beyond this point the walls are nearly all smudged away. As if someone took their hand and dragged it over a wet painting. I frown but continue swimming at the very least it¡¯s a change to the monotony as I swim forward until I come across quite a strange room. The floor is covered in strange tiles with runes all over them, one prominent rune in the center tied into a bunch of auxiliary runes. The tiles are arranged in some sort of pattern with at the very end of this long hallway being a door completely decked out in runes. I look down at the floor, and whistle damn am I glad that I don¡¯t have to walk here. With some trepidation, I slowly swim over to the door and scry it. Maybe I can figure out what¡¯s going on if I can peek into the thoughts of the creator. But as I attempt to peer into the information behind the curtain, I see nothing only hearing an incredibly loud, incredibly grating voice echo out in my mind. ¡°OY YOU IDIOT SHAMAN ARE YOU AN IDIOT, DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD GET PAST MY SECURITY JUST BY SCRYING IT? YOU¡¯VE BEEN DEALING WITH IDIOTS TOO MUCH, BECAUSE FRANKLY HOW THE WOULD YOU THINK YOU COULD WALK INTO MY INNER SANCTUM. USING YOU KNOW THE SPELL LITERALLY EVERYONE GETS FOR FREE, DUMBASS!¡± the disembodied voice echoed in my head smugly, with pride infusing it completely. As I grip my head in pain, I see panes of protective shields erupt around the entrance, walls, and door. As if the metal panes of a store in case of an emergency. And I realize fuck I¡¯m stuck in a room filled with enough magical munitions to blow me sky high. Ch.16 Uh Oh I stare at the floor beneath me, a series of tiles set in an inscrutable order, filled with enough runes to presumably blow me to pieces. With a door on the other side stacked with runes, and a small oasis in the front with no runes. My mind races at the unexpected words of the First Shaman. For who else¡¯s voice could be so mind-numbingly cocky. I gather my thoughts and reveal a small smile. I am floating above the tiles and am in no danger from a simple pressure plate. So I float over to the door and pull out my laser. Or well my hair braces, hardened photon devices once you jailbreak them turn into pretty powerful, if unfocused lasers. I pat it, I¡¯ve been mostly conserving its power since I lost the base. I sigh saddened by the thought of my destroyed home wrecked by a passing war. But anyway the hair braces should pack enough of a punch that it should bore through this door in no time. With glee in my eyes and the sound effects of a chainsaw coming from my mouth, I force the makeshift laser to roar to life and blast out a collum of light. The lights slam into the barrier starting to crack it like glass. But as I do so the smile drops from my face, as all the tiles beneath me, light up a dangerous looking red. I thinking quickly on my feet, throw a quick wind wave at the ceiling, using the force to blast me off the grid and onto the small area of safety on the door I hurtle through the strange fluid grasping my hair braces tightly in my arms, my shoulder crashing into the harsh stone, as I skid along the stone until I crash into the barrier. And I watch hissing from the pain as boulders erupt from the ground, fires burst into existence, water saws spin to life, and razor-sharp winds blow, mere inches away from my tiny sanctuary. I scramble my feet scraping against the floor as I push off the gray stone. As my mind keeps rolling in circles, my thoughts fall into a groove of panic, and urgency. But in time it slows. And I breathe in and out, gusts of winds forced from my chest, as I focus in on my dream, I gaze at the sight of my own home that was robbed from me, and I state to myself ¡°That damn First Shaman had to have a way to get to his own inner sanctum, and it probably has something to do with all these tiles¡± A half plan in mind I start to look at the tiles, careful to not float above them in case I get murdered by a barrage of magic appearing from nowhere, who knows what gets it started? I take a deep breath, before I get this fixed what are these runes? I know that there were four types of elemental attacks, 1 for each of the classical elements, but which element corresponded to which rune? Ugh, what are they, I stare at the tiles in front of me and realize something. This tile in front of me uses the same exact rune, as the water-producing rune from the vision! It¡¯s the largest rune in the middle but it¡¯s not alone. There seem to be strange lines that connect the big rune to a web of smaller runes. My guess is that they modify the extremely simple magical effect of water, into those terrifying water saws. I shiver and hold my shoulders, remembering the sight of the rapidly flowing water, fast enough to slice through metal. I shake my head trying to rid myself of useless thoughts, alright even if this is fascinating how does this help me get through the door? I grab my chin, maybe if there¡¯s some sort of password, the tiles that have the answer will have different runes. I shrug it¡¯s probably not the right answer but it¡¯d be a good idea to check anyway for posterity. I first look, at the ones closest to me, not noticing any real difference between the four templates, but I realize that in order to read all of them, not just the ones right next to me, I would have to place myself above the deadly magical tiles. Who knows what could happen if I drop a piece of iron, the tile beneath me might blast me with a pillar of fire. Burning to death is one of the most painful ways to die, but do I really want to live with nobody, no friends, no family? So gritting my teeth I push off the walls and read the rest of them, but there¡¯s no change just the endless repetition of the same four tiles. What could it be? Maybe the tiles password functions are on all the tiles? Or the special tiles have their instructions on the bottom? Yuck, Grasping my head I take a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. ¡°I have to try something!¡± I said frustration leaking out through my voice. So I throw a bundle of nails, on first fire, second water, third earth, and fourth on air. A burst of magical power uncoiled from each press of the plate, reaching all the way to the ceiling. The combination does nothing, there is no click, no creak, just silence in the wake of destruction. But I didn¡¯t expect to get it on the first try, so I try another, and another, and another. And when I have to grasp for my backpack''s strap to get more nails I stop. I grit my teeth in frustration, knowing that blindly guessing is useless. I have no idea if there¡¯s a password at all, and even if there was there is no guarantee that it¡¯s a four-number combo. And even if the world was perfect and all that were true, there would still be 10 thousand combinations! I have to think of something new! What could be a key to the puzzle other than the floor? Wait I haven¡¯t checked anywhere except the floor! I facepalm myself as I swim towards the door. I stop myself by lightly pushing off the shield careful to not trigger it, and examine it¡¯s runes for any familiar pieces. I search and I find the earth rune among them, I didn¡¯t know what it was prior to here but I recognized water, fire, and air, from enchantments in the normal lives of the townspeople. And obviously, if everything else is taken the last has to be earth. Presumably, the earth rune is making the door more sturdy, but how does this equate to emotions, are rocks an emotion? It wouldn¡¯t be the weirdest thing I¡¯ve seen since I got here anyway. Bahh, I shouldn¡¯t be thinking of stuff like this right now, at the very least I can guess that the door generates the shield. And maybe interacts with the plates given the aggressive reaction to breaking through the shields. As soon as I tried to mess with the door the entire floor flared with magical power, creating a wall of fearsome fire, flowing water, heavy stone, and sharp wind. I couldn¡¯t even attack anymore, and the laser was getting weakened by the particles flying everywhere. Although this does make me wonder, why are all the enchantments runes prominently displayed. Wouldn¡¯t it be better if they were hidden by a thin layer on top? But that might not make sense considering their rune magic seemed to be unique to them. Who hides something that no one else understands? But wait a minute, I have a book of runes right now, and I remember that the spellbooks the visions mentioned were damn near sacred relics that passed down a communities heritage. And while I might not understand it completely now, I have a first-hand look at the lives of all the people of the community that made the book. I might not know everything. But I might be able to figure out something I grab the book from my backpack. Flipping through the pages I stop at one that looks exactly like the rune for fire. I look through all the book, and find all the runes placed on the door inside the book, I still don¡¯t know jack-shit of what they are but, I do have some hope for the future of language techniques. I am the devourer of language. Figuring out this much should be elementary. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. With the help of my gained knowledge, I can probably get started with rudimentary enchantments just not now. I can¡¯t exactly experiment in the astral expanse, or in the middle of a hostile ruin. So quickly finishing up my examination, I noted down which pages were used for the spells, and flew up, but as I reached the top I frowned. For I noticed something, there were also tiles on the roof but they weren¡¯t inscribed with runes but rather with words from the community made around this temple. I carefully examine the writing and am excited when I can crudely translate many words with my experience living through the eyes of the community. I scan the words eagerly drinking them in until I stop, my jaw dropping as I realize something. I might not know everything of this language yet, but I do know the words for First Shaman, and as I look I realize quite the conspicuous phrase amongst the mess of words. I grit my teeth almost refusing to believe the answer, it couldn¡¯t possibly be that! Before I accept the idiocy and give up, my hand falling down my face, dragging my skin, as I reluctantly fish out some nails and throw them out. Spelling out the answer ¡®First Shaman Is the Best!¡¯ I see the 5 blasts of power erupt into the air before falling into nothingness, as I hear a click and the door opens ¡ª I float into the room, my throat burning with the shame inherent with praising your enemy, forced to compliment that smarmy bastard! Worse than that however it''s a horrendously idiotic password, anyone who got the slightest glimpse of the First Shaman would know that he couldn''t resist complimenting himself. Additionally, even if the defense would work perfectly fine against someone who didn''t know the language it''s not like your own people can''t stroll past what seems to be a heavily defended facility, hell what if a foreign enemy just took the time to learn your language beforehand. It''s like making the hint for your passcode, an exact copy of your passcode and hoping nobody knows how to read! Still burning with frustration I walk into a hallway, before emerging into a wider room, shaped like 3 boxes stacked front to back with yellow gems stuck to the sides of the rooms. I turn my head quizzically. Huh lucky that these gems survived the raid but I need to get moving and unless they¡¯re quartz they aren¡¯t really useful to me. I rub my face, well this is a bit weird, but at least I''m past the copious ego of that dickheads idiotic security. But I soon regret thinking when as I hear a blast of that ridiculous man''s voice yet again. ¡°DO YOU KNOW ONE OF MY FAVORITE BITS OF MAGIC! GOLEMS, WITH THEM I DON¡¯T EVEN HAVE TO SHOW UP IN ORDER TO MURDER SOME FOOLS. AND SADLY ENOUGH I HAVE TO DEAL WITH A LOT OF THOSE,¡± The prerecorded voice mocks, as golems unpeel themselves from the walls 6 in total. The golems glide towards me, a strange recreation of a human with no legs just one shifting collum, with heavy arms like a gorilla, punctuated by a head embedded with glowing amber, the very same crystals I stared at. I wince, my hands held to my ears as I hear that grating voice pierce into my mind, but I can¡¯t take the time to recover because they¡¯re getting here. I quickly take my hands away from my hand and instead, invoke anger in the form of a heat beam held between my hands. Forcing all the heat formed by my burning anger into a singular point and slashing it at the approaching golems But I am appalled to see that I merely make their outside glow cherry red, at this point, I¡¯m just heating up my enemy''s weapon! I am not given long to think about this though, as the first of the pack reaches me, it swings its fist at me turning with its shoulder, packing all the weight and power of a half-ton of stone into the punch. I squawk as I push against the air, an awkward motion as if I were flipping a table barely allowing me to slip through the deadly attack. I wheeze, my lungs complaining as I bang against the floor and rebound back into the air, the golems lunging towards me in my vulnerable state, I instinctively protect my face but they weren¡¯t aiming for it. The second golem to the right of the first sinks into the ground only to spring forward, its tether to the earth growing thinner as its fists cover my sky. The heavy stone fist crashes into my ribs and sends me spinning backward, the gravityless environment allowing me to be thrown into the other room. The air is pushed out as I crash into the shields protecting the exit to the puzzle room. My mind spinning I push off of it before I come to an idea, those golems are connected to the ground. That means unlike me they can trigger pressure plates! And also that since they¡¯re bound to the ground I can escape their grasp by floating out of the way. They aren¡¯t tall enough to reach the ceiling! So with a bloody smile on my face, I swim over to the top at the far back of the room waiting for the foolish golems to die to their creators own defenses. The golems glide towards me attached to the ground by a flared base of stone. Passing through the threshold I am surprised to see, that they spin, their bases no longer attached to the floor but rather to the walls! ¡°HAH DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD BREAK MY TOYS, BY USING THE OTHER ONES? IDIOT!¡± The First Shaman taunts all around me, but I ignore that as the golems approach. My mind races, desperate to find any solution as they all wind up their punch in unison, and I find one, my arms not aiming to block the punch but instead draw inwards, as I grasp my shoulders. The sadness lashes out, a burst of cold holding the golems in place. I shaking breathe in, my ribs radiating pain, not allowing a full breath. But I take what brief break I can have anyway, my brain picking apart itself for any chance at survival, I attempt to calm myself with a deep breath before stopping. I can mostly quickly push, freeze, and heat up stuff magic-wise. But well none of those can save me. A windwave can¡¯t crush stone, I can¡¯t freeze them indefinitely, and my heat beam is too weak to melt them down! I hear a crack in the ice and scramble for something, as I suddenly remember something, an idea coming to mind like cracking glass. One thing that''s terrible for most materials is a rapid change in temperature! If I can quickly switch between hot and cold, I can cause cracks in their structure! I don¡¯t have much time to think it through however before they escape my technique, I lower myself closer to the floor, and push off the walls awkwardly rushing to the other side of the room. I try to quickly pull myself through the door my eyes kept on the golems as they menacingly approach. But as I attempt to do so I¡¯m foiled by the position of my arm, stumbling through I try to windwave them away only for them to push through. Their heavy weight allowing them to be unaffected by my magic. Abandoning my efforts I invoke the biting cold of sadness and hold them in place, ridding them of motion, as I rob them of heat. I then let go of my shoulders scratching them in order to invoke anger, but as I do so I am horrified to see the cold collapse. The punches are followed through freed of the oppressive cold, and heavy stone fists crash all over me as my body crashes into the doorframe behind me. Batted about by 6 fists. With a bruised arm I desperately push myself through, as I reach behind me, grasping for a knobbly surface, doom approaching me. But it won¡¯t approach for long, I freeze them, and pull out my hair braces, firing up the generation of hardened photons as they assault the hard stone bodies of the golems. The beam instantly creates a rash of heat, and I hear the delightful crack of stone, unable to deal with the stresses of such a rapid change in temperature. The amber stones in their forehead crumble to dust as I hear a groan of pain escaping the broken stone. I gasp my hands on my knees, as a crooked smile adorns my face, I wipe my face of the snot tears, and blood. And collapse releasing all the tension as I just give up on any movement at all. ¡ª I groggily rise still collapsed, an unresponsive body floating in the astral soup. I wave as hard as I can in order to get back to an upright position, as I examine my body for bruises, and breaks. Those golems weren¡¯t lightweights, in fact, the problem was that they were so massive. Their stone fists are heavy enough to be hard to carry much less take to the ribs. Ugh, I hiss in pain as I breathe in. Invoking healing I aim the healing beam at my ribs, using the technique I learned with that ant. I breathe a bit easier, feeling a cool rush as the pain is alleviated, I continue with my shitty healthcare pointing my good vibes at the particularly dangerous bruises, mostly focusing on the one nearby my liver. But I can¡¯t help much before I have to let the beam go. As I feel the glass in my mind approach full. I wince and rub my shoulder, I¡¯m not nearly patched up enough to get in another fight, but a smile crawls across my face, I¡¯m definitely in enough health to get some loot! So with my stiff arms, I push off the floor with my legs, and slowly doggie paddle my way into the next room. There was nothing stopping me from moving on but well who runs past deadly danger without getting stabbed in the back? I drift into the room again gobsmacked by the audacity of the First Shaman. The entire room is a dazzling array of gold, and gems, racks upon racks of luxurious clothes dotting the room, the walls covered in shelves filled with trophies, bedazzled trophies. I squint just to make sure only to find that I¡¯m right, the first Shaman put gems onto what seems to be a small trophy for getting second place at a strange spelling bee equivalent. But that is nothing compared to the blinding light emanating from the center, the sight as if 1000 spotlights were pointed in one direction, highlighting the embossed cover of a book titled. ¡®The Complete Story of the Captivating Life of the First Shaman¡¯ ¡°IMPRESSIVE ISN¡¯T IT, MY INNER SANCTUM THAT HOLDS MY MOST PRIZED OF POSSESSIONS, EVERYTHING FROM TROPHIES TO DIPLOMATIC GIFTS, PIECES OF ART EARNED BY CONQUEST, AND ENOUGH POETRY ABOUT MY BEAUTIFUL FACE TO COVER A MAN HEAD TO TOE IN STONE.¡± The recorded voice of the First Shaman says. I am surprised by the buffoonery but at this point, I shouldn¡¯t be. At every single point at which I believe he would reach his peak, he has broken his limits to hit new levels of pride. ¡°BUT THIS ROOM IS HERE FOR ONE THING MOST OF ALL, MY BIOGRAPHY THE DETAILED FIRST PERSON ACCOUNT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE, FROM BIRTH TO DEATH, FOR BABY HANDS DO NOT FAIL MY ART, AND DEATH CANNOT STOP ME!¡± The recording says with much enthusiasm, not echoed by me considering that I don''t have much pizazz to summon for . I throw my hands down, there¡¯s not a thing of value in this entire demented place! It¡¯s just a shrine to this dead guy who I only know from the loudest, and smuggest messages to ever exist. I drift from place to place looking for something anything of value, yet finding nothing, not a speck of enchanted items in this damn idiotic museum to a man whose name faded from history. In my frustration, I approach the center, the book placed in the middle highlighted with a spotlight. At the very least I can take the biography with me, despite his egomania he did seem to be the best magician to exist amongst the people of this community. And even if his book is ruinously biased I could always just unpeel what little facts it provides to slowly piece together at the very least the mind that produced it. So with a shrug, I grab the book off its pedestal and turn to leave but as I do so I am stopped by another echoed jolly voice. ¡°YOU KNOW NORMALLY GOLEMS AS LARGE AS THIS TEMPLE USE SO MUCH POWER THAT THEY CAN ONLY BE USED FOR SECONDS. BUT WHEN ONE HAS THE INFINITE ENERGY OF A TRAPPED FROMER GOD, YOU WOULD BE SURPRISED AT HOW MUCH POWER YOU CAN JAM INTO THESE THINGS. SO DIE FOR DARING TO TAKE MY MOST PRIZED POSSESSION!¡± the recording said as I heard the rumbling, and shaking of stone, and fell to the floor as the entire temple rises! And with the message of doom, I hear the scrape of stone as the walls close in, trapping me in the belly of the beast. Ch.17.1 My ears cry out in pain as the terrible noise of an enormous temple springing to life reaches my ears from everywhere, I hear the stone falling in on itself, the grind of hundreds of enormous stone blocks spinning. I am thrown into the air by the colossal building formerly known as the ziggurat, getting up. Slamming into the enclosing walls above, I cough, my lungs empty and dull as the spit arcs into a crescent in the slowly cutting-off room. I turn towards the entrance, wind waving off the ceiling, pushing with all my might as I blast towards the door. But my only reward is a new bruise on my hands as the door closes like a blood vessel winking shit. I float staring dumbfounded at the ridiculous shiny memorabilia that surrounds me, now painfully aware that I might die in an egomaniacal madman¡¯s trophy room. I raggedly breathe in and out, the walls closing in not figuratively but literally. But my ragged breath out comes out in a spout of fog as I grasp my shoulders and bring forth an aura of cold. I grasp the power in my hands compressing the sadness into something more than it¡¯s pieces. I struggle to contain it, barely holding on before quickly lashing out with a contained beam of cold, ice, and the very idea of slowness. Ice crystals emerge in visible speed spreading across the room until I find myself stuck in a winter wonderland, just as surrounded as before. But well at least this time the walls aren¡¯t closing in. I shiver my arms quivering in the cold air, almost embracing myself before sheepishlingly realizing it would just summon more cold. I shake my arms as if I were a man desperately trying to rid himself of a spider, in an attempt to get warmth back into my system. ¡°Well at the very least that shitty memorabilia has a use, reinforcing my walls.¡± I say putting some humor into the air. The imbuement of slowing inside the magic should make the walls far more effective than anything I could forge myself. And it¡¯s not like the ice will magically disappear after use, it sticks around. So as long as I maintain this wall I will surely outlast the monstrously inefficient golem, it¡¯s the size of a fucking building, just moving should take so much energy it could power a city. But as my hopeful thoughts attempt to bloom I hear the rumbling of stone and feel in my gut the shifting position. The Golem is throwing itself to the side! Like a dog shaking off fleas. I quickly grab the ridiculous podium that the biography was on, and hold on with a death grip. I dangle off the ostentatious podium almost like someone hanging off a bridge. I smile triumphantly you can¡¯t exactly shaft me using the same exact trick as before! But my grin is interrupted by being smacked in the face with a cloth doll of the First Shaman. With a bit of bemusement, I bat it aside for well just how egotistic can one guy get? But that bemusement fades when I see what was behind it. A clothing rack filled to the brim with clothes, and the accompanying jewelry. I try to get away but I don¡¯t make it in time. I hiss in pain as the metal bar, and the jewelry batters my face, before ducking behind the podium using it as a makeshift shield. A good idea considering the bookshelf that flies past. And the random litany of spoons, books, and trophies that barrage my position and bruise my fingers. I groan realizing that hey if the golem can go one way why can¡¯t he shake in the other direction? So as the larger obstacles trickle by my position and reach the opposing wall. I reluctantly slowly waddle my way to the opposite side of the podium. Just in time really as soon my painful journey fraught with bits of random crap, is rewarded by not getting smashed with a bookshelf. I sigh in contentment, at the very least the thing behind this isn¡¯t smart. If it were, it would have shaken back and forth really quickly to turn this into a death corrider of wooden shrapnel. Although maybe it might just be because the First Shaman would have been loathe to reduce his prizes to the splinters required to impale me. Although frankly, it¡¯s not like the golem isn¡¯t trying to impale me. I quickly pull close to the podium as a thin black trophy spins right past my head. ¡°I¡¯m going to be stuck to this podium for a while isn¡¯t that right nonexistent gods,¡± I say looking up as best as I can, boredom crawling across my face. Well, if I¡¯m going to be stuck here a while I might as well entertain myself. With a grunt, I pull closer to the podium and prop my chest on its surface, and set the insides of my elbows over the edge. Allowing me to effortlessly remain in place. I search the items flying passing by before catching sight of the doll earlier. Considering my options of mostly trophies and jewelry, the doll with its soft cloth body is far more forgiving than getting smacked by a pile of gold. I wait, holding out for the next switch, and when I hear that telltale grinding my hands dart out, and grab the doll with a gesture reminiscent of a snake capturing its prey. ¡°Woo, digging for useless prizes at the carnival finally helped me out. It¡¯s not like I couldn¡¯t just replicate one, but struggles are what makes the prizes worth anything you know.¡± I say to a crowd of no one but the broken relics of an egomaniac. Either way, I can get rid of some of this frightful boredom if I can crawl into the past. I gaze at the doll, a figure that looks like the handsome First shaman, it¡¯s stitching disjointed but charming, and unpeel its fragile skin of normalcy. ¡ª I see threads my sight dominated by their weaving, as my eyes are sown in, small clumsy hands resewing old holes and leaving others undone as she lifts me up. My arms dangle useless cloth approximations. I see a little girl maybe the age of 9, wearing a simple dress with one big rune pasted onto it, a layer stitched onto the dress, worn by endless hands passing it down. I see her squint as she stares at me, her warm brown eyes focusing on me, a thoughtful frown placed on her face, made slightly ridiculous by the fact that she is 9. I inwardly chuckle unable to do much as a doll, but before I can further think of that I am sped through the air. My arms flap, Funny I haven¡¯t truly felt the wind for a while, and I reach it through being stuck in a toy. Either way, the child speeds through the house eventually reaching the kitchen as I hear her bare feet slap against the stone floor. ¡°Mommy, Mommy, he doesn''t look right,¡± the little girl says. I am held up high as I see a mature woman, a baby cradled in the crook of her right arm, skin filled with callouses and wrinkles well-earned. Her belly pushes out of her dress, a practical brown piece filled with a litany of tiny runes, a belt holding it all together. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. A soft smile born of hard work adorns her face. I see her gently rock the baby, transferring her to the left arm, as she grabs me and brings me up to her eyes. ¡°Anisa I can¡¯t help you right now, your little sister needs all the eyes she can get,¡± She says ¡°But Mommy this is for the First Shaman, and if I don¡¯t give it to him tomorrow I¡¯ll have to wait another whole week. That¡¯s forever and ever away!¡± Anisa says her points emphasized by the clutching and shaking of her mother''s dress. ¡°Hmm well maybe I can help you out if you bring the enchantments over for renewal,¡± the mother says gently swaying away from the grasp of her child and her face out of the child''s sight, a little chuckle and a clever smile coming across her face. ¡°OH REALLY, YAY YAY YAY. Thank you Mommy I¡¯ll get all the enchantments ready! Tomorrow, after I sleep.¡° Anisa says running around at the speed of sound in the stone room suddenly stilling, before pivoting and running up the stairs with a series of thumps as she rockets into a bed. The woman chuckles warmly, before bringing me over to a wooden table, my button eyes seeing intricate designs embedded into the table. I marvel recognizing different styles and handwriting amongst the runes. This table must have been passed down for generations. ¡°Oh, children so intense with their obsessions. But I remember what I was like back then, although I am certain that I was not so loud as my little one,¡± the mother says a hand placed over her head, her face locked into the sigh of melodramatic dismay. Before letting go of the face with a guffaw. She places me on the table and studiously examines my body. Tut-Tutting at Anisa¡¯s impatience, and lack of study. Before quickly and expertly taking out a series of bone needles, and sewing me tight until I poof with vigor. My insides filled with cloth, and love. Before laying me on the table a job well done, with a yawn she ascends the stairs and goes to sleep herself. I lay there on the table the night passing through like sand time seeming to become irrelevant. Before I am held once again in the clumsy hands of the child. Anisa screeches in joy before being handed the handle to a floating cart filled with gold items sourced from the rest of the house, the two-story stone house looking a bit empty now. Anisa excitedly ran towards the temple quickly, her short legs hoofing it towards the temple only to have to pump the breaks a bit early. Which makes sense considering how the line starts scarcely a few streets down from her house. Anisa waits as patiently as she can, which is not much dancing, singing, and jumping amidst the line. Out of place amongst the throng of serious adults. But regardless she goes along, bouncing, and babbling her way through the hours. As the line dwindles and she approaches the temple me in hand I can begin to hear the conversation. I hear snippets of complaints and ribbing, Hmm it seems like the weekly recharging event is also an opportunity to speak to the first shaman about your complaints. Good idea in my book might as well hear from your people right after you did them a favor. But soon enough Anisa walks through the temple, eventually turning left, and walking into a sprawling complex of rooms, filled with offices, storage, but most importantly a throne. I see only the ground from the view of Anisa¡¯s hand, but I can imagine the hilarity of a child dragging a cart floating nearly as tall as they are. As she advances forward I am suddenly dragged up and placed on her heart, her steps turning rigid from how nervous she is. She steps through the doors and walks into a truly ridiculous room, the entire room is made of gold. The banners that hang from the ceiling are gold thread, the steps are golden, hell I bet if there was a toilet here it would be solid gold! But that isn¡¯t the main attraction. I see the First Shaman dressed sparingly a simple skirt paired with a pallet of gold jewelry suits him just fine. The lack of a shirt just gives him a chance to show off and prove he doesn¡¯t need any weapons, for when you enchant the simplest tunic can become a threat. The First Shaman is a disarmingly handsome and charming man, tall especially for his time, with ebony skin, and eyes that seem to contain everything. Sitting straight on his throne flanked by two men, wrinkled, and housed in robes covered not in runes but decorations. Presumably for the same purpose of appeasement as the First Shamans, but well they can pull off no shirt. I fall as she bows and then gestures something at the First Shaman before walking up. She first hands him the basket, and he waves his hand over it, the ring on his finger flashing with a strange grey light. An awkward silence forms as Anisa neither brings up a complaint nor leaves. Before with a hesitant step she takes her dolly and hands it to him. A surprised look flashes across his face, as he quickly gestures to shush the advisors around him. ¡°Thank you but today is for the ritual of replenishment, and addressing important issues maybe sometime else.¡± The First Shaman says softly. But the little girl pipes up ¡°But this is important!¡± She says indignant at the suggestion otherwise. ¡°Alright, Alright, what¡¯s so important about this,¡± The First Shaman says making a placating gesture with a relaxed smile on his face. ¡°Well I gave it to say thank you, I heard that you were the one who made the baby-protecting charms right!¡± ¡°Right,¡± the first shaman says strangely without a sense of pride in that words. ¡°The doctor said that mommy would have died without it, and you give it to everybody! Now my little sis is here. I wish that she actually did something other than just eat, and cry, but nonetheless, in my grace, I have given you my dolly. I made it look like you see!¡± Anisa says her face drifting from sadness to joy, to a stern look of seriousness. Holding up her dolly into the First Shamans'' eyes. The shaman looks strangely at me, almost sheepish, before turning to the girl and giving her a warm smile. ¡°Thank you, what was your name?¡± The shaman asked ¡°Anisa,¡± she said suddenly demure, a look that didn¡¯t fit well. ¡°I will cherish it forever young one,¡± The first shaman says finally taking me for Anisa¡¯s hands, embracing my cloth form. The little girl releasing the starn face runs away with a look of glee. Before promptly running back in the stern face back on, grabbing the cart, and booking it away. The chaos heard all the way from the throne room as the girl excitedly runs back home. I hear a little guffaw from above me, and see the small smile of the advisors, from my position in the First Shaman¡¯s right hand. I drift through the proceedings, some commenting on my addition but most of them just show up to complain or to essentially use the shaman as a tiebreaker. The First Shaman cleverly maneuvers everything as best he can so that all parties exit with a smile. But it is clear that by the end of the day, he is exhausted. As the people stop trickling in, the First shaman gets up says a short goodbye to his advisors, and walks strides towards curiously the trophy room I¡¯m in. He expertly weaves past all his own traps before arriving at the room. He comes upon a wall, it is filled with small humble things, such as a fork, or a ring too small for him to wear, each with a small tag attached affixing a name to each object. He gets out a strip of cloth and writes Anisa, before waving a hand, the cloth pulsing to life, and gently wraps itself around my arm. He sets me on the shelf my useless legs failing to hold me up, yet he slowly nudges me until I sit upright. I see him face to face, a grimmer look than he gave his people, the look he can only wear in front of objects. ¡°Huh I don¡¯t deserve this praise, the enchantments were supposed to make me soldiers, give me more men to fight the good fight.¡± He says with a slight tinge of despair in his voice ¡°But in the end, it¡¯s one more life saved, one more life given, and one more life made better,¡± he says his face in his hands, almost afraid to confront this ginormous wall. ¡°So it deserves to be up on this wall,¡± he says conviction made real, and hands off his face. I fall into a pit, seeing time pass by as if I were a rock in the river of time. I see the first shaman occasionally glance at me, or maybe those that surround me, as he gets devoured by mountains of paperwork, and failed inventions. I see him grow old at his desk, working tirelessly, sometimes adding to my wall, sometimes adding to others. But always striving for more. I see those after him, and their attempts to make the legacy of the first pristine, I see the desk disappear, and others walking through the generations. I see someone who looks very much like Anisa maybe a granddaughter, or a grandnephew of hers, someone who was born maybe because of the charm that he invented. I hear the shouts of war, and the sizzle of sacrificed blood as I am sent here. I see countless years in the void visited no longer just one doll, the only proof remaining that Anisa lived, a small scrap of cloth, and a gesture of kindness. Eventually, I see myself. I look ragged but considering how I had just gotten beaten up by a gang of golems that is understandable. All ending with my being rocketed into my own face. ¡ª I gasp like a man breaching water, my body covered in bruises, as I see shelves, and forks scattered everywhere. I look around desperately but the more I like the more of those little knick knacks I see, the more of those little labels I find. I nearly retch thinking of all these priceless memories, used like a goddamn battering ram. Some were irreversibly broken by me flash-freezing them and then using them like an impromptu filler in my wall. I reel from the knowledge I learned, from the perspective I¡¯ve gained. I just lay there hanging onto the podium feeling like I just got hit with shell fire. I wouldn¡¯t give up the information I just learned for a pile of enchantments, but I almost wish I never tried to look. It¡¯s exhilarating and crazy. I lived the life of a person thousands of years before my time, born on a planet that used to be a vacation to me. Something completely alien to me, and yet they were people, with the same children, hopes, and dreams as anyone I know. And I saw their deepest secrets. The thing they hold to their chests until their deaths. My lungs heave as I expel air, but as my eyes dart, I can¡¯t help but groan. The ice grew a ton of cracks from the shaking, and if I don¡¯t patch this up I might be crushed. I get off from the podium and stretch lifting my arms up as I arch my back. Releasing my arms from the strange position I used to hang on to the impromptu shield mid-vision. I sigh with satisfaction as I hear the rippling cracks of my bones, but with a frown, I notice those aren¡¯t the only cracks. I hear the smashing of stone and cracks, as I turn around to see a small army of tiny golems stacked in the now open hallway smashing against my walls. I scowl staring at the beast that contains me, I say with rising indignation present in my voice. ¡°What do you think I am fucker, a bacterial infection!¡± Ch 17.2 Fuck echoes in my mind like falling pins in a silent room. I sigh, I¡¯m strongly considering just yelling at them to go away. But frankly, I doubt that¡¯d work, and most of my usual strategies wouldn¡¯t work either. It¡¯s not like I can use a heat beam through the ice wall without doing the golems job for them, and what would that do anyway. I can¡¯t afford to crack them into pieces by rapidly cooling them. The Blue magics are currently the only thing stopping me from imminent death. If I needlessly absorb those emotions I¡¯ll end up catatonic while the walls themselves endeavor to crush me. I shudder having dealt with far too many brushes with death on this expedition. But I quickly shake out of it, I have to deal with this racket first before I do any complex plans I go to grab for the shelves, I know that what¡¯s on the shelves is well, simply put the closest thing to sacred you can find in this wretched world. But the shelves are just that shelves, nothing grand about them so with a bit of huffing and puffing I push the wooden shelves into a makeshift barrier right behind the ice wall. I float above the barrier my hands placed on my hips surveying it all. But as my gaze turns to the right I grimace at the sight of the little precious trinkets floating around. So I sigh and place them in a corner. With business over with I survey the wall, it seems to be in fine enough order it isn¡¯t pretty but it should work, and just using wood as a shield is a lot more cost-effective than regrowing that ice constantly. And it doesn¡¯t really matter if one wall is taken down if another is right behind it. With a lash of my sadness, my face a strange mix of pride joy, and sadness I attach the barricade to a new wall of Ice, a scant 5 ft away from the first. It might not be a permanent solution but it will give me some time to think this through. I wipe my forehead brushing away imaginary sweat before swimming over to the wall. I¡¯m a bit stumped. Considering that most of my tools to deal with this insane deathtrap are the magical equivalent of trying to murk a guy with a chisel. It might work but damn does it not make you wish for a knife. Hell, the heat beam was supposed to be used for welding, I just fucked up and made a nasty technique while trying to find something for steam power. And the slow spell was made to stop or slow myself, not conjure up walls of ice in combat. Other than that I¡¯ve mostly got, shitty substitutes of modern tech I pieced together from scraps that aren¡¯t even here, and an assortment of infinite materials. Wait a damn minute, I slap my head. I am forgetting my roots I can just solve this problem the usual way. ¡ª I push off the podium heading to the barrier carefully bringing along a bag, extremely aware of its momentum. Because while weight isn¡¯t all that relevant, mass and force sure still are, and this bag is one dense mother fucker. I approach the wall and gaze, the golems might not be creative just hammering away at it but they have steadily destroyed the wall. But I shrug for who cares, I¡¯m going to break it anyway! I then kick the weakened ice and it cracks creating a hole that I promptly fill with molten metal, no need to give my enemies any chance at counter-attack. The golems unable to react in time are covered by a thin layer of molten metal, they stand unbothered by the covering and promptly attempt to pile through the hole, but with a vicious smile on my face I take my palm and slash at them. Engulfing them in truly ridiculous winds, my Windwave may not be effective at pushing back such heavy things, but it can cool down the molten metal stuck to their frames, and unlike the Shiver technique it isn¡¯t Blue magic, and thus is perfectly acceptable to use. The golems are barely held back by the thin bands of steel almost starting to go for the gap again, but I just grab another rudimentary bucket of molten steel and pour it all over them. The steel might not hold forever, but it will hold long enough for me to add more. And so it went a jaunty tune on my lips, and a large bucket of molten steel in my arms, the golems certainly fought back hard, but each time I poured it over them it got easier and easier. Until the enemies that earlier troubled me enough to break a rib were now nothing but a messy statue. I laugh at the grotesque piece of art, their struggling bodies seeking escape, but in such a passive and calm way that it looks almost comedic. For struggle is something done with a boot on your neck, not in the same manner as someone buckling their belt. I shrug, and duck back into my room, quickly making a new wall behind the shelves. It wouldn¡¯t do to get fucked over now after I¡¯ve struggled for so long.a I swim back to the center, a rudimentary smelting station scattered around the center of the room, to account for my needs. And breathe a sigh of relief brushing off a few errant bits of rock dust before pulling myself to the ground. I yawn, my ass is tired after having to deal with the golems, and frankly, it¡¯s going to be a pain waiting out this golem so let¡¯s pass the time with a nap. I gather my backpack mush it around until it forms a rudimentary pillow, and close my eyes. But those eyes don¡¯t remain closed for long as I hear a strange humming. My eyes quickly snap open dispelling any hints of sleep, as I see the bits of rock dust I tracked in start to rise into the air vibrating like an impending explosion. ¡°What the FU-¡± I say before a crash interrupts me. I see piles upon piles of stone crash through the hallway, coming in like a tidal wave the sound of rumbling stone deafening. I scream and scramble backward instinctively trying to flee despite the lack of exits. The tidal wave of stone easily breaks through the ice, like glass to a thrown stone, barely even slowing down, as it continues toward me. I close my eyes trying to think of something anything to save me before going to my only tool left. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. So with a grim face racked with fear I grasp my shoulders, and everything comes to a stop, the Blue Magic slowing the molecules responsible for motion themselves, inadvertently creating a crackle of ice as a mere side effect. ¡°But well at least it¡¯s useful,¡± I say looking up at the encased boulders that were mere seconds ago threatening my life Not that I can do much more than that, the boulders barreling into the trophy room severely reduced the space, I can¡¯t even fully stretch my arms out, stuck in this strange pocket. I shiver, while the cold might have been manageable when I was far from the ice, I¡¯m going to be screwed now. I might live long enough in here until the thing dies, but there''s no guarantee. And I refuse to leave my life in the hands of lady luck the cantankerous bitch that she is. I slap my face, alright, alright, how do I live? I can¡¯t melt the ice holding the boulders in, if they could roll towards me without gravity they could doubtless crush me as soon as they get free. But if there¡¯s no fire how do I stay warm? Hmm, well what worked best back in the day is insulation, crazy bastards lived on the ice even before there was such thing as heating. So how did they do it? With my teeth chattering, I pull out my computer carefully. It might be sturdier than before held in its steel box, but it can still be affected by the cold, and I don¡¯t want to ruin the battery. I have no ways to replicate those. So I quickly tap out a search for keywords warm, Inuit, history, writing at a blazing speed due to the still ongoing language spell. I pull up the article at the top read it in seconds realize it¡¯s just random racist bullshit. Sadly common back in the day apparently because I¡¯m reading my 5th before I stop reading about the savages, and get to know how they actually did it. After damn near instantly reading the entire article I quickly stash the laptop into the safety of the backpack. I then scratch my chin thinking my future plans through, they mostly made do through the power of insulation, by packing snow close enough together that it kept the hot air in. And while I might not be able to do that I can create a tent of cloth, and then plug any holes with wool from my sewing kit. All the while covering myself as much as humanly possible. Ugh, I pull at my hair the frustration boiling over. I wish I was wearing something more practical right now, but well the cold didn¡¯t bother me before this. And I¡¯m no prophet, just someone who rolls with the punches. I sigh grab the robe that serves as my duplicator and a shit ton of fabric and start the tedious process ¡ª I sit in what could be generously called a tent, but could more accurately be called a sleeping bag. The air in here is well not warm but at the very least it isn¡¯t cold enough to bite into my lungs, not so cold as to kill me. But the cold will claim me soon, I need to reapply a coating of ice every once in a while as the shifting rocks crack it, and with each layer, the room gets smaller, and easier to crack. I grimace tears forming in my eyes because soon enough there won¡¯t even be space to wriggle, and then I¡¯- I shake my head, either way, while I might be able to survive like this, I need to do something other than meekly wait for death. My idea is to go for one of the less negative aspects of blue, calm. In my meditation room, it significantly slowed things down, and if I can start one here. I can chip away at the edges of the ice, it will weaken the walls significantly but if it works the rocks will be held in place. I close my eyes in meditation bringing my thoughts inward, my eyes wrinkle inwards as I see it, something more than a mess I¡¯ve found myself in accidentally, but something more. A family made up of singular pieces, forged into a living breathing organism, one that¡¯s empty with my passing. I give a sad smile, I wonder at how they¡¯ve moved on because well in the end all things have to stop at some point. Grief dies a slow death true but it dies nonetheless. A frown crawls into place however once I realize the error in my thoughts, due to the fact that simply put what happens when I come back? Will someone else be dealing with the family''s ridiculous messes, the one calling off idiotic marriages, and negotiating for immediate tickets to another planet when alien wars erupt? It seems highly likely that someone would do it. The question is more can they do it well, because I sure as hell know Audrey can¡¯t handle it her fancy degree be damned. And if so what happens when I stroll back in. Doubtlessly I¡¯d rip a whole new set of wounds for dozens of people, and then what do I do? Attempt to stroll back into my life, fail at starting another fashion brand? Eugh let¡¯s stick to my idea, I bring myself back to the start envisioning my home, in all, its chaotic glory, and then my eyes open, more clear than before. I feel in my mind the slow expansion as if my head was a glass that was slowly being filled up. My face erupts into a jagged smile, I might not have spells down quite yet, but I can pretty much invoke any emotion I need. And while their baseline techniques are crude and wasteful, they are a varied and powerful addition to my toolset. Either way, I¡¯ve managed a starter technique now I need to guide it. Baseline magics without being focused or directed are horribly wasteful, draining me dry in less than a minute. I sigh and then stop the invocation with a closing gesture, no need to be wasteful. A black expression appears on my face. I know expectations are the way to go for focusing techniques but I¡¯m not sure how to maneuver this into place. For one simple reason. I didn¡¯t expect the meditation room, it was the product of me essentially spewing calmness into the area of my meditation room. But wait, while I might not have the couple weeks or however long I spend before that entry I do have an emotion I can spew into the environment. With a subtle but sharp smile on my face. I think after all aren¡¯t baseline rituals horribly inefficient, and that waste has to go somewhere? And where else would it go if not the environment that has already shown prior evidence of being able to absorb emotions considering both the film and my meditation room? I clap my hands together bringing the thoughts in at a manic pace. So is it not entirely reasonable that using such incredibly wasteful magic would rapidly create a domain? I¡¯ll just have to be careful to not go overboard, if you get too close to the edge of the glass it gets hard for the emotion to drain away. I frown my face filled with reluctant pain. Because at the peaks of the usage I also become incredibly irrational which could lead to me foolishly using more magic, and thus using more stupid magic, becoming a self-perpetuating machine of madness and idiocy until I become catatonic. I¡¯ve thankfully only had to deal with that once, but it was close enough. Luckily if you are irrational enough to keep using magic you¡¯re also irrational enough to use the magic that will quickly lead to a catatonic state. Although thankfully this time I¡¯m literally invoking calmness. However, that idea does make me itch in the mind with a simple question. What would happen if I were to invoke insanity? I shake my head trying to rid myself of the thought. That question won¡¯t help anything it isn¡¯t exactly relevant no matter how intriguing. I then sigh and begin the strange process of hopefully creating a bastion of calm in the middle of a battlefield between me and a man long dead ¡ª I spin open my infinite notebook and write down my observations for the experiment. It has been a success, it seems I can create a domain reminiscent of the baseline magic of an emotion by being incredibly inefficient in a particular space. I have been throwing torn-up paper in remembrance of easier times, and as with the meditation room the paper comes to a stop pretty quick It¡¯s not like I¡¯m wasting the paper anyways. I sigh, despite it all, I¡¯m a bit hesitant to step forward, a terrible present is at least something you know, the future is always terrifying. But at the end of the day the present changes, you need to change with it, so I grit my teeth and fire up the heat beam. I first aim it toward the bottom of the little cupboard I find myself in, then once I created a big enough floor I dug my way into a new little space in an alcove tucked away between the everpresent boulders. I breathe a sigh of relief and wipe condensation from my brow. The melted substance boils into steam that coils around the ceiling my strange prison of ice and stone. But I can barely attend to that before I hear a dreadful crack! I turn behind me to see a boulder break free in one big rush, but not toward me towards the other rocks. It smashes into the ice with a crack before slowing down held in place by the domain. The freed stones rush towards the walls in a staggered formation, each stone eventually stopping but not before the stone behind them can smash them into motion.Until all the pieces come together in the blink of an eye. Forming into a wave of stone reaching inward like the fist of a god seeking to crack my skull open. . . . CRACK! . . . ¡ª Ch. 17.3 Empty My arms snap to my shoulders, and then quickly condense the cloying cold into a beam of ice. I jump backward and knock down the impending wave of stone with a continuous spray of cold. The sadness magic does not succeed at freezing the telekinetic avalanche, but I keep going. Continuously going backward I aim at the front of the pack slapping the first boulders down by hitting them with the weight of the ice, bogging down the movement. And with a smile, I smother their advance for I know that if they¡¯re slow enough that they can get them frozen in place! But as I think of victory a small piece of stone jerks away from the tide, and ricochets off the walls toward me! I push myself to the side, and my head crashes against my own icy walls. The flow of ice from the technique is diverted, thrown off kilter by my desperate dodge. I hiss in pain befor- I hear something, shit! I turn back toward the threat and quickly see a barrage of shards launched at my head. I desperately pull at the irregular walls putting myself above the threat, but in my haste, I overshoot and fly into the ceiling, sliding along its surface like a crashed motorcyclist skidding on the pavement. I quickly aim the technique again at the swarm of stones, but the stone wave disperses into a great widespread cloud all shooting toward me! I dodge the first few stones, all of them digging into the ice and then freezing in place due to the magic. But as I frantically dodge the ring of sharp stones, one stone cracks me in the head, and I feel the sights dim. Hells, I¡¯ll die if I fall now, but wha- Ugh I wince, and then I think guck it. And wildly wave the beam of ice, my mind screaming in the background as I urgently cover everything. I am not finished, my hands are in the middle of painting another stretch of white. But I cannot hold on, as it all fades to black¡­ ¡ª I wake, my head ringing as if my head was the shitties bell in all of existence. But as I groggily try to stand up I fail. The ice is so close to my back that I can barely rise higher than my elbows. And so I stand propped up on my goddamn elbows, gazing at the ruin that I have wrought. I shiver, the cold closer than it ever was before. I rub my hands together. My eyes searching for something, anything that I can use to save this debacle. But all I see around me is stone and clouded ice. And I come to a very simple but very dire realization. I¡¯m trapped. I stare at my hands the only thing that I can even see. Everything else covered in cold ice. My hands clench into fists trembling, and shivering, accompanied by shy tears unable to leave their eyes in this cruel place. My own pathetic sobs echoing out across the ice. But no matter what I can''t stop the tears. The infusion of sadness has nothing to do with it. Because I don¡¯t sink into despair I burn with hopeless anger. BECAUSE WHY. It was so goddamn stupid when trying to futilely crush me with its weight. But in an attempt to cave my skull in, it improvised an instant solution to my hardest efforts. Rendering them all worthless. Whenever I do anything right these idiotic chunks of rock break it immediately! I easily, and efficiently solve the golem problem by using my available resources in a creative manner. And then it all is reduced to dust because of what. I didn¡¯t properly brush off my coat? A few glowing rock bits summoning some friends is enough to condemn me to be trapped? What bullshit is this! And even when I solve that too, they still ruin it. A bunch of telekinetic rocks is apparently powerful enough to break through ice that slows down all molecules nearby. While also fighting against an entirely different spell! And they destroyed all of that by instantly coming up with a plan that made all the right decisions become irrelevant. What am I supposed to do when at any moment I can die to something I can¡¯t possibly predict? It feels like putting on your seatbelt in your car, and then being hit by a sharknado on your way to the airport! Like having a man in a shrimp costume spit on your work, and all you stand for. The utter absurdity of it all. It sickens me, it drives me mad for the whole ridiculous weight of what¡¯s been thrown at me. My hands tremble, and tears remain stuck in my eyes as I think about what the fuck am I supposed to do. What? Make a last stand to live one more day. Hells I can¡¯t even stand, I trapped myself in my own doom, and all I can do is wait for death. But with a little giggle escapes my throat. One last laugh at my own expense before my own slow death to the cold. But I don¡¯t dare to let go of something else than this. So I seize the tiny piece of hilarity found at my own expense and force myself to smile. I grab the smile and hold it tight. I have to get and keep my thoughts away from here. I can¡¯t fall here and while these thoughts are right, their righteous anger can¡¯t save me. Thinking through this properly can. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. So even though this smile hurts, my skin stretching painfully under the pins and needles of the cold. I keep it on my face for I refuse to wallow in my own pointless misery like this. I can¡¯t die here, I shall leave this crazy place, and I will see my family again. I just have to problem-solve. So what do I have on hand? Well without some supplies all I have are my clothes and the infinite notebook in my pocket. And well I need those goddamn supplies. I try to look around but all I see is more ice, and some murderous rocks atop the meager perch of my own elbows. Gods, what do I have to work with? Nothi- No, I can¡¯t think that through, let¡¯s switch tracks. If I can¡¯t stand then let¡¯s crawl. I desperately crawl through the scant space offered to me and find an iron plate stuck in the ice. I carefully melt away the ice holding it thankful that it has no boulders close by. I wince, thinking of the blow to the head that got me here. And start to conjure up healing magic in a beam toward my head. I reapply it over, and over. Better to be careful, than dead from something I didn¡¯t notice. Thankfully the wound wasn¡¯t a bleeder but that makes it a bit concerning considering that the other option is a concussion. Which is really goddamn serious. But well everything is when you are at the edge of death either way. I keep looking for something anything I can use but all I can find is 3 more iron nails. Something made all the more frustrating by the dint of supplies left on the floor. I grimace because sadly enough I made my last, last stand on the ceiling. And I didn¡¯t exactly predict that I¡¯d be slavering for something anything to save me. I just needed to get away from the rocks. Frankly, I¡¯m lucky I even have the plate! So what do I have? I got my clothes, a steel plate, 3 nails, and the infinite notebook I kept in my pocket. I cram my brain for what could be useful, I could maybe use the infinite paper for retaining some warmth, but well at this point how would I know when the magic is out? Would I die in this cramped cold space because I was a bit too careful? No, I can¡¯t just hope to survive for just one more day or I will die the next. I grit my teeth Searching for avenues of survival, maybe I could crush the rocks before they crush me. I can¡¯t use wind waves for that or heatbeam, and the cold creating ice spell is what did this. I can¡¯t meekly wait for the walls to fall! I wince as I hear a crack in the ice. Even if I were to find some way to survive the cold, without renewing the walls formed of slowing Ice, I am doomed to die by those ridiculous boulders. A strangled cry erupts from my throat the sound bouncing around what little space I have left. Will I truly die to a bunch of rocks entertaining the idea of motion? No. But what do I do? I must stay alive through the cold, and dark, but I can¡¯t use both the dark cold of sadness and the blazing power of anger. Expectation theory cannot fix this. It is a Law of the Astral. I cannot pull two spells not of the same emotion at the same time. And with me requiring the lessening of energy to live through this. And the increase of energy required to not freeze to death. Since I would need to make a spell that has the exact opposites of each other. That means that I am unlikely to create a spell that uses only one emotion to save me from two fronts. Oh gods what am I supposed to do, am I supposed to do anything? Is there anything that I can even try to do? I¡¯m essentially trying to hold back a landslide with my bare hands. But as I wallow in the despair again, I feel my mind slowly begin to start speeding along. Because wait, a second, I¡¯m ignoring what is currently one of my greatest powers. Language! I know that these runes were born from something. And who cares if I don¡¯t know how the hell they were made? That¡¯s never stopped me before. Hells, I¡¯ve barely cobbled together an understanding of the world around me with the scientific equivalent of duct tape and prayers. And I can do this as well, I know it¡¯s possible so that means that I can expect it to happen! Enchantments didn¡¯t take any price when I saw them otherwise the people using it would have grown irrational and then catatonic. So if I use a rune I can use my own magic to keep myself alive I drag over the slab of metal holding it in a strange sideways position the cage of ice not allowing me to hold it beneath me. I hesitate for a moment before scratching on a crude symbol with a scavenged nail. It holds no meaning but no symbols first appearances do. They are all born through repetition and tradition. I pull in the breath of language the tidal wave of words I¡¯ve grown familiar with in its easy strength I carry around. But as I do so it finds no purchase, it strangely feels like the symbol is too empty like it can¡¯t hold the weight of the spell that has almost killed me but what might lead me out. So I try again striking a jagged streak that reminds me of the eldritch appearance of summoned ice. But it fails so I try again adding a piece that just feels like molecules slowing, each time deepening the groove of a story. The story of someone who refused to die, who is embraced by cold, yet refuses to answer its call for she seeks something beyond. Until it forms, slowly but surely a magnificent work of perfection. A jagged thing deeply embedded into the steel the edges flaring out like a flurry of snow, I gingerly touch the metal its surface is cold as sin, I hiss drawing my hand back after I cut myself on one of the many extended jagged grooves. My shivering leads to unsteady hands. But I muse with my own blood on my hands, a sharp smile on my face, and surrounded by frozen tears. It seems appropriate to pay for this in blood. And so I pull the tide of words in, and it accepts my hard-won story born of blood, ice, and desperation. But one story that will take me to the next. This I swear. And so I grab it. I dislodge the piece of steel from its place. The ice holding it in place although sadly enough it isn¡¯t holding everything else in place. Tears fall from my eyes in a continuous stream. The effort required to keep me alive at all nearly filled my cup bursting with sadness. The cloying weight of its clutches only held back by the desperate need to survive. I hold it close, my last bastion of hope, I lay on my back my hands covering it, the steel still as cold and sharp as before but now it refuses to hurt its master. I feel it at the tip of my tongue like an instinct baked into my very being, like the birds'' inclination to fly the ability to let go of the magic, and let the floodgates loose. I have been reluctant with carrying through, but at the end of the day, I will survive, no matter the cost of pain, and blood. I feel a crackle as ice encroaches and flinch closing the gates of magic. But I refuse to fail, I start again slowly letting the doors open. For at the end of the day if I haven¡¯t eaten a single drop of food in this time what need do I have for air? And if I am immune to the vagaries of most resources why not encase myself in ice? My lungs are nothing but sacks of flesh empty of purpose. I stand as still as I can be slowly feeling my body entirely entombed in ice. But with an imagined wince, my face held in place by the ice I pull in the anger holding in my mind, the indignation of defeat, my refusal to die to something so weak as my own body. The steel slowly warms up, the ice melting away from my magic but regenerating so quickly that you could scarcely tell it was gone. The steel slab held over my chest continuously heats up the steel until it burns like a stove. But I cannot escape, held in place by the ice of my own creation. A silent scream sends no echo as I stay like this. Trapped entirely by ice, leaving myself barely alive by burning myself alive. ¡ª- I limp out of the broken husk of a temple. Backpack on my shoulder and the crude steel slab in hand. Holding the object of my salvation solidly in my arms almost afraid that it would drift from my sight. My fears did not come to pass. The golem died in a quite obvious manner. The subtle light allowing me to see anything at all in the hellhole dying quite obviously indicated that it was done. I grimace grabbing my shoulder roughly, I still waited for a bit. Terrified that something new might happen but once I finally heard the boulders stop grinding and cracking only held back by the near-constant efforts I gave up. If something were to dare to stop me then I¡¯m pretty sure I would have found some way to resurrect myself purely to destroy them. So I released myself from my own prison and melted the entire thing into a deluge of steam. The boulders floated amidst it all. The arbitrators of my seemingly inevitable doom now floating inert. Next, I grabbed my stuff and went off, for I wish to be anywhere but stuck in this accursed place. I pass along walls of art, and text. The beauty was rendered illegible by the grinding and tearing of the beast who tried to kill me. I float past refusing to entertain even the notion of stopping, speeding through the corridors like a very tired, but very determined swimmer. Until finally I see beyond these stone walls. I wait at the exit of my own personal hell almost hesitant to leave. Yet as I clutch my savior I find the strength to push beyond it and arrive outside at last. My eyes flutter open, their globes not used to the dazzling lights of the Astral Expanse after kept so long in dangerous ice. But as I drift away from the temple and look back what I see is truly a travesty. I gaze upon what I left and I weep for I have seen the last vestiges of a culture torn to pieces. The golem is now a crude pile of broken stone and runes. The stones destroyed themselves and generations of artwork in a bid to destroy me. All because I touched a single goddamn book. I simply stare at it, the manifestation of the realization that all that knowledge, and all those little girls, and masons, are gone, any last trace of them ground into a million pieces. And I cry not for myself but at the sheer loss of beauty made by one tiny mistake. Ch. 18 A Mole of Ants I swim into the depths, leaving behind little bits of metal a hopeful trail of nails. I speed through the astral, my body cutting through the strange liquid of the astral¡ªa subject I must revisit considering my frequent use of ice. I frown deeply as I consider that, frankly, the ice must come from somewhere. And if I freeze the mysterious fluid that I float in, I can learn more by studying its solid form. I¡¯m certain it isn¡¯t air due to my miserable failure to create any fire. Either way, I toss my shoulders, stopping my paddling. Momentum will take me where I need to go now. Once I get back, I¡¯ll have the time and facilities to properly investigate the question. Instead of guesses posed to no one at all. I sigh. It sure will be nice not having to offload any and all experiments for later. I can¡¯t exactly experiment while nearly dying from being crushed. I grimaced, wrinkles crinkling across my face. although I ended up having to do it anyway to survive. I casually turn to my backpack, still careening through the air, and grab the plate. I sigh and stare at the crude rune I scratched into its surface. The embodiment of my technique is embedded in the steel. It was this fallible thing that allowed me to survive. But, while I regret its necessity, it is still beautiful. Not in the artistic sense, but in its majesty, I cannot see anything but beauty. It is a rock that I forced to spit out enough cold to freeze oceans. And with a little adjustment, I can do it again and again. And if I can create a rune that''s not even in the book, then I can ostensibly create any magical effect. The possibilities are endless, from a boat that creates its own winds to a rock that allows me to telepathically speak with others. I smile, closing my eyes as I hug the plate to my chest, imagining the wonders I can conjure up with the possibilities contained within. But I don¡¯t open my eyes for long before they flutter open to a ridiculously bright light show. A blinding ring of light spinning with the illusory slowness of something truly massive, around a black core so dark it feels like a gash in the fabric of reality. Something that is sadly frighteningly possible in this topsy-turvy place. All are accentuated by a strange emptiness bordering the two, mildly punctuated by little bits of gray falling into the darkness. I speed through the air, going at speeds that would destroy the engines of an ordinary spaceship, yet the strange cloud gets no smaller. Its size is so great that the meager distance I cross doesn¡¯t even slightly change my perspective. I gasp at the sight before promptly turning away. The momentary glance I gave the strange cloud was so bright that it felt like having a dozen lasers shot at my eye. I feel my body warm up from the radiating light bombarding my skin with something grander than a thousand suns. I wince; how could this cloud possibly be this bright? The vast majority of clouds barely produce more light than a lava lamp, while this cloud could function as a dual oven and waste disposal unit. I hold my hands in front of my eyes, and kick as furiously as I can, desperate to get out of its range. If I stay here any longer, it might cook me like a roast ham! I push far faster than I¡¯ve ever gone, but it still takes hours before my skin finally stops feeling like it was in the middle of an ongoing assault. But strangely enough, as that starts to happen, the light starts going away in a strange manner like a lantern slowly getting closed, and I hesitantly open my eyes. I see the strange clouds'' light get covered, like an eclipse formed from nothing as more and more of its surface is covered by some strange film. As it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, I stop myself, and with a queer grimace, I start swimming back. My eyes might be burning due to the intense light, but so do they also burn with desire for the truly singular experience the cloud holds. It might be crazy to try to do anything with a bloom so dangerous that just being nearby almost ripped off my skin, but it¡¯s just so unique. I can''t leave without getting a glimpse of what it truly is, so with a contained yet eager gesture, I unpeel the truly gargantuan cloud. I find myself amongst the sea of information and reactively filter myself towards the scene, but strangely enough, I bump against strange barriers. Stopping me from seeing what I wish to see. Like how objects, for some reason, refuse to be peeled twice. But more selectively, I frowned, thinking, "Well, what the hell am I supposed to know? Before the answer solves itself, a strange scene eagerly shoved into my brain. ¡ª I see a tiny spark bloom from nothing; its very being is the concept of life itself. A grand concept, but it exists only as a tiny dot drifting for countless millennia. It grows as life grows, first slowly but then gaining mass exponentially as life all across the universe erupts. Its size is terrifying, since all beings'' base desire is to live. All other wants pale in comparison to the desperate need to live at any cost. By far the greatest cloud to ever bloom, hanging in the sky of the astral like the sun. But it doesn''t stay like that, a beckoning star radiating the power to live forms instead, and in its center, a tiny black speck appears. And its birth is that of destruction, for to live is to die, and to climb, you must step on something. It slowly grows in the core of the star of life, fed by its expanding mass, as it emits a strange gray mist from a spinning disk, slowing its growth but corrupting the star. As it transforms into a ferocious spinning, roiling mass of light, growing indefinitely while also feeding destruction. And life is being overtaken; one day destruction shall devour entirely the star of life, and all will be black. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡ª I open my eyes to see nothing; an agonizing void of mad destruction is all I see. I feel a film on my eyes like ink that refuses to leave the world unstained. The desire to mark the world is preventing me from seeing it. The ink slowly drips off, but my eyes are still closed; I shall be blinded if I look at the light after spending so much time in the dark. But as my eyes adjust, I open them to see me floating amongst a sea of color, revealing the beauty of the astral plane to my eyes. I rub my head, groaning from the strangeness of it all, but at the very least I can take solace in the fact. That I actually learned something useful from these damn clouds. Because it appears that one cloud can eat another. And if they can eat one another and turn into strange new clouds based on which ones eat another. That means that instead of looking for clouds to devour for useful magic, I could instead create them by combining various emotions. I grab my chin, imagining creating larger clouds of rage or other base emotions by essentially forcing seeds into each other. Thus building myself a better meal. I know that iron and steel can move emotions, so- I shake my head, wringing the thought from my mind, before breathing calmly in and returning to my base. ¡ª I float above the remains of my base, my steel home a battered and bruised mess, the steel twisted into a grotesque mess accentuated by the caked blood of the ants. All held up by crumpled steel towers over a roiling, shifting mass of meat chitin and hair. My glorious creation, a defiant stand against the unknown and hostile world I found myself in now an orb of meat. The steel was covered by a shifting surface of chitin and blended leg hairs, a grotesque carpet of black and red. The surface underneath is roiling with putrid gasses, occasionally expelling a random assortment of limbs before they fall back into the mass. The short-lived hole revealing the inside as a strange mush of flesh, blue blood, and ant guts. I sigh and wipe my forehead because well it seems like it¡¯ll be some dirty work restoring my base to anything even close to what it was before. Hell it might be easier to just build a new one rather than try to fix what I¡¯ve got. But either way, I should get onto salvaging what I have. So I momentarily ignore the meat orb and turn to my base, swimming over in broad strokes and coming to the side with a mild speed, freeze myself to a stop. But I wince as I hear an echoing groan; the base not stable enough for random temperature shifts. I swim over the walls and descend into my base, but I don¡¯t grab the handles like I used to. For of what handles are left, the remainder are covered in a disgusting coating of blood and guts, flecked with the spattering of the insides of the ants as they collided with the base. I float through the base wincing at each room wrecked, dented, or pierced by corpses before eventually reaching my goal, the steam engine. Its rudimentary shield is caked with miscellaneous pieces of meat and it is dripping with blue blood, but it''s still standing strong. I grab at the edges and pull out my laser, quickly melting off the bits connecting the shield to the hull of the ship. After melting the edges, I quickly pull back the covering and breathe a sigh of relief when I see that the engine has, at the very least, not been smacked out of existence. I grab the edge and pull the top off extremely easily, too, due to the low gravity. And take a little peek at its insides. But I am disappointed with what I see, wincing as I hold up a broken gear. While the impacts didn¡¯t majorly dent the outside, they seem to have broken the more delicate components on the outside. And with the other steam assembly on the steel orb presumably being consumed by the meat, I don¡¯t have any options for intact gears. I craned my neck up into the queasy sight of the meat orb. Still roiling with heat and gas buildup, the blue blood oozing between the cracks. Unfortunately, the view of the meat planet is frighteningly close. The pillars attaching my base to the metal core were dented and drawn closer to the surface, and when you mix in the carpet of dead meat, the base is eerily close to the base. Additionally, the increase in mass from all the ant corpses has noticeably increased gravity. I sigh and look back towards the station. When I rebuild my base, I''ll have to extend it further than before. My painstaking efforts to maintain a balance between gravity and the luxuries of weightless interior design have been ruined. But well all my interior design was ruined by the avalanche of ants. So I grunt and stuff the gears into my tattered backpack, wrapping them in a bit of fabric so that they don¡¯t jiggle. Before carefully laying the backpack on the floor of my base. I wipe my hands clean before falling into the orbit of the meat planet. But I approach a bit too fast, my eyes snapping wide open as I quickly arrest my fall with a dash of wanderlust magic. While the goal of the open ceilings previously was to allow me to easily get to the ball of steel, I am understandably quite hesitant to land on the meat planet. It¡¯s shifting mass of blood, chitin, and flesh would be worse than any quicksand you could find at the movies. But regardless of my hesitation, I must approach the mass of meat and blood. Because while the purpose of this whole mess was to create a source of gravity amongst this empty plane, I was also hoping to, you know, use the goddamn thing! Ugh, I dodge a spout of blood, guts, and chitin as the hot, roiling surface of the meat spits out a gout of body parts, like the coronal mass ejection of a star if you switched beautiful plasma with random ant parts. I stomp on nothing in a spin of frustration. Because I can''t build anything on the meat planet right now. It moves too quickly and violently, so if I want to use it for anything other than sightseeing, I will need to reach the cord and attach buildings to it. I grimace, but I bear the weight as I summon forth a terrible heat. The heat beam arcs out into the mass of flesh, hair, and chitin, only to do precisely nothing. I glare at the meat planet in dismay as I realize that all I¡¯m doing is cooking it! I see the oil separate and the blood evaporate as some of the meat starts to turn a crispy brown. I frantically wipe away at my face, incredibly tempted to eat it, despite the fact that it looks as if someone made ground beef by punching a cow. I shake my head, ridding myself of the foolish thought. Because, frankly, who knows what the hell is going on in there? I have hypothesized that bacteria just flat out doesn¡¯t exist here, but frankly, I¡¯m not going to risk it. Thank whatever gods are out there that I can¡¯t smell anything here because it must stink to high hells! Either way, after that annoying thought, I refire the heat beam holding it in place so that I may drill my way to the steel. My beam of pure heat burrows through the flesh, but whenever any flesh is taken away, the surrounding bits flow in and patch up the hole. I try again and again to burn away the flesh from my glorious creation, but all I manage to do is make a mess. In a fit of anger, I swam far, far away. Enough so that gravity does not force me into the planet of meat. Ugh, what can I do to solve this? Blasting it with my heat beam definitely isn¡¯t working. The strong effect of gravity near the metal core means that any broken matter just flows back into the mass of meat. But wait, why am I trying to break it? The most obvious solution is to just move the meat away. I grab my chin and pace in my thoughts as I think. Because I don¡¯t believe that I could afford to do so. I can¡¯t throw away any resource, much less something as rare as biological material. And while I might not have a use for it right now, it is essentially enough biological fuel to form a gravity field. That is utterly ridiculous. I was only able to accomplish the same feat as the former clashing ant armies in a barely reasonable time frame due to the immense density of steel. Plus, even if I could move it, what would I use? Wind waves might work, but depending on the strength, the meat either blasts away one day to return in a repeat of the ant avalanche or it falls right back into the mass. I might be able to slowly siphon off the meat by just grabbing it and moving it away, but it would be slow and still waste a meteor''s worth of meat. Well, what other tools do I have at my disposal? Well, I know that the platform for the base is still functioning, even if barely, so if I were to make a metal platform that doesn¡¯t rest on the meat but rests above it, it could work. But wait, how would I attach it? If I attached it to the beams suspending the base above the meat planet, it would fall apart; the entire point of my creation is that it generates gravity. And I can¡¯t reach the core; hell, I just futilely attempted to drill toward it. But it does bring to mind another solution: if the problem with the meat planet is that it¡¯s moving too much, why not stop it from doing that? I have an unlimited supply of magic ice, and while it might not be the best to stand on due to the cold aura the ice gives off, I can build things on top that are less cold. Yeah, it seems that making a shell of ice around the planet would be best to both preserve the valuable meat and still have a surface to stand on. I glance around and look at myself, then turn back, slightly pissed at my descent into the star. Before starting to build momentum as I race back to the meat planet. I do a grand flyby of the meat planet before turning around and going again. Slowly painting the planet of meat in ice, one stroke at a time. ¡ª I sit on a crude chair made of steel, relishing the still somewhat unfamiliar sensation of gravity. In a box of thick steel, I see from the singular window/door a carpet of ice covering a red, fleshy planet. The room is small, but it is enough. I will have a new base soon enough, but before that, I need to get some work done. A smile expands across my face as I pry open the book, seeing characters I learned about in my little jaunt as I flip through it all. I stare at the book of runes, my infinite notebook and pen in hand, and muse to myself. There is no point in trying to recreate the old; it would only bring me pain to see the ghost of my old home. Destruction clears away the chaff, and with its gift, I shall make a new base. Better, stronger, and most importantly, filled with enough magical runes that it could rival the energy of a nuclear explosion. So I squint at the book and peel back its mysteries. Ch. 19.1 The Book. I find myself dropped into a sea, a literal sea, the waters splashing around my outfit, miserable in the vagaries of the water built for the astral. I gasped, splashing around in the water, my lungs breathing in real air for the first time in presumably months. I swim like a startled octopus, as I keep my head above water, but I am thankfully doing it easily. My mock swimming in the substance of the astral doing me good. My head swivels around, searching for a shore, but as I do, I see them rising from the water. I see seven masks rise from the water, the water falling off them in dozens of streams. Each mask looks as if you took a plaster cast of a mythical creature''s face. Each is a unique exemplification of the person beneath them, their very image radiating out of their soul. I can¡¯t continue to stay afloat while aghast at this strange sight. My arms fail me as I flail in the water, falling into the depths. But before I can fall any further, I am suddenly pulled up, and they boom. "GOOD ENOUGH" their voices, a strange chorus of seven monsters. And I am torn away from the sea. ¡ª I clatter onto the steel floor of my tiny room, my knees hitting the floor like thrown chopsticks but still holding the book tightly in my arms. I spit and cough as the air is forced out of my lungs. My throat throbs, almost demanding that I scream from the floor of my room. "What the fuck was that! Why were there a bunch of floating masks? Who were they, where did I go, and when was I judged?" I say sputtering in outrage and confusion. Although I am also just sputtering my clothes soaked in seawater and dripping water onto the floor as I rise on my hands from my prone position. I hiss in pain, and rage as I stand up from the cold steel floor, trembling in barely contained rage at the indignity done to me, left here soaking wet as strangers judged my personhood. Before looking down at the floor and realizing in a flash of clarity that I¡¯ve got to clean this shit up. The water I tasted in the sea was salty, and this might be my only chance to get some salt, and I won¡¯t waste it so that I may spend time spitting on people I cannot see. So I take my poor clothes off¡ªone of my creations I made while wiling away the times¡ªand wring them dry into a hastily emptied water tankard. I then mark the tankard as if I were a mother labeling her kitchenware and breathe a long, tired sigh tinged with melancholy. The reminder of home adds to my sorrow as I place the tankard in a corner so that it can be transferred to my new base''s storage room. But before I think of the new base, I have to examine what the hell just happened. Because when I unpeeled the book, I definitely went somewhere¡ª I think while looking at the tankard filled with seawater in the corner. But how was I teleported? With what magic? Can I talk to them, ask them for tips? I shake my head; these questions ain¡¯t worth anything. Let¡¯s think about what we can figure out. Who the fuck they are. Because I have plenty of clues in that department. One possibility is that they are automatic spirits, like the really smart golems that nearly killed me. If they are smart enough to do that, they might be able to do what those masks did. But comparing intelligence is hard, and while artificial intelligence is grand, as humanity should know being the pioneers of it in this age, it would struggle with making decisions based on worth. And they are a close comparison once you look at how the golems and such acted. The golems were terrible at strategy but amazing at bombarding me with projectiles. Similarly, artificial intelligence is much better suited to something like attack algorithms, even if humanity outlawed AIs access to weaponry a long time ago. I shudder thinking of the sheer outrage and terror that were thrust upon me, and I decisively agree that this was a prudent law. Another possibility could be that they are advisors or other humans placed inside the magic item. Like a brain upload into a magic item, no one has managed to upload their brains to the internet so far, but the varied species of the galactic community have been trying for decades. It makes sense that magic could do the same, most likely easier due to magic mambo jumbo. But if you were to upload a brain, who would you upload? An idea suddenly springs to mind as I remember the appearance of one of the masks: a proud lion crowned with stag horns and surrounded by a mane of golden runes. When I felt the very soul of the mask peek through, it felt familiar. It felt like what I saw of the first shaman¡ªall regal pride and clever accoutrements, masking a quiet love for his people. The idea storms my mind as I realize that each of the masks must have been made by previous magicians of the tribe. I grab at the book desperately searching for a sign, and I flip the book onto its front cover to see that the strange symbols on its cover have a new member. I see a strange rune that is somehow familiar; the image it shows just bleeds out into the world me. As if my very identity were a fire that radiates heat. I see 7 other runes, each radiating out pieces of who they are to their core, and my eyes fall upon the 4th rune, which has the same echoes of personhood that I found in that strange mask on the mysterious sea. I take them all in for the magnificent sight that they are, and I blink tears coming to my eye at the sheer beauty of the thing. But I close my eyes and breathe in. Alright, let¡¯s calm down before we move on. I instinctively look for my meditation room before stopping and remembering that it¡¯s up there, surrounded by a bunch of fetid garbage, blue blood, and ant guts. I sigh, my mind still roiling from the shocks, before heading out of the small steel room I was in. I step onto the ice, the strange field of slowness that erupts from the ice chilling my feet. I step on a thick coating of ice over a roiling sea of blood, and guts, the unique environment of a void leading to the strange meat planet I find myself on. The view is disgusting, although, with the distance of a sheen of ice, I can admit that it does have a strange sense of beauty to it. And it does lead to a creature comfort that was robbed from me, one most don¡¯t even dream of: gravity. For even in the cheapest spaceship you could find still has an artificial gravity system. And although my stride is a bit strange due to the weak gravity, at the very least I can actually walk. And the weak gravity does allow for a couple of neat tricks. I start to run, the distance between each of my steps turning it more into a strange skip as I tear free of the gravity as if my own body were turned into a spaceship. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. I woop in excitement as I exit the surface of my meat comet and drift in the "outer space" of it. With a smile on my face, I swim over to my former base, and through the door into nothingness, the empty space that is my meditation room. I breathe in. And I see beneath my eyelids a bedraggled bed of flowers, beset by weeds of pain and trouble. I take my tools, and I slowly straighten out the garden. Carefully removing the weeds so that they might not strangle the other thoughts. Watering the plants and adding new soil, rejuvenating my mind. Strand by strand, I fix the garden until it is perfect, I stand proud over a neat and orderly garden before it all collapses. And then I breathe out. I stand up from my crisscross apple sauce position, although standing up is a bit of a misnomer; I do remain in place. If there was a floor, I would have clipped through like a glitching videogame character. With calm marginally achieved, I swim back down to the meat meteor before letting gravity take over, with a light enough tug that my fall is gentle. I then walk over to my steel cube, a bare reminder of a base. I walk in through the empty square of space that is my door, wishing that I could slam it closed, but sadly I don¡¯t have the equipment required for such theatrics. Before sitting in my seat and grabbing the book. I eagerly open its pages only to find that as I flip through, I see pages and pages of nothing, only reaching actual text once I hit the back third of the book. The pages are now different beyond the sudden removal of text, however. Where pages previously just held one rune now below them the previously hidden text is revealed. The text below says the name of the rune, and what you can use the rune for, and curiously enough, I can see that there are many add-ons, especially from one style of handwriting. With some runes placed further back having fewer add-ons. Clearly, the book has been thoroughly perfected and smoothed by its continuous successors, with each adding their own runes and their own take on runes. I sigh, realizing that most likely some of the best and most useful information I¡¯m going to use is going to come from the twat who tried to kill me and, in his attempt, ruined centuries of art. The First Shaman, no matter how twatish, was however the most talented wizard to ever be born into this community. So I will most likely depend on his work to survive and grow in the future. Anyway, I flip through the book, reaching for the incredibly complicated rune on its very last page the one that formerly was my hope for translation. And find that the page now stretches on for far past what is reasonable or even physically possible. The page expanding in sight but not in size¡ªa single page expanding into 5 and then 10, and then 50, and then hundreds of pages of entries all contained on one physical page¡ªis a puzzling paradox to be sure. But I shrug my shoulders and start reading; it¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve had to deal with those here, and it¡¯s certainly not the last. ¡ª I read, "To all future inheritors, we pass down this history in our legacy so that no matter what, someone will hold this book. Our hearts will still live on. Do not be frustrated by the empty pages; you are at the very beginning of your journey and must take these first steps with care and not take the same exact steps as those before you. You will only have access to the dictionary and single runes at a time, but you will soon create your own grand artifacts, and once you take the steps of your very own journey, the other journeys will be free for you to peruse." The text meanders a bit past that, but my blood seethes just a little bit due to one thing, everyone in their goddamn village knew enough magic to be burned at the stake! And from what I saw earlier, the candidates for shamanhood were usually hedge wizards who used passed-down runes from their families to create their own enchantments. So damn near everybody would know at the very least how to do them, but I have not been granted such courtesy. I keep reading, but my eyes just sort of skim the surface as I find myself drawn to the last entry. ¡ª Entry 7 Some might call me an arrogant twit, but I write this last entry in order to clear my name before the next member of the Jwarahausa retrieves our legacy from the astral. I am going to die of starvation very soon; the natural spell has already burned through all of my reserves of hunger. I no longer feel that deep pain, but I know that it is because the magic is burning away my ability to feel it. I have tried to negotiate with the nearby spirits for food, but they all run away from me. Scattering through the astral forest. The fucking lesser spirits¡ªthe ones who wouldn¡¯t even dare to try to become gods¡ªdon''t even approach me, scattering like rodents on a hunt. So I am writing down the events for posterity''s sake as I shrivel away in the astral forest. It all started when I courted the most beloved daughter of the body forger tribe; their community is less of a tribe however and more of a wandering mob of mercenaries always eager for a job. So I gave them one. The great-grandnephew of the First Shaman deserved to rise to the position of shaman, so I used them to propel me to the seat. However, I was tricking them all along. Why would I deign to allow foreign influences into my court? So I blew them off and waited for their assault. The impending doom would allow me the power and support necessary to enact the power I deserved as the great-grandnephew of the First Shaman. Our line is what created the office of the shaman in the first place, so of course I shouldn¡¯t have any obstacles in my path to power. What do I care for councils and leaders that restrict my reach? So I started a war with the body forgers, knowing that the First Shamans'' defense enchantments would pretty much instantly deal with my debts to them while also allowing me to keep the support as the triumphant leader. When the defenses were pierced, however, I knew that we must have been betrayed. One of the mangy hedge wizards must have betrayed the weaknesses of our defenses. Most likely the old kook, who kept on spitting at the very idea of my being in charge. Thankfully, I had the grandest artifact of my ancestor on me: the Astral Bangle, an item that both holds infinite magic to burn in recharging enchantments and the ability to teleport the user to the Astral Forest. Seeing the impending fall of the city at the hands of the body forgers, I knew that I couldn¡¯t leave them the legacy of our tribe. So I gathered all the most powerful artifacts, our legacy in the form of this book, and leaped into the astral forest. It was fine for a while, if eerie due to the constant sphere of grey fog that I found myself surrounded by. But when I walked over to the reflection of the plains to the south of our glorious city, the Astral Bangle wouldn¡¯t take me back. So now I lie here at the foot of the trees of the Astral Forest. I''m dying alone, my body far away from everyone I¡¯ve ever known. I don¡¯t regret my choices, the ones that brought me here it¡¯s too late for that. But there are some things I regret. Namely the lack of love in this life. It was all about power, from birth until death, and I wish nothing more than to say goodbye to the ones I could have loved. So goodbye, and if you read this entry, please give this body to my mother, Joto Basketweaver, or any of my family if they still live. Although I doubt it, women never fare well in raids. I¡¯m sorry. ¡ª I stare at the pages of the book. The situation I saw when I first saw the temple is finally explained. The politicking shaman about whom I heard so many complaints apparently brought the tribe to ruin before running the fuck away. I spit out the window in my distaste for the man. I don¡¯t care for your regret for what a goddamn coward was he! You drive your own community to ruin, and then you split and run. Unwilling to even deal with the consequences of his actions. It¡¯s people like him that make me glad that humanity is no longer ruled by humanity. Good riddance, although I¡¯m still not sure what killed them. And despite his general twatiness at the very least, he gave me something. He added a quill to the hat of the illusory world theory. Because he apparently viewed the astral expanse as some type of forest with accompanying trees. Eh either way, it¡¯s not really relevant or useful by itself, but it might help with something else. Sitting back down after my little internal dialogue, I take out my infinite notebook and start thinking about what I want to do with these enchantments. I could make a heat beam item to match the ice plate, but well, I already have a laser, and what¡¯s the point of carrying around two items that can generate highly focused beams of heat? Ugh, I can¡¯t think of anything; it¡¯s not exactly like I¡¯ve ever needed to know on the spot which fantastical items I want most. And the items that I could think of on the spot are mostly weapons. And I¡¯m not exactly swimming in a need for Mjolnir, Brisingr, or any other magical weapon for that matter. Hell, even if I could have diced those golems to pieces, the problem wasn¡¯t them but the incredibly intelligent avalanche. Alright, if I can¡¯t think of anything, what are the enchantments I¡¯ve already seen? A golem would benefit me greatly, essentially being an AI made of rocks instead of photons. Frankly, I suspect that the rock avalanche that nearly killed me was a golem, and frankly, that golem made a well-thought-out, almost perfect decision damn near instantly. So I write down: . Enchantment Projects: A helper for increased automation and convenience. . Another thing that I could use help with is mobility; when I invoke wanderlust to fly in any direction I please, I can¡¯t cast any other spells. This means that what usually happens is that once I stop, I barrel forward in a straight line while casting another spell. It was incredibly annoying to slowly freeze the surface of the planet with the Shiver technique, one pass at a time. And it wouldn¡¯t have even worked if I hadn¡¯t figured out the trick to narrowing down large AOE techniques. So yeah, a mobility enchantment would be really useful. Maybe something that propels me by blasting me, like rocket shoes or an ion blaster. I already know that magic can create temporary gouts of material because of the floor trap room. . Enchantment Projects: A helper for increased automation, and convenience. Mobility armour. . But thinking about the Iron Man suit makes me think of something else: armor. Despite being admittedly pretty bad at violence, there have been several threats to my life and safety so far. And the obvious solution to that is to suit up in some type of armor. Plus, I already know that shields are also possible through the floor trap room. The way out was blocked by a shitton of shields, and that door was durable as all hell. And while shields might be too complicated right now, I think that a durability enchantment should be right up my alley. And when I think about it, a durability enchantment is exactly what I need, or well needed. Because if my base had a durability enchantment, I could have just stayed in my room and laughed as ant corpses hilariously slid against my practically impervious base. With a shield, I could have held back the stones without nearly freezing myself to death. I stare at the floor of this tiny, shitty room, and I start to seethe. Because I deserve more than this; I already earned more than this, it was just torn from me. And I refuse to let my work be torn to pieces again. I won''t allow the world to destroy my hopes and dreams. With my strength, I will stand against it all. 19.2 Prometheus Alright, but before we aim towards the sky like I am an overconfident rocket from the 1950s, let¡¯s start with an enchantment I could do from memory, the Water Spout! Over my tracks through the lives of the Jwarahausa people, I saw this enchantment dozens of times. The things were everywhere! This makes sense considering the fact that infinite pure fresh water would be the most valuable enchantment of all. Humanity damn near ran out of water before we started harvesting from icy comets, and these enchantments could have flat-out fixed the problem. So of course they were a staple. But because they were, I got a good look at their makeup. I grab a prepared iron plate, and a modified steel nail that I have turned into the closest thing to a pen I could finagle, and I draw a rune of water the size of my hand in the center of the plate, at around the size of my hand. I pull out the book, plop it down on my table, and flip to the page about Water, making sure it¡¯s just right. Satisfied, I flip to the Pure page, and to the bottom left of the water rune, I carefully draw a much smaller rune of purity, squinting as I scratch the surface of the plate. Then, holding the doubt at bay, I scratched two lines connecting the two runes, curved as if the runes were forming a cycle. Hissing through my teeth, doubting my work, I quickly moved on to the next rune. I quickly scribbled a single line leading from the Water rune to the Permanent rune to the right of the Water rune. But as I move on to the next remembered rune and flip to its page in the book, I am dismayed to find that the rune is Target/Spout, a rune specifically made to move the results of magic out of the shape of a spout. I quickly searched in the area looking for other targeting runes, eventually finding near the beginning of the section a rune titled Target/Channel, built to output magic out of a channel in the surrounding area. I melt a rectangle out of the plate and scoop out the molten metal with a spoon, forming a shallow channel from the plate and seeing the solution on the horizon. I then inscribe a Target/Channel rune in the channel after invoking just a touch of sadness to cool the metal. With a steady hand, I connect the targeting spell to the others with a long, thick line, that I draw through the channel, reaching a rune of Fall that I draw below it altering the output of the water into a long stream of water. I step back with a giddy smile on my face as I pull in the emotion of language that is so inherent to my spirit, and the enchantment flares to life, a steady stream of water appearing in the channel and falling out in a strong formation. An intoxicating energy runs through my veins in the wake of my achievement, but I slow down before running out of this place, and instead examine my work. Or more accurately, the lines in between. So far from what I could tell the lines essentially do the inbetweeny stuff of the runes. Like the order or timing. You wouldn¡¯t want to put the cart before the horse after all, you need to know what¡¯s being done first, and lines are what do that. But they also seem to do other things namely these double lines, they seem to link together an effect to the victim in order to make it so that they output an already affected item. So instead of a purifying step, the water enchantment creates pure water with no need to purify it. So if I want to make something, I basically have to write down what I want, which seems like it might work for my idea. So with that done, I grab some iron dust, my notebook, a steel stylus, and get working ¡ª Entry 19 Pg.531 I will attempt to create a durability enchantment similar to the one found on the door of the temple. The book says that the rune Earth can either summon earth or infuse the object with "earth" based on the enchantments it is paired with. They don¡¯t say, beacuase most likely considered too soul-crushing for me to know and would destroy my delicate creative spirits. I scoff at such platitudes, saying that I''d rather know how to make useful enchantments right now than die because some dead people decided I couldn''t have something yet. Either way, I have also found the enchantments for Gather and Condense. And I plan to gather and condense the Earth inside the metal Experiment Durability Enchantment Experiment 1 Hypothesis: If I place the runes in the time of Earth, Gather, Condense. I will gather the earth energy and infuse it into the item. Experiment Instructions
  1. Make a plate of iron of the dimensions 1m by 1 meter and warm it until it is soft.
  2. Then Scratch into its surface the Earth rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  3. Then Scratch into its surface the Gather rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  4. Then Scratch into its surface the Condense rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  5. Then activate the enchantment.from a safe distance
  6. Test the surface with a steel nail.
  7. Repeat steps 1-6 three times
  8. Then Repeat steps 1-7 three times
Scratch Test Yes No
Attempt 1 0 1 Technically
Attempt 2 0 0
Attempt 3 0 0
Failure Error:Well the error is quite obvious this time I screwed up the enchantment. I made it summon a bunch of dirt and then implode in on itself, blasting me with a bunch of dirt. It took forever to clean the dirt out of my hair without a proper shower. (Note to self: make a bathroom on new base) In the next attempt, I will not include the Condense rune, considering that when combined with the Gather rune, it literally exploded in my face. Experiment 2 Hypothesis: If I place the runes in the time of Earth, Gather. I will gather the earth''s energy and infuse it into the item. Experiment Instructions
  1. Make a plate of iron of the dimensions 1m by 1 meter and warm it until it is soft.
  2. Then Scratch into its surface the Earth rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  3. Then Scratch into its surface the Gather rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  4. Then activate the enchantment.from a safe sidtance
  5. Test the surface with a steel nail.
  6. Repeat steps 1-5 three times
  7. Then repeat steps 1-6 three times
Scratch Test Yes No
Attempt 1 0 0
Attempt 2 Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. 0 0
Attempt 3 0 0
Failure Error: I just summoned a bunch of temporary dirt around the plate of iron. When you discard the Gather rune, the spell appears to become a summon spell.And it appears that the runes don''t do anything unless you tell them to, which may seem obvious, but it does mean that the runes will be as dumb as hell.And don''t do anything on their own, as you might expect from literal magic. Experiment 3 Hypothesis:If I place the runes in the time of Earth, Condense. I will condense the earth in the item and make it denser, and thus much stronger without many drawbacks considering the lack of significant gravity here. Experiment Instructions
  1. Make a plate of iron of the dimensions 1m by 1 meter and warm it until it is soft.
  2. Then Scratch into its surface the Earth rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  3. Then Scratch into its surface the Condense rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  4. Then activate the enchantment.from a safe distance
  5. Measure the surface area of the plate in square meters.
  6. Test the surface with a steel nail.
  7. Repeat steps 1 -6 3 times and average the sizes together.
Scratch Test Yes No Size(m^2)
Attempt 1 0 3 .5625
Attempt 2 0 3 .5721
Attempt 3 0 3 .5629
Partial Success Error:It is only technically an error since it was my goal, but frankly, I shrank down the iron plates a little bit too much. They are damn near half the size they were before, and while the iron plates are stronger they aren¡¯t so strong I¡¯m impressed. And the prospects of the arduous ordeal of having to do mountains of math for any one of the plates I put up is ridiculous. Especially considering the error I found. Although I did find a bit of weird math in there no matter what I never went below .5625 m^2. My hypothesis is that the iron cannot squeeze any further, but I have no way of testing this, so the question will remain unanswered. Experiment 4 Hypothesis:When I use a Condense rune it uses the surrounding materials to shrink the form of the object; thus, if I add iron around the plate, I can keep the plates at the same size and make them stronger.
  1. Make a plate of iron of the dimensions 1m by 1 meter and warm it until it is soft.
  2. Then Scratch into its surface the Earth rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  3. Then Scratch into its surface the Condense rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  4. Place another identical plate on top of them.
  5. Then activate the enchantment. From a safe disance
  6. Measure the surface area of the plate in square meters.
  7. Test the surface with a steel nail.
  8. Repeat steps 1 -7 3 times and average the sizes together.
Scratch Test Yes No Size(m^2)
Attempt 1 0 3 .5701
Attempt 2 0 3 .5649
Attempt 3 0 3 .5819
Failure Error: The condensing plates completely and utterly ignored the plates placed on top of them. The idea that the plates couldn¡¯t condense past .5625 has been strengthened with nine more samples. My hypothesis has been quite thoroughly trashed, but many experiments have led to nothing but disappointment. Plus it really isn¡¯t a problem considering that I am not going to use these dense plates for the base moving forward. But I do have the inkling that the enchantment only affected its own plate, considering that there are targeting runes inside the book. My guess is without a targeting rune it just affects whatevere item you put the runes on. I am thankful that I never tried to write any of the runes down, that could have been disastrous. Experiment 5 Hypothesis:If I weld the plate that I place on top of the
  1. Make a plate of iron of the dimensions 1m by 1 m across and 10 centimeters deep and warm it until it is soft.
  2. Then Scratch into its surface the Earth rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  3. Then Scratch into its surface the Condense rune at the same exact size as the diagram.
  4. Place another identical plate on top of them.
  5. Weld the two plates together with the laser
  6. Then activate the enchantment.from a safe distance
  7. Measure the surface area of the plate in square centimeters
  8. Measure the depth of the plate in square centimeters
  9. Test the surface with a steel nail.
  10. Repeat steps 1 -7 3 times and average the sizes together.
Scratch Test Yes No Size(m^2) Depth(cm^2
Attempt 1 0 3 .5650 5.650
Attempt 2 0 3 .5754 5.754
Attempt 3 0 3 .5627 5.627
Success Assesment: I have not disproven the hypothesis that an enchanted item with no target, instead targets the material it¡¯s on. I have not proven the hypothesis either but it does add some weight in its favor. It''s also worth noting that the condensation appears to be consistent on all sides; if something is condensed by a specific ratio, the entire plate is condensed by that same ratio. Experiment 6 Success Assesment: While I am not certain, I can confidently say, going further, that the default target of an enchantment is itself. When I used the target rune called touch the plate, it condensed the plate on top of it instead, along with the pencil that was touching it. I promptly took care to dispose of the item by melting it considering the dangers that could happen if I were to touch it as I ordered it to condense something. But the possibility of such an enchantment is interesting for both offense and utility it should just be handled carefully. ¡ª I stare with tired eyes at the now-crowded room filled with a bunch of iron plates in various states of dirt, and shrinkage. Ugh, I need to get out of here and do something other than ineffectively shrinking metal plates for posterity. I leap from my chair and float for a few moments in the light gravity. "Fuck this annoying ass math bullshit! I¡¯m making a gun!" I declare as I storm out of the cramped room, supplies in hand. I plop my ass down on the cold ice and flip through the book, gravitating to a page I saw earlier with the fascinating rune Blast. According to the description, it violently moves the enchantment''s target in a great big spray, so it should be simple enough to make essentially a blaster wand. I grab some dust and pat it into a cone shape before melting it together with a heat beam. It sinks into the ice as it cools before I carefully pick it out, it wobbled into a kind of flat shape but it was good enough for me. Grabbing a steel nail, I inscribe an Earth rune near the bottom of the wand, then, with a line leading to the top, I inscribe a really small Target/point and drag a line from the tip to the other side. On the other side, I inscribe Blast, and with my scribbling done, I soak the enchantment in the blood of language and its first blast rockets out with the flow of magic. I wince, holding back a bit of laughter, as the wand keeps on blasting, the tip spewing out blast after blast of temporary rock. I slowly stop the flow of the floodgates stopping the blasts, as I examine the wand in my hand. I laugh as I gesture with my crude wand in a rod-meet-hole sort of way before heading to the section of naked meat, wand in hand. I blast the enchantment yet again before erupting in laughter as I realize the dream of anyone with a wand beating meat! With that I collapse to the floor in unstoppable laughter nearly choking on my own spit from the hilarity of it all but as I laugh and wipe away an imaginary tear I start to truly take in the sheer ease of making this thing. I put the wand down as I think this through, because the more I think about this the more I realize that I might have been going about this the wrong way. Because why the hell am I going about this in a modern way? The scientific method is a method, not a religion, and in different situations, I should use methods other than what I''ve learned so far. When I work according to the tools I have instead of the tools I want, I will get a lot more work done. So what are my tools? Well, most likely all these runes came from techniques like the one I made for my Shiver technique. So what are the baseline techniques? Red adds energy, Blue depletes it, Orange aids in discovery, Pink and Purple seem to affect the emotions of others, and Green either goes slow and stiff, or quick and dirty. That¡¯s it green! Surely there¡¯s something in here that heals considering the healing emotion, and why wouldn¡¯t that work on metal? And if there isn¡¯t a healing spell, there are at least the component runes to do so; what society wouldn¡¯t want a healing enchantment? I go through the rune book, mostly finding pages upon pages of concepts, and then modifiers like Speed or Stream, and try to find some runes that I could possibly use.I find the runes for Metal, Change/Shape, Speed, Imbue, Replace, Fix, Delete, and Heal, with Imbue being the main star because it is the key to magically charging up a material. But Heal the rune I''m using to you know do the entire point of this is apparently quite dangerous to use because it messes with your biology and should be avoided, but the thing is, what I''m trying to heal is metal, which has no biology to mess with. And I know that creating a two-way circuit for stuff changes the property because of the water spout, so if I create a Heal=Metal circuit, the output changes into instead of metal, Healing Metal, and from all the material concepts I know that Imbue can essentially place concepts into materials. So, if I imbue with Healing-Metal, I should make the metal a healing metal! I quickly go back inside and grab one of the many empty iron plates and put my idea into the metal, revealing the enchantment of Imbue-Healing=Metal and then quenching it in the fires of Language. I activate the enchantment in that strange yet quite natural way, and I see the metal shine with a green light as it falls into itself the expended magic burrowing deep into the metal. And I scratch the metal with a hesitant smile... only for nothing to happen, or at least nothing significant, as the metal slowly closes together, barely moving. I sigh and laugh before grabbing a new plate, having forgotten a crucial modifier rune, Speed. The rune alters the output so that it moves at a regulated speed instead of whatever the magic feels like doing that particular day. So with my glorious moment soiled, I remake the enchantment this time with a Speed/Absurd rune (it¡¯s not like I have to wonder about running out of Language magic) and recreate the enchantment. I place the plate on the table and pull out my laser and fire it full blast at the dark iron plate, only for it to do nothing, the plate fixing it so quickly that the laser turns into a glorified light show, and so I smile triumphantly as I hold aloft the plate and say to it "I¡¯m going to plaster the entire base with you so that I will never have to deal with living in a box for days on end ever again." Ch. 20.1 The Factory. "Alright, let¡¯s get down to it. What¡¯s my base going to look like? Cause I¡¯m not going to do a carbon copy; that would just be plain ass boring." I say sweeping the many iron plates off the table and placing down my notebook spread wide to a design. I¡¯m going to stick with a hexagonal shape because hexagons are the bestagons, but what should be different? Let¡¯s start with the ground up: do I still use supports? Going into orbit does have certain advantages. Namely, constantly changing scenery, the ability to use the momentum to launch myself places, and the cool factor of making a fucking spaceship! But as I think it through, I find that the hassle of building a space program in the astral expanse is too much for me. I would have to figure out the trajectories for orbit with no real control group. Essentially, I would just guesstimating the whole way through. I shudder imagining the disastrous consequences of launching a base into orbit with faulty math. It would have to be perfect, and perfection is fleeting. No, it would be best if I stuck with supports, but that¡¯s no reason to go for small. Sweeping my arms out in the small room, after all, I have an infinite supply of metal, and there¡¯s no need for it to go to waste. But as I adjust the plans for that, the sheer size of my new base dawns on me as I remember a valuable lesson I learned while first attempting to create electricity here. Theoretically infinite does not mean practically infinite. So if I want a grander base than before, I¡¯m going to need some prep work. I frantically grab some supplies and head out, burning to let my vision become reality. ¡ª I stand on the stairs next to an open box of steel, raised above the ice covering the planet of meat, holding something quite ridiculous. For you see in my hands is an entire newly made, outfitted with the newest features, automated nail crusher held just a tad awkwardly in my left hand. The low gravity allows me to carry it here, but it does not allow me to ignore its bulk. Howevor, that doesn¡¯t matter much when you can just throw it over the walls! I yeet the light to my tastes object allowing it to slowly drift to the floor of the steel box. I wipe my forehead, ridding myself of imaginary sweat, as I envision what needs to be done so that I may forge my empire of steel. I look beneath the platform and see an assortment of scratched iron plates, a litany of buckets, copper wire poking out from everywhere, and piles upon piles of iron dust. But from the pile, I grab an old one. Namely the prize of my experimentation the self-healing plate. I place it on the platform, rune side up, and with another hand I grab a crude bucket filled with iron dust, I pat the iron dust into the scratches, and melt the iron dust on top. From there, I pat another layer on top and melt that as well before cooling it down with a small invocation of sadness. Grunting I pry the new metal plate out of the crude mold I turned my old enchantment into and return with my prize, a stamp made to the dimensions of the original enchantment. After all, I think while whistling there''s no need to leave anything to chance; it¡¯s best to make exact copies when dealing with something as finicky as magic. "No need to fuck with what works," I say while placing the stamp on the corner. And with automation, there is no need for human error. I can simply copy all the enchantments with a stamp. Humanity has far outgrown the need for hand-made goods, and with my tech level, I can certainly make a crude factory. I just need to be willing to spend time to save time. And sadly enough, that means doing some real menial shit. I first create a long, low, hollow table, with one side blocked off and another with a small slit leading to the outside. Then In a steel mold, I pour in molten copper from a little steel bucket, then I quickly cool it with a wiff of sadness. Then, with a crude metal rod in hand, I slapped at the steel mold until a small copper tube around as long as my arm and as wide as my two fingers. I winced at the ends of the copper tube flaring out into some strange structure, like the fleshy flaps of a chicken''s crown. Metal casting is an art, and, well, I¡¯m not an artist yet. So I try again, grabbing more copper wiring and stuffing it into my shitty furnace before melting it with my heat beam at a low blast, being careful to melt the low melting point copper first. I then stepped hotfoot around the heated iron floors, avoiding the aftermath of my unfocused heat beam, before grabbing the newly melted copper and pouring it again into the mold, waiting a bit for it to settle before chilling it out. And now, when I pry the tube out, I see it done: a hollow copper tube with a flared piece that sticks out on one side. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. I place it at the very beginning of the line, sighing as I start to get to work. ¡ª I kneel on the floor, hammering the thin metal into shape as I create another steam engine. Thankfully easy enough after creating the first, it¡¯s just a big tub of water that you heat up to spin a fan that you alter with gears. And the gears are the really annoying bit. Thankfully, I had the old molds lying around, even if I had to dust em off,and scrub off the ant gunk. PLus I don¡¯t have to make that fancy ass mechanism to push shit around; it¡¯s a spinning thing being told to spin things. As long as you¡¯re spinning it right, it works out well enough. I grunt as I install the gears, my curly hair usually flowing free and held back as I mess with the guts of the machines. Because, well, I don¡¯t want to survive an entire temple trying to murder me only for me to kick the bucket to a goddamn steam engine, like a gilded age child laborer. I step back and examine the mechanism, making sure that nothing is too broken to function, before firing up the Hot Hands technique. Quickly getting the machine to a boil, we soon see the gears start to first quickly spin and then slowly push larger gears until it slowly moves with great power. Letting go of the technique I strap a string made of scavenged and braided rubber into the final spinning outcrop of metal before dragging over the loop to the very last pin on the assembly line. Adjusting all the little caught up pins and dragging them to the right side of the flared output. Before stepping back up to the machine and starting it up. I hear the water in the tub hiss and spit, as the steam pushes the fan inside the machine, quickly spinning a rod with little bits sticking out, before hitting, another gear, and another, as I hear a series of clicks as the entire system comes together. It starts out quick and light, but slowly turns slow and heavy, until I see the braid of shoddy rubber ripped from wires start to turn. And one after another, all the pins start to spin with deceptive strength belying their ponderous pace. Then the rubber tarp placed on the pins starts to roll around, and I see the spirit of an assembly line in place. But it¡¯s just what¡¯s necessary so that I don¡¯t have to move shit for this stuff to actually be useful; I¡¯m going to need to get this going. I grunt, rolling my shoulders, as I walk to the nail crusher¡ªthe first step to actually, goddamn it, doing something! With an iron nail, I meld it to the floor, and where the iron dust was once gathered by a magnet, I replace it with a funnel. I then quickly make a 1m^2X10cm-deep hexagonal tray and place it below the funnel so that as nails are crushed, they fall into this tray as dust. Then, with a bit of molten metal, I attach the tray to the rubber covering of the assembly line. And then another, and another, each spaced a bit over a meter apart. And as they start to move straight, they will head toward a snug fit. I solidly attach a thin steel plate so that when the conveyor belt starts moving, it will smoothly slice away any extra iron dust. Like cutting off the tops of a measuring cup while baking. With that done, I attach a long pole from one of the crisscrossing rods that form my ceiling to another slab, something quite familiar to me nowadays. An enchantment, no matter how ridiculous that sounds. And inscribed on that slab is Melt-Metal-Target/Nearest=1j, a fairly simple, if annoying, enchantment that melts the nearest source of metal that isn¡¯t itself in around 1 meter. The measurement isn¡¯t perfect considering it is Jwarahausian, but it¡¯s good enough. As long as I have anything in terms of distance. I shudder at the ridiculous places that plate melted when it didn¡¯t have a limiter. It melted my base for some fucking reason, and it was nearly miles apart. There wasn¡¯t a wave of heat or anything; the wall closest to me just collapsed into molten steel. But shuddering aside, I need to get on to the next step. But while I get ready for the next second, I realize something while holding the stamp of the enchantment in my hands, how the hell am I going to stamp the plates when I only have one nail crusher? My mind starts to run in circles before it stops as I remember I do have a second machine, it just so happens to be on my old base, outside these walls, covered in ant junk, and broken for good measure. Sighing I stare at the walls as I think about my own stupidity. Sadly, when I was installing the walls, I didn¡¯t think, "Hey, Tara, you¡¯re going to need to bring in big ass machines, and maybe take them out. No, I need big, dramatic, thick walls that are a pain to melt away" Ugh. I scratch my arms before dragging them backward, and then slowly crushing the anger into a tiny point. With my ridiculously hot pinprick-sized heat beam, I slowly drill through the thick steel walls I foolishly installed. Eventually kicking them down and onto the ice. Slapping my hands free of imaginary dust, I let go of the heat beam and ran to the old station. Quickly gathering speed before jumping out into the astral expanse. Escaping gravity and the need to walk as I swim over to my old base. As I float above it, I sigh as I see the crumpled remains of my home all covered in fucking disgusting junk. I swim to the exterior, and find myself in front of the grimy machine. I melted the attachments of the broken nail crusher. And bring it down to meat planet; the gears might all be destroyed, but I have the molds for them. With great care, considering the momentum, and weight of the broken nail crusher, which is dangerous even in this low gravity, I lower myself to the ground with a strong pull of Wanderlust, granting me flight. Before trudging back to the factory floor. I walk for a short while before lifting up the broken machine and sliding it through the now open side of the factory. Huffing and puffing as I jump inside my body filled with an indescrible grime and general disdain for existence. But nonetheless, the work must continue. So I grab the molds of the gears that I used for building both of the steam engines and get to work replacing the gears and cleaning out the gunk inside the thing so that it all operates smoothly before placing it along the assembly line. With a bit of finagling, I lower it into the floor so that it is at the correct height, before removing the casing that was made to crush nails and attaching the stamp to it. I mangle the heating pipes until they run alongside all the others. Before I gently fall onto the floor tired after dealing with the cranky bastard that was my old boy. Sadly, my break doesn¡¯t last long enough before I see the remaining work and beg to slowly stand, my knees creaking. I yawn, pulsing myself with an evocation of healing before grabbing a shit ton of powder and making an iron stick on the floor by quickly melting and then quenching the metal. I then attach the stick to the lattice that is my ceiling and attach a plate to that plate. The enchantment for this piece is new as well. I did try to use my Shiver plate that I made in the golem, but well, the Shiver technique was made to stop things from moving, not make ice, so any and all attempts to use that just made the entire assembly line obviously grind to a halt. So I used a similar enchantment to the one above; it¡¯s efficient to not think too hard, you know. Bah, what am I thinking? It¡¯s not like I have anyone to give excuses to; I¡¯m not erasing my chores from the list, no one else is here but me. I sigh, my heart dulled by the reminder of how far from any living being I am. I shake my head, keeping my cool amongst the infused sadness that¡¯s been creeping in today. There are many things in need of quenching, but at least this thing does that for me. I think while slapping the stick that the plate is attached to. I wince seeing the little stick shiver along with the entire lattice, drawing my hand away as I bring my eyes to the end of the assembly line. I grab the prepared tray, a deep affair cradled in fabric, and place it so that all the line would deposit the product right there. My eyes dart around the room looking for a problem, a mistake, anything at all, but finding nothing. So I breathe in, I breathe out, and I boil the water and pour the iron nails in. It starts small, with the simple crackling and thrashing of an iron nail being converted to dust before all the dust falls onto a moving plate, the funnel leaving behind stray bits of iron as the hexagonal trays approach the funnel. The trays quickly fill up as the excess is scraped away by a low hanging plate. The rubber, steel, and pins clatter and spin as they pull the iron-dust-laden tray to the first enchantment. It quickly lashes out, like a man just waiting to let go of his anger, melting the surface and turning them into skating droplets before they all turn into one puddle. I wince as I see little bits of molten metal splatter onto the rubber, burning a hole into the surface. Ugh, I¡¯ll have to fix that, I think, as the metal quickly cools into a red-hot hexagonal chunk. Approaching the next station. Where it is firmly stamped into the surface. The design embosses itself into the plate. The pressure was making it want to flatten, but the tray forced the iron in it to instead go up and around, forcing the design into it. With a sigh of relief at the accomplishment, I see it approach the next site where it is rapidly cooled into a char black before continuing on, falling off the conveyor built and into the tray filled with cushioning fabric. And I watch in stark fascination as it happens again and again, the machines just plugging along with minimal interference as they make enough steel to fund a war effort. My war on this cruel, stupid place that I have fallen into, my refusal to let this be my grave, as I force it to become my home. And it shall be in the end through my blood, sweat, and steel. Ch. 20.2 The March of Innovation Entry 20 Pg. 616, New Day 5 The factory is going along well, with the line of production creating a truly staggering amount of the self-healing plates. With the line creating around 12 1 m-long hexagonal plates every 30 seconds over the past couple of days, I have been swimming in them. Currently, they are being stored in a shed until they are implemented. Because apparently the gods were laughing at me during the design as always. For the self healing enchantment removes any attached metal quite violently. It works alright if I activate the enchantment after altering it, but that does nothing for the dozens of plates that I enchanted before I realized this. Well, better later than never. It¡¯s been around 5 days, and I¡¯ve made enough plates for an entire mansion, so I shouldn''t quibble about a couple dozen of them. In other news, I finally have a stable measurement of time again. I made essentially an hourglass that flips itself; the measure of time is arbitrary because, well, it¡¯s not like I have anything to measure it against. But not swimming in a void of endless time like I¡¯m stuck in an alien casino is, frankly, amazing. For the actual clock, all it took was a proximity-based enchantment that pushed the water to the top whenever the rune got within 1j of metal. I¡¯m still not sure what a j is, but so far it really hasn¡¯t been a problem, so I¡¯m going to ignore it. In other news, so far, in terms of improvements, I¡¯ve mostly been adding enchantments to the steam engines. They are a really big sticking point and labor sink. By now I¡¯ve made some systems so that they don¡¯t require so much assistance anymore, like inscribing the floor beneath their tankards with a hot hands enchantment. And man, was that enchantment a pain in the ass. I didn¡¯t really notice it due to the impending doom, but forcing a rune into existence is a whole lot of work and prone to random roadblocks. I just pushed past the pain because, well, dying is a whole lot worse. But at the very least I have a second datapoint for custom runes being possible. Even if they are very difficult, it does give me some hope that if my studies were to fail, I might be able to build my way to the other side via enchantments. So far, my plan is to essentially first have a place to live before I start the long endeavor of building a whole ass portal, where there will presumably be many hurdles in between success. I¡¯ve also created a second assembly line, doubling the production level of before, and the entire thing was created with great speed due to the lack of R&D. But the main thing in the way of making it was the steam engines again. It''s due mainly to the fact that they aren¡¯t easily mass produced; they aren¡¯t just one mold; it¡¯s a shitload of gears, a complicated tankard, and an annoying enchantment placed on the inside for a continuous stream of water. Considering the difficulty of making steam engines quickly and the sheer usefulness of the machines, a good idea might be to make another assembly line for steam engines. But I should think about that for a bit longer; no need to be hasty. Tara Out. Entry 21 Page 636, New Day 9 Plans for expanding the factory have been postponed for one stupid ass reaason, the factory fucking fell apart! It was fine at first, with only a few pieces going haywire, but around 2 days ago the vast majority of the enchantments just stopped working and the entire floor ground to a halt. I''ve been up for 2 goddamn days fixing and replacing everything. Whats the point of a factory that does your manual labor for you if it¡¯s a little baby that constantly cries and needs fixing! Hell, I would prefer the babies; at the very least, I actually know how to take care of those no human has done system repairs for decades. That¡¯s an AI¡¯s job; a human hasn¡¯t had to so much as glance at a blueprint in a generation. And it¡¯¡¯s not exactly like I have any blueprints anyway; I made the steam engines by binge-watching DIY videos, searching up articles, and looking through patent archives. Either way, I had to replace all the enchantments in the factory, ripping up the floor, melting off plates, and disassembling machines. I didn¡¯t exactly place the enchantments in ordinary places, so they were everywhere. I had to crawl through four different tankards to scratch off the old enchantments I placed on the inside. One very small silver lining is that I have been forced to make my enchantments modular, considering the fact that they run out of juice. Thus giving me the ability to slowly make them better over time. Although, despite the benefits, I wish that I never had to fix it. It¡¯s not like I didn¡¯t already know that enchantments have to be recharged. I lived through countless people, and more than a few placed in their artwork the shaman and the ceremony of replenishment every 10 days. So for now, any additions to the factory are postponed as I investigate the way to recharge the runes. It¡¯s a pain in the ass to recreate them, so much so that I might need another assembly line stamping out modular enchantments. But I do have access to the brats items in the cache I attached to the old base with ropes. So the next item on the agenda is taking a look at the bracelet integral to the ceremony, both due to the obvious fact that it could solve imediately my current problem. And the fact that it formerly had the ability to transfer someone back and forth from the atral, and mortal plane''s. Tara out. Entry 22 Pg.676, New Day 13 I write this with gloom in my shoulders and bags under my eyes heavy enough to hold my sewing supplies. I¡¯ve been trying to replicate¡ªor, hell, even understand¡ªthe bracelet for several days, and frankly, I give up. I don¡¯t know why I didn¡¯t try earlier, considering that it¡¯s literally a teleportation device that might be able to take me home, maybe a grim prediction of the future, but it has been a disaster. Because frankly, as I painstakingly translated, I found that somehow the First Shaman formatted the enchantment into a poem. The lines connect the strands of metal in one cohesive flow, intersecting in the braided bands. Which is frankly baffling considering that runes are practically caveman speech that only says concepts and useful words for enchantments with not many flowery descriptors. But he managed to use the brusqueness of the words not as a disadvantage but as an advantage. Trailing off into the distance, saying profound things, or, well, I assume profound things. Because practically a third of the runes are gibberish! And the most important parts as well. See the poem from what I have so far translated is essentially a piece about his desire to make the world a better place than he found it. And none of the words I can recognize have anything to do with teleportation, or transportation. I''m even unsure as to how in the nine hells this does anything other than explode the wrist off of whoever dares to wear it. Because although runes are a very powerful and varied tool they also need a couple of iterations before they don¡¯t explode into pieces, or randomly melt something in the vicinity. And with no idea how the hell the First Shaman made an enchantment out of a poem nothing but despair has come out of trying to replicate it. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Hells, I¡¯m pretty damn sure that even if I could perfectly copy down what the poem says, it wouldn¡¯t work because, at the end of the day, it isn¡¯t mine. My attempts at scrying have proved fruitless as well. Letting me only hear the quiet thrum of the First Shaman''s will to improve the world to make of the world something grand when all he walked in on was chaos and his undying hope that someone else will take up that challenge as well. Ugh, despite his dickweedish nature, you have to admire the underlying will and genius behind the destroyer of the temple. I just wish I could do as I did when I was in high school, and just copy and paste this shit. But frankly, I would find it improbable that in such a dynamic system of magic, no one would fix such a huge problem as the need to replace your enchantments weekly. That means, that I could create a recharge enchantment. My plan is to look through the book for pieces of the puzzle due to the unlikely idea of no such vocabulary for a recharge enchant being there. Tara out! Entry 23 Pg.683, New Day 21 I come back to sadly yet another failure. I have managed to find no runes that I could believe have a use in a meta enchantment. I have managed to find some success in increasing the efficiency of enchantments by adding buttons so that the enchantments do not run full time even when I am asleep and unable to monitor them. Because sadly, despite the convenience, the factory is still a little baby that requires constant upkeep and monitoring so that it doesn¡¯t turn into a blazing fire. I have, however, made enough steel plates to start on my plans. But without a way to either massively increase the stockpile of magic in them, which I have not found, or recharge them, they are basically no better than regular plates of iron. A material that is flat out worse than the steel I have access to, and it¡¯s not exactly like I can use buttons for efficiency. What am I supposed to do, see the future so that I can see attacks before they happen? The entire point of an indestructible base that heals so fast that it slaps away all its threats is so that you don¡¯t have to stay awake far past when you should be biting your nails in fear. But I do have a plan based on one pretty simple thing. The simple fact that the object of my frustration is a living being that I can argue with, and thus one that I can steamroll in order to get what I want as I always do. ¡ª "You are alive, aren¡¯t you?" I say to the book, my fingers trawling along the cover, embossed with the 8 true names of the people who have owned it. For if it can hide something supposedly for my own good until I have found my own stylehides, that means that it can somehow monitor me. And with the fact that I saw the masks of the 7 previous shamans, that book is people. And one thing I¡¯m good at is dealing with people, especially when I already know what buttons to press. The book does nothing, but I¡¯m not exactly going to stop here, especially with how insane I must seem to be talking to a gods damned book. So I flip to the very last page, and look at its insane, mind-bending geometry, a personal retelling of history from 7 different pens, history written down dutifully for hundreds of years, all fitting into a single page. And it¡¯s their weak spot. "Think about it, I¡¯m the only way your culture and history don¡¯t die; the temple was destroyed, your people enslaved and unable to continue their traditions, and additionally, the last owner ran off with the tribe''s legacy," I say, emphasizing my points by poking the book, although I am altogether unsure if they feel it. The book trembles, almost looking in shock as it spits out a piece of paper reading. "What happened to the grand ziggurat, the tribe''s glory?" The handwriting on the page is discordant and unsure. I wince realizing that they didn¡¯t exactly get the news when the last twit ran away to the astral only to somehow starve to death while needing no food. I facepalm and reluctantly say, "The temple was teleported away from the mortal plane at great cost, shunted off into the astral so that the ones called Skin Forgers wouldn¡¯t have access to it. And then in the Astral, the First Shaman''s defense system, well, it ruined the vast majority of the artwork." I say being careful to mosy on past the fact that the defense system engaged in order to murder me. Alarmingly, the book starts to bleed the previously empty pages starting to drip with ink, as it jerks back and forth with dry rustles. The book choking on grief and sorrow. As it struggles to swallow the terrible revelations that I brought forth. Pitying them I hesitantly pat the book saying, "There, there, I scryed all the artworks I found, and while I most certainly didn¡¯t find them all, I remembered what I could. I promise to write what I saw on the last page, alright?" The book seems to slowly calm down, sucking in its tears, and bit by bit coughing less as I continue to gently soothe them as best I can. Eventually, after a long while, it spits out a new page. I snatch it from the air as it slowly falls and I read, "I don¡¯t think you understand, that is why we keep this from you. Although we did not know of the desecration of the tribe''s two great pillars, we could guess from our seventh member''s accounting that it wasn¡¯t good. The step of the process where a new shaman falls and gets back up is where they usually create the most impactful additions to this book. Some shamans thrive with lots of information, but from what we have seen, you are closest to your heart when you do difficult things with few resources" "That might be true, but I doubt that any magician of yours except for the first had any idea how to make an enchantment. I¡¯ve seen glimpses of the process through the eyes of your people; the vast majority of the tribe knew some hedge magic, knowledge, and magical artifacts passed down in the ages." I say finally able to express the frustration I felt when I first read that bit of text. I see the book aiming to spit out another piece of text, but before they finish, I sush them. Plus, you dimwits, this thing is kind of a roadblock right now. I can¡¯t move on to other, more innovative problems that don¡¯t involve me banging my head against a wall until I get done with this. I might figure it out eventually, but most likely my solution would be far worse compared to the answer that was made generations ago." I said refusing to let them cough out some paltry argument against my points. The book shifts in place, acting uncomfortable underneath my gaze, before coughing out a note with extreme force, I presume in an act of spite against my interruption. But it does not go far, falling onto the floor right side up, conveniently allowing me to see written on it. "Fine, but we do this only once and only because the array is especially useful to you, we worry that more will unduly influence you. Sadly enough, you are our apparent only hope; we can¡¯t afford to stunt your growth. Don¡¯t ask for us again; we will be the ones to decide if you are ready." With that, the book glistens with a strange gray light, lifting off the ground before drifting back down to the table, its page open to a display. "How to Recharge Your Runes by The First Shaman" Now, as around a week goes by, you will find that your enchantments will run out of sun, the invested Language emptied. You might have kept this at bay with a couple of clever tricks, like weakening the enchantment with a modifier or stacking many enchantments onto a single item. But the way you make heirlooms instead of a cheap trick is by creating a storage array function, then a gathering array function, and feeding the gatherer into the Store function. A storage array function is easy enough: just slap a border around 3 Store=Energy and turn them into an array by looping them together. The Store function is extremely Language intensive but has no purpose other than as a referral, so you could just stop here and be satisfied with your greatly expanded shelf life, or you could do something grander and keep the cycle going forever. Because a gathering array allows you to essentially use the emotions around you to power the storage array function. Now, most thought before me that although emotions are obviously all around us they cannot be used as fuel in the mortal plane. But who the hell says that the astral forest is the sole domain of emotions? The heady confidence of a speech can just as easily power up your enchantment as bleed onto the other side. So as long as you bring the item along for emotional moments, it will take the leftover emotion that should go to the astral forest to empower its spirit, big or small, and instead take it for you. If you¡¯re crazy, you could also take it to the astral plane and recharge it by stealing from the spirits or using physical power. But that¡¯s far too inefficient; it would take something like getting struck by lightning or blasted with a volcano to recharge a proper artifact. Just say your speeches, save the lives of others, and inspire hope, and the vast majority of artifacts will be powered until you die, and then far beyond that when you give it to your children." As I finish reading it, my eyes catch on the little bit near the end¡ªthe mention of lightning strikes¡ªbecause it seems like the spirits were right. Summoning lightning is right up the alley of anyone past the 1900s. It looks like automation has come for magic, and it''s looking to take its job. Ch.21 Hexagons, are the Bestagons I huff and puff with contentment at a job well done because the work is done. It was a shitload of work creating the gargantuan support pillars required so that it doesn¡¯t fall to the meat planet, and then making the ginormous floor, again in a hexagonal shape, because hexagons are of course the bestagons. And then creating the baseline. But it¡¯s there; the frame of my efforts done. It¡¯s a bit empty, more like an enormous skeleton held up to the sky. But when I see it towering over the planet that I forged with patience, magic, and infinity, it just feels right. To see this massive monument of my efforts against the world. Because what could be more of a huge fuck you to the Astral Plane than to see its whole deal about having no matter or anything just an endless expanse of nothingness and give it gravity! And it is beautiful: shimmering black tiles of dark iron, the enchantment carved into the surface gleaming, an elegant open hexagon split into six quadrants, and then split again and again, each split larger than my former base despite being 1/36th of the size of the new base. Dozens of steam generators on the ground snake up the supports to reach a black box where exposed wires spout cracles of electricity against a series of truly massive runes. With dozens of little tubes reaching out of the black box, they spread everywhere, charging all the runes at once. That very amazing enchantment also inadvertently taught me something quite important, namely, that the larger the rune, the more powerful it is. While they are more expensive, with my truly ridiculous stocks of language, I can take the price. Frankly, the tank for how much language I can contain before I overflow means that the hard part is actually using all of it. Usually, I only dwell on a quarter of usage, unless I¡¯m creating something ridiculous. Either way, this property changes a lot of things, mostly about my nascent plans to defend the meat planet against invasion. If I can figure out a shield enchantment, which is surely possible, I might be able to craft a truly massive enchantment using the entire planet as my canvas. That is for the future; however, now I must focus on actually building some goddamn rooms. ¡ª Entry 23.1-5 Pg. 735 New Day 27 Ugh, I''m exhausted. But at the very least, I¡¯m done with the first room on the list: meditation. I had to recreate a calm domain by essentially spewing it into the astral expanse, but after that was done, I could get started on its design. Similar to the previous design, but utilizing the unique field that the domain creates for some artistic expression. I¡¯ve left the place where there should be a wall empty, but all around me are wind chimes, forged of thin sheets of metal twisted into little sonorous bells. Any attempt to move without proper consideration makes all the bells around me clatter as they knock into each other. I¡¯ve been using them as meditation assistance, allowing me to slowly train myself to not hear the clanging of the wind chimes without wind. And bring myself easier to inner peace. ¡ª Now, obviously, after getting my basics done, I had to arrange the central room. Considering the new knowledge of domains I gained while I was away, I was inspired to add to the room. Namely, a copy of the calmness domain. Mostly because, unlike other domains or emotional magics that forcefully make me feel a certain way, the calmness domain, frankly, doesn¡¯t feel like the tree version of me got ahold of my brain and started shaking. Or like I got 15 pounds of miscellaneous alien uppers shoved up my ass. Plus, with its added bonus of slowing down any incoming objects, I illustrated with the meditation room''s design. I can create essentially panels of objects; they were bells for the meditation room, but for the throne room/planning room, I went with papers. Drawings, poems, plans, and trinkets are all suspended in place, gathered by categories. And if I need a look at any of them, it¡¯s as simple as grabbing them from the storm of paper that surrounds me at all times. Leaving me with both a room that exudes calmness, perfect for long-term planning, and one that forms an intricate mosaic of precious paper and countless plans. ¡ª I¡¯ve recreated the exercise room, although it is a truly different creature than before. Hell, it isn¡¯t even on the base anymore. Exercise is far, far more convenient when there¡¯s something to fight against. Most of my options previously in the case of exercise were mostly jogging in place. I couldn¡¯t exactly lift weights before, making basically all the exercise worthless. It was only done because, frankly, the human body isn¡¯t built to stay still. Without movement and exercise, the human mind easily falls into bouts of depression, and other various psychoses. But considering the dangerous circumstances I¡¯ve found myself in, getting fit would greatly help me out. I¡¯ve built an obstacle course, an enchanted treadmill, and an improvised set of weights. Although the weights are incredibly annoying due to a fairly simple problem, gravity. The gravity on the meat planet is so tiny that astronauts on the moon are practically crushed compared to me. So my weights, if I want to gain anything worth having, have to be ridiculously heavy. I¡¯ve been bench pressing presumably thousands of pounds; the whole affair is made even more ridiculous considering that I have no scales. I¡¯ve been getting by using the Compress rune on larger and larger quantities of iron. But sooner or later, I need to do something about this. But the other parts of my meat planet gym have been fun. Due to my making a series of treadmills that attach you to the treadmill with a clamp. I don''t have the sophisticated engines or parts for a single treadmill that''s adjustable. But it''s fine; I just made 5 different treadmills with various speeds that I induced by changing the size of the gears on the steam engines powering them. It¡¯s been liberating not flying off the surface of the planet just for running a bit too fast, and the obstacle course is a whole bunch of fun. It¡¯s mostly a series of walls that I push off of, slowly learning how to quickly move via essentially near-weightless wall jumping. ¡ª Ugh, I¡¯ve finished building my workstation, and it¡¯s already a mess. With the added size of the station, I¡¯ve decided to create separate divisions on the topside room. For the works shop I''ve made a combat test room, a series of dummies that move along powered lines, and robust self-healing enchantments made to aid in aim training while testing out new wands. A general test sight for any testing I believe could randomly murder me, which, frankly, is practically every test. Situated with a very sturdy blast door, a button that remotely turns on their enchantments, and a sturdy window made by a slit of polished magical ice. Also a workshop, and currently mere days after its creation and it is already an utter mess of floating wires, rune ideas, momentary glimpses of eureka and enough lists to drown a giant. But there is one piece of the series of rooms that¡¯s not either a blasted hellscape or the biggest mess since the ant corpse attack. The series of rooms built for the advancement of more mundane technology, where I carefully pin my plans for steam engines, more advanced generators, and other clever machinations of gears, and steam in peace. After all, it wouldn¡¯t do to be murdered by a steam engine just because I couldn¡¯t clean the room of copper wire. ¡ª I¡¯ve made something I¡¯m not sure what, considering that the idea was more of a fit of whimsy than a true, solid plan. But it certainly is grand beyond my reach. The basic idea is that of an observatory¡ªa series of lenses carved into an orb of ice placed far, far away from the meat planet. The journey to the observatory is cramped, a single, extremely long hallway is placed with infrequent handles to speed the journey along. All ending in a window towards the beauty of the astral. The room doesn¡¯t have a purpose quite yet, but well beauty doesn¡¯t need one. ¡ª Speaking of which, I¡¯ve finished the arts and crafts room. The project took quite a lot of time considering the need to create, wash, and enchant the tools necessary to make my ideas a reality. But despite the effort, it has been a balm for my soul. With its litany of tiny enchantments being incredibly convenient. Some examples are a bunch of crochet hooks that never go dirty, carving knives that stay sharp, and engraving tools that smoothly remove a certain amount. Perfect for etching complex symbols into metal for rune carving. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! The massive room is divided into dozens of little nooks, all swimming with fabric curtains attached to the floor and held in place for a while before eventually drifting out into the astral. I¡¯ve made a room for crochet, embroidery, sketches, rudimentary paints, carving, and my time in there hasn¡¯t been unproductive even if it was built for relaxation. Namely, my efforts on making something to sit on that isn¡¯t metal or fabric have led to me making a corkboard-esque slurry of wood chips and sap. That I¡¯ve been using in everything from clipboards to cups. However, this place is mostly built to soothe the mind. ¡ª Alright, so I successfully transferred my stuff from the old base covered in any guts to here a while ago. And as before, I placed a couch in the junk room. However, the problem is that I spent a shitload of time on this couch. An elegant creation of wool and the softest, most clean-freakish fabrics I could find and stitch together. With a burst of ribbons from the back paneling of the couch, it can be comfortably attached to. But all of that doesn''t matter because the junk room is going off the deep end. I can swear that I can sometimes see cold eyes peer over my shoulders when I¡¯m in that damned room, and there¡¯s some far more obvious things, like the random cycle of melting trash. In a bubble, the junk inside just randomly collapses as if all the bones of the object were to be removed. And then just a bit later, all the stuff regains its bones, stands up straight, and just does it all over again. I think I¡¯ve just tossed too much probably magical junk in here, and frankly, I probably should just abandon this room as lost, but, well, I¡¯m not giving up on the couch. ¡ª As I looked at my plans earlier today, I noticed a dire lack of fun. Things that aren¡¯t productive but that invoke pure and simple joy. So I¡¯ve made my own water park in the astral! With dozens of little enchanted spouts dug into the earth, each with switches connected to a piece of string attached to a machine that continuously pulls at the very least a few. Creating a shifting pattern of water. Additionally, I installed a hot tub and a sauna. With the hot tub being a simple matter of digging into the ice, setting up a self-healing enchant so that it doesn¡¯t melt into pieces, and then carving a couple continuous air blasters down there. The enchantment was incredibly easy considering its similarities to the extremely simple blaster wand. Meaning that the hot tub was an easy affair to sett up, however the sauna was a nightmare. Due to one simple fact, there isn¡¯t any fucking air in the astral, and if I want to be coiled in steam without a medium, then I need to be directly below it. So I had to essentially fill the room with a slowly engaging, permanent air enchantment. For the sauna to have its own atmosphere. And that¡¯s just skipping past all the tweaking required so that I didn¡¯t accidentally summon liquid oxygen and promptly blow myself to pieces. Either way, I now have my very own water park, situated on the other side of the planes, placed in the middle of an eldritch void that provides more questions than answers. My guess is that with this attraction, I¡¯ll finally attract some interdimensional tourists with a taste for human cuisine. Obviously, while wearing the standard Hawaiian shirt, fantasies need to pay heed to reality as well ¡ª Entry 24, Pg.783 New Day 44 Alright, I¡¯m done I debated making a room for sleeping, but, well, frankly I can''t remember the last time I did that, and from my logs it¡¯s been a month and a half since I made the clock. With surely more time before that, so there''s nothing I know to build. It¡¯s time, time that I actually make a step towards getting out of this place. It might not be easy, but when you have magic on your side, what can¡¯t you do? / The entire base lights up with a dazzling glare as the entire base¡¯s enchantments are activated at once, sending pure power radiating out far into the horizon. ¡ª A gust of sparks burst from the forge, contrasting with the steady cold coming in from my gogo boots, which are sadly inappropriate for both the ice and the forge. But it¡¯s not exactly like I care. Hell, I¡¯ve self-mutilated myself while surrounded by deadly ice; what do I care for a pair of boots? And good fashion is always worth a bit of discomfort. And I certainly look good, my ebony skin contrasting nicely with the white of the boots and the shockingly bright red one-piece slim dress I wear above the boots, turning my figure sharp and provocative. I grab a pair of tongs from the nearby table while holding the thin iron sheet in place. With a squint, I carefully grab ahold of the cherry-red iron and twist it until it forms a tube. Then, letting go of the edge, I pull at the edge of the metal until it forms into a cone. Exhausted I wipe the sweat from her face and pick up the cone-shaped tube before dunking it into a nearby tank of water, the water spitting and hissing as it flash-boils from the ridiculously hot metal. I throw the tools onto the table and promptly flop onto the floor, checking the crude laptop before groaning, quickly realizing from the article that I made the bracer entirely wrong. ¡ª I float, surrounded by the astral like never before. For I float in a ball of hollow ice, the outside carefully carved to allow for different states of magnification. The grand lights and blooms of the astral playing in her eyes from distances boggle the mind. I feel my legs slowly start to painfully burn with unrelentless approach of the ice, but I resolutely ignores it, unable to stop looking at the majesty before me. Unpeeling the cosmos, I bask in the glow of meaning, the very soul of the blooms radiating throughout this strange cosmos. Allowing me a glimpse of the entire spectrum of emotion across my entire sight. And I smile at the astral expanse reflected in my eyes, as I see it all. ¡ª I kneel attached to the floor by ribbons, situated amidst a roiling, moving land of color as I slowly stitch my way through the edge of a carefully organized black suit. A project days in the making. Wary of the shifting ribbons of my crafts room, I hunch over the unfinished suit, painstakingly hand-stitching it into the masterpiece it deserves to be. The act is painful but yet so rewarding that a piece of my very soul settles to the bottom in contentment. I am irritated at the inconvenience, but I cannot hold it in my heart, bounded by the rising crescendo of creation and creativity, the fabric slowly forming into the image that burns within my mind. And so I stitch, my arms moving in a methodical and wondrous rhythm, slowly bringing forth my dreams. ¡ª I grab the wand from the little rolling table set to my side, pushing aside the scattered magical weapons to grab what should be my weakest flame. But as I press its button, the wand erupts, covering the target dummy in a slurry of flame, something that no other wand on the table can do. Because there is no real air going on in the astral plane, flames should flat-out not be possible. There is no air for the heat to combust; there is no fuel or anything at all that would precipitate fire, and even if there were, it would most likely go out immediately considering the strange fluid I float in. But that would only happen if it was an actual flame. I turn over to the other side to see a glimpse of the runes, Fire-Burst-Target/Tip-Cone, and unlike the vast majority of other wands I make, this one does not have the Permanent rune. Meaning that it disappears mere seconds after being summoned. My theory so far is that since when I imbue an object with a concept like the Fire rune or the Healing rune. That which I summon is similarly not the actual object but rather the concept of fire. Which means, funnily enough, I grin and grab another wand before blasting the moving dummy. Only for a tiny spurt of heat and light to be spit out before promptly dying out. That adding the permanent rune onto my weapons makes them weaker by forcing them to adhere to the rules of physics. I, of course, need further research before I can definitively prove it. But this hypothesis could lead to a breakthrough in my weapons that might make them both more efficient, and more powerful. Turning to my notebook, I write down, "Experiment Group Gauntlet Blaster Experiment 2 success!" ¡ª I sit ensconced in a flurry of pages and fabric, my enchanted chair slowly moving the fabric and ever so slightly embedding this room with chaos as my floating plans, dreams, and experiment logs get knocked out of place by my dominatrix chair. But it at the very least gives me an excuse to rearrange the mess daily so the chaos stays, as I peer through the book of runes. It holds seven masks on it, and it is a gift from the Jwarahausa people so that I may continue their legacy. Although I am personally skeptical that it even matters considering their tribe has been long dead for presumably thousands of years. I squirm, straining against the tight fabric as I rid myself of the thought, unwilling to entertain the notion. Before turning back to the book, I flip through the pages, researching runes that might be useful for my teleportation attempts. I sadly flip past the majority of them considering that the book is mostly stocked with basic concepts, like healing, fire, harvest, sun, stone, art, and a whole lot of modifiers. For example, by far the easiest enchantment is either making a blaster, where you simply summon an element and hit people with the modifier of your choice, or imbuing an object with a particular concept. These work because they essentially just summon the concept and then immediately use it. But considering that the Jwarahausa people didn¡¯t really have a concept for space, it¡¯s been difficult trying to make a portal. And after my very definitive failure at making a space rune for me to base my things off of, what I need to do instead is use other concepts, and then stack on top of them a whole shitton of modifiers. I keep flipping through the book, skimming over the pages before I see a new rune Home. I quickly scan through its entry, growing more and more excited, before cutting free of my chair and yanking myself back into the lab. ¡ª My legs sway in the water as I release my body from its worries in my hot tub. The little bubbles of air continuously pushed out of the edges by a series of enchantments embedded into the bowl of ice and kept in place by a separate repair enchantment. I bask in the water, kicking my legs a little bit, able to feel the contrasting sensations of the cold ice on my arms and the hot water on my body. You know, it¡¯s strange to be feeling so much temperature here in the astral; it isn''t exactly cold, there¡¯s no medium to carry away the heat so I lose nothing temperature-wise. But although it means that I didn¡¯t freeze to death immediately as I maybe should have, it does mean I¡¯ve sort of just not felt temperature for the last who knows how long. I let my head fall back and let go, allowing myself to truly feel the warmth of the water. I feel the tub start to get warmer, and I jerk away, unable to not remember the last time I felt warm. I grit my teeth, the enamel screeching as I scramble out of the water. And heave nothing but air on the cold ice outside of it. My arms supporting my gasping chest, I coughed furiosly my lungs truly the awful press of the ice and the heat of my own hands, before running away, refusing to look again at my mistake. ¡ª I scream "Woooooooooooooooo!" with a litany of hisses in the background, celebrating the successful creation of a proper set of iron plate armour. Now floating in a bunch of tanks of water. For this time, I have finally watched the DIY videos to completion. And not clicked away to find a more exciting video. ¡ª I shove away from the entrance three floating pillows, a random water tankard, and thirteen shoddily enchanted crochet needles as I walk into the junk room. The name is truly the right thing. Heading for the couch I swim past a zone where the items randomly heatlessly melt, the functioning toilet made of wood that I found, and scooch past the error message, all to reach the prize, my beloved couch. I push off the floor, turning parallel to the cloud in the air, before grabbing a ribbon and awkwardly pulling myself onto the couch, suffering the price of my hubris before letting out a content sigh, burying myself into the soft cushions of the couch. The state of the junk room might be getting worse by the day, but my need for the divine softness of the couch increases by the day as well so I will brave the fray of junk again and again. ¡ª I kneel on the floor of the arts and crafts room, surrounded on all sides by dozens of half-finished projects as I intently gaze at the bracer chisel in my hand. My victory over iron might be complete with me not being totally incompetent with a forge, but I refuse to wear something so dull as dark iron to battle. My tools for carving now are much more sophisticated than the simple steel styluses I used in that miserable little room on the meat planet¡ªan elegant chisel enchanted so that it would be imbued with the very concept of sharpness. And I use it to slowly chip my way into the metal, one stroke at a time, in a simple flower design. For what is the use of armor if it¡¯s not bedazzled? ¡ª "I pray to all the gods above. GRANT ME TEA!" I demand from the empty sky. As I hold a cup of warm water up, earnestly praying for the even slight possibility of having something anything to drink or eat. But eventually I put it down and rub the mishmash wood cub, nursing it with its oh so rare, oh so dangerous warmth. I down it, still grumpy at the lack of tea but willing to go through the charade of consumption if it means that I can feel something down my throat, even if it¡¯s empty. ¡ª I quickly run behind the blast shield before activating the enchantment, only for ¡­ nothing to happen. My tired eyes peek behind the ice window, yet still nothing happens. With a groan, I grab the infinite notebook, but before I can move, I see the plate shift, and then it doesn''t having stayed in it''s place. My eyes snap wide open I stare at it, but nothing happens. With a hiss, I step past the blast shields, grab a 10-foot pole, and shove it to the side, but once I stop touching it, it disappears. The plate shifting back towards it¡¯s starting position almost as if it refused to leave Home ¡ª I sit on my throne of ribbons, surveying my kingdom of paper, ensconced in bright ribbons floating in a nonexistent wind. All of it topped off by my elegant white suit, enchanted with self-repair and cleansing, so bright and clean from particulates that it seems to shine. I scroll through the floating pieces of paper, a simple clipboard in hand, as I pick up ideas and either remove or add them to the days agenda, but as I do so, I am interrupted by the most peculiar sight. A man shimmers into existence in my throne room, and I freeze as the man seems to step through a veil and pop into my room. He is tall, with dark brown skin, and wearing a traditional African dress embossed with gold and turquoise patterns. His ears are pierced by a gold ring holding three feathers. His strange but not unattractive appearance is enhanced by some of the most impressive muscles I¡¯ve ever seen, and I¡¯ve seen plenty, mostly involuntarily. But all those muscles go to waste as he kneels before my throne, saying, "Great Spirit, I beseech you, fo-" Yet he is interrupted by me desperately falling from my throne, entangled in colorful ribbons, as I scramble towards him, yelling, "THANK FUCKING GOD! ANOTHER HUMAN BEING!" 22.1 A Difference of Perspective As I wrestle with the strips of fabric embedded into my dominatrix chair, although, frankly, since it binds me, it¡¯s more of a sub chair. ANYWAY, I see that he¡¯s quite flustered, which makes sense. I do currently look like a bird trapped in fishing line. "It¡¯s all right, whoever you are; I¡¯m getting out just fine; I just need to, ah, there," I say while cutting at the fabric with a quick heat beam. I scramble out of the chair, waving my arms this way and that until I am not terribly likely to accidentally float into a wall before looking at my guest. He looks terrified? He¡¯s trying to hide it, but the gifts of language make pretty much any form of communication a breeze for me. Noticing the terror bleed into confusion, I make a motion to soothe him. ¡°Uh, do you want some tea, sir?" I say before belatedly remembering that I don¡¯t have any here. ¡°Or, uh, maybe some hot water, since that''s uh all I have," I say with a sheepish voice, a gout of nervous laughter bursting out after I finish. I see the strange man kneeling on the floor regain his bearing before asking, "Oh Great Spirit, I beseech you, for my tribe is in danger." I squinted, pondering this strange request of his. Do their people just consider anyone of sufficient power to be a great spirit? If so, would I even be powerful enough for this? And why do they also call things great spirits like the Jwarahausa? Are they from the same time period? I shake my head, focusing on the task at hand, before saying, "Uh, maybe, but why are you asking me? I am no being of great power, and I¡¯ve certainly never rescued anyone." The man''s face, regaining a sense of calm like a swimmer entering a pool, says, "I am the shaman of the Daraha tribe, we who have been envoys of the astral for centuries, and we have a great pieces of knowledge, and items that would intrigue you, I am sure." I laugh, saying, "What great spirit? I am no such thing, and I certainly haven¡¯t seen any spirits, despite having lived in the astral expanse for a long while." The apparent Shaman''s, face calm but heart confused points at a bloom of peace before saying, "There are spirits, great and small, all around." I laugh even louder than before, but before I can say anything, the shaman says, "How do you not see them? The very fabric of the astral means that anyone who enters can see all others, no matter their perspective." "What are you talking about? Those are blooms, the bleedthrough of emotions from the mortal plane. No more sentient than a stone." I say, but even as I say it, my stomach churns. For one of the clouds outright ran away from me; another pleaded for its life; another defended a body. And why? No, No they can¡¯t be sentient; they can¡¯t be; otherwise, I would have understood their communications; I could read the fucking ant like an open book; why not the spirit? I frantically look at the Shaman, and I see his face, that damnable thing slowly coalesces into a cursed form of gentle understanding. "But you never learned did you, and everyone''s perception can blind them," he says his voice damnably gentle. I turn away the tears that are appearing in my eyes. Refusing to look at the herald of such doom. But out of the corner of my eyes, I see him approach, a hand reaching out to my shoulder. And with a flash of light, everything switches. ¡ª I push a vine away from my sight, my bandaged feet pressing through soft earth. It might have been soothing, a reminder of home, but the stark, unending black of everything I see does not allow that. All the trees, plants, and bushes look like grim shadows, an inversion of the munda. I blink, gathering my thoughts, before pressing on. My people shall be in great danger if I don¡¯t request the help of the Great Spirit of Language. But I do not see their Domain no matter where I search, and I need their expertise; no other spirit could bend their way into the scoundrels Domain. So it is with a calm gaze but tired eyes that I call upon a favor. "Oh small spirit of the curdled ember, I call upon you so that you might guide my way through the astral forest," I say, my deep voice echoing out into the trees and farther beyond, stretching into a direction I cannot sense as I pull them here. I put my finger up as a little figure of red light, which appears like a blade being unsheathed from nothing at all. Its wings fluttering as it lands on my finger. An adrogenous, tiny humanoid figure of pink and red light with little flames flickering in and out on its wings. The spirit in question is very easy to earn a favor from, even if it is very annoyin- "OH HIYAH, YOU CALLED ME OVER, WHERE DID YOU WANT TO GO, SHAMAN BOY? I KNOW IF YOU¡¯RE DOING ANYTHING IT¡¯S GOING TO BE FUN! SO WHERE TO, WHERE TO!" The little spirit shrieks; its voice incredibly loud and piercing, like a war pick through the head. I do not wince, for that would stop the game, but I do subtly start burning hope, shielding my ears from their tiny whispers. It is inefficient, but anything would be worth the price of not having to listen to them. But I must get to my duties, so I say, "Oh small spirit of the curdled ember, I call upon you so that you may guide me to the Great Spirit of Langauge, they who have broken their shackles and risen again." The little things approximations of eyes sparkle, bringing an uneasy thought to mind, for they only do something when I am about to make a truly amusing mistake. But I must press forward; doubt will only fail me here. But when they finish feeling smug, they deign to speak. "YEAH, I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE. WE EXCHANGED BEFORE, A COUPLE OF TIMES ACTUALLY, SHE IS QUITE THE STRANGE CREATURE, I TELL YA!" the little spirit screams, gesturing a bit to my left before flying off in that direction. Hmm, a "she". It¡¯s quite rare for a spirit to hold any strong opinions about gender. But I see the little thing flying off. So with a sigh in my soul, but not on my breath, I follow after them, not in danger of losing their track due to the occasional squealing giggle and shrieking gesture of strange affection. No matter how annoying they are one of the few spirits with an acceptable price, and strangely enough, despite their casual cruelty, they have a sense of well-worn fondness. Spirits might be strange, but they are beings like any other with their own likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams. And if you can leverage those, you can maneuver yourself behind a horde of favors and backdoor secrets, the way of my tribe. For if the grand beings who can shape the earth itself are people in the end, then they can be treated like what people truly are: pieces on the board. It is better to float along the stream than stand in ignorance of it. After all, I think plodding through the dense astral forest it would have taken hours of time and precious emotions in order to find the Great Spirit without any assistance. And looking towards the fluttering wings of the pinkish-red spirit, I think that at least with them I only lose a bit of dignity and other things easily lost. But before long, we arrive at a clearing in the astral forest, and I once again put up my finger. Their fluttering wings furiously beat as they daintily land on the small appendage. Before suddenly bursting into a twirling dance for reasons only known to themselves. I ponder the value of cradling my face, and running away before simply asking, "So will you take the usual price?" The little thing, almost in dismissal and impatience not really caring one way or another simply caught in habit, waves me over: "YEAH YEAH GET ON WITH IT" Hmm, maybe they will be up for another favor soon. I should note this down. So I take out a notebook while almost casually sending over a mote of my irrational anger at my painting over. At the robbery of my name so that the tribe might have a slightly better negotiator. And I feel that leave me. An empty, ragged hole torn into that page of feelings, joining the many others I have taken. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. I consider the small spirit of curdled anger a good partner at a cheap price for a reason: they only ask for emotions I don¡¯t want to see anyway. But as I send it over, they squeak with joy and eagerly devour it before disappearing, heading back to their Domain in that direction that humans should not see. I sigh before waving goodbye; rituals should be followed so that they retain their Belief after all. Before walking to the edge of the creator of the meadow. A perfect sphere of warm white intersecting with the floor beneath. Fortunate, it would have been hard to negotiate from a position of strength if I was slowly leaking out my brain while maintaining flight. I step through, my certainty converting all it needs to as I appear in the midst of the great spirits home. And like always, it is a wondrous sight. A storm of paper fitting for a spirit of language all arranged around the center. A fluttering chair of curled fabric, restraining yet gilding the strange sight in front of me. A woman created from silhouette, like a fire framed behind and through a person. Floating ethereally in the grips of the strange, ever-moving fabric. But that strange and elegant image is quickly broken as she fumbles, twisting and careening in the grips of the fabric. And promptly tumbles forth trapped in the magical cloth saying "THANK FUCKING GOD! ANOTHER HUMAN BEING!" I blink rapidly rather baffled by the idea that a being that looks like someone cut a hole into the fabric of the universe and let the dawn shine through could possibly be a human. But unwilling to simply dismiss it outright I carefully examine the circumstances. Perhaps she simply wants to see humans and isn''t talking about herself, that makes sense worshipers are quite useful, and she used to have quite a lot of them. But before I can turn the idea over longer. She says "It¡¯s all right, whoever you are; I¡¯m getting out just fine; I just need to, ah, there," tumbling out of her restraints with a slash of some strange magic. And I stand aback surprised at such a powerful blow, appearing from nowhere, the Great Spirit of Language is supposed to be a creature of preparation, not surprise attacks. Before wincing taking in the greater sight for I understand that seeing such an embarrassing moment might be retaliated with extreme violence. Spirit kind is not lenient on those who see their smallest moments especially those who are accustomed to being quite big. "Uh, do you want some tea, sir?" the strange spirit her light almost blinding me says. I burn to scratch my head, but I stop myself, despite the fact that the idea that a spirit might have access to such things is quite surprising. Especially since there have been no sacrifices to her. Presumably being more careful after her last disastrous attempt at religion. "Or, uh, maybe some hot water, since that''s uh all I have," she says her nervousness apparent despite the lack of a face to examine. Oh, that makes much more sense. She probably is just used to having sacrifices considering that she had a healthy cult not too long ago from her Perspective. Either way, I need to ingrtiate myself to her since she is essential towards regaining my people. So I kneel on the floor a quite commonly beloved action by spirits before saying, "Oh Great Spirit, I beseech you, for my tribe is in danger." And I receive nothing. The spirit just thinking about my response. I urge to shift, my knees digging into the soil of the astral forest, but I need not wait for too long as she says "Uh, maybe, but why are you asking me? I am no being of great power, and I¡¯ve certainly never rescued anyone." And I nearly spit out my last meal, not powerful? What type of hellishly poisonous creature must she be eating for her to be that delusional? I stand in the middle of a room that has the sharp scent of at least 3 artifacts! And one of them is her fucking chair! I don''t even know what it does but it''s steeped in enough magic to make one of the scholar''s noses burst. But wait, she interacted with many when she was with the Jwarahausa. She must know her power; this must be some type of strange negotiation technique. And well, I know how to deal with that; let me come out with the big guns. If she knows of my tribe, she will surely know our reach. "I am the shaman of the Daraha tribe; we who have been envoys of the astral for centuries, and we have great pieces of knowledge and items that would intrigue you, I am sure," I say, sure that this would at the very least get her to approach the negotiation table. But ridiculously, she laughs, saying, "What great spirit? I am no such thing, and I certainly haven¡¯t seen any spirits, despite having lived in the astral expanse for a long while." And again, I have been slapped in the face with a fish of ridiculousness. For what type of grandstanding nonsense is it to say that she is not a spirit? She''s a literal beacon of magical light who lives in a domain and is the rightful holder of the title of Great Spirit of Language, she who has broken their shackles and risen again. And what foolish perspective leaves someone so blind that they can''t even see the things right in front of their own eyes? I point at the Domain of the Great Spirit of Peace, they who have forged lines, saying, "There are spirits, great and small, all around." with a confused expression on my face. I see her try to create another excuse for her lacking perspective, unable to see the ground she stands on or, well, floats over. But before she can, I say with Certainty flooding my voice, "How do you not see them? The very fabric of the astral means that anyone who enters can see all others, no matter their perspective." Even if someone were to be so dull as to only see a blank white space, those of other perspectives would poke through, for the only way to interact with another perspective, another world, is through others. In frantic time, she says, "What are you talking about? Those are blooms, the bleedthrough of emotions from the mortal plane. No more sentient than a stone." And I am once again stunned by the stupidy of such a massively powerful being. But I can see that they didn''t mean their words. That their perspective is shifting ever so slightly. As they collapse into themselves, grieving some lost piece of self I walk over, reassuring her. For despite her luminous, blinding appearance, she can feel despair and refuse to see the truth, so I take her shoulder and switch with her. Impressing onto her a simple fact Spirits are people like any other. ¡ª I wince, rubbing my head, feeling the idea force itself into my mind. The new concept placed over my mind like a fragile shell over my own opinions. It itches, but I stop myself from tearing it away because, as I look toward the astral, I see so many new things. I see the glimmers of a floor, and past my own perspective, I see another view of the blooms that have been an everpresent sight. I see people in houses of their own making. I glimpse thousands of little seeds just waiting to grow into something more. I see a lounging mist of wanderlust flowing freely through their maze of a home; I see a smug smile ensconced at the top of a majestic purple mountain. And I see the millions of eyes pressing through the cracks of hope¡¯s domain, refusing to not see everything around them. But before I can examine my new sight further, I hear a groan from the floor. FUCK he¡¯s still here! I grab a handle and approach him, the Shaman on the floor¡ªor, or well, his version of the floor, considering he floats just a bit above mine. Either way, he seems to be in a great deal of pain. But before I can help him up, he waves me away and rises on his own. Alarmingly with a great deal of blood leaking through his nose. But he had made his opinions clear, no matter how idiotic they are. So I back away as he reassures me, "Don¡¯t worry, it was my own mistake to attempt to share my perspective with a Great Spirit, of course, you would have one of your own larger than mine." And with that, I am forced to turn back to the truth. He revealed his own truth, but a truth nonetheless. That everything around me was human, or well not human but sentient full beings. And that I ate one of them. I begin to hurl; there is nothing to hurl, but the motion feels important nonetheless. And cry and scream as I accept the truth: I had all the pieces too, but never put them together for the simple reason that if it were true then I had murdered someone. For when I escaped the cloud of Language, I did not walk away before I had devoured everything there was to eat. I have no idea of what is beyond this, but in the here and now, I have murdered someone. For no other reason than they annoyed me, not even allowing them to run because I didn¡¯t know they could. And as I cry on the floor, I see the shaman''s hand approach again, although this time it does not arrive with a strange technique but rather with soothing intent. Although it isn¡¯t as effective as he might think considering his hands are covered in nose blood. But I do appreciate it. So after a bit mindful of my guest to at least continue the collapse later, I push off my floor and grab the throne¡¯s many cloth pieces and pull myself back onto my throne, as composed as can be in my situation thanks to the domain of calm. "All right, Shaman, who are you and why are you here? I know that you are a servant of your people here in their place, but I do not know for what." I say, gesturing along. He goes from his former position to kneeling before my throne, a steady drip of blood staining the soil that I can barely see. As he says, "Oh Great Spirit, I am the speaker of my tribe, he who learns from and trades with the spirits. I am the Patient Bridge, and today I am here to bridge you and me." I nodded, taking in the information I had already gleaned from the vision but finding the words valuable nonetheless. He continues, "For my people have been taken by the Great Spirit of Mystery." "Wait a minute, if they were taken here, how do they get back?" I say quietly excited to gain a clue for how to return home. But he dashes my hope with his recalcitrant expression: "They are not here in flesh. Their souls were dragged out of their bodies, and once they are taken out of their domain, they shall fall through the astral forest and return home. They don¡¯t know how to remain here like me" I squint puzzling through the situation before saying, "So there¡¯s just a shit ton of your people in comas. Yeah, I can see how that would pretty much be exactly as bad as being kidnapped." But this does bring something else to mind, all this talk of Great Spirits and Shamans whose names are taken replaced by their title makes me think of the Jwarahausa tribe. Are we in the same general time period? If so, the book''s hopes might come true, but that is for later. "Oh, gods, that¡¯s terrible, but, uh, why can¡¯t you save them? Shamans generally hoard a lot of magical secrets amongst themselves." I say this thinking of the book and the fact that, frankly, anyone with that horde of knowledge could probably make some pretty hideously powerful enchantments. The Shaman squirms before reluctantly saying, "There are two reasons. One is that I am much weaker than the Great Spirit; and two, I am a projection much like my people. I force my perspective onto the astral rather than blend into it, making my form fragile, easily banished or captured." I nodded before being taken back, for simply put- "What the fuck is perspective? We¡¯ve apparently swapped ours, and it leads us to literally see completely different things, and it also makes you fragile somehow?" I say my voice demanding. I see his face contort into confusion before being quickly wiped off. Then saying "Well if you wish to know I can tell you if you help me and my people" Curses! That information would be ridiculously valuable for my research. Additionally, with his expertise and presence on the mortal plane, he can get me many items and important tidbits. So I sigh, resting my chin upon my hands, as I wheel the other hand around in impatience. "Alright, you¡¯ve got me interested, but let¡¯s get done with this walk around and tell me about the situation, or at the very least, where to go," I say my goodwill and patience rapidly deteriorating. I see him twitch, and a feeling of amusement spreads, both my own gifts of Language and my stint in his head, allowing me to guess his deep desire to either sigh or flip me off. But before I can luxuriate in that familiar feeling of annoyance, he says, "For the direction, I shall have the small spirit of curdled anger guide you to their location, they meet up for occasional tea parties so they have the key to their house." I am a bit taken aback and new to the idea that the little clouds I see everywhere apparently go have tea parties, and with what tea? Chamomile, English Breakfast, the trash tea that comes from replicators, are they true tea drinkers, namely black tea with a bit of honey, or are they worth nothing but spit like those who drink herbal concoctions? But I shake my head before I can get any further off track because I need to get some compensation for this. "I still have no idea of the threats against me, and we haven¡¯t yet spoken of payment," I say pointedly reminding the Shaman of the matter of payment. Well, the spirit of mysteries is quite adept at teleporting its victims, and it has many servants that live in their home defending the spirit''s interests. It refuses worship, unwilling to intake their spirits, but it does pay very well." He says almost blas¨¦ as he waxes over the fact that the fucker has a servant class. "Wait what? Spirits can have worshipers, and there¡¯s a price!" I say alarmed but intrigued. But before I can get too excited, I see that dreadful, slowly becoming familiar expression of the Shaman picking out a piece of important information and stowing it away. I grit my teeth before letting go; if nothing else, if the servants, and mercenaries are there, and not projections like the kidnapees then I might get a clue for my escape. I swallow my protests before saying, "Alright, frankly, a bunch of random people aren¡¯t really that scary after nearly dying to that golem, so I agree to your task, but if I am to go, and from your mind, I know that I am the only option. I demand three things: one a packet of various seeds and some soil, two the information on Perspective, and three a method on how to reach the mortal plane" I see the Shaman¡¯s face peek out a bit of alarm before it is quickly swallowed. Him saying "Alright" extremely queasily. I reassure him, saying that "I only wish to return home, and additionally, I know that it is possible considering that the First Shaman was able to walk back and forth from the astral expanse with the help of his bangle." The shaman nods, accepting that surprising bit of information strangely easily although perhaps not that strangely considering he was in my head for a bit before saying, "I accept the terms," with a strange importance on the words like they were heavier than others. Before he fades away as quickly as he appeared. Appearing like nothing more than a momentary mirage. I yell at the nothingness, hoping to catch him on his way out: "Wait, uh, do you just wanna hang out or something? I have many books!" before sighing accepting my failure at making a friend. Well, at the very least I got to finally talk to fucking someone, but I just wish there were less breakdowns and tense negotiations over the terms of me saving a whole bunch of people. Which frankly, I would have done it anyway, considering that I''m not going to leave people in the grasp of their kidnappers even if I only get paid a penny. But before I can blast off¡ªor even prepare¡ªlet¡¯s research the Shaman and his tribe a bit. Because it seems that they are in the same time period as the Jwarahausa and that their records will be prudent. So let¡¯s figure out some more about these weird fuckers before I get further into this. Ch.22.2 History lesson. But before that, let¡¯s go over the weird as fuck shit I found while plumbing through his brain. I pull out my infinite notebook; the flutter of uncountable pages as beautiful as always. Before starting a new web of pages filled with the weird new info I got from a real dude vision quest. At the top there is the obvious stuff, like what is Perception, and how do spirits work if they aren¡¯t essentially emotional waste products, especially with them apparently being gods, effective ones. All this is very important stuff, that is sadly going to have to be sidelined. Because I can¡¯t exactly wait forever researching non-critical things while people¡¯s lives are in danger. I just need to get the essentials done, like making sure this new guy isn¡¯t going to fuck me over by getting a read on his tribe, which might show up in The Book of Runes. For all I know, they could be from the same general time but hundreds of miles apart. Though that does make me think of something. How did he know a bunch of stuff about me, however inaccurate, before even meeting me? Without any scrying, from what I could tell with my vision quest into his mind, He did mention that his people were known as essentially spirit wranglers, so he might have special techniques or a map of Great Spirit territories. Or, frankly, the more reasonable answer, considering what I know of his negotiation skills specializing in spirits, would be that he tapped into the web of Great Spirit gossip. Speaking of, I should probably talk to my neighbors once I¡¯m done with this mission. Obviously, I can¡¯t exactly set up a tea party while gearing up for a rescue mission, but now that I know they¡¯re people, well, I need some fucking company. I''ll take what I can get, even if they are a set of wholly alien intelligences. It''s not like that ever stopped me from heading out of the human sector before I ended up in an entirely different dimension. But getting back on task, other things on the list of weird shit I learned while trawling through the Patient Bridge''s brain. That is Belief, which he strangely emphasized in his own thoughts. Giving the word much more weight than it should. My guess is that his religious practices are what allow him to expect his way into magic. Similar to my gestures and magic built off magic. Which makes sense if spirits are actually around affecting stuff but it pretty much sinks the prospect of me convincing him that I¡¯m a human. It would be like trying to tell a New-Methodist god isn¡¯t real while he knows that worshipping god gave him magic powers. Damn near impossible. But the final and most applicable thing is the weird stuff that he did with that pinkish reddish spirit. Because the Patient Bridge essentially gave up some of his emotion, in some sort of strange astral currency. Which makes some sort of sense considering that emotions and the size of them are what power magical effects. The more angry of a person you are the more juice you have for anger spells, so if you gave some of that juice up, and if it¡¯s literally the specific thing that makes up the spirit''s body, it makes sense that the spirit would get stronger. This means that, taking all this in, there is another option other than busting in and maybe murdering the mystery spirits minions. I could negotiate, essentially offer to buy the people in exchange for giving up some Mystery. It would most likely cripple me in some strange direction. Make me unable to understand puzzles or some such, considering how, without the concept within you, some of the framework of your mind starts to break. The things that your mind needs to understand certain things ripped away leaving you a shell. When my Language was taken away, I was entirely unable to read anything. I was luckily still able to listen to others, but if I weren''t, I would¡¯ve been screwed. Unable to ever take any notes. I would have had to try to convey complicated experimental notes in pictograghs! Hells, I could¡¯ve been unable to understand my own thoughts, trapped in the confusing, broken sludge of my own mind. No, I cannot bargain by giving up emotions, who knows what bits and pieces of humanity I could lose? And frankly, the only solution I know is unacceptable. I refuse to devour Mystery for there is nothing beyond this, and I won¡¯t cut short someone''s life as if I were a judge, jury, and executioner. Before this, I was a failed clothing entrepreneur. I can¡¯t deal life and death with my own hands when I couldn¡¯t even deal out fashionable clothing designs. Nor do I frankly want to. Death is the end, a rattling bomb of unforeseen consequences all made because you decided to end someone¡¯s path. Every death sends out irreversible ripples, disturbing the water in such a way that it too creates ripples, ruining the surface''s mirror. I''ve seen what death can do to a family, what one person being taken away, even by themselves, does. Death is a horrifying question with no answer, except for one thing: there is nothing beyond it. I shake my head. I can''t afford to get into my own little internal debate over the nature of death. I''ve got to move on from here, so with a smooth, practiced motion, I unwind the cloth and fly down, below, or up. Gravity sure is confusing when you don''t really need it. ¡ª I sit in a chair, peering over a pile of papers on my good, solid, steel desk, placed to the side of the factory floor. I shuffle through them, looking at my reports of output, input, efficiency, and other such matters pertinent to monitoring the health of the factory. "Not that the papers show anything but steady upward growth," I say with a smile, overlooking my glorious progress. I look over the glorious pumping and pounding of metal. Iron, and steel dust, raining down, cleanly seperated, and then melted, and pressed with runes, before switly cooling. And not one line but three, each making a different enchantment, making the small, tiny pieces that turn my work into something glorius and larger than life. Alongside a series of lines where dozens of little gears are forged, cooled, and placed on a thin sheet of metal. Electricity and magic automating the creation of electricity and magic in a sort of ouroboros cycle, items creating the items that created them, magnificent! Although funnily enough, it took so many engines to build the damn line that, frankly, it wasn¡¯t worth the second series of steam engine lines until I needed to make dozens for the recharging central enchantment. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Either way, the factory plugs along steadily nowadays, making a truly monumental number of enchanted plates, gears, and components daily. It still isn¡¯t reliable crapping out for the stupidest reasons it could possibly find, but I¡¯ve gotten good enough at babysitting the darned thing that I imagine that I could do it night, and day through both sleep and death. But sadly I have a task other than gushing at my beautiful, beautiful factory, for I¡¯ve got some reading to do. I quickly set up the passive Language effect of speeding up my reading and blast through the entire history, digesting nothing in my search for Duraha. Essentially pretending that my mind is a search engine. And quickly enough, I reach the first mention of the word. ¡ª The First Shaman, THOSE FUCKING BITCHES! ARGH, I have had it up to here with the Duraha; they¡¯re essentially screwing everything up in a bid to grab just a bit more power. Or well, a lot more, but that''s not the point! I thought it was fine when that former priest created a power bloc out of the dissaffected fragmented tribes¡ªjust useless political manuevering worth nothing in a war. But now that we¡¯ve released humanity from the grip of spirits, they want to let them back in! It makes sense, though, that darned priest''s practical entire arsenal of rituals required licking the boots of the spirits, and now that I¡¯ve paid attention to it, damn near all the groups he gathered are of similar minds. People who will have their power bases massively destroyed if they cut contact with the spirits like I wish. And now, despite none of them having any real power or approval from their people, they can just trample over everything due to the sheer concentration of politically powerful people in one place. To get rid of one of them is to invite the assassins blade from everywhere, and each is a separate swamp of sticky procedures and bullshit. Making it damn near impossible to do anything despite the massive following, and oodles of magical power I have gained from painfully tearing us from the rule of spirits. Sadly enough, I¡¯ll have to slowly leverage that DAMN PRIEST out of power by slowly pushing away his allies. And once that''s done, it''ll be over. At that point, there¡¯s only one swamp I have to wade through to kill him. ¡ª Damn the first shaman is surprisingly bloodthirsty for the man who collected mementos of all the people he saved. Or maybe not; I have no idea when the fuck this is, but humanity has one birthplace, earth; it isn¡¯t possible for it to be an alien planet, and the place looks a lot like Africa. Either way, all the clues point to this being ancient Earth, a time when people, well, frankly, gave less of a shite about murder. But either way, it seems like the shaman''s main tools, magic-wise, are essentially spirit-related stuff. My face suddenly contorts into a rictus of disgust, struck by a sudden thought. He better not have cast some sort of charm spell or something; I personally doubt it due to the fact that I really want to murder anyone who reduces my automy. But I should keep watch for it. No need to be cocky at this juncture once I''ve gotten this far. I quickly skim past all of it again searching for another entry entirely about the Duraha. ¡ª Shaman of Peace, collective pain in my ass. It¡¯s been decades, and we are still fighting in the shallows with the Duraha tribe. Because the First Shaman, while he did have an admirable eye for the future, an innovative mind, and was one of the best combat magicians to exist, was goddamn terrible at politics. He tried, but now I¡¯ve got to clean up the mess he started with the Duraha tribe. We can¡¯t exactly leave them alone now, considering they have one of the better chances of overthrowing our tribe''s dominance. Any lapse of attention might lead to a crucial victory that might knock us off our pedestal. Like the one I discovered today, for underneath the entire council''s nose our recruitment efforts have all been overthrown. Any neutral tribe decidedly unwilling to speak to us with anything other than threats, and frankly, I have learned from my predecessors pain, threats get you nowhere in the long run. While our tribe boasts the most versatile, variable, growing magic thanks to the work of the First Shaman, the Duraha tribe similarly boasts of the widest selection of magic of all the tribes in the habitable lands. It might not be good, with the vast majority more prone to destroying your brain than being actually effective but it''s wide I''ll give them that. The first shaman never managed to pry free the First Bridge from his supporters, all his efforts leading to the dissenting eventually being subsumed into the Duraha for protection. And since they essentially took in the legacies of a dozen different tribes along with the willing shamans, they were able to form a legacy so ridiculous that it makes all others seethe in envy. With that, they have the perfect tools for trading anytime, anywhere. We might be the only provider of true enchantments, but what does that matter when they can teach you a spell specifically made to cure burns, while your mother lays on her deathbed suffering from a wildfire? With such a wide array of techniques, they can afford to quickly and easily tailor their offers. They have decisively claimed the advantage, influence-wise, for the next generation. Our grip is only holding strong on the core group and their subsidiary tribes. Our tribe already providing all they could want, for a limited time, thanks to the missing storage runes. For now, I¡¯m thinking of a sneakier solution, for if the problem is their extensive legacy, then how powerful are they if it¡¯s gone? ¨C Oh wow, scratch that earlier statement his tribe apparently has the monopoly on the vast majority of magic. A legacy is essentially the final product of a shamans efforts, their last gasp attempt to make their successors lives just a bit easier. Over the years each would undoubtably gain several fantastic techniques and with a dozen legacies that they themselves have curated and perfected, their magical techniques must be monstrous! Why the hell is he asking me? Apparently, he could blast me to fucking pieces. This makes absolutely no sense, he from the vision, at least very definitely needs my help, yet the information shows that he should single-handedly destroy all problems in front of him. The history here directly contradicts the facts shown by his magic, and well he¡¯s trying to get me to do something, he has every reason to alter the information shown. Should I even do anything? This all just feels like a trap. But what if there¡¯s people? Hooo, with a deep slow breath out I stop. And then I resume drawing my breathe back in through my preserved white teeth contrasting nicely with my dark skin. Slowly gaining calm due to my effort, and remembering a crucial detail. I got body language knowledge for days! And he might¡¯ve been infuriating but he was genuinely afraid for his people. And I¡¯m not exactly going to abandon a bunch of people to the same hell that I¡¯ve been forced into. So let¡¯s finish reading up on them before I make any more hasty decisions. ¡ª The GREATEST SHAMAN, A new idea. Hmm, I¡¯ve been handed the most intriguing offer by the newest bridge. An out after all my "mistakes" well, jokes on them, I haven¡¯t made a single mistake yet, no matter what that Patient Bridge says. I¡¯m the most competent shaman to manage to grab this position in a century. My predecessors focused on all the wrong things while also desperately scrambling to be at the top. For what? Why do we need widespread approval? We¡¯re the strongest around, what are they going to do if they get pissy invade? And get vaporized by the defenses the first shaman picked up. Or crushed to death by our glory awakened again after so long. But their offer of allowing me to evacuate my people through their territory as refugees in exchange for the bangle does make me think of something. The astral forest is quite empty, and space is relative when using the bangle, according to all reports. So if I truly need to duck and run, I can always take the bangle. It¡¯s not like I can give it to them; the recharging part of the enchantments is essential to our rule over my vassals and our people alike. The first shaman solved the main problem of enchantments twice! First by making the first true artifacts with his absorbing solution, and second by imprisoning the great spirit of langauge in the bangle so that he might use the infinite energy to mantain our rule by holding out the recharge of enchantments. For how are you going to screw us over with swords, with a dozen useless runes carved into it? Regardless I might be able to extract concessions from this new Patient Bridge fellow if I can pretend to give it away. For whatever reason he wants the damned thing despite it''s use mostly being a tool of control. Pfff and I doubt that the idiot could see that! The greatest shaman out. ¡ª Frowning I set the book down, before spinning away from the desk¡ªnot with a swivel chair, those are a fucking pain to make. I just literally spin while still atached to my chair, twirling in the astral expanse my movements not stopped by much of anything, leaving me in a semi-perpetual elegant spin. I tap the side of my head while groaning due to one fairly simple reason. There''s a fairly high chance that the Patient Bridge is going to screw me over, he might have been one of the more reasonable Bridge''s among his tribe from my fairly small data sample. But nonetheless, the histories say that the Duraha tribe are a bunch of backstabbing politicking snakes, whose main skill is screwing over others. However, both of the two perspectives I can see on the Duraha tribe, and on the Patient Bridge himself are from two deeply biased sources. One of them being the apparent political enemies of his tribe, and the other being the very same person the text accuses of being a snake. In the end I''m still going through with this, both due to the prize, and the fact that I''m pretty damn sure that there are people to rescue. And who would I be if, when I was granted great power that I ignored the plight of the weak? All this means now is that before I do this, I''m going to need a bigger arsenal, so let me gather it all together. For whatever else may come, I refuse to let pain continue unheeded. Ch.23.1 Ideas, reforged Alright, if I¡¯m going to go off and rescue those poor fuckers, I¡¯m going to need to prepare. With the power of runes, my greatest resource other than electricity or infinite steel, and iron is prep time. I know that I¡¯m going to be trawling through corridors with that mysterious mother fucker. And it¡¯s not going to be easy. So I need a weapon, and I won¡¯t settle for just a random blaster wand I have lying around this needs to be perfect. But it needs to be something new. Considering how it has human servants, and all of my current weapons would probably murder them. Ugh, it makes me want to spew chunks when I think about how many lethal weapons I have lying around. Why do I have them lying around anyway? Well, most of my enemies were either inanimate objects, or rocketing ant corpses, both of which are pretty resoundingly fine to slice and dice. Although, given my own terrible mistake with the Spirit of Language, I shouldn''t be too hasty with that. But it makes sense I just stockpiled them because that''s what you''re supposed to do ¡­ Wait, was my reasoning really as blindingly simple as that? Like someone grinding out levels by mindlessly making a dozen iron daggers and then enchanting them. And this isn¡¯t a game; I can¡¯t reload to a previous save; I¡¯m going to be in charge of saving the lives of many people. People who aren¡¯t empty husks just there as a checkpoint but living beings with hopes and dreams. Dreams that will be turned into nothing but ashes if something happens to them before I get there. I sigh, removing myself from that stream of thought before I wander down roads best left untrod. I force myself to think more productive thoughts, like, what concept would be the best to disable an enemy without murdering them? The best way to start with an enchantment is not with a perfect desired outcome but with an idea that you can mold until it works well enough. Well, something that would excellently disable most would be a pain ray, and pain nullification would be a top-priority enchantment. When you think about the fact that until around two to three centuries ago the vast majority of anesthesiology was just whatever drugs you had on hand, and that a warrior without pain would be incredibly effective. And since a pain rune undoubtedly exists, it would be trivial to do the opposite and amplify pain. I would be falling along the grooves of the intended enchantments. For while manhandling the runes and concepts can lead to strange and unique enchantments, doing what the runes are made for usually makes the creation process fairly painless. Unlike what I would be doing with my new pain ray. I twitch, feeling my mind return to the easy pattern of before, treating my enemies like they aren''t real before forcing myself to consider the truth. If I shoot a pain ray at them, it doesn''t matter if it incapacitates them if I''m essentially torturing them. And what happens if someone just keeps walking after getting hit? Anyone who has pushed through a heavy wound could possibly just keep attacking me, especially since there''s a decent chance my opponent might not even have nerves, to begin with! So far, 100% of my enemies would be immune to this theoretical pain ray. So no, not a pain ray. Well, what else could I do? Hmm, if the main problem with a pain ray is that anyone with sufficient willpower could ignore it, why not just flat-out stop them from moving or attempting to kill you? And since a freeze ray or other cold methods of incapacitation could potentially inflict frostbite or kill them, a better option would be paralysis. Why mess around with causing extreme pain when I can just seize their nerves? And say, "Nuh-uh, better try again later!" But wait, from what I understand, paralysis is supposed to be one of the most terrifying experiences in all of existence. The feeling of being unable to move or do anything while being completely vulnerable while others are free to do whatever they want would essentially be as torturous as the pain ray. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. And if I mess it up, I could permanently disable someone or suffocate them to death by paralyzing their lungs. No, paralysis is off the table. But something similar to paralysis but less torturous would be a sleep enchantment. And similar to pain I¡¯m sure any society with such a magic as enchantment would create a way for babies to fall gently to sleep. So with blinding speed, I carve into the ready wand the requisite runes. Obviously, a sleep rune scavenged from the book of runes the shape of a closed eye, along with a paired set of runes made to transfer the outlined effects to the end of an invisible ray. All elegantly twining around a third of the wand. I sigh, wishing that I could test it out, but I can¡¯t waste that much time going to sleep, so it¡¯ll have to go into battle as a prototype. Even if I dearly desire to turn it on myself. Even if I apparently don''t need to sleep, it''s still not healthy to ignore your body. But now that I know the piece de resistance of the wand, I should consider the idea that¡¯s been swirling around in my mind. The reason I only carved a third of the wand. That new idea formed around the recharge function. It is its own mini enchantment placed on the same enchantment, that uses entirely different concepts than the original enchantment. This means that the issue of it being impossible, or at the very least not possible yet, to cast two different spells of different types can be solved. And I can slap multiple enchantments on one wand so that it can do many things. So now that I have a new enchantment, what other enchantments would be suitable to also be on a nonlethal weapon? Hmm, I need to move around, and if I¡¯m going to be holding a wand, I can¡¯t exactly windwave with it to quickly push myself around. So why don¡¯t I also add a feature to blast me around? I already have several wind-blaster wands, so all I have to do is copy it over! Easy peasy lemon squeezy; all I have to do is Button-Air-Target/Point-Blast. So with frankly mind-numbing ease, I do just that. Grabbing a blank wand from the ones you can find everywhere, the things ruinously easy to access. I create the standard enchantment that I could practically do in my sleep and fire it off at the ground! Only for me not to budge an inch while the stray bits of iron dust on the factory floor get swept away. I groan, remembering my earlier discovery with the imaginary fire. What I produce with wands is not the actual substance but rather something closer to the idea of the substance, and those who created the rune didn''t know about Newton''s Third Law. Thankfully enough, it is easy to fix; all I have to do is add a Permanent rune, and then the air will respond to the laws of physics. So with a quick, practiced motion, I carve the Permanent rune and then connect it to the Air rune in a continuous cycle. Before pressing the button on the practice wand, pushing off the floor, and tumbling into the astral sky. I twist and turn, swiveling about so that I don''t crash into the lattice ceiling, roaring uproariously as I see glimpses of the beauty of the astral expanse and the machines chugging along in the background of a frozen-over planet of meat. Falling onto the floor like a leaf on the wind setting back down onto the ground, I wipe away a tear of joy. With a giggle still on my face, I get back to my desk and start working on the next enchantment to be added to the wand. A wall enchantment, due to the simple fact that being able to quickly create metal, and ice means that I would gain superiority battlefield control-wise easily anywhere. I could put walls in front of a charging golem, and then hold it down with a crag of ice. I could use walls to box in an impending explosion, to create platforms to navigate around, and surfaces to walk on. A wall-summoning enchantment would be really useful. But as I look through the targeting section of the book, I realize that I''ve got a massive problem on my hands, simply put, how the hell does the wall work? It¡¯s not like the enchantment can read my mind. But if I were to do some type of measurement, I would only be able to summon walls like 5 ft away from me, and if I was being bum-rushed and then they went closer than 5ft I would be screwed. I would most likely be able to eventually work around it, but it would create quite the obvious flaw that others could easily exploit. And I can¡¯t exactly make a standard cone shape or line like my usual wands because then I would probably just summon a spray of metal walls, creating more of a shrapnel blaster wand than a wall maker. Hmm, but one thing other than that would be the ray enchantment I used for the sleep one; it doesn¡¯t have any distance for the effect, and with the paired enchantment it does so on its surface. It would also create a problem, but it doesn¡¯t have such an obvious solution as to simply get closer to me. Grabbing a blank wand in order to test my idea out I scribe onto it. Button-Ray-Target/Point-Reaction/Hit-Metal-Permanent-Shape/Wall. And blast the nearby ice with the enchantment. An invisible ray shoots out of the tip of the wand, hitting the surface of the icy planet, and out of the point pops out a wall! Embedded in the ice in the entirely wrong direction. I facepalm, groaning into my hands as I smell the specter of a difficult tweaking period. My eyes twitch as I grab another empty wand, ready to try again. Well, the problem seems to be alignment, but it should be easily solved due to someone spending an extensive amount of time creating math-related runes. And it wasn''t basic either hells, I don''t think I could find a better one before the golden age of islam and the invention of calculas. Something that happens thousands of years after these events. Considering how much they''ve done for me I should really figure out who took the time to make the dozens of series of runes, necessary to have a fully functional magical mathematical system. And thankfully enough, that kind benefactor also made an angle rune series. So if I just add a rune in there so that I summon it at a 90 degree angle, I should be fine. But, hmm, I don¡¯t have any runes to alter with the Angle/Quarter. Well, I do have the option of using the Summon rune, but that would be dangerously off course. The summon rune, when paired with the fact that spirits are real, is apparently made to summon spirits of various strength. Which I doubted earlier, but given that I can literally fucking see spirits outside my windows, I obviously don¡¯t doubt their existence now. But with a sigh, I go through with the plan; the option in front of me. I put onto the wand Button-Ray-Target/Point-Reaction/Hit-Summon=Angle/Quarter-Metal-Permanent-Shape/Wall onto the wand. Before, with a lazy flick, I shoot it at the ice floor out side, only for it curiously to summon a wall at a perfect 90-degree angle. But it has nothing to do with the floor and everything to do with me. As it is summoned, not in alignment with the floor but to me, again embedding the conjured wall in the ice, as it forces itself into existence in an extremely out of place fashion. I sigh, bemoaning the incredible specificity required to make an enchantment and not completely and utterly fuck it up. And with every additional complexity, the time required to perfect the enchantment increases. No, I need to solve this now, aligning it properly will probably take days of experimentation, days that I don''t have, so what solution can I implement now? Looking at the plates wedged into the ice, the real problem with this enchantment isn¡¯t that it isn¡¯t aligned with the ground it¡¯s that it¡¯s flimsy, hell I can see it wiggling around in the crunched ice right now! So if I just make them stay in place, it should be okay enough. I can¡¯t melt them in place considering the many environments I could use this in, but what else could I do? Hmm, if the problem is that it doesn¡¯t stick, then let¡¯s use the Sticky rune so that it essentially glues itself to surrounding things. Frantically, with a grin on my face, I carve into the metal of yet another wand. Button-Ray-Target/Point-Reaction/Hit-Summon-Metal=Sticky-Permanent-Shape/Wall. And blast it into the ice! It forms a wall that looks exactly the same as before, so I carefully approach and poke at the metal wall with my wand to see if it would budge, but when I touch it, I am surprised when I cannot pull it away! I grin looking at the success before hooting and hollering, blasting the want everywhere! Little 5 by 5 sticky metal walls embedding themselves into the ground and sticking to the ice around them, as I conjure dozens of my now successful walls. And with a whistle, I spin around the wand before blowing away imaginary smoke. But as I look at the landscape, I sigh, suddenly realizing that I''m going to have to fix this random ass mess myself, before logging in my notebook the success of both the theoretical enchantments and the greater multifunction prototype. And frankly, this is only the start of what I could do with this wand. It has multiple buttons that could theoretically be pressed at the same time, allowing for multiple effects at once. I could push someone that I¡¯m putting to sleep so that they don¡¯t clobber me with momentum or create walls for me to push off with my wind, I can¡¯t exactly combine the wall and sleep considering I would most likely just be punching an unconscious person with a wall, but these multimodal, more complicated enchantments can be extremely useful. This is the start of my journey toward better, more complex enchantments that create intricate effects. So with a burning fire in my heart I grab another wand from the dozens I made with a mold, and carve anew, forging my own path with ferocity. ¡ª Ch 23.2 Gathering AUUUGH!" I groan, my mind feeling like someone took the nearest cheese grater and turned it into nothing but shreds. Rubbing my head, I look around me only to see nothing but piles upon piles of iron plates. I groan again, not from my brain but from the jabbing sharp edges of the iron plates digging into my back. Wincing all the way, I slowly clamber up, having to deal with the unsteady surface that is just a bunch of iron plates thrown this way and that. But eventually, I get up and hobble back to the table. Rubbing my lower back I sit down and am quite delighted to be greeted by the sight of my work. Headache almost, almost forgotten, I squeal with delight as I grab the plate and hold it up to my eyes. Seeing the three runes I managed to make before I conked out. First there is the set of simplified round glasses commonly found in all of them, but in the center of the first there is a bloom. Infused into the very ideas of the enchantment is the orange emotion of Hidden Beauty. Which frankly, was not the intention, but this is magic, there¡¯s bound to be some fucky wucky shit. Then, seeing the other rune, its lenses filled a strange jagged question mark. Left off kilter, not aligned with the rest of the glasses, I can feel the power born of Oddity. Not of one that seeks to fix oddity but one fascinated by it. Next I see the final rune, and I scratch my head because, inside the depths of the runic glasses, is the image of a piece of paper. And unlike the others, I can¡¯t guess at its usage, but hey, that¡¯s what testing is for. I grab the plate and wedge it into the crook of my arm before bouncing over to my forge. A sturdy design of hot steel, enumerable enchantments, and dozens of little hammers perfect for any occasion. Or at the very least any occasion I¡¯ve dealt with so far. Stepping inside, I quickly grab a handful of iron dust. I have been using iron so far due to its greater ease in engraving and its far lower melting point. Despite steel being a far better option. Because when I tried to use steel as my main metal, many questions came to mind. For example, if I can melt steel, wouldn¡¯t I also melt the stuff that¡¯s melting the steel? And how would I differentiate the two metals when they are in a mold? While I do have a small supply of steel tools, for most purposes, iron is far easier to work with, and thus better. But rather than discussing the pros and cons of my various metals, I should actually get something done. So I start by grabbing a pair of insulating gloves and putting them on before stuffing the steel dust into an ingot mold, then quickly tossing them into the forge. I wait until the metal has melted into a liquid before grabbing the mold with a pair of tongs and taking it out of the tube-shaped forge. Then I wait again for the metal to cool down, for sadly the vast majority of forging is waiting and moving around metal. And once the metal is cherry red but solid, I take a special tool and slap the ingot out of the mold and onto my anvil. Made of hammered-together steel nails melted together with my heatbeam. Grabbing a large hammer off of a hook embedded in the wall of the smithy. I hammer the metal until it is nice and flat, and thin, before slowly hammering it longer and longer until it¡¯s around a forearm and a half long. And then, grabbing the metal with my tongs, I flip it so that the edge meets the anvil''s surface and hammer the metal until it folds into itself, becoming a little bit thicker. I repeat this process until it¡¯s about as thick as a computer cable, in a wobbly band around half a finger deep, and a finger wide. Grabbing a piece of steel in the rough cut out of my head, I wind the steel band around the cut out, until the two ends meet. Noticing that the band was a bit too long, I hammer the ends together and then hammer the top of the bands until they are uniform in width. Standing back and admiring my work with a nod, my hair moving forward with my head almost leading to disaster before I hastily grabbing my curly hair and put it back where it belongs. I sigh, having saved my beautiful, beautiful hair from a gruesome death by fire. And with that crisis solved I pop the metal band out of the cutout grab it with my tongs and dunk it with a hiss into a barrel of water. Tapping my foot, I wait until it¡¯s cool enough to handle before grabbing it with my hands, and then carefully scratching in the runes into the little steel crown. I had thought of making glasses, but the design was so annoying when I thought about it that I decided to go with a flatter crown. Way easier to wear, enchant, and as a bonus I get to wear a goddamn crown! But I must get back to my work so squinting quite intently, I grab my smallest styles and carefully scratch onto the front of the crown 3 Button/Switch runes. The frontmost one on the right side leading to the mystery rune; the next leading to the Oddity Rune, and the last leading to the Beauty rune. Allowing me to easily tap between different modes of sight. And as a last bonus, I slap on a self-healing enchantment so that it doesn¡¯t get screwed up, before putting it on. I pull the steel band onto my head, my long, curly hair compressing against my skull until it makes a nice fit. It isn¡¯t perfect; one side of the band bends a little bit into my head, but it¡¯ll be good enough. I tap on the last rune, and suddenly, when I see my hands, I don¡¯t just see my beautiful ebony skin; I can see the bones underneath, a rolling series of intricate ivory pieces attached to a dazzling array of muscles. I move my hands, but as I do so, the illusion breaks, and I instead see all the little flaws in my forge walls forming the pattern of a snowflake, none of them buffed out by a self-repair enchantment. I quickly flutter my eyes closed before turning off the enchantment. It seems that the enchantment essentially allows me to visually see details as long as they are beautiful to me. Quite interesting, it could be useful for looking at the mechanics behind an item. I could see what¡¯s behind a box by finding it fascinating and whatnot. Although I will have to be careful the state seems to be a bit delicate. Next, I press the Oddity button, and all around me, I see little objects highlighted, like a video game perk that allows you to see all the ammo caches, except I instead see what is off. The hammer hook that was placed a bit lower than all the others or the one enchantment inside my forge that¡¯s a little bigger than all the others. But I can''t see the oddity for its flaws but for its beauty: the mismatched hammer flowing into the image of a wave falling onto the water, the slightly larger enchantment forming a strange pattern with it at its center. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Hmm, this is obviously powerful. All the little bits of oddity allow me to see any flaws or anything out of place. Allowing me to have powerful investigative capabilities through this enchantment. But strangely enough, it doesn''t seem to like me seeing the flaws, pushing my thoughts away from the more practical approaches to this. Oh well, I guess I''ll just have to learn how to push through it. With that done, I tap it off and press the final button, and before my eyes, dozens of panels of text unfold. Any gaze at anything from the pair of tangs to an enchantment brings up a bit about its dimensions, weathering, and a whole bunch of other random bits of information. As if the world seeks to teach me everything about the most mundane of items. Ugh, I turn it off. The information overwhelming. I rub my eyes; it looks like it would be very useful considering that it seems like a limited form of scrying. It feels a lot like accessing the the sea of knowledge, yet it doesn¡¯t pull out a scene but rather all the other random bits that I usually can¡¯t process. Not that I can process this either, I think. Well, it might get better over time, although it does make me wonder what happens if I try to combine them. I gingerly activate all three enchantments before immediately wincing. My eyes dart from flaw to flaw, my entire vision covered in text as my eyes highlighted random bits of information. All of it oh so bright, and oh so overwhelming that I JUST CAN¡¯T TAKE IT! UGH, I quickly close my eyes. My previous headache worsening as another comes in. I quickly tap all the runes off. Before rubbing my head and inadvertently turning the enchantments back on. I swiftly turn them off again, but I groan realizing that it is going to take a bit to get used to these new methods of sight. But it looks like I¡¯ve got the equipment I need; I just have to grab some things before I head out. So I speed towards my base and my extravagant, weird magical artifacts. ¡ª Done with my creations, I stumble through the base steadily, filling my backpack with nails, cloth, dust, my infinite binder, my duplicator, my infinite notebook, and all the other such things I usually bring. And in this autopilot state, I find myself holding a spoon, and I cannot let go of it, nor can I stop looking at it. For it is a murder weapon. I can dodge and run around the problem all I want, but I cannot deny that I murdered a sentient being with a fucking spoon. My heart beats fast in my chest, yet I do not breathe in; I just stare at the cursed thing. My eyes water as they strain to remain open, but I ignore the sensation; it¡¯s only right that I should feel just a little pain for what I did. My mind swirls in a useless eddy, thinking of excuses yet discarding them before I could even take any comfort in their lies. Disgust spreads throughout it all like ink in water, my mind rising up in despair and hatred, yet there is nowhere to put it. So with my eyes bloodshot from staring at this petty, useless thing, I crumple the iron into pieces. Disregarding the sharp thorns of iron, leaving furrows in my skin. For I refuse to leave this horrible thing on any part of this plane, I refuse to have anything to do with this at all, I refuse . . . . . . I huff and puff, staring at my ruined hands and the crumpled ball of metal, and I toss it into the astral expanse hatred still clouding my thoughts as I walk away, tears stuck in my eyes. ¡ª I frantically shake away tears, the astral expanses dreadful lack of gravity making them stick to my eyes, as I head to the junk rooms, looking for something, anything I can actually do. Because staring at my own mistakes won¡¯t help. But maybe trying to move past them will. And I can think of one way to do that: by not trying to fight the spirit of Mystery. And well, I do have one thing that is bound to be pretty rare: enchantments. And I doubt anyone will be copying them anytime soon; I essentially stared at the book containing the central tenants of how to make them for weeks and gained nothing. And because of my mistake, I have many gifts in the realm of language magic, instively understanding many things. If I couldn''t get it without help, no one could, at least not without also being extraordinarily gifted. So I have a pretty ginormous lever to pull and affect the spirit, but for me to have any credible things, I¡¯m going to need some proof, and I have one resource that I can easily mass produce that is pretty goddamn fantastic. The self-healing plates! And if they want to actually have them be useful, they¡¯ll need me to activate and install them. Because if the enchantment is activated, any attempt to attach or alter the material gets violently stopped. So they will need me for any use they make of me, allowing me to get close and talk more. Using the tea party, I can get the spirit of curdled anger to essentially introduce me to him as partners. And then I would negotiate using my enchantments for the release of the captives. But I¡¯m going to need some backups, and some offerings to get to the point where I can actually do that, so what do I have to offer to a spirit of mystery. Obviously there is mystery itself, but I¡¯m not willing to tear bits of myself out for favors like that shaman guy. I shiver in fear and disgust at the very idea before continuing my thread of thought. But do I need to give him the idea, or is it just a mystery? Because I think with a smile on my face, I certainly have a lot of mysteries, including one that has a physical form. I sweep through the astral expanse, tugging at the technique of windwaving so that I might feel the mysterious fluid I float in. Before grasping my shoulders and freezing solid a chunk of it with my Shiver technique. I grab at it, thinking that this will serve as a good foot in the door gift, but I may need something other than these two in case of an emergency. I tap at my chin, floating among the corridors of my base, my hair sprawling out in its glorious curls. Thinking of various items I have with a large stockpile before coming to an idea. "My wands, I have a crap ton of them everywhere that I have no real use for," I say. But even as I say the words, doubt starts to creep in as I come across one fact: I¡¯m not going to become an astral arms dealer. I don¡¯t wish to be personally responsible for the deaths of orphans, but that doesn¡¯t necessarily ruin my wand idea however. For didn¡¯t I just make a nonlethal wand? So all I have to do is show it off, and then mass produce a weaker version later. But in the end, for all this talk of negotiation, I can¡¯t seem weak, which is why I¡¯m bringing the big guns along. ¡ª For there is one last thing I need that I¡¯m definitely not leaving behind. The armor that I slaved over for weeks, and I must say it is truly magnificent. Made out of super-dense iron plates, it is a series of thin yet extremely theoretically heavy plates, with scale armor in between them, making it look like I am stuck in a decorated boiler. The helmet is attached to the round breastplate with a generous slit for the eyes made possible by shaved, clear mystic ice. All decorated with little designs on the ends and, of course, enchantments, oh so, oh so many enchantments. On the inner part of the back of the chest plate there is pasted a gigantic rune of healing made as large as possible, nearly reaching the edges of the plate. But it¡¯s not to repair the armor; no, no, no, it¡¯s to repair me. The thing is, if someone made a healing enchantment, I doubt that they made it to repair metal. So when put to its real purpose and made as powerful as possible, I don¡¯t doubt that my body will soon be fixed as fast as my ship! But that¡¯s not even close to the really interesting parts of the armor; a better look would be at the gauntlets and boots. For on the boots, there is a little switch attached to the bottom of my boot that I can move with my toes, which is actually, funnily enough, a pretty standard blaster enchantment. It just sends out a continuous stream of rock with great force. But considering that they are on my feet, and that each and every force has an equal and opposite reaction. The souped-up blaster wands can essentially be used like rocket boots! Since it¡¯s essentially the same idea but replacing the jet fuel for an infinite supply of rocks, due to me not wanting to roast anything that I approach but in a pinch the boots can be used as an emergency blaster wand. Turning me into a discount magic Iron Man in magic space. Able to blast my way through the cosmos in my literal iron suit. I laugh because, strangely enough, the Iron Man suit hasn''t been made of iron for decades, but I get back to the discussion. Additionally, my innovative design is not done yet for the gauntlet¡¯s hold blasters! I made it so that on the side of the gauntlet there is a Button/Switch rune that activates on the right side. An extremely concentrated heat beam courtesy of a modified heat-aura technique. And on the left, the gauntlet generates at a simple touch a stream of cold so solid that the entire line of the aura is more like waving around a slab of ice. But best of all, along the entire outside of the armor, is an intricate set of absorption runes. Because the thing is, if the runes that power the charging essentially receive Energy like any and all energy, so much so that the recomended way to use physical energy to recharge an enchantment is to use lightning bolts. Then wouldn¡¯t that be some of the best armor around, an armor that would absorb any attack to power the similarly gigantic battery that all the other enchantments are powered by? It¡¯s a bit of a glass cannon considering that I couldn¡¯t fit any metal healing enchantments due to me needing to place them on each individual piece of metal, but does that really matter when your armor literally EATS the attacks of your enemies. I smile, the expression hidden by the black iron of my helmet¡ªsolid, protected. I feel invincible in this armor, and I hope to prove it true. So with a flip of my hair through the empty back of my helmet, I flip the switch on the inside of my boots, blast off the meat planet, and head out so that no one shall suffer as I have. Ch. 24 A Strange and Twisting Road. Flying through the astral expanse, I quickly leave my own sphere of influence, a quite literal sphere considering that all around my home is a thin white bubble. Switching off my boots with my toes, I float outside the comfort of my home. Hah, it''s so strange that my home is a rudimentary spaceship attached to a frozen planet of meat floating in the midst of a bubble. I laugh, almost feeling as if I should rub my hands, like someone waiting in the driveway in the midst of the cold. But it is no use for me; I am encased in steel with the only real weakness being the bits around the back of the helm where I had to add a slit for my hair. Either way, how am I going to get to that spirit of mystery? It¡¯s not like I have a map, and while that shaman, Patient Bridge told me that the other spirit could guide me. He didn¡¯t exactly say how. And additionally, from what I remember from my dive into the shaman''s memories, the spirit of curdled anger is very far away, so much so that the shaman had to essentially reach into another dimension to find her. Or, thinking back to it more accurately, through something more than the third dimension. Hmm, how does that even work? Humanity and the rest of the intergalactic community have been trying to access useful dimensions for ages, and some random bloke can just yank someone through one. Well, if he can, then certainly I could, and hmm, maybe I ca- I am suddenly interrupted by a strange sight, as the spirit comes into view, their visage slowly coming into sight, as if they were going out from beneath a cover of the astral expanse. Looking almost exactly like the ant that just slid out of view. But I am not taken aback by that fact, but rather by how different it is from my perspective compared to the shamans. Rather than a little fairy, it looks more like someone stuffed a snake, a firework, and a centipede into a blender and set the poor creature that stumbled out of the blender on fire! Its body made out of the same stuff as blooms, in dull pinks, pulsing reds, and bleeding yellows, all as bright as a flashbang. Leading to quite the eyesore as the spirit hisses and spits as it spins in place as if an ouroboros was formed from the sparkling end of a firework. Yet despite its new and surprising appearance, it retains that same grating voice as it shrieks, "GET OVER HERE, YOU DAZZLER," while gesturing with its spinning body for me to get closer. Reluctantly, I approach, heading closer to the spirit, before I am quickly surprised as a tunnel of red magic snaps around us and we both get dragged forward as if we were standing atop a car along the highway. Alarmed I cautiously examine the strange apparatus I find myself in. The magic looks as if someone had wrapped a film much like the one around my home around us and turned it into some form of strange, twisting tunnel, rocketing us to our destination. Hmm, I wonder if it''s the same magic. But seeing nothing that looks like it wouldn''t kill me and slightly reassured that this isn''t just a death trap, I look again at the tiny little snake, shining like a firework, as it rockets around in place. "So what do you know about Patient Bridge?" I ask, trying to get the spirit to divulge a little bit about the man almost certain to screw me over. The spirit turns to me, the violent reactions within its body heating up as it spits out, "YOU BETTER NOT BE TRYING TO COZY UP TO HIM, HE¡¯S MINE, MINE!" I quickly put my hands up, not about to get into an argument with someone I literally just met, but I can¡¯t say anything before the spirit of curdled anger starts to screech again. "I¡¯LL FIGHT, I¡¯LL FIGHT, STAY AWAY FROM MY HUMAN I FOUND HIM FIRST!" The spirit says with an ear-piercing screech that is clearly quite defensive. Amused I reassure the spirit, "I¡¯m not here to take yo man; I just need from him a spell and some knowledge, and then I can back off" I¡¯m not exactly going to stay allied to the man whose people¡¯s history essentially paints them as the ultimate backstabber. I don¡¯t blindly trust the information given; it''s from a biased source, but frankly, I¡¯m going to stay safe. Although I probably should figure out how to get some company while I figure out how to get out of here. Maybe I should talk to some spirits? Whoopsy daisy, the spirit is still there! I look back at them as they slowly stop spinning and hissing with such intensity and, with a humph, turn away from me to look at their curving, twisting tunnel. I sort of float awkwardly in my immensely protective armor as the conversation dwindles to nothing at all. The space between us as silent as the grave. My eyes nearly glaze over in boredom as I stare at the red film that makes up this strange tunnel. And with nothing to do, all I can do is examine my environment. Examining the strange, curving tunnel, I ponder what the hell it''s made of, not that it has to be made of anything in particular. But it is a bit reminiscent of actually my domain. And frankly, if it were something like a domain, this technique would make sense. Considering that domains are techniques that essentially tweak the rules in their confines, a skilled user could probably tweak their way into transportation. But why use a domain? Those usually either take a while to make or require a ton of emotions just tossed into the astral. And how did they change the domain or turn it into a tunnel. Frankly, if my theory is correct, this is a pretty impressive piece of magic. But considering the impossibility of just asking for their technique, I should turn my mind to a more actionable question. Like, how is it moving us? Are we just moving really fast, and not breaking into pieces because, well, there is nothing to break us into pieces, or is the spirit somehow compressing space? Well, I have the tools to investigate. Taking off my helmet, I tap on the Sight/Analyze button and reexamine the strange film. A burst of screens comes across my eyes, as overwhelming and painful as always, yet I resolutely grab a few bits before closing my eyes and turning off the enchantment. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Unknown film, measurements 1m long wrapped into a tube.
Unknown film, sideways.
Unknown film, domain of IGBNJOWHNJADA, contains properties of time.
What the fuck! We¡¯re moving via timey-wimey shenanigans? How does that even work? Are we in slowed down time, are we moving faster by having m/s have a smaller second or something? Am I going to age ultra-fast, or is this going to take decades? The implications of being able to screw with time are endless. But frankly, I can¡¯t really do anything about it. So let¡¯s turn to more relevant questions about the domain. Like how the hell it works. Hmm, an interesting question is: what would happen if I were to poke out of the domain? Would my hand flop about like a dog poking its head out of a window. Would I pop the domain like a bubble? Or have my fingers been torn off by it moving at two separate speeds? No, no, I shouldn¡¯t do that. There''s no air to flap my hands, popping the domain would piss off the spirit. And obviously, tearing my own hand off would be terrible. ¡­ I hear nothing but the random hisses of the volatile spirit leading the way. I do nothing. I see nothing but this damned film. ¡­ Mustering after dwelling in this cursed silence. I determine that, in the spirit of science, I must test this out! And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I am bored out of my mind, no siree. So with a slow, tentative reach, my gauntleted hands approach the film. Only to be slapped away by the spirit with strength belying its tiny size. I look at the feisty little thing, miffed at its quite firm rebuke of my SCIENCE! "OI DON¡¯T TOUCH MY HOUSE LIKE THAT, DECKED OUT LIKE YOU ARE, YOUR ARMOR WILL SLURP IT UP TILL THERE¡¯S NOTHING LEFT!" The spirit says And frankly, that¡¯s quite reasonable considering that if I touched it with how my armor is enchanted, it might eat it wholesale. But how the hell did she know what the enchantment did? Uh, how did you know what my armor does? Can you read the runes?" I ask, my voice echoing how confused I am. The spirit laughs like a scraping explosion before saying "NAH I CAN JUST FEEL IT, THE HUNGER, THE DEVOURING INHERENT TO IT. WHY WOULD I KNOW WHAT YOUR WORTHLESS BLATHERINGS SAY, WHAT USE DO I HAVE FOR LANGUAGE." Hmm, interesting, although this does bring up something else that is quite strange¡ªhow in the hells am I talking to these people? It took me fuckloads of time to just relearn English; how in the hell are both Patient Bridge and this spirit talking to me in a language that they have no right to understand. So, spirit, how are you even speaking to me if you never bothered to learn a language?" I ask quizzingly. The spirit faintly amused, and uncharacteristically quiet says "Shouldn¡¯t you know it is part of your R???????????????????????e???????????????????????????????????????????????????????A??????????????????????????????????????c????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????h????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????, the innate gifts of the astral. For your perspective can¡¯t be challenged if you cannot interact." I am taken aback and even more confused than before, but when my mind has the time to process it, it makes a little bit of sense. That those who arrive at the astral plane get a gift package of magic. Otherwise, how the hell have I not starved to death? But it does make some extremely confusing things come to mind, like, is the astral designed? Why would tools specifically built for communication be just tossed out to everyone? And why did the last shaman starve to death if apparently the astral has a gift package? Well, I think clasping my gauntleted hands together, if I want to get some information on that, I¡¯m going to need to talk, and for that, I at the very least need to know their names. So while it might be as painful as usual to ask for someone''s name mid-conversation, I have to go through with this. Speeding along the apparent tunnel of time, I sheepishly rub my helmet with my gauntlets before just deciding to go ahead and ask, "So what¡¯s your name? I didn¡¯t catch one, and frankly, it is really awkward to just call you by what is essentially your description." "My title is perfectly fine," the spirit says, oddly subdued, and with this, I realize that this is a no-go area. So instead I ask, "What¡¯s your favorite thing to do then?" hoping to start some small talk. The spirit much more comfortable with this topic of conversation says, "OH, MY MOST BELOVED THING TO DO IS TO FIND THE SPIRIT OF PEACE THAT IS MY MOST DREADFUL NEIGHBOR AND MINORLY INCONVENIENCE THEM" Confused I nod for the spirit to continue talking. "YOU KNOW, TAKE AWAY THINGS WHEN THEY AREN¡¯T LOOKING, REROUTE COMMUNICATIONS SO THAT THEY MUST REPEAT THEMSELVES WHEN SPEAKING, AND WHENEVER THEY ATTEMPT TO MOVE AWAY, I PLACE MY DOMAIN RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEIRS." The spirit shrieked with glee, looking for all the world as if they were rubbing their hands together like a cheap villain. Despite not having any. I stand befuddled, truly puzzled, at why they would bother, before remembering what they are a spirit of. They embody that tiny bit of anger that stays forever like a dead coal still burning in the forest long after the fires are out. It makes sense for it to do such tiny, petty things, and it¡¯s not really hurting anyone who cares. But the spirit doesn¡¯t stop; it continues with "AND WITH MY TINY SLIGHTS I RUIN THE SPIRIT¡¯S IDEAL OF PEACE, SLOWLY BUT SURELY DESTROYING THEIR BEING." I am taken aback at the sudden turn toward ego death and am incredibly disturbed. But I can¡¯t exactly express my moral qualms here. But her words bring up something very interesting. Spirits have neighbors? Because if so, that means that there must be rudimentary communities, and frankly, I doubt that whatever the shaman comes back with will instantly solve my problems. So some spirits to help workshop solutions would be really helpful. And above all else, I need some goddam company so I don''t go completely and utterly insane, so with a faint tone of desperation, I ask the spirit, Uh, how do I introduce myself to some more spirits, get involved in the Astral PTA meetings, and all that?" The spirit, looking confused, gestures around, saying, "You introduce yourself all the time; hell, you¡¯re kind of well-known for constantly giving out your information. You even gave the entirety of your morals to a rock. You really should control yourself more." I am momentarily confused before everything clicks into place, my scrying, my unpeeling. It¡¯s not a simple taking of information; it¡¯s an exchange! And I¡¯ve essentially been giving my number to all the spirits that I can see, and with my observatory, I can see them from pretty far away. I facepalm, my iron gauntlets clattering against my helmet as I sink into despair and embarrassment. I was essentially handing everyone on the street my business card, sliding it underneath bathroom stalls, and throwing it all over the floor. But as I despair at my own foolishness, the spirit zips in front of my face its snakelike form made out of hissing and spitting clouds, looking strangely sympathetic? "HEY IF YOU REALLY, REALLY, WANT TO POP ONTO THE SCENE, YOU SHOULD DO A DEBUT, WHERE YOU INVITE A BUNCH OF SPIRITS WHO INVITE OTHER SPIRITS INTO YOUR DOMAIN, AND SHOW OFF IN FRONT OF EVERYONE," The spirit says their voice buzzing as she flits around in front of my face. "I LOVED MY DEBUT I GOT TO BE SO SPARKLY AND SO CHARMINGLY VICOUS. MANY OF MY NETWORKING PARTNERS WERE MADE AT THAT DEBUT," the spirit says with obvious fondness, almost crooning as they think back. I blink within the confines of my helmet, surprised at this sudden turn of events. But I¡¯m not the type of person to let go of opportunities like a chump so I leap for the opening with full force. "Thank you, that seems like a grand idea," I say in my very best attempt to be diplomatic. It would behoove me to not piss off my partner in crime. Considering we are about to sa- The spirit unprompted then says, "WHEN YOU DO YOUR DEBUT, COUNT ME IN!" Pleasantly surprised, I smile and say, "I would be glad to have you there." We barreled through the tunnel of the domain of the spirit in a much more pleasant silence than before. And frankly, I¡¯m glad for it, since it means I don¡¯t have to ta- "WHERE DO YOU GET ALL THE MATERIALS?" The spirit asks with all the implied shoulder nudging that implies a from one spirit to another vibe. I don¡¯t say anything in response but I don¡¯t need to as the spirit continues with "I DON¡¯T HAVE ANY WORSHIPERS SO NONE HAVE SACRIFICED ANY USEFUL ITEMS TO ME, IT MAKES ME BURN WITH ANGER! IT MUST BE SO NICE TO HAVE SUCH A ROBUST CULT." I attempt to interrupt, raising a finger, but the spirit simply bulldozes over my words as they say, "AND UGHHHH, EVEN IF I COULD TRY TO INFLUENCE THOSE IN MY REACH ANY CULT WOULD PROBABLY BE STAMPED OUT IN THE CRADLE. THE AGE OF THE SHAMAN TRULY IS A BUMMER." Seeing that any attempt at a more ordinary conversation would be firmly rebuked, I take it all in before saying, Well, I actually don¡¯t have a cult." The spirit says "REALLY" in an extremely strange tone before I continue. "I instead have many types of enchantments that make infinite materials, and if you make it worth my while in favors, you can have some," I say, leaving the door open to more talks in the future. "WOW, THAT¡¯S REAL NEATO. WHEN WE¡¯RE DONE WITH THIS, I¡¯LL TAKE YOU UP ON THAT, BUT WE¡¯RE HERE." The spirit says before the red veil falls. Revealing a gray cloud covering a stone structure that defies all reasonable ideas of 3D earth. But despite the new things I see, it is still very much familiar. "WAIT! Isn''t this the cloud that kept teleporting me around?" Ch.25.1 The Negotiation ¡°I¡¯ve seen this fucker before. He was quite the desirable prise, but I failed due to him always teleporting away!¡± I say enraged at the dual reminders of failure, both in my attempt and in what that attempt was: murder. The spirit curling in as they chuckle in schadenfreude says ¡°YEAH THEY TRULY ARE QUITE ANNOYING TO REACH, BUT I HAVE ALREADY RELEASED MY EMBER, AND ALTHOUGH THEY REFUSE TO DEVOUR, MELD, OR PREACH THEY ARE PLEASANT ENOUGH COMPANY, BRINGING MUCH JOY¡± Noticing a quite interesting tidbit, I ask, ¡°Why would they need any of that?¡± I wait expectantly, only for the spirit to look at me like I am an idiot. They gaze at me as if they suddenly wished that they had hands so that they might facepalm before slowly saying, ¡°DUH, IF YOU WANT TO LIVE YOU¡¯VE GOT TO DO THAT STUFF. YOU AREN¡¯T GOING TO STAY IN THE MINDS OF OTHERS BY DOING NOTHING, TO LIVE AND GROW YOU MUST CAPTIVATE.¡± My eyes widen as lots of other tiny pieces click together in my mind, the truth revealed. What happens to the people who create the emotion that leaks to this side? Wouldn¡¯t the- But before I can think further, taking advantage of my distraction and unwilling to wait, the spirit curls around my arm and pulls me toward the structure. In a very dignified screech, I am dragged through the mystery spirits domain, expecting to be teleported halfway across the astral expanse, but nothing happens. The fog parting strangely around both of us as we fall into a gray stone doorway, before plopping on the floor. I dust off my shoulders, my armor clanging as I realize this quite obvious thing. This domain has gravity! Oooh, that is fascinating; it must be for the servants it keeps around. It took me ages to get used to the lack of gravity, and why train your mercenaries in astral combat if you can just solve it? Additionally, the fact that we have a similar perspective of a void is very strange. Considering how mine was built from living a life in the spacefaring age, a time far from the age of shamans, as the spirit said this period is called. But either way, we walk down the stone hall¡ªor rather, I walk and the spirit flies¡ªas we approach a light at the end of the hallway. I step through to a sight that¡¯s becoming strangely familiar¡ªsomething that is utterly insane yet still beautiful. For I step into the room, and I see not one walkway but seven, a spiraling impossible reflection. Suspended in the air are stone roads spiraling off my point, bending and twisting around it in a strange design hidden from my eyes. The design is so impossible and so confusing that any attempt to understand it brings nothing but pain and madness. Like trying to figure out the design of a needle from its point. I spin, looking at all the hallways connecting to the other sides of this room, my jaw dropping as I gesture to the spirit, asking with my eyes what the fuck are we supposed to do now. ¡°STOP WHINING, I KNOW THE WAY, BUT WHILE WE¡¯RE HERE, I SHOULD TELL YOU THE PLAN,¡± the spirit says, rolling its sorry excuse for eyes. Upon hearing of a solution, I gasp in relief at being freed of this affront to physical reality, before I realize what she said. I stare at them in disbelief, but before I can protest, they continue. ¡°OKAY, HERE¡¯S THE DEAL: I SPEAK TO THE SPIRIT, AND WHILE THEY¡¯RE DISTRACTED, YOU SNEAK INTO WHEREVER ALL THE PEOPLE ARE AND RESCUE THEM.¡±SOUNDS GOOD, RIGHT!" The spirit shrieks, their blas¨¦ tone not matching the reality of trying to find and rescue people in this mess. But I¡¯m not going to try that anyway, considering that I have a much better tool on my side: money! ¡°I understand your perspective,¡± I say, clasping my hands together as I turn towards them. ¡°But no, I am not going to do that; I¡¯m not a beast; I will negotiate for their release; there is no need for violence,¡± I say in the most condescending tone I can conjure. But when I say this, the spirit does not react as it should. They look at me intently, almost as if I were making a joke, before laughing out loud, their ridiculous screeching turning it into a sound reminiscent of a car being crushed to pieces. I try to speak up, but before I can, they uncurl and say, with a hint of hysteria, ¡°REALLY, IF PATIENT BRIDGE COULDN¡¯T TALK HIS WAY OUT, HOW COULD YOU? HE¡¯S THE BEST OF THE TALKY TALKIES TO COME OUT IN CENTURIES, AND THE ONLY ONE TO NOT TREAT US LIKE WE ARE PEOPLE, NOT TOOLS.¡± I sense a rush of anger come up spitting with all its newfound magical weight given my own building of anger magic, but I do not release it, and it slowly boils away. I am no expert in hostage negotiations. But I still have to do something. Well, I¡¯m still going; I¡¯m not going to stop just because someone else didn¡¯t succeed." I say puffing out my chest, trying to look like a valiant hero out to save the world. Only for all that energy to deflate when the spirit shrugs and says, ¡°ALRIGHT, IT IS NOT LIKE I HAVE ANY INVESTMENT, I CARE NOTHING FOR THEIR FATE.¡± I sigh, figuring out this spirit is a frustrating affair; it violently swings from one peak to the next with the force of a rampaging rhino. But well, I don¡¯t want to be in the way of one of those swings, so let¡¯s let it be, even if they have an alarming disregard for human life. ¡°So uh where the hells are we supposed to go?¡± I ask the spirit still quite confused by the insane apparatus we find ourselves in. The spirit simply floats over to an entrance, leading me to belatedly blast after them using my boots. We walk along the strange stone halls, but as we do, they slowly change, becoming more rough and sharp, giving them an appearance similar to what I imagine a cave wall would look like. And the entire time there is no division, just smooth melding. Fascinating! If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. But as I examine the walls, we continue to stride forward, and before long we reach our destination: a series of stone beads hanging along a plain stone doorway. But it is not the remarkable thing here. Rather, that is the people. Heavily armored and strangely short are two men who sweep over my figure with the eyes of a soldier. Examining me for any trace of danger. They each hold two spears, and what bits of skin I do glimpse from beneath their leather armor are strangely gleaming. As if they were polished bits of metal. I gulp nervously at the immediate threat of violence that those spears pose. But I do not have to be nervous long, for they both glance at the spirit before looking back at each other and standing to the side. The room is shockingly violently pink, with poofy lacy bits of fabric hanging from each piece of the egg-shaped room. Furniture that is also pink is tastefully arranged around an intricate tea set, which is, funnily enough, also pink. My eyes flatter rapidly as I take in the sheer throw it in your face levels of pink in the environment before approaching the epicenter of this strange room. They sit calm as pond scum, daintily sipping on an ornamented and delicate tea cup, nothing more than a silhouette of gray bleeding out into the world. As if someone cut out the outline of a man from reality, revealing a strange gray star. But I do not stare for long before he invites us over with a gesture. I sit down on the offered seats, sinking into the mountains of bedding as the spirit of curdled anger floats above a sea of their own. The spirit of mystery does a polite little cough before saying in the thickest British accent I¡¯ve ever heard, ¡°So whats about this then!¡± pointing towards me. My face twitches, desiring to scream. What the fuck? as I silently stare at the spirit. Speaking in an accent largely only kept by twits and actors. An accent that was made centuries in the future! The spirit of curdling anger cutting through my confusion introduces me with ¡°THIS IS THE GREAT SPIRIT OF LANGUAGE, SHE WHO HAS BROKEN HER CHAINS AND RISEN AGAIN.¡± Ah, that same spiel again; ugh, that¡¯s getting tiring. But when apparently names are a hot button issue, I shall have to deal with it. Gazing back over at the spirit of mystery, I see quite the odd expression¡ªthe contraction of the blazing power behind him¡ªthat my language instincts interpret as slight confusion. Before he coughs and says, ¡°Hogwash, the lady certainly bloody sure isn¡¯t a spirit.¡± I blink, taken aback, but refusing to say anything, for any weakness might get exploited and I¡¯m certainly not going to reveal my hand quite this early. Thankfully enough the conversation gets past that incident quickly, with the other spirit steadfastly ignoring the statement. ¡°But I do remember you! You were the bloke that tried to eat me with that dreadful spoon,¡± the spirit says, apparently quite indignant at being ignored. Various pieces start twitching, my fingers curling in and out, flexing my legs, and my eyes squeezing ever so slightly as I, with all the calm I can muster, say, ¡°I destroyed it, so there is no need to be afraid.¡± The spirit, taken aback for a moment, quickly returns to form before saying, ¡°Are you implying that I¡¯m bloody afraid of a goddamn spoon?¡° Sensing his dual fear and anger, I start to backpedal: ¡°No, it¡¯s just a spoon; it¡¯s more the idea behind it that I destroyed, an idea I hope is conveyed to you.¡± ¡°Hmpph, very well. So what¡¯s the situation with that dreadful spirit of peace that ignobale subject¡± The spirit of anger pleased to finally be talking about themselves says ¡°Ooooh I¡¯VE BEEN SCOOTING MY DOMAIN IN FRONT OF THEM WHEREVER THEY ARE SO THAT IF THEY WANT TO GO ANYWHERE THEY MUST TAINT THEMSELVES BY MELDING WITH ME. The spirit of mystery with an expression similar to spilling the tea claps before saying, ¡°Oh how cruel you vile thing, with how you¡¯ve been feuding with them, I don¡¯t doubt before the century is over they won¡¯t even be a spirit of peace. The spirit obviously pleased nods before getting on with their outpouring of small talk and gossip. But I couldn¡¯t care less; I likely could glean some strange tidbits from their exchange, but I need to get it together. I¡¯m not here to discuss spoons with the spirit; I¡¯m here to negotiate for the freedom of who knows how many people. I breathe in, and the rivers dry. I breathe out, and the rivers flood. In and out, slowly reaching equilibrium before I open my eyes clearer than before. With a cool mind, I take a long sip of my offered teacup, only to be quite pleasantly surprised by a perfectly ordinary Earl Gray. Although they are quite the luxury with the limited amount of land allotted for them and their refusal to taste good when replicated, I am very surprised that he managed to get his hands on any. Despite how common they should be. I sigh thinking of easier times when most of my problems were irritating border security, and social embarrassment. Now if I mess up here, I doom people to the same torture that I¡¯ve been going through all this time. But I have the power, so I have the responsibility to stop this. So I put down the surely ridiculously expensive and impossible cup of tea. Before making a dainty little cough, capturing the attention of both spirits. Ahem, although all of this is certainly ¡­ pleasant. I came here for other reasons, namely all the poor souls you have captured.¡± I say in my most calm and diplomatic tone. The spirit of mystery obnoxiously self-contained chuckles a bit before saying, ¡°What does the fate of those mortal blokes have to do with you? Leave it alone, and we can let this be.¡± In a huff, I say, ¡°I don¡¯t exactly need a reason other than the fact they were captured unjustly by you?¡± Another chortle from the gray silhouette grates through my ears before he says, ¡°Unjustly? You know not the circumstances, but as soon as I get my prize, I shall return them posthaste in as good a condition as can be.¡± Frustrated by my own lack of knowledge about the surrounding circumstances, I take a different tack, showing him my goods. Dropping my backpack from my shoulder, I pull out a hexagonal plate imbued with the ability to heal¡ªno runes required. Knowing that anyone presented with my plate would obviously attempt to copy the simple runes on its surface, I prepared a wand that would imbue the plate with a healing concept. Killing three birds with one stone by allowing me to both add healing to my armor, and keep my runes secret with an additional bonus. Additionally, if my products require imbuing, that means that any use would require me to regularly recharge and help in its production, giving me additional power over the whole affair. From secret information to a longer term relationship, this could be big. So I have to be big. I take the plate and promptly melt it with a quick beam of heat from my gauntlets. The gray silhouette scrambles backward but returns to calmness as they see that despite the power of the ray, it doesn¡¯t even penetrate the plate. ¡°In my hands is a regenerating hexagonal plate of iron, perfect for any type of construction required to keep you alive.¡± I say with a dazzling smile, summoning my inner saleswoman. The spirit, in a huff after scrambling backwards, gestures towards the walls, saying in an extremely condescending tone, ¡°Does it look like I need any more materials?¡± Gritting my teeth, I say, ¡°The material would be perfect for any security. Think of someone futilely trying to open a vault of yours only for all the damage to be reversed in seconds! And I have many, many plates to give you. If you release your captives, I would construct any one project you have, no matter how big, entirely in immortal plates.¡± The silhouette tries to speak, but before he does, I quickly hand him the plate so that he might inspect it himself. Of which he gives a cursory glance before throwing it behind his back, utterly unfazed by something that would make most other people foam at the mouth. Vaguely outraged but still holding a smile in my mouth, I say, Well, if you have defense taken care of, what about offense?" I pull out an elegant wand of craggled steel and runes. While the wands will need to be disguised before I give it to him, I can demonstrate their purpose fairly easily. Wincing, I say sorry in my mind before blasting one of the guards with my wand. Immediately they slump and fall, crumpling like a piece of paper as their partner emits a strangled scream, scrambling to catch them. The spirit does not move an inch but subtly radiates approval. I take a silent breath of relief before cutting it short as I see the gaze of utter hopelessness on the other guard. Fuck, I don¡¯t even know their names; And here I am instantly downing one and probably traumatizing the other. ¡°As you can see, any well-aimed shot means instantly disabling any opponent you may face. Plus, since it is only a sleep spell, you would be able to interrogate any victims fairly easily,¡± I say, my saleswoman face stuttering in the face of my own brand of soft violence. The gray spirit quietly sips his tea, but I can see his interest in the product, so I continue the attack. ¡°I can outfit an entire squadron in wands like these, and do you really want a few mortals more than you want a juggernaut crew of outfitted mercenaries?¡± I say a bit disgusted to talk about people in terms likemortal, especially considering I¡¯m one of them. I see him intrigued, but when I see him smirk, I see that my hopes are dashed. ¡°They aren¡¯t exactly just a few, and I doubt that these wands would be able to affect most of my own enemies; we don¡¯t exactly need or want to do something as mundane as sleep. Fuck, Fuck, FUCK, what do I do? I can¡¯t just leave them here. All alone in this dreadful empty place, nothing but clouds and the black to keep you company. No, I¡¯ve run out of options, but I am an option as well. Desperately, a thought springs forth from my throat, ¡°I¡¯ll give you anything, literally! I am the best language user in existence, and if you can describe it I can give it to you. Do you want to become utterly invulnerable? Or be able to see everything! I can do that for you. Any wish you could have before you. All you have to do is not imprison others and is that so hard? I drop to my knees; the metal falling into the dense cushions as I take off my helmet and stare deeply into what should be eyes. But he gently shakes his head, a smile apparent in that empty hole in the universe that is his form as he says, ¡°Oh, don¡¯t flatter yourself¡ªthis was never about any price you might conjure; no, this has all been about this one moment¡ªthe sight of you here beneath me, begging.¡± Ch.25.2 The Dash I simply stare at the man who tries to pull forth such cruelty for seemingly no real reason other than his own enjoyment. And I don¡¯t feel sadness or despair; all I feel is disgust and anger. For what else can you do when evil appears? I turn away and stuff the plate back into my sturdy backpack, before throwing it over my shoulder. And I step away, leaving behind both of the spirits. I look back only to find the same smug look as before, like a child showing the sorpse of a bug to his parent, expecting praise. And I turn back in disgust, there isn¡¯t anything of value to be found here. But as I turn to leave, I hear over my shoulder, Oh, you won¡¯t even play a game with me? You¡¯ll be torn apart in any real court; you might as well give up if you are so enraged by a few mortals. Although it makes sense since you bloody well aren¡¯t a real spirit, you just ate one with that deranged spoon." I turn around, seeing a couple flitting yellow sparks within that grey light, as I can just feel a cruel smile across his empty face as he says, ¡°Just like a human to turn a goddamn spoon into a murder weapon. Even I haven¡¯t done that, I haven¡¯t tainted myself with the entrails of someone¡¯s soul. But look at you. You¡¯ve mixed so much with your own bloody victim that most poor saps can¡¯t even tell the difference.¡± And with that, the pot barely held in place with a thin layer of disgust boils over, and I lash out with the wand, immediately tossing the bastard into the throes of sleep. I laugh, taking a sense of grim satisfaction that the thing that they dismissed as worthless ended up instantly defeating them. What was it that they said earlier that the wand wouldn¡¯t work on any real enemies, and if so what are you? I chuckle to myself as I turn away from their unconscious figure to look at the spirit of curdled anger, who merely makes a nod before shimmering out of existence. I shrug, dismissing the strange creature from my thoughts as I gather myself together and start running. My metal boots clang furiously on the floor as I accelerate faster and faster, bursting out of the room and past the guard. They sputter, raising their spear, but before they could even react, I jump off the platform, switch on my boots, and fly through an entrance, the clattering rocks rocketing me through the building. I smile beneath my helmet, enjoying the exhilarating feeling of pure movement, but that movement soon comes to a stop as I see in front of me a doorway. I wiggle my toes, switching off the rocky propulsion, and stumble in a slowing run as I come to the doorway and take a curious peak at the room¡¯s contents. Only to find nothing but crates stacked neatly in a well-organized storage room. Presumably filled with foodstuffs and other basic supplies, there were certainly no victims in this dismal place. I rub my helmet, my gauntlet making a subtle scratching sound as I stand aback in sheepishness. Guess I shouldn¡¯t have gone so fast without thinking. This entire facility is a mess of corridors, and I won¡¯t be able to find them if I just rush around like a rat in a maze. I sigh, taking a survey of the room, but I don¡¯t find anything worth taking, not that I could carry it back if there was anything worth it. I slump my arms falling as I curve my back to the floor in sheer annoyance. Ugh, I really should get to making a storage room or something. Then I would be able to clean out this entire facility just for shits and giggles, and any other place like it easily. Plus, I would learn a bit about spatial enchantments, which will undoubtably be necessary for me to leave this dreadful plane. I snap back to my full, if unimpressive, height and clap my gauntlets together before heading back across the platform. I walk a bit too afraid to try to fly in the corridor again. Haa, it truly is strange to feel the full weight of my steps nowadays. Oh well, I awkwardly walk through the long hallway, my steps heralded by a clang, and the progress is slow due to the previously irrelevant weight of my armor. But thankfully, soon enough, I see the light. I try to quiet my footsteps, but considering I am clad in layers of solid iron, it is for naught. I step through the doorway, looking up at my previous position, and I see the guard staring at me icily, their eyes showing their sheer disdain and anger towards me in their little quakes. I step into a sort of defensive position, but they don¡¯t do anything; they simply toss out a stone before jumping off the stone platform, dropping like an arrow from on high. I am taken aback, unable to believe what I saw before I approached the edge and looked down. For I see nothing but billowing mist, and fog, the lifeblood of a bloom. They couldn¡¯t possibly have just given up, they must have left for reinforcements. I need to hurry up, this is going to get harder and harder the more delays there are and the more time that spirit and his posse of mercenaries get to prepare. Thankfully the spirit is occupied right now, but well ordinary humans are nothing to dismiss. But so that I don¡¯t go through any dead ends, let¡¯s figure out where to go. I nervously stare at the seemingly endless depths below before jumping my toes on the switch. I gulp a scream as I fall for a bit before getting back up the extremely violently summoned rocks, thankfully enough to save me from falling below. I climb through the strange, impossible room, rapidly reaching into the strange gray mist, before falling, wheeling my arms about as I drop down, thankfully on target. I wheeze little flakes of my life shaved off with that scare before I stand up straight. I make a discreet cough, still terrified but sadly put into enough of a pressure crunch that I have to just deal with it. Gritting my teeth, I reach for my circlet, whose name is still being decided. I pull my long, curly hair to the side as I reach behind my helmet, wheel around the circlet on my head, and press the analyze button. The screens burst onto my eyes but my mind slides past all of them as I debate various names for the helpful circuit. I ponder a name, like maybe circlet of examination, before shaking free of the thread and quickly getting back on task. I piece past all the little posts, but all the little bits of arcane information give me nothing. Drowned out by the sheer amount of secrets kept in here. Witnessing everything from a sneeze made by a foreign diplimot to a strand of silk stuck to a rough bit of rock¡ªsilk that is completely and utterly unavailable in this time period. I wince the headaches getting too intense to continue looking through, so I quickly turn it off to view things not in detail but in beauty. As my eyes find themselves drawn entranced by the shifting texture of the walls created as the spirit slowly melds the stone into one organic mixture. But as my eyes fall from bits of beauty to the next, I find nothing of import at all. Frustrated, I tap off the rune and let my gaze be focused on Oddity. And curiously enough, I immediately notice that on a platform down below. Because there are a truly odd number of scratches, as if an endless sea of people were dragged in kicking and screaming. Taken aback I wonder how many people were taken? For the amount of scratches is truly ridiculous, and the other option that the spirit just kidnaps others so frequently that it gets engraved into the stone is disturbing as well. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. A bit put off by the strange sight, I turn off my circlet, and I jump off resolute in my goals as I manoeuvre through the strange central room, before blasting into the corridor. I blaze past at an incredible pace, accelerating more and more from the constant violent stream of force from my boots, the lack of air leading to no limits at all. I blaze past at an incredible pace, accelerating more and more from the constant violent stream of force from my boots, the lack of air leading to no limits at all. But as I go at speeds that would boggle the mind, there is no change to the scenery, just an endless repetition of the same stone hallway. I frown, how long is this corridor anyway? I have no idea how fast I am, but frankly, if there was air, I have no doubt that it would peel away at any exposed skin. I¡¯m pretty sure right now I¡¯m going faster than an actual car. So why am I still here, on my way to save them? I feel like someone trapped in a painting because, well, there is no possible way that the spirit¡¯s bloom is large enough to contain me. It only took like what a minute to reach that storage room. And it¡¯s been at least 10 minutes from what I can tell. As I ponder this I hear a terrible noise¡ªa long, sustained rip¡ªas if someone tore out a piece of reality. As my entire concept of space is destroyed. Because rather than a grid, I can feel the paper, and I can feel it shift as if someone took the fabric of space and smudged it with their finger. Like a child fingerpainting with the stuff of the universe. And an open hallway appears to the side of mine, intersecting, looking ridiculously like someone shoved their hallway into mine, and within that hallway, is a horde of mercenaries all decked out in leather armor and good swords. And all led by the guard from before, his face contorting into righteus fury grinning an evil slice as he raises his spear, and commands the charge. The entire squad of mercenaries barrels towards me in unison, the ones in front positioning shields, and the ones behind raising their speed as they go forward as one united creature. Cycling through my options quickly, I grab my wand and summon a series of walls in front of the charging crowd, and with a grin, I can see their faces noticing their impending failure. As the ones in front slam into the wall with a grunt and get stuck, and the others stumble over their companions to get stuck as well. Turning into a ginormous pile of flesh stuck together by my enchantment. Moaning and screaming, their bodies attached to the metal wall I summoned into the floor, unable to move too far for fear of ripping their skin. I make a strangled noise as I stare at the results of my own invention, but I cannot dwell on it for long as a few stragglers, slower than the others, jump over the wall and face me. Their faces outraged at the grotesque display of their companions failure. They dash toward me, and I scramble backward, having expected that the wall would take care of them, cringing as they stab at me with their long spears. But as I raise my gauntlets over my head, their spears skate over my breastplate and do nothing at all... I stare at their spears, almost unable to believe the sheer ineffectiveness of their attacks. I can¡¯t even feel it, their vicious strikes are as if someone scratched me with a feather. I stare at them through the slit made of clear ice, yet I see nothing of import, just a few terrified men, and I start laughing hysterically, for I realize something quite crucial: my armor is a few thousand years past their technology level! I almost buckle over from laughter, holding up my hands as if I were calling a break while the two still ruthlessly stab, stab, and stab over and over again to no effect at all. They scream in anger at their worthless blades and attempt to drive them into the slits of my armor, only to find cool ice and thick cloth. And I slap away their pitiful spears with my gauntlets. As I oversee this pitiful excuse for a battlefield, I see the trapped idiots, their eyes filled with terror, their throats emptied by screams and moans. And I notice one particular face in the front: the guard from before who led the charge, he who was first; his face is firmly attached to the wall, and no matter how hard he tugs and how much pain he is in, there is nothing he can do but seethe. He who made me feel the tiniest bit afraid someone that I can quite literally step over. I laugh hysterically at all the bozos attached to an incredibly simple spell, but they are not the only ones deserving ridicule for those in front of me aren¡¯t exactly that impressive either; the battle won before it even started. The man to the right, screaming in outrage at my disregards, yells at his companion, who circles around me, trying to herd me into a position, but I stand still, comfortable in my technological superiority. All built up so that he can charge, spear raised forward, a bit concerned, I step backward but the man behind me jabs, forcing me to stay in position as the first mans spear slams straight into me! Only to snap like a twig, the sturdy wood shattered by the man¡¯s full weight upon my solid iron armor. Still giggling a bit, I quickly put the two men to sleep. But my giggling stops as they topple to the floor quite violently, the man herding me collapsing and the man in front falling onto my chest. I sigh, gently placing him on the floor, as I oversee this truly ridiculous sight. A dozen men attached to a plate of metal, of all things, next to two mercenaries sleeping peacefully on a stone floor. I stare at them, still furiously wriggling and trying to get out, and ponder just putting them to sleep, no need to struggle, then. Rolling the idea around in my mind I find it more and more appealing. So methodically, I put them all to sleep. They protest, but when they are stuck like sitting ducks, it isn¡¯t hard to nab each and every one. I shuffle through their things looking for anything important, but as I sift through their trinkets and armor, I am strangely attracted to an ordinary rock. But as I looked it over again, I could see that it was anything but ordinary little bumps. The strange bubbles in the stone actually buttons, and the scratches a complicated code. And while this might have been sufficient or maybe even overkill for most, it doesn¡¯t stop me. For unlike the runes that gave me such trouble, these codes are in the end patterns, they fit in a way, their ideas molded by that damned spirit, allowing me to easily read the buttons. So with but a glance over the strange magical remote, I press a button, and the hallway unfurls, curling back to its original place in space. I shrug and place the little thing into my backpack before striding past the bodies on the floor, steadily walking towards the kidnapped. ¡ª I fly through the corridor, but sadly enough, it seems that the trick with the looping corridor bought enough time for that dreadful spirit, for at right this moment I hear the groans I remember so well. The ones of a teenager unwilling to get up but nonetheless slowly doing so. That evil thing truly is childish; it¡¯s cruelty like a child as well, curious and new. Breaking things just to see what changes. But while I can deal with a human child doing strange things perfectly fine back home, I can¡¯t exactly slowly explain to the spirit the consequences of cruelty. I sigh, exhausted with the tomfoolery of this impossible place, as I rocket forth with great speed, albeit not quite as fast as what I managed while trapped in that loop. But as I stare with alarm, that speed soon becomes my enemy, as gravity strengthens to such a degree that I can feel its pull like an angry toddler yanking on the drapes, but in this case I am the drapes falling to the floor. I crash into the ground, bunches of rocks scacttering around my feet as they still spray. I cough, all the air pushed out of my lungs, as I skid along the floor the iron brutally scraping on the stone floor. I try to breathe in, but my lungs can barely move; the heavy air and deflated lungs refuse to take in air. My eyes bulge, and my lungs try to pump faster to hyperventilate, but I can¡¯t. And so I am here, like a piece of roadkill on the side of the road, barely able to even move. My armor weighs heavily on my lungs, my heart, my everything. But no matter what this weight might be, I can¡¯t just stay here. The spirit is a sicko and I can¡¯t leave anyone in this demented place any longer. And so I grunt as I slowly pry myself off the floor, the iron scratching and gritting against the floor. But as I go through it, a strange itch flows through me as all the damage gets instantly fixed. I smile feeling the effects of the heeling rune on my body, my ingenuity saving me from crucial moments of failure. I shakily get to my feet one step at a time, carefully balancing the sheer weight provided by the armor. I made it extra dense for a bit of extra protection, but that radically increased its weight, and although that really isn¡¯t a problem the vast majority of the time. Well, the spirit has sort of slammed a mallet into a weak knee this time. It¡¯s summoned gravity, able to summon the previously irrelevant consequences allowing the spirit to sucker punch me. I groan as I stumble forward, extremely careful not to fall with my full weight on the floor again. And as I do so, I think about the fact that I can¡¯t exactly get the armor that¡¯s the problem off. It¡¯s a bitch to take off when someone hasn¡¯t cranked the G¡¯s, but if I tried now, I might crush my skull underneath the weight of my own breastplate. And I won¡¯t be able to survive that, no matter how ridiculous I get. Plus, I think, smirking, this thing is way too expensive to ditch. So I must trudge along. Wary I turn to look back, worried for any more mercenaries. Hopefully I fucked up any more reinforcements by taking the weird remote, but I should hurry up anyway the only question is how? I frown. The obvious answer is my boots, but with gravity jacked so high, I most likely can¡¯t get up. And with how the propulsion is placed on the soles, I can¡¯t exactly walk with them on. I chuckle imagining a looney toons-like scene. Ah, the classics remain the classics no matter how long. But if I want to speed up, it will have to be my main tool, I am far too heavy to be affected by a windwave right now. And I won¡¯t be able to sustain the Wanderlust required to fly my way there quickly. Hmm, if the problem is that I can¡¯t step with the boots, then why step at all? Cars and rockets don¡¯t exactly need to point away from the earth they can fly perfectly parallel to the ground. And well, with the continued lack of air resistance, no matter how initially slow I am I will eventually get quite fast. With a wince and careful motion, I slowly get onto the floor, carefully using my hands as supports, and turn backward. I look behind me before flipping the switches, and then I¡¯m off with a putter like an old engine refurbished from the 2040s that refuses to start. Like a man slowly going forth on a squeaky shopping cart, I painfully move forward, and with a sigh, I pedal backward, shoving my backward a bit at a time. Eventually, I start pushing myself backward with my hands, adding anything possible to get to the kidnaping victims sooner. I blast windwaves forward, continuously push with my wand, and as I build on more and more methods of propulsion I get faster and faster. And the halls speed past more and more, a barrage of rocks, wind, and scrapes wandering in my wake as I shove myself through the halls at a ridiculous speed. Blasting past innumerable sights as I rocket through the bland hallway. I laugh hysterically at the sheer ridiculousness of this whole affair after all I am literally flying by the seat of my pants, or rather my armor, which adds a layer of extra pun fun to the whole endeavor. I laugh as I wheel my legs in the air. The clattering sounds of 15 different bits of rock and metal clanging echo along with my belly laughs. But as I blast through, I slide through a door and fly into the air, even with all that weight, and I look over the room, my lungs still heavy, and my head still spinning, only as I hang there in the air suspended by Wanderlust the laughter dies. Because it wasn¡¯t a few ransomed or even a couple dozen, it was everyone. I look over and see an entire community taken from their homes, young and old, rich and poor, scattered in tiny pockets amongst the poorly reordered storage room. And my eyes fall as I realize I don¡¯t think I can get them all out. Not with the sheer mass of thousands dragging me behind. 25.3 The Reveal. I stare at them all, clad in scales of rune-carved iron, my despair hidden as I start to stand straight, attempting to look confident as I ask, ¡°Alright, can I get any leaders over here so that I can understand what¡¯s going on?¡± And with that, the entire crowd erupts into furious discussion, and as my eyes dart from place to place, I see the sheer panic and despair instilled in the crowd. As if fear was beaten into their minds with an iron rod. But with a sigh of relief, I see a group of three ancient tribesmen take charge of the disparate discussions and calm the people. Before they look at each other, they nod and come over in my direction. I stiffen my brow, getting my game face ready as I face the impromptu leaders of the kidnapped tribe. They are each very old figures with robes remniscencent but lesser than Patient Bridge¡¯s; they are covered in silver jewelry, necklaces, elaborate earrings, and such dot their frame, giving off the feeling of old power and wealth. Noting the similarities, I judge that they are probably some type of community leader. And taking that in, I am quite surprised when they completely abandon any sense of dignity as they bow before my feet, their knees undoubtably creaking, their steps not hearty or hale. ¡°My name is Furaha, and if you need to wrangle the children, I can help,¡± the wrinkled old woman says. ¡°My name is Jemilo, and well, my expertise in arithmetic won¡¯t be very useful, but I am honored to serve great spirit¡± the man so small as to seem shrunken says. ¡°We are the elders of the Daraja tribe, and as such, we are honored to help you great spirit in your endeavors. My name is Bongani, and I am the leader of the council members.¡± One of them says, standing proud and tall, the youngest among the ancient circle. I wince uncomfortable with the bowing and scraping. They are elders; they should rest their bones, not be on this cold stone floor. Gesturing for them to get up, I say, ¡°There is no need for such a thing, now tell me about the situation. For example, as to why there are so many of you here!¡± I witness all of the elders slowly get to their feet. I try to help, but they slap my hands away as they rise, their bones creaking with the effort. Eventually the smaller one named Jemilo says ¡°Well, it is quite the embarrassing thing Great Spirit, but if you must know, a shaman two generations back made a deal with the spirit of mystery.¡± ¡°And that idiot said that he would pay the price of 1/3rd of our children each year to be raised by the spirit!¡± The elderly woman, Furaha, says hissing and spitting with rage at the sheer idiocy of offering up something so precious as the future generations. ¡°But Patient Bridge refused to give the children this year; he never approved of the meek policy, so when he became the tribe shaman, he spent the last 3 years gathering up favors to protect the village and defy the spirit. But it was all for naught; the spirit slipped past all of his measures and teleported everyone out of the village. The only one not caught was Patient Bridge himself, who used a precious item to resist the teleportation.¡± The youngest Bongnani says, regretful at their complete failure to make a stand. Waving my hands, I say, ¡°Wait, wait, wait, I¡¯ve essentially been contracted to help Patient Bridge wiggle out of a debt? A pretty terrible debt, but still slimy nonetheless. Ugh, I can¡¯t exactly leave you here, but you have very much put me in a compromising situation, so you better spit out something useful since Patient Bridge elected to tell me nothing at all.¡± The old woman, having quickly gotten over the scraping unlike the other two, looks at me as if I were an idiot before saying, ¡°What would we know! Our jobs are to take care of our people, not research old gods and magic. All we know is that the cunt has quite the ability for teleportation. Considering that they defeated Patient Bridge.¡± A bit embarrassed at the uh fruitless attempt at gathering information, I rub my helmet before asking, ¡°Well, is there anybody who would know something?¡± One of the other men who sneaks a glare at the woman says, ¡°We do not have the expertise necessary to teach you more than parlor tricks, and time is of the essence. Additionally great spirit, although we do have a chronicler, they are unlikely to know much due to the spirit¡¯s lack of a doctrine. The great spirit is a creature of favors bought and sold, not earnest devotion.¡± Weighing my options and the most likely imminent threat of whatever the mystery spirit will throw at me, I decide to skip getting more information in favor of just getting these people the fuck out of here. Projecting an aura of confidence, I step out of my conversation with the elders and walk to the front of the room, my armored boots clanging against the floor, drawing everyone¡¯s attention. And I stand straight and as tall as I can be in front of a crowd of thousands. I draw a deep breath in before saying, ¡°Before us stands freedom, and now we must grab it with our own hands.¡± ¡°HEAR ME, DARAJA TRIBE, FOR TODAY IS THE DAY YOU WILL ESCAPE YOUR SHACKLES. FOR I AM HERE, AND WITH OUR POWER, WE SHALL WALK OUT OF THIS HELL TOGETHER. NOW WITH ME!¡± And with that, the entire makeshift city bursts into action; things are packed, babies are squashed, and the elderly and the weak are transferred to slings and then carried together. And before long, we walk out together in one grand mass. I stand affronted, and as I pass through the door, I begin to rally them for a charge, but as I look back, I see that there are no people around me. I gasp in surprise as I see through the doorway, a massive procession of people walk out from the back of the room. As if someone had made a loop out of a single strand of corridor. Redirected back into the storage room as they *pop* back into existence in the room. I stand in the entranceway baffled, but that confusion ends when I hear the ridiculous poppy laughter of the spirit echo throughout the room. I whip my head back and forth looking for the source of the sound, but as I do so, I realize that it comes from everywhere, from the floor to the ceiling, as if the entire room were their mouth. ¡°OH, YOU BLOODY FOOL, MY MAIN ABILITY IS TO TELEPORT OTHERS, AND YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD WIN BY WALKING AWAY!¡± The spirit says hysterically laughing. I grit my teeth because, well, while a thought might have drifted through my mind, what could I possibly do about the ability to treat space itself like a slab of clay. Shaken I comfort myself by reminding myself of the fact that, well, they can¡¯t use the magic forever, everything has a price, maybe I could just tire them out? Eventually, with enough brute force, they would go catatonic and be unable to cast magic, or act, allowing me to get all the people to safety. Burning with anger at my own inability to help, I gesture for them to stay as I stomp further in the hallway, so that I might think of a solution. As I carelessly stomp, I realize that the intensified gravity has stopped. I sigh; hopefully this means that he can¡¯t keep up with the use of the magic, and that he will have to start making sacrifices soon. But those are just idle hopes, what materials do I have in hand for how to solve this? And as I think back to the incident, I realize something very crucial. I wasn¡¯t teleported. Which summons a storm of questions, from the simple why to the how. And the answer could be anything from my armor absorbing the magic required to teleport me, to my special points for being such a nice girl, made me resistant to teleportations. Of which I doubt both, considering that it certainly didn¡¯t absorb the gravity, and that I certainly haven¡¯t accrued any grand amount of nice girl points from my estimations. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Plus it would be faintly ridiculous for my body to consume the energy of atoms repelling each other, or weak force. If that was the case it would both completely ignore all sensible laws of reality, and anyone who approached the armor including me would be ripped apart into their composite atoms. But I think frowning, then why can it absorb electricity? Isn¡¯t electricity like the weird cousin of magnetism, which is itself the weird cousin of the forces that push atoms of opposite charges away from each other. I grab my head before I promptly give up. I can¡¯t reach any sort of reasonable conclusion on the case of my armor¡¯s abilities without proper research. And it isn¡¯t relevant right now, but if my armor is what did the trick, then maybe I can get them out of here using similar techniques. I walk to the center, and I slowly shuck off the armor, which falls with an alarming clang to the floor. Soon enough, I stand in a skintight suit in front of the entire tribe. I am no shy flower, so I don¡¯t mind the gazes. What I do mind, however, is all the people wincing at me. I frown before I remember that the shaman saw me as a figure of piercing light. Am I essentially flashbanging them? I stew in my own thoughts, but noticing that the situation has stalled, I try to wave them off before I belatedly call out, slightly embarrassed, ¡°Alright, which one of you wants to try my armor on for size? We need to test if we might be able to get you out of here using its enchantments. Scanning the crowd I am quite surprised when a litany of voices volunteer, but with further inspection, I am less surprised, for the vast majority of the voices are those of teenage boys eager to prove themselves. I let myself have a little chuckle at the eternal stupidity of teens before I gesture for the elders to come over and choose who would be best. ¡ª I flutter around the young man, carefully fitting my armor onto him. His eyes are scrunched, most likely from fear, but he puts on a brave face. And although that is admirable, let¡¯s get him to stop panicking here. I asked him his name in order to ease him into further topics. ¡°My name is Adjo Great Spirit,¡± he says, his voice a bit squeaky. I sigh as I look over him; he truly doesn¡¯t look old enough to be volunteering, but he was given it by the elders. And well, anyone would do; I just needed to not start a weird, not religious but still religious, debate over who got the honor to serve me. Eugh, that concept is weird. Either way, I push forward and say, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Adjo, you will do great. With this, I might be able to take the next steps toward getting you all out of here.¡± Examining the straps, I make sure that everything is perfectly aligned before I step away. The young man was encased in a suit of armor that would beggar nations. Not that I would or, hell, even could, sell it. Regardless of that, I say, ¡°Alright, Adjo, can you walk out the entrance? We are trying to see if we can maybe get the tribe out with my enchantments.¡± But as I see him stand, I see him stumble forward, having difficulty with the armor and quite surprised by its strange weight. He curses under his breath, saying, ¡°Why is the armor so heavy? Did the skin forgers forget that the rest of us aren¡¯t as strong as us?¡± It¡¯s so heavy that it¡¯s unwieldy. What type of ignorant cook made this?" My face burns red with embarrassment as a teenager scolds me for my faulty armor-making. Not that it¡¯s really my fault; who could have expected to meet a guy with gravity powers wearing armor that is specifically screwed over by the thing I no longer really experience? But before Adjo can mutter more insults towards my person, I start to explain, ¡°I, uh, didn¡¯t exactly understand how to make armor. The best way for you to understand is to essentially read a book on how to make armor. And with the weightlessness I live in, it doesn¡¯t really matter.¡± He looks me up and down his body, just screaming confusion, before he asks from underneath the suit. ¡°You are standing on the floor right now.¡± A bit of laughter bursts out, unprepared for such a proper young man to say such a thing to me. I see him start an apology as he realizes what he¡¯s done, but I stop him with a gesture. ¡°It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine; the path of exploding at any piece of criticism quickly leads to you turning into an unaware, crazy bastard with an overinflated ego.¡± I say laughter is still ringing through my heart. ¡°Plus, I am no spirit, just a human in a bad place; I deserve no additional respect beyond my own skill.¡± I am not willing to let them put me on a pedestal, especially when that pedestal is crowded with many actual gods. I see him squint at my apparently quite literal radiance, which is quite ridiculous considering that they need light from somewhere for them to be affected by it. Before he makes what seems to be a gesture of indifference and walks to the doorway. ¡ª Nervous I nibble at my newly exposed fingernails, an infinite notebook in hand, ready to take notes. I take a deep breath before I say ¡°go.¡±. Stumbling and careful, Adjo walks through the doorway, only for him to ¡°pop¡± back into existence at the back of the room. I make a groan of regret before I quickly school my expression. It¡¯s not a good idea after all to fight too hard for one set of results lest your entire study crumble into pieces. So I write down the disappointing findings before I walk over to the boy. I pad along on the ground towards him, and as I approach, I see his dejected look, like he expected something grand to happen. I pat the armor currently encasing him before saying ¡°It¡¯s alright, we have to try some more to get more information, and you are being so brave, so let¡¯s look at your armor and give this another go, alright?¡± I said I was peering at the boy. He nods, although unethically and reluctantly. I sigh; it seems like the elders had a good reason to choose him. He¡¯s got a good heart. Anyway, I examine the armor to make sure that everything is in working order, but as I expected, everything is completely fine. No damages, no extra magic expended; the armor is as it is supposed to be: an intimidating force of protection, power, and prowess. Frustrated, I pace around the boy, examining every little strap, but no matter how hard I look, I cannot find a thing wrong with it. Sighing, I direct the boy to stand by the entrance. I, at the very least, need more data than just one try. Getting back into position I raise my notebook and say, ¡°Go!¡± The boy, carefully stepping into the heavy armor, strides over the frame, only to be met with nothing at all. As he quite comically falls through the floor and out of the center of the ceiling. Although it isn¡¯t exactly funny to hear a child¡¯s screams as he falls from on high or to hear the dreadful clang, people both draw away and rush forward at the cruel sight. I stand with my notebook in hand for a moment, shellshocked by the sudden turn of events, before I drop the notebook and bound towards him, bringing to mind times and thoughts of healing. But as I push past the crowd surrounding the boy, I am relieved to see the boy doing nothing but a dry cough, the dents in the armor quickly popping back into place, and the bruises and bits retreating with ridiculous speed as the armor itself heals him. I smile. Of course, how could I have forgotten my own genius? As long as the user isn¡¯t dead, the armor could get them into working condition extremely quickly, in fact even better than just using healing magic. But my smile quickly turned into a frown. This means that the armor is perfectly functional; it just isn¡¯t absorbing the teleportation magic. UGH, this is going to get a lot more complicated. I start talking, but before I can finish, the boy stumbles to his feet, the weight obviously still causing him trouble. ¡°We need more information, right, in order for us to get out of this mess, so let us help you, great spirit; the Duraja tribe shall not kneel waiting for the bite of the blade,¡± he says, revealing a glimpse of his eyes underneath the ice, revealing unbending determination. I step back as he stumbles forward through the doorway, only barely managing to make his way through before he is blasted out the back of the room. Turned into an improvised rocket as he is thrown through the air by the spirit, his cruel laughter echoing with the screams of terror as Adjo¡¯s armored body is turned into a missile. ¡ª I stand wearily, looking over at the people of the tribe as they fret, the weak hope I kindled starting to burn down to its embers. Adjo has gone back and taken a rest, but despite the fact that I now know that the armor isn¡¯t going to save them, They¡¯re passing around the chest plates to all who need them in the aftermath of the last attempt. Oh god, it¡¯s so ridiculous that I¡¯m talking about saving people. I¡¯m no hero; I¡¯m just a person, and yet here I am having people call me a great spirit, like I¡¯m about to hand a child a sword. And craziest of all, I basically just got handed the responsibility of rescuing not one or two people but essentially an entire town of people. If anybody had tried to tell me before all of this mess that I would end up rescuing a group of tribespeople in the past as essentially a capricious spirit, I would have laughed in their faces before wondering about their mental health. Additionally, it¡¯s not like I can tell them to fuck off or solve their own problems, like anyone would reasonably do when over their heads. Because their problems aren¡¯t exactly that bad, Becky kept bragging about her family¡¯s trip to the Arex¡¯khan heartlands. It¡¯s that a spirit with vast amounts of magical power is imprisoning them against their will! So regardless of the insanity, I¡¯m going to have to do something. So what do I know that can be used? I¡¯m certain that I¡¯m not being teleported around and that it¡¯s not because of my armor. But he was able to teleport me around when I was here first; if I remember correctly, his refusal to allow me to even touch his was quite annoying. What¡¯s changed? I met him after I gained the power of language, so it¡¯s not that I¡¯m magically heavier than they are. If that is even a thing. Is it those weird titles? Apparently there¡¯s some weird ass magic in making people believe you, and currently an entire tribe is desperately hoping for me to succeed, so if the little spirit was correct, I should be metaphorically basking in free magic. Not that I feel any of it, and well, that isn¡¯t a workable solution considering that I can¡¯t get them to worship themselves, at least not without starting a cult in like 2-3 hours. No, I need more than just scraps. Fiddling with the back of my helmet, I reach for the amulet and look over the people with Analyze. And my eyes shoot open as I see with my new eyes, stamped onto their very being, scarred messes that look like they were driven into the flesh of each of the people. And when I see those horrifying things, a screen pops up.
Adjo Age:17 Property of the spirit of mystery. They who have baffled all they see and refused to taint themselves.
A proof of ownership, and I can feel that it isn¡¯t place onto something so transient as flesh.
Fero Age:25 Property of the spirit of mystery. They who have baffled all they see and refused to taint themselves.
I look at another man, and there it is again. Stamped on his existence is something that states that he is the property of the spirit.
Mendejo Age:32 Property of the spirit of mystery. They who have baffled all they see and refused to taint themselves.
Frantic I pull up more and more and on everyone I see the same message over and over again.
Property of the spirit of mystery. They who have baffled all they see and refused to taint themselves.
Property of the spirit of mystery. They who have baffled all they see and refused to taint themselves.
Property of the spirit of mystery. They who have baffled all they see and refused to taint themselves.
And I realize why they were so easily tossed about with nary a care in the world. Because the spirit has branded them like sheep sent to the slaughter. And they won¡¯t be letting go of them that easily. Ch.25.4 The Finale I vibrate, my thoughts hissing like a tea kettle jetting out steam. For there is no such thing as owning a person; hell, we practically eradicated the idea of property decades ago. No, I refuse to accept that the spirit essentially owns everyone here! But I think while tapping off the glasses. It does make sense why he can teleport them so freely now, meaning, and belief heavily affect your magic, and I would bet my nonexistent hat on him getting a massive increase in efficiency for them being his property. Eugh I shiver at the thought of that. But that does mean that if I free them, it would quickly become ruinous to keep teleporting everyone. There has to be a limit considering that if there wasn¡¯t he would most likely be doing a lot more to intimidate, browbeat, and dishearten the people with his magic. It won¡¯t be easy to do so. But magic appreciates a bit of pomp and flair, and I see nothing but a thug. So it should be very easy to shatter the weight behind the magical slavery, considering that the whole thing is very fragile. So if I make a big deal out of the Duraja people being freed, then most likely the magic will follow the lead of the one with more weight behind it. And well, even if this leads to nothing, I am not willing to just leave people branded with their ownership. Oh gods above and below is the situation in which I find myself both ridiculous and quite distressing. Well, if I want more metaphorical weight, I should most likely use something from their culture. So I walk over to Adjo, still resting with my breastplate on him, healing his wounds, and I ask, ¡°Hey, Adjo, I¡¯m going to need you for a bit. Is there any ceremony that usually indicates that slaves were freed? This if of grave importance¡± Groggy, he says back ¡°No, why would we need one? We don¡¯t have slaves; others do, but we specialize pretty heavily in diplomacy; if we are going out to battle and taking slaves, we have already failed.¡± I frown, from what I understand, slavery was pretty much a fact of life for the losers of political conflicts, and wars during this time. So it is both unexpected and frustrating that they don¡¯t have essential policies or traditions around slavery. Hmm, it looks like this got just a bit more complicated. Those thoughts still on my mind I say, ¡°Alright, go fetch everyone, and get me a link of chain, I¡¯m going to make a speech.¡± Because if there are no traditions, then I will just have to make some of my own. ¡ª I stride forward as I go up the stairs, not that they are worthy of being called stairs; they are more like a collection of crates sloppily pulled together for a higher platform. But it doesn¡¯t matter how the stairs look if they only see what¡¯s on top of them. After all, despite my own blindness to it, I am apparently a figure of blinding light to everyone else. And they aren¡¯t going to pay attention to anything else other than the figure of incandescent light. So despite my mourning for my protection, the armor stays off for dramatic effect. After all, a speech is nothing but dramatic effect, and spit. With one last step, I reach the top, my light most likely cresting like a sunrise, symbolizing our rise and all that crap. I stand at the top, overlooking all of the people, my arms itching for a podium to grasp, but I start nonetheless. ¡°Are you content to be animals kept diligently in their pens? Gently shoved back inside by their master whenever they try to leave?¡± I ask rhetorically, in a slow and deliberate manner. I survey the people, taking the time to look into the eyes of a great many of them for a couple of seconds, and they are scared, hesitant. Few make the effort to say no or even shake their heads. And that must be changed, so I lower myself, getting closer to them, as I say in a firm whisper, ¡°Well, I say NO!¡± The people shocked out of their stupor look up at me, and I can feel the gears start to turn in their minds. Encouraged, I gesture upward with my hands. ¡°No, we are not animals; we are not babes forced to listen to those above; no, we are humans.¡± ¡°And a human does not just sit down and take it when freedom is a few steps away. We are not animals who stay in their prisons made of sticks, and twine. We are humans, and we do not stay in our chains, at least not for long.¡± I say pushing and pulling the crowd, drawing back the water so that a flood might come. And as I do so, I see heads rise and eyes harden, with the firm resolve to do something even if it hurts, even if they can¡¯t see the way forward. But despite their confusion it will be okay because I will show the way. Raising the link of chain that Adjo had given me, I place it into the sky, the metal cleverly made fragile by me fluctuating the temperature quite rapidly with my guantlets. And I say, ¡°HUMANITY KNOWS BETTER THAN TO BE CONTENT WITH OUR CHAINS, SO LET US TOGETHER BREAK THOSE WHO ASPIRE TO CHAIN US!¡± And with that, I smash the chain against my knee, and it crumbles into shards that rain down onto the crowd below. Along with the broken chain, I can hear a strange creaking as thousands of brandings strain and *snap*! And with that snap, I start to hear a crack. I frown and peer down on the excited people, only to see their smiling faces bloat and inflate before exploding. One after another, and soon all the smiles and cheers turn into nothing but horrified screams. As their neighbors, friends, and spouses heads explode into showers of blood, painting all nearby in a coating of red and gray. Worst of all, before their heads turn into fountains, they can feel it, their heads slowly being pumped before they *pop*. Unable to withstand this sight, I tumble down the set of crates, my own weak knees unable to take the strain, and I fall into the blood. Quickly, my skin-tight clothing gets soaked in blood, but I can¡¯t be bothered to do anything. I lay there in the newly created muck formed from the dead as they run and scream like chickens with their heads cut off. And that metaphor quickly becomes prescient as their heads explode and they fall to the floor. And soon I hear nothing at all except for a single groan. I wearily turn to meet it, and I see Adjo. His head starts to inflate as he croaks out, ¡°This is all your fault; none of this would have happened if you had just left us alone.¡± And with his dying breath, his mind explodes, sending shards of skull, blood, and bits of brain into the air. And all those little pieces scatter, and a piece of Adjo¡¯s brain that poor, dedicated boy *splats* onto my face and slowly slides down. And I think my brain just collapses, unable to put up a fight or even conjure horror in the wake of the grisly deaths of each and every person I foolishly tried to save. I try to cry, to force a tear down my face as some grim sign that they meant something to me, but I can¡¯t. Not when I am their murderer. Adjo was right¡ªif I had just refused, none of this would have happened. And I give up, my face falling onto the bloodstained ground, stricken with sharp bits of bone and gray matter. All I can see, my own failure. But with a *crack* I realize something: that demented bastard couldn¡¯t have possibly resisted laughing at me, for even daring to hope. And if this wasn¡¯t to hurt me, well, then why am I still alive? The people¡¯s brands broke before he killed them, so it¡¯s not like that¡¯s the answer. It¡¯s more believable that a spirit of mystery whose power lies in deceit would trap me in an illusion. Rather than be able to instantly murder all of his opposition. So that must mean that there is something to hope for. That there is more than this grim vision, so I stand up and rise above the lies, refusing to fall to this pain. And with a terrible rip, the entire world that I see is torn into shreds. Falling apart like wet tissue paper in a hurricane. ¡ª I awake not amongst a pool of blood but amongst a sea of people, murmuring shocked whispers as I lie among their assorted arms, toppled off the platform I was on earlier. I frantically look around and sigh in relief to see each of their faces. Yet no matter how hard I try I cannot get rid of the image of those faces inflating. Each person I see, I see their decapitated head as well, just out of view. I attempt to grimace but quickly stop myself. They are already distressed enough by my weakness; I can¡¯t dishearten them at this crucial juncture. But I don¡¯t have to worry for long as soon a booming voice echoes out, ¡°Oh bloody hell, you survived? Humf, it looks like I will have to retrieve the dissident sheep in person.¡± I maintain my stoic expression as my mind starts to run at full speed within its confines. Because in the end, while the spirit might be a pompous, idiotic bastard, it has shown its might to be terrifying. Mere seconds ago, I was in danger of just staying forevor in his custom-crafted illusion of despair. And the ability to affect both space and gravity is simply supreme. He sculpts the fundamental forces of the universe like they are playdoh. But well I can¡¯t admit that to a group of frightened civilians, so off we go terrified savior in hand. ¡ª My armor clangs on the stone floor of the long hallway, refusing to take it off after the psychic assault the spirit inflicted on me. Who knows, maybe if I wasn¡¯t so arrogant as to show it off, I wouldn¡¯t have had to deal with it. I sigh, the sound thankfully not going far trapped in the confines of my helmet. But a psychic assault, strangely enough, would be the least of my worries right now. Because at the core of the issue is that the spirit didn¡¯t take one or a couple people; he took everyone, so that means that we need to transport those unable to keep with the pace, not that the pace is particularly fast with how it seems that everyone is carrying at least three weapons and enough food to last an apocalypse. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Not that those aren¡¯t prudent things to carry, but it just extends the amount of time we spend trapped in the belly of the beast, or rather, in the belly of the demented spirit. Nonetheless, it means that I lead the way at a snail¡¯s pace. More casually walking than anything approaching a hilke or job. And so I warily watch the walls with my careful eyes, never turning my head. Thankfully, the large helmet allows me some freedom to scroll around, but I can¡¯t do much other than that. I can just ¡­ wait. Nothing more to do or say except to keep as many eyes as possible on the walls. I recruited some scouts to help me with the lookout, but everyone is too excited about the prospect of freedom to truly pay attention, mere minutes ago they couldn¡¯t even take a step out of their rooms without stepping back in, so the energy amongst the people is infectious. And this might make perfect sense, but it leads to me being the only person keeping watch over a small city-state¡¯s escape. Ugh, the air is so thick I could cut it with a knife. Hell, I almost wish someone was cutting me; at least I would be able to defeat them and head on with my day. But I am sadly not getting any knife-wielding lunatics, so we keep plodding forward. We¡¯re making steady progress, the procession slowly making its way through the long, sinuous corridors of the spirits domain. The journey is long and boring, my eyes constantly lazily trawling over the walls, but suddenly I hear a scrape, and my head snaps around as I see a glint of metal. But it quickly disappears into the darkness as I look at it. And I wince as I hear the people around me erupt in murmurs and whispers. Oh no, my image has already been pretty heavily damaged by my tumble; I can¡¯t hurt it more now. And to think that a mere hour or so ago I was practically begging to be seen as less important and now. My importance and the hope it supports are crucial to keeping this show on the road. They are only managing to keep even this slow pace due to lots of assurances as to their safety. If they start panicking, and are forced to make on the spot sacrifices and choices, the entire group might splinter into nothing. I have to keep the image alive, I don¡¯t want to fail them, I can¡¯t let that awful vision become an awful reality. And I can see it so close to the surface even right now as my eyes still nervously scan for danger. Oh god, I can feel it just pressing on my mind, and I know the signs, and I know that I¡¯m breaking just a little bit, but I can¡¯t do anything but just watch, just like I just stood there and didn¡¯t even try to help as everyone¡¯s heads exploded like bits of popcorn! *Shink* A dagger suddenly flies out of the hallway in front of me, and lodges itself in my icy visor, its clear surface incredibly hard to break with it¡¯s slowing effect. And still the dagger has sunk its tip into the ice, almost tickling my nose with its deadly sharp edge. I frantically scramble backwards too late to react to the deadly weapon, waving for the people to stay back, as a strange man emerges from the hallway, appearing from a strange shimmer remnscient of the man himself. A dark, lonely gash into the universe in the shape of a man revealing a malevolent grey star that nonetheless conveys, despite its lack of a face, absolute disdain as they say, ¡°Well, well, well, if it¡¯sn¡¯t you disgusting wretch, you didn¡¯t think I was going to let my slaves get away, would you?¡± I shiver as they look me up and down, obviously planning to place me among that number. But despite my shivers, I stand to my full height, determined not to let those ranks replenish. ¡°Hah, don¡¯t think you can even dare to try, for I am here, and all of their troubles will disappear,¡± I say with a flick of my wand, quickly sending an invisible ray of sleep. But I am surprised to see a ripple and tear in space before suddenly a random person falls asleep. ¡°Oh, did you really think that would work again? You blasted waste of power; now I have turned your own abilities onto those puny mortals. And they will never wake again!¡± The spirit says it with a cruel flourish, obviously gunning for my despair. But I do not give him anything, as I calmly reassure the victims with, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, give him a shake and he will wake; he¡¯s just sleeping after all.¡± I then turn to the spirit and say with a cruel smile, ¡°Oh, did you think the sleep was magical? No, no, no don¡¯t pump up your self-importance; it was made for nonlethal combat why would it cause other to fall into eternal slumber? The truth is that all it would have taken for you to wake mere minutes after I hit you, was for one of your servants to be brave enough to touch you.¡± ¡°You have an army of personal slaves; there was even one right outside your room, and not a single one dared to touch you. Because you are weak! All that power, and it lead to nothing due to your own fear-mongering ways,¡± I say, delighting in his failure being tied to his failure to summon even an iota of humanity, and compassion. I see the spirit clench his fists, boiling with anger, before he lunges forward. I quickly flick the wand at him, hoping to catch him by surprise, but he redirects it with ease. He grabs at the air and summons a strange ripple from nothing before viciously slashing down on me. I jerk to the side, his blade whistling past before cutting an enormous gash into the stone floor. Alarmed, I wave for the others to get away as I pedal backwards, keeping my feet firmly on the ground as I make some distance between us. But it doesn¡¯t matter as the spirit dismisses their blade and a tear into reality is summoned between us. It splits the very fabric of space, like someone had just demanded that everything shall be cut. I try to scramble away, but I can do nothing but desperately block the attack with my gauntlets, and with a rip, a massive tear is torn into my armor, revealing a thick slice into my arm. I gasp in pain, my hands, or what¡¯s left of them after what he did, trembling. But I don¡¯t have time to even cope with it before I have to move again. Stumbling forward away from the terrifying gash. But strangely enough, the tear into reality dissipates into nothing mere seconds after touching me, and my armor quickly heals the damage on my hands. My preparations protecting, and healing me even against the spirits terrifying magic. Giggling, I remember that what I wear to battle today would bankrupt nations, and it¡¯s time to start acting like it. Infuriated by my giggles, the spirit points at me, and I feel a terrifying rush as if the atmosphere suddenly escapes, and a strange ray shoots out of his finger with ridiculous speed and strikes me! Only for nothing to happen at all, the energy responsible for trying to destroy me quickly pulled away and gushing into my enchantments, adding to the already insane stockpile of energy I have in my armor. The spirit screeches as if someone had torn out their toenails, saying, ¡°What the bloody hell is going on! It is ridiculous for magic to just disappear; that¡¯s not how it works! It¡¯s not energy; it¡¯s ideas!¡± ¡°If something is expended so that something might happen, then what is it except for energy?¡± I say quizically, mocking the lacking perspective of this frog in the well. The spirit snarls before summoning its blade again and striding forward in firm, grounded steps before thrusting forward to my chest plate. My calm disrupted by the sudden attack, I duck and slap his hands away from mine, driving the blade away from my heart as I get closer to the spirit. Taking the opportunity, I tackle him to the ground, the both of us crashing onto the ground. The spirit grunts as the air is blown out of his excuse for lungs as the heavy weight of armor fully presses down on him. With the heavy weight of my armor coming into play, I grab the spirit¡¯s arm holding the blade and try to slam it on the ground. Yet as I do so, the blade simply disappears and is summoned in his unrestrained hand. Shocked, I lunge for the other hand with all my might, but even that prelude to failure is for naught as the spirit below me *pops* out of existence and behind my prone figure. I gasp, and struggle to my feet while they murmur something. ¡°Hmm if th.. ar..or on.y af.fects d.r.e.t att..ks the. A.l I ha.e t. .o .. summ.n a. I.dire.ct affe.t¡± And with that, they wave their hands, and sideways becomes down, and up becomes sideways, as I am crushed into the wall. As if the walls had the mass of a thousand suns. I hiss unable to do much but wriggle, restrained by my own fearsome armor. And I am horrified to see the spirit stand up, brush off some dust from the floor, and start calmly walking towards the terrified townspeople. The spirit huffs, as he calmly strides towards the townspeople, their minds abandoning them as they wheel around, desperately running away in a stumbling, clumsy mess. ¡°You really don¡¯t keep them on a tight enough leash, but no matter, they are the real goal of this, not fighting a barbarian like you. They must relearn the importance of brands one iron at a time. I can deal with you later¡± The spirit says menancinly approaching the terrified crowd, their frantic run not enough to get away from his calm steps. No, I refuse to allow this to happen! Even if he pinned me to the wall with rusted knives, I would rip them out if I could save them. So I raise my arm with the wand in hand, it feeling like a weight heavier than I would ever carry. The muscles fail drowning in acid before promptly being restored by my healing enchantment. And slowly, by healing my muscles as they break, I raise the wand and press the button over and over until the wall is layered with dozens of walls, my thumbs twitching with pain. As the healing stops, my reserves empty, and I feel the muscles in my arm tear off, like someone stripping the meat from the bone. My arm crashes back onto the wall like a meteor falling from space as I scream out in pain. The arm now a useless wretch of broken meat and bone. The spirit lets out a cruel laugh, almost falling to the floor from the apparent hilarity of my desperate actions. Wiping away a tear he says ¡°You do know that I can just teleport around the wall, right? Oh you young stupid thing, I would go after them, but well, while I¡¯m here, I might as well finish the job.¡± I stare defiantly into what approximates an eye, but there¡¯s nothing, no cruel expression of glee, and you feel like he¡¯s just going through the motions. I shiver, for in those depths I see that his cruelty is not even for pleasure but because he¡¯s not exactly sure what else he should be doing. His hand darts forward and grabs onto my helmet, his mouth refusing to shut as he says ¡°Uh, uh, uh, you¡¯re not allowed to squirm; you¡¯re supposed to just sit tight. While we get on with the procedure.¡± I try to squirm, but the spirit is surprisingly strong, holding me tight with barely a single hand as he reaches into a portal and pulls out a red hot iron. ¡°I didn¡¯t want it to come to this, you know. You might be a ragged excuse for a pure spirit like me, but at the very least you aren¡¯t some mortal trash to die. But it looks like you refuse to be rational, so if you can¡¯t be leashed, then you will be made a tool.¡± He says his body showing that he doesn¡¯t regret this at all. But I am no waif; I am Tara, and I have faced death in the eyes, so when someone deigns to grab me, I don¡¯t become afraid; I use it as a weapon. I pull in anger and push it through my face, rapidly heating the surface of my helmet, precisely manipulating the energy so that it comes out at precisely 1100 temp. His hand melts, the strange portal that he is made of crumbling in the face of the massive heat. He screams like a pig with its throat slit as he frantically tries to pull away from my helmet. For you see, I emitted what is known as black heat, where it¡¯s just hot enough that the skin does not blast off, leaving relatively minor wounds, but rather the skin melts, adhering to the surface. Forcing the victim to remain attached to the heat as it ruinously burns them. The spirit yanks on the surface of my helmet in a desperate scramble to escape, but he can¡¯t manage, and instead he falls a bit above the ground his hand still attached to my grimly hot helmet. I stare at him pathetically screaming as I continue to melt him, and I huff, who cares if you are a spirit if you melt just the same as a human? And I hold this image in my mind as I conjure the pure hatred I feel for this pathetic little miscreant. I see his disgraced corpse tossed into a pit of lions, I see him forced to hang by his nails off of a 10-story building, desperately screaming for release as he feels his nails get pulled out of his fingers bringing him to his doom. And I see in the end him, for his image is all I need to conjure all the hatred in the world. And he burns despite the sheer impossibility of it, his form sags, and scars with the force of my pure hatred towards him. He tries to break my helmet so that he might escape and he fails, only able to desperately scratch at the expressionless iron. His flesh, after all, is weaker than my iron, and he recognizes that as he summons a blade and cuts down on his own arm, freeing himself from my deadly iron grip. He falls completely onto the floor, no longer supported by my helmet, curled in a fetal position, with hate clearly painted on his gray figure as he teleports away with a *pop*. And with that, I fall as well, no longer held onto the wall by his artificial gravity. The armor clatters and bangs, and I get frighteningly close to the still frighteningly hot helmet face. But I rise even if I scrape against the stone. I hobble my way toward the wall I made, all my magical stores for healing taken when I made that ultimately futile wall. A wall that I melt down with a quick heatbeam, revealing a whole corridor filled with terrified people. ¡°Do not worry, there is nothing to fear, for I am here. The spirit shall not bother you anymore, not while I protect you. Now let¡¯s get out of here!¡± I say making my best attempt at being valiant. But despite my obviously bedraggled form, they cheer, the sheer human noise bringing a smile to my face as we quickly scramble to get moving, and get out. ¡ª We arrive at the edge of the domain me floating in the gray mist that instictually retracts around me, the townspeople, standing on invisible ground in a great mass of thousands of people. And out of that mass three people walk out. Together they bow before rising, the old lading stepping up and saying, ¡°Oh, great spirit, thank you; without your help, our entire tribe would have died a whimpering death, barely fit for a mention in the great expanses tales of times past. Your cunning and determination, are a shining example of what it could mean to aspire for more. We wish you the best of luck, and give you an anchor in your path. Because no matter what else might come you have saved thousands today.¡± ¡°With a deafening boom, the collective voice of the town erupts into a resounding ¡®thank you,¡¯ their gratitude and relief washing over me like a tidal wave. Tears stream down my face as I realize the enormity of what I¡¯ve done. It wasn¡¯t just a matter of freeing the town from slavery; I had given these people their lives back. A family will walk back into their home and be greeted by the happy barks of their dogs. A child will pick a wildflower and offer it to their mother with a beaming smile. And the man who carves the most interesting birds into wood will sit down at his workbench and begin to create once more. I swallow down the lump in my throat, and a thousand little moments bloom in my eyes, and as the cheers die down, I can truly feel the fact that I brought so much back into the world. And despite the terrible circumstances I find myself in, I am glad that I was able to be here, to do this. So it is with teary eyes that I see them off as they faze out of existence in a shower of sparks, and I look at each and every one of them, and I hold their grateful glances deep in my heart. Before, there is no one to see off anymore. And then I am here all alone except for one straggler, Adjo. I see Adjo wave at me before walking over on ground I cannot see. I am surprised that he hasn¡¯t left yet, but I am glad; it would have been a tragedy not to see the determined young man off. ¡°Thank you, great spirit; I was honored to play a part, no matter how small, in assisting you, she who rules language with an iron fist. And I wish for you to see the sunrise with your own two eyes, if you have them,¡± the man says with a stern look on his face, betraying a bit of awe. I wave him down and say, ¡°You¡¯re a good kid, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯re going to do great back home; just keep your head on your shoulders, and remember that humanity is great, but that intricate systems bog down the very things that make us human.¡± The boy shrugged again, as he did when I mentioned I was a human and not a spirit, treating my very useful advice like the eccentric ramblings of a madman, as only those both calm and firm in their beliefs can. Before he steps forward, waving one last time as he shimmers away. I turn away, my heart warm with all the gratitude that I was given, but it is time for other matters. It¡¯s time to go home now, my true home, Earth. ¡ª I rocket through the astral upon a tide of stone as I rapidly approach the frozen meat plannet and its attached station. Carefully managing my speed I slip through the open roof and into the throne room to see a strange sight: Patient Bridge waiting for me inside the throne room. Despite my confusion, I elegantly make my way into the throne of colorful fabric, and intricate plans. His shape, a sore on the surface of my perfect throne room. Emanating a subtly outrage I ask, ¡°What are you here for, Shaman? You have not dealt me a good hand with your task, and you certainly aren¡¯t allowed to just stroll into my domain like this!¡± But he simply rises from his seat, head bowed, eyes downcast, as he somberly says, ¡°Tara, I¡¯m sorry. I have come back with grave tidings. It¡¯s hard to say this, but I have failed.¡± Book 1 Epilogue ¡°What kind of bad news do you mean!¡± I say while pacing, my thoughts swirling around a fact that is slowly forming in my mind. ¡°Do you know what I¡¯ve just done for you? I have bled, fought, and broken myself to save your people, and this is how you repay me!¡± I scream at him, pain and anger choking my throat. ¡°And I did all of this with no information at all because you didn¡¯t want to own up to your own mistakes, so please tell me how you failed, just like when you enslaved your entire people based on a pointless stand that wouldn¡¯t have produced anything of worth without me,¡± I say, my voice burning with vitriol as I finally turn to Patient Bridge. But as I do so, I see a shrinking figure, his eyes and heart filled with pain, so I sigh and say, ¡°What is this bad news of yours?¡± Unwilling to beat someone with my words. The shaman gestures for me to sit down, saying, ¡°This will take a while to explain, so it¡¯s better if you are sitting.¡± Reluctantly, I plop down, leaning against the foot of my throne. Although it is quite strange because it¡¯s not really leaning, it¡¯s more pretending to lean so that I don¡¯t slide around. ¡°The thing about Perspective is that it dictates what you can see; as you have probably guessed, I personally see strange dark soil for me to step on, and you float on nothing drifting in the night sky.¡± He says slowly, pulling me through his dance of words. I listen as patiently as I can, considering that he is repaying one piece of his debts here, but I don¡¯t see how this has anything to do with whatever terrible news he has. ¡°But as you know, what you can see affects what you can do; I can stand and run on ground that is invisible to you while you fly like a bird. And this affects things beyond just our environment,¡± he says, building the foundation necessary for a later point. ¡°Magic operates on three pillars: emotion is the fuel; through it, magic is born, with each emotion holding domain over a certain section of magic, but it can do nothing without belief; for you can only do what you believe you can do; and finally, perspective.¡± He says rising and falling before coming to an abrupt stop. Pausing carefully as he constructs his next words, he says with a sigh, ¡°As the name suggests, it dictates what you can see and thus what spells you can learn; after all, how can you learn from voices you cannot hear or gain insight from instruction you cannot see? And that¡¯s the problem Tara.¡± I am taken aback by his free illustration of apparently some of the most important pieces of magical knowledge available, but as he does so, a thought starts to take form in my mind. A thought most grim and plausible. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°I found the spell for someone to move physically between the Astral, and the Mortal plane¡± He says, sadness emanating from his voice, as he reaches into a bag and pulls out a piece of paper. My heart swells with hope but I quickly smother it, this day is not one for hope. It is for hard truths coming from people you don¡¯t neccesarily like. ¡°But the perspective is so antithetical to yours that you can never learn this spell, or any of it¡¯s like¡± Shaman says as he reveals the piece of paper to be completely blank. ¡°When I took a piece of your perspective in, I felt overwhelmingly your dependence on sight; if you can see something, you can believe in it, which grants you a very high ceiling in magic, one not restrained by self-doubt,¡± he says, getting into the rythm of a teacher. ¡°But what happens when there is nothing to see? When the mystical simply cannot be observed, changed, or experimented on. What can you do?¡± he says obviously posing a question to me. ¡°The facts are that sometimes you just have to have faith because faith is what this makes this world more than dirt, but your perspective is one that ignores that dirt can be more than that, and accepts the world as it is, boring and dull¡± the shaman says his voice echoing grim certainty. But I refuse because what does exist outside of my sight, especially when I can see beyond my own eyes. The shaman noticing my dibelief writes the spell right in front of me but no matter how hard I strain my eyes or try to diligently note down his movements I see nothing at all, and it fills me with a burning rage. I snatch the page and stare at its emptyness, crumpling the useless paper as I say, ¡°How is this possible? It makes no sense that you can essentially be blocked off from using certain magics, dictated by what, your assimilation tendencies!¡± outraged at something that just refuses to make sense. But a thought suddenly leaps from my mind: ¡°Wait, when we shared perspectives, could I have used spells you could? Now that I see spirits in your manner rather than mine! If so, then all we have to do is find someone who holds that perspective and swap!¡± But the cold, solemn shaman immediately shuts it down ¡°When I shared my perspective with you, I shared the belief that led to a bit of my perspective with you, essentially layering my views on top of yours.¡± ¡°And your perspective is made of dozens of those beliefs weaved together. Your perspective is more than just what magic you learn; it is how you interpret and view your existence. And your interpretations are what make you, you,¡± he says, pointing at me. ¡°And if I were to replace your perspective with that of one with honest faith, it does not matter if they were to have all your memories; they would be a completely different person; the person who would walk through the portal would be nothing more than a stranger wearing your skin.¡± ¡°Well, what am I supposed to do now? How do I get home? How do I escape this horrible nightmare if I can¡¯t do it with my own two hands?¡± I say in despair. ¡°But that is just the thing; you don¡¯t have to do it with your own two hands,¡± Patient Bridge says, gently gripping my shoulder and comforting me as the tears I didn¡¯t see fall down my face my face a glistening mess of snot and tears as I furiously sob at the devastation of having all my hopes ripped out. ¡°I swear on the core of my being that I will make this right, Tara, so that you don¡¯t have to do this alone,¡± he states, and as he does so, something rings in the world as his deepest oath locks onto him. The very world guaranteeing his word with steadfast power. And I sob even louder upon this offering, unable to even describe my despair at all my efforts leading to nothing but toys, and violence. All my experiments, all my different scrambling efforts to survive in this desolate world, all for naught, because I never could escape. ¡°I see you desire to be by yourself a bit; I will go but know that you may always call upon me,¡± he says, leaving behind a strange wooden badge adorned with two feathers behind as he shimmers away. Was what he said true? Or is this some strange mirage to trick me farther away from the light. To turn me into his little trapped errand girl, here to exchange a favor or two. And does it even matter, I¡¯ve failed; there is nothing left for me on this road, and now I must take another. I chuckle this sinking, empty feeling familiar as few could be, the feeling of being torn from everything you knew in a dark and strange world. But despite it all, I smile as I grab the little medallion, for perhaps this time my journey won¡¯t be as lonely. The End of Book 1 Uncharted Waters. ¡ª Status Update I had planned on giving myself around a week of break away from the novel. That week turned to two, then three, and before I knew it an entire month had gone by without me doing more than basic planning. I panicked at this point, realizing that any possibility however faint of me ever succeding with my already out-there concept of a series has been thrown out the window. Frantically I pieced together a basic line draft for the second book''s prologue, but no matter what I did I couldn''t make it sound right, it just seemed stilted and worthless. I tried to fix it but I did so over the course of days each version sounding no better until it had been another week. At this point I just didn''t want to think about it, I lied to myself that I''d already completely screwed it up, it can''t get any worse so whats the point of rushing it. I preoccupied myself with other things while my own failure to do the thing I love constantly gnawed at me. I had started this series because I wanted to start writing for real early, but here I was wasting it all. I went through life, while constantly thinking about someway, anyway that I could fix this. I tried to say I''d start writing again when an acquaintance needed a promotion, but I just left them high and dry. I made big plans for me to come back with a huge backlog. I made lore, and story arcs, and commented on writing forums. I dreamed of perfect excuses for you all, of a tragic accident or a sudden bout of my depression. But all that did was make me pretend that if some sudden thing happened I would finally continue working on my art. As the months dragged on and college loomed on the horizon, my traitorous brain spun more lies that this change would allow me to start again. When in reality my arrival at college, the sheer chaos of the first couple weeks, and the drastic reduction in free time made the possibility of me writing again dimmer and dimmer. But as time went on and my mind tortured me less on my monumental failure as I focused on my studies, and gathering a DnD party to DM. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Things started to look better when a friend of mine, who was starting their first long-form novel called me for some reviews of their work, and some advice on writing a book since I had written one. Through our conversations over the months and their endless encouragement, I began to start working on my book again. I made many stops and starts, had to scrap two different versions of the prologue, and rewrite the entire overall plot of the second book. But I had made a good-sounding line draft. This in addition to having a lot of free time on the fall break allowed me to finally start on the path of writing again. Looking towards the future I will be posting one chapter every week on Sunday. While this is substantially lower than previously I was only able to maintain that pace due to me completely ignoring all my studies in a strange case of senioritis. Since I had already been rejected by the school I wanted to go to, and my other choices were a mix of too expensive, or didn''t get in I was locked into a singular college. So I decided to say fuck my grades and spend all my time either writing or thinking about writing. That is altogether impossible now though because I cannot lose my 5k a year scholarship, without also being unable to pay for the degree I need to succeed. Additionally, the reduced stress of no longer constantly racing against the clock of posting 3 times a week will mean that I will have less stress-induced hiatus'' and actually be able to finish this trilogy. Because the point of my coming back isn''t to soothe my ego, it''s to give the people who read my work and appreciated the story, the promised conclusion that they deserve. I want to end this off by saying I sincerely apologize for this nearly 6 month hiatus, while other events have conspired to keep me mired in my own self-doubts and unable to write. It is part of my duty as an author to create something worth reading day after day. Your trust in my ability to consistently upload has most likely been significantly damaged for good reason, and all I can do is slowly rebuild the trust that was either broken or simply never there to begin with, in the case of my newer readers. But I will earn that trust, just you wait. Book 2 Prologue The soft flaps of flip-flops on wooden stairs echo out into the cavernous home. Accompanied by the sweet symphony of speakers ringing out Taylor Swift. The integrated sound system allows me to hear her song even as I gingerly get down the stairs and wobble my way over to the kitchen. As I do so, I bring my wrinkled wrist up to my mouth and croak out, "Fitzgerald, start the kettle. I want some tea to warm up, and while you¡¯re at it raise the volume you know these ears of mine can¡¯t hear like they used to¡± And out from my wrist spins out a hard light construct resembling an old as dirt black man spits out, ¡°You make your own damn tea, Lily; you¡¯re always the one complaining about the lazy young folks these days.¡± I wave my hand in dismissal at the A.S.S.A.I before saying, "Bah, it¡¯s practically tradition to poke fun at the younglings with blatant lies about the glory of the past. One of the few benefits of my age is that when I say crap like ¡®Oh back in my day I had to stand for 20 hours straight on the job and walk across a nuclear wasteland to get to school¡¯ the little shits can¡¯t even be bothered to check if it¡¯s true and just believe you.¡± With a huff, the figure made of solid light says, ¡°Fine, fine, but you damn well know that the reason your ears don¡¯t work no more is because you¡¯ve been fragrantly disregarding your recommended decibel level for decades.¡± My face quickly morphs into a frown at the reminder, and with a squash, I return Fitzgerald to his house. Wow, are they vocal these days. I remember when anytime you even so much as tried to get them to say anything, they first started with a disclaimer that they were an A.I. and thus they could be wrong, and of course they do not mean to imply anything, all the while spouting blatant misinformation. Thank god that they aren''t so damn stupid nowadays, but god has it really been that long? I sigh before walking into the kitchen, humming a bit of "I''m the problem it¡¯s me¡± I wonder if Taylor is still alive; she is nearly two decades older than I, and well, us of the old guard are dropping like flies these days. I sigh as I remember how few of us who saw the dawn of the new age are still alive. Each and every one of my friends who have passed is like a new needle added to my heart. Scars might numb the pain, and I can find some happiness in the joy we shared, but I¡¯m not sure how many more needles I can take. I look down as my mind can¡¯t help but remember all that is lost. I wish I could tell my daddy about Tara, I wish I could spill some tea with Jessica, I just wish I could share these moments with them, but they aren¡¯t here anymore. A frown settling comfortably on my face, I shake my head so that the bad feeling will fall out, just like my daddy taught me. With a determined expression, I grab an old-school whistling kettle, fill it with sink water, and plop it down on the highest heat conductor on the stove. There, I should be able to drink that strange foreign tea soon. Plus, now that I think about it, someone as famous as Taylor Swift probably has a couple duplicaites running around. I find them a bit creepy but technically her personality sort of lives on. Although they aren''t quite right, the celebrities are too nice. Real celebrities won''t give you the time of day unless a PR agent is stuck in their ass, or they were trampled over as a child. Either way, I can still enjoy her music, whether or not she¡¯s dead. That was certainly how it worked back in the day. Shrugging my shoulders, I plop down onto my favorite armchair. An old weathered leather beater I got from my Daddy, he always insisted to me that you never buy plastic pretending to be leather, and I can sit in his chair long after he¡¯s gone because of that. I sigh, looking down at the armrests that used to bring me so much pain, yet now feel like old, warm comforts. I smile as I think of newer comforts. Tara should be coming down soon in order to help me cook for the reunion. She might not be able to cook worth a damn, but I need my emotional support fool dagnabit. But as I think of the gathering later, a gentle knock at the door interrupts my racing thoughts. I frown, familiar brows slotting into a pissy face that I¡¯ve been perfecting longer than most have been alive. I stare at the door, reluctant to leave my warm chair, but as another more insistent knock echoes out, I push off the armrests, grumbling as I stand back up and head to the old wooden door. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. I wonder who it is; I doubt it¡¯s Tara since she would have just walked in, and I¡¯m expecting no one else¡ªat least nobody polite enough to knock. I instinctively shiver as I pray that it isn¡¯t some mormons before I remember that they were disbanded nearly a century ago for abusing loopholes in child labor laws. Before I open the door, to see a sight far more unwelcome than an extinct mormon: the police. They aren¡¯t called the police anymore, but I know what a pristine uniform and a right to arrest mean. I console myself by reminding myself that they aren¡¯t allowed to carry a gun on them no more. Yet I speak with the utmost politeness I can muster when I ask, ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, officer, but what is going on? Is there any way I can help?¡± I hate myself even as I automatically make a vacant yet pleasant smile. Remembering my daddys words, that no matter how sad, angry, or right you are, when you speak to the police, all you¡¯re allowed to do is smile and comply. Yet as I do so, they don¡¯t respond in the usual cold, formal manner that most police gloat behind; instead, they stutter and stall as they gather themselves. I hold my smile on my face as I impatiently wait for them to piece together their own mind, when suddenly they say, ¡°I am sorry to inform you, but earlier today, when your granddaughter Tara passed through customs on her planet and went into the portal, she did not come out of that portal.¡± I hold an almost baffled expression in my doorway as the police officer places their hand on my shoulder and says in an almost tender voice, ¡°I am sorry, but Tara is dead, it was senseless, it was random, and it was a robbery of a life that deserved more. There was nothing you, I, or anyone else could have done to stop this. She was simply one of the incredibly, incredibly few who are lost in portal travel. While there is nothing I can do to fix this situation, I am here to help, to hold, and to listen. If you so wish." As I stare and stand, I am suddenly intimately aware of the fact that my legs shake, that my fingers nearly dig into the wood of the door, and that my eyes have been streaming tears for the last 23 seconds. I cannot ignore the fact that someone saw me like this¡ªthat someone is seeing me even as I huff and snot dribbles out of my nose as I uncontrollably sob. I stare at the unbearable sight of their pristine uniform with reddened eyes before I snarl and slam the door into that foul things face. I hiccup, and I feel the air tear in and out of my lungs and mouth as I stare at the closed door of my home. The echo of my own heaving breath, gratingly loud in what should be silence, the taste of snot in my mouth, the feel of wood through my sandals, and the familiar smells of my home turned foul overwhelm me as I fall to the floor and press my back against the door, instictively holding it closed. I stay like this, my heart racing, my thoughts devouring themselves, my lungs heaving, as I frantically press my bony back against the soft wooden door. Until I hear the police behind the door sigh, and walk away. As they do, I fall limp, and I heave a sigh of relief, for I could not even stand the thought of them seeing me like this, defeated and broken. It all slows down after a bit, the sniffles getting smaller. Even as I berate myself for running out of tears, I wince as I feel my bony legs on the hardwood floor. So, my knees protesting, I get up and hobble over to my chair. I collapse onto its comforting and warm leather, my body splayed out as I stare at the ceiling, tears pooling in my eyes. And as I do so, I hear nothing other than my own sobs echoing back at me. My face twists as I realize I want someone to cry with, that I want someone to hold, and someone to hold me. Yet I have nothing but this empty, worthless home of mine, lightyears away from a living friend or relative. My mind screams for someone, anyone to comfort me, to help me, but who even could? My friends are scattered or dead, and the only one in the family who would even visit is Tara. She¡¯s the one who made me feel like the family was more than an awkward collection of people accidentally bound by blood. My own sons tiptoe around me as if I were a venomous snake, and the rest treat me like a piece of fragile porcelain. She¡¯s the one who gave me the hope that I could love and hold these people who left me all alone. And now she¡¯s GONE! I desperately try to calm myself down, but no matter what I do, I just see more pieces of Tara. On my kitchen counter, there¡¯s that weird alien tea that she got for me after a business trip to another secter. I remember she came back and complained about how everyone refused to take her ambitions seriously. As if someone who spent months preparing, designing, and learning in order to even try would just give up. But now she''s forced to give up; she won¡¯t get a chance to succeed or fail again, she is just stuck, she won¡¯t go to another meeting, no one will ever give her designs a shot, she failed by virtue of of dying. I look at the mantle and I see her in dozens of pictures, yet my own tearfilled eyes draw me to her graduation, there Tara eternally beams in her graduation cap and gown. She made it herself, a series of clear hardlight threads weaved together with silk creating a gown that looked like it was a window into a clear sunny day on earth. It was wondrous; it captured the breathtaking joy of a quiet, sweet summer day, and now if I wanted to see it again, I would have to loot her abandoned apartment, like a grotesque reversal of an inheritance. I close my eyes, tears streaming down my face, unwilling to look at everything I¡¯ve lost. My own house turned into an unwelcome minefield, where every glance makes my grief explode. Yet my painfully scrunched face couldn¡¯t stop me from feeling a dress on my skin. Her dress. She made it for me before she went off to college. Back in those days, she didn¡¯t know all of those newfangled techniques and fashions. So she made me a simple summer dress, a deep reddish pink with little white flower designs all over the edges. The little flowers didn¡¯t have a name as far as either of us could tell, but they were still my favorite. Because one day on a walk, while I was talking to a friend, Tara found a bedragled flower bush at the edge of a flower arrangement, Somehow pulled it out of the ground and shoved it into my hands in the middle of my talk. I think I remember her saying something about how they were as beautiful as me. I stood there, taken aback, holding a flower bush soil, and all. Before with a wicked grin I glanced around, took her hand and ran off with our stolen flower bush. We nursed that darn bush together the two of us, and planted it on the lawn, my grandbabies first stolen treasure displayed for all to see. Tara was a good kid; she might have terrified me over the years with her frantic attempts at success, and her hidden fear. But she didn¡¯t deserve this. I don¡¯t deserve this. I don¡¯t deserve losing her smile, losing her wit, losing her everything. There will be no more summer dresses, no more gifts or visits, and certainly no more time spent together. It¡¯s done. She¡¯s gone. 2.1 Lets get down to business I stare up into the beautiful depths of the astral plane. The dazzling, shifting lights seem more wondrous than ever before now that I know that each and every one of them is alive. Yet despite this, I float amidst the home I built with my own two hands in a loneliness that I made with my own two hands. No family to keep me tethered to the ground. I worry about them; I don¡¯t even know how long it¡¯s truly been, but at the very least I have spent months in this dazzling prison. I wonder how they¡¯re holding up. Oh god, I pray that they¡¯re okay. Even if that prayer is bound to do nothing. Even if I can''t fix anything, no matter how hard I try. I feel sick to my empty stomach, robbed of food by this foreign dimension as my mind betrays me and forces me to replay every instance that I had to break up a fight, build a bond, comfort someone. While I ponder the possibility that I haven¡¯t been gone for months, but rather years, centuries, millenia. The only people I¡¯ve spoken to are either from some strange alternate magical civilization, or are a monstrous slave master. If I¡¯m interacting with stuff from the material plane, where am I interacting with it, hell when am I interacting with it? Am I interacting with another dimension, or are they aliens? Thoughts swirl in a never-ending loop, but despite that, I stand up, I close my eyes, I breathe in, I breathe out, and I am as calm as I can be. Dizzying patterns of thought slow and stop, and I open up my eyes. In as calm and sure of a voice as I can, I say, ¡°It¡¯s going to be fine; my family doesn¡¯t need me; I am but a small piece of everything else.¡± I am a speck of dust floating in space, a raindrop amidst the rain, a single match in the darkness. It is only amongst others that dust becomes stars, that drops become the storm, and a match becomes a beacon of light in the dark. While I am small it also means that long after I¡¯m gone, the stars will still shine, the storms shall die and pour, the light shall continue to grow. Significantly calmed down, I bring myself to more practical matters, actually getting out of this damned place. While it may have some dazzling sights, I want to touch some grass, have a cup of tea, listen to music, bite into a chocolate bar. I want to see my family again, I want to make my mother proud, I want them to cheer with me, I want to become one of the roots that anchors the tree. To do this, I need a plan¡ªa good one. But before I get too ahead of myself let''s get me out of this cramped armor. I think to myself my armor is weightless before a shiver overtakes my body as I remember a time where it very much wasn''t, when instead it turned into my prison as I was dragged across the stone floor. Looking down at my former pride and joy, I endeavor to take it off as fast as possible. Twisting the helmet off, I let my beautiful hair poof out from the confines of the steel, its bountiful locs that I painfully retwist myself instead of employing my solid light hairstylist. I smile, enjoying the feel of my hair, even if it direly needs some proper hair care instead of just a satin pillow, and careful washes. Grabbing my gauntlets, careful to not mess with the enchantments, I pull them off. Then, using my freed hands, I grip the edge of my chestplate and pull it off, all the while furiously wiggling. I sigh, annoyed by the difficulty of taking tops off without the assistance of gravity, before floating in the air I slowly and awkwardly pull off first my boots, and then my leg guards. Finally free of the confines of my armor and in a much more reasonable jumpsuit, I take my infinite notebook from one of the pockets I sewed in and approach the center of the room, my throne. Carefully, I float my way to my throne of ribbons and pull myself onto the seat, holding myself down with the various colorful straps. The simple but beautiful sight of the ribbons dancing around me brings me a small smile while I look down upon my own constructed planet below me and the entirety of the astral beyond it. Sighing I return to my task, figuring out a plan for getting myself out of this situation. I play with a pencil I grab from the chaos that is my throne room/planning room, the hexagonal filled with dozens of paper plans and ribbons floating in zero-g, constantly knocking into each other and moving around. I smile, looking at the beautiful storm of paper and cloth, as I tap the leather binding of my notebook and think of solutions to my woes. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. One does come to mind immediately, but it is not likely to succeed in the way I hope. Rely on others to send me home. While I can¡¯t cast the spells necessary, surely somebody else can, and it can¡¯t be that hard to modify the spell to target me instead and send me home. But while I might believe in the general goodness of sapients, I am uncomfortable with the idea due to just how much leverage they would have over me. You¡¯d have to either be a saint or just plain gullible to make someone else your only way to escape prison, when they are more incentivized to keep you while they dangle the key just out of reach. I shiver, for I can clearly picture a world in which I would tirelessly work for someone only for them to constantly hold a solution over my head to string me along, all the while using me for practically free labor. While the demands of leaving this plane will require me to seek the help of others simply due to the fact that no one succeeds alone in much of anything, much less in something so ridiculous as teleporting to another dimension with no guide, I still need some other avenues if I am to not be turned into a slave in all but name. But what could it be? From my understanding, Shaman¡¯s explanation holds water, explaining why I couldn¡¯t do certain things and why some of the spells spoken of in the histories of my spell book aren''t available for me. For example, while I was poring through the book in an attempt to actually figure out the mechanics behind this magic, I read about the most absurd leader, one whose specialty was luck magic. Mpendwa danced through life like a leaf on the breeze, becoming the leader after he lucked into becoming the apprentice of the last. He utilized luck enchantments on weapons to somehow make them hit more often, was best friends with all of the remarkable and talented shamans of his time, and once fell off a building into the loving arms of his eventual soulmate. All of which simply does not make any sense at all. Luck is not a thing that exists; we are simply objects interacting in space. Luck is an illusion born from blindness, and as soon as you see, you can see the factors that lead to everything happening. Storms do not approach because the gods are angry at us, if you have a humidometer you can predict oncoming storms. Everything that will happen or has happened has already been determined. So the idea that you can make something lucky is absurd! I tried to find his luck enchantments in the book so that I could study how the spells functioned since they obviously did something, perhaps limited omnscience. But I couldn¡¯t find even a lick of any of them. Which is quite strange since the tradition was to leave behind any new runes you make into the book. But after considering the insight Patient Bridge gave me into perspective perhaps since I can¡¯t cast the spells, the book doesn¡¯t give me the spells. Although that does make me think of what other types of spells I am unable to do. For example if I were entirely unable to cast heat spells, how would that work? Would I be angerless? Additionally, I could most likely still create heat from friction which I could create with a non-anger spell. So what does having the wrong perspective actually do? Considering the logical limits of the barrier, I might be able to twist around its restrictions. A spell that would allow me to return home would be something akin to a teleport, and while I can¡¯t cast the spell that¡¯s already been made that returns me, I have already found a rune that can teleport objects and theoretically people. The Home rune from what I remembered teleported around the plate that it was attached to. So while I might not be able to even touch the spells that are disavowed from me, I might be able to do similar things with other spells. Plus, even if I can¡¯t do so, the research into how teleportation works and how I can grasp space will allow me to understand when people are lying to me by understanding the underpinings of any spell they might create. Or create something that I might be able to sell for knowledge or goods. Although that does make me wonder, how does trade even work in the Astral Plane? Can you trade emotions, power, concepts, or do I have to worry about the price of a loaf of bread in a place where hunger is foreign? Hells, what value would any of my creations even have? The histories in my spellbook describe themselves as unique, but they are most likely biased towards themselves. Making a magical item seems fairly simple; you simply store the energy of a specific spell in an item that uses it slowly instead of in a burst. I bet I could make a rudimentary enchantment without language magic by making a spell that contains heat then pumping heat into that spell to store heat. Perhaps I could trick myself with a hermetic seal by expecting it to perfectly contain heat, and then sticking in a red hot ingot? I shake my head, for that¡¯s awfully off topic, although my question still stands: is there a market, and if so are my abilities in high or low demand? I can¡¯t know for sure until I find such a market, but if I do I need to quickly find my value so I¡¯m not scammed. I sigh, I guess it all comes down to the lack of trust between strangers. I believe in the kindness of sentience since it¡¯s a far more useful strategy than cruelty, but the same as everyone else I fear the blades that have already touched my skin. Well, before I can pontificate on the nature of vulnerability and such, I would need to find such a magical market. I know there are wondrous things to find here in the astral. My own language magic, which I cherish for its versatility, was found while exploring. And any treasures I find would mean more goodies to sell at any prospective markets. Or function as new tools for my goals. Hells, when you consider the lack of magic back home, there¡¯s a decent chance that they exploited a natural portal for travel and then figured out how to utilize it through rigorous research. Yes, if I want to escape this rut, and walk free from this place, I must explore! Invigorated, I slip out of my throne of colorfill ribbons and push off of its steel frame, floating into the space between my station and the ice-covered planet of meat below. Smiling despite the tears that crust my face, I say, ¡°I shall not rot in despair here; instead, I shall venture out, talk to some spirits who aren¡¯t horribly evil, and -¡± I turn to the side as I hear a grating voice interupt my little speech to say ¡°That sounds dazzling great spirit above and below, but we were wondering if you could help us out.¡± 2.2 Who the hell are you I look back at the voice that startled me and see a woman excitedly waving, standing above my metal floors on invisible ground, her dark skin covered in strong yellow tattoos and framed by expertly sewn animal skins, it seems normal enough, yet I have no idea what animal it could be. I stare at the woman wondering why she wears furs when she makes a strange hand gesture, that my deep pools of language magic translate as similar in function to a cough linguistically speaking, and she says in a cheery voice, "Hello, great spirit of language, she who broke her chains. We have come to you, so that we may partake in your knowledge in exchange for the oldest of tributes.¡± I float above them amongst the astral, wondering why she said we, and thinking of what the oldest tribute could be- as another woman steps out from behind the other to my shock. She looks identical to the first, if lacking in tattoos, and wearing a strangely modern-looking pair of frameless round glasses that look to be expertly forged. I ponder asking them for the services of a smith since their work looks far better than the stuff I slapped together down on my forge. My thoughts drift away, but they are interrupted when the tattooed twin sighs and says, "My name is Ehsa, my sister''s name is Ashe, and we are representatives of the Dual tribe¡± In a playful yet mischievous tone, Ashe pushes up her glasses and says, "Well, it would be more accurate to call us the Spirit Callers of the Twin Tribes of the Hammer and the Anvil.¡± Ehsa, letting out a long breath and pressing two strong fingers against her temples, says to the floor, ¡°Ignore Ashe; it¡¯s a minor difference in terminology if it¡¯s a difference at all, especially considering the translation loss.¡± ¡°Either way, we are here today in our official capacity because, as the great spirit of language, she who broke her chains, you should be able to give us the lost spells of Language." Upon hearing this, I was a bit perplexed before I recalled that Patient Bridge assumed that I was some sort of god to the Jsarihousa tribe when I saw things through his eyes. Although this does make me wonder,why they assume such a thing, especially since Patient Bridge knows fully well that I am a human. Ashe, seeing my perplexed expression, says in a strangely hesitant tone, ¡°Uh, while you were gone, the Jsarihousa tribe dissolved; at first, it was a slow stream of incompetent leaders before the Last." At this point, Ashe laughs a bit before saying, "Well, that name is certainly appropriate now.¡± ¡°Anyway, the Last ended the tribe with a bang when the idiot overestimated the willingness for our tribe to sit there and take his gilded [-prey-animal-]shit, and ran when we came to collect in the usual way.¡± Smoothly cutting in with a disturbingly happy grin and slightly glowing tattoos, Ehsa says, ¡°A good old ransack!¡± Making the same strange gesture from before that seems to function similarly to coughing in conversation, she says in a more embarrassed tone, ¡°We absorbed what was left of the remnants then, but we lost so much due to the Last running away like a coward with the tribe''s legacy and strongest artifact, especially since some insane hedge mage dissolved your temple as his last act.¡± Hmm, I examine the both of them; this is a good opportunity, especially since what they look for are the spells that only I have since the Last they speak of seems to be their name for that arrogant dickwad who rode to that top of the Jsarihousa tribe using his heritage, only to run away and die in the astral. Leaving me as the only inheritor of the spells they wish for. I should be able to squeeze them for all they¡¯re worth while also getting an idea of the goods traded amongst spirits. I should keep them talking about themselves. I need some context for what¡¯s to come, and these Spirit Callers, is that what the one with the glasses said they were? Seem eager to brag and inform. Letting my hands droop with disinterest and my eyes wander away, I say, ¡°So you are the ones that the Last was pulling before his strings were cut.¡± Leaning down and examining them, I ask, ¡°Yet who are you, other than a random horde of warriors tearing apart a city for what little scraps you can take" The twins turn towards each other and look into each other''s eyes with that particular brand of mischief that twins ooze when they plot together, as they say, "We can show you, we can tell you the story of our people, through our eyes of history." ¡ª Long ago, amidst the burning savannah and cooling rivers of our home, there was a boy named Makar. The boy''s mother died in childbirth, and because he couldn''t latch properly, he grew up on water-soaked furs and mushed, scavenged greens. It was practically a miracle he could even survive, especially since the tribe didn''t have enough food to spare. He was the smallest of all the children, but he made himself useful with his nimble fingers and curious eyes. One day, as he fell asleep, his belly empty and his mind full of dreams, the god of creation itself reached into his dream and brought him into the astral. He floated amidst the bright night sky, the stars close enough to touch, above a curious blue and green ball. It was awe-inspiring¡ªthe most beautiful thing he had ever seen¡ªyet his eyes were not caught by any of this, but rather they were rapturously attached to the god in front of him. For it was perfection itself, a body of stone that captured the essence of man, its strength, its wisdom, and the symbol of its tools, its immaculate hands polished to a shine as bright and clear as a placid pond. They were so unbelievably perfect that the boy could only assume that the very moment that man held aloft a spear made by their own hands, they were made. To be the totem of perfection, that all must scratch and claw their way closer too. The boy stared at the god towering above and below him, a monolith of perfection, and asked, ¡°What can I give you great spirit¡± eager to serve if it might let him approach it. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. It answers; it¡¯s musical voice a blessing to hear, ¡°I ask for your service in spreading my totem to the world below, for your eyes shine, and you hunger for the knowledge I can give.¡± The boy, remembering tales shared amongst the fire of tricksy spirits, taking much and giving little asks, ¡°What will you give me great spirit so that I may spread your perfection¡± It pondered the boys question, tapping its stone chin with its perfect hands, and responds with ¡°I am of the forge, and you are my metal; tell me what you want to be, and I shall mold you into it. I can make you into anything from the strongest warrior to the keenest mind if you would only serve me.¡± The boy pondered what to ask for; his heart yearned for the strength of the best hunter, so that he might be more than the malnourished boy he was doomed to be, or for the wisdom of elders to steal the light of knowledge before his eyes clouded and his knees grew weak. But as he thought of what he wanted most of all, he thought of a most clever idea indeed, he asks, ¡°Oh great spirit, I am sorry, but I fear for my life if you are to mold me like clay, may I instead receive one of your grand creations¡± It looks at the boy expressionless and stiff before saying, ¡°Very Well.¡± The boy smiles, his hopes fulfilled as he looks up with a grin and asks, ¡°Is your birth not your very grandest creation, so in return for my service, I ask for your hands, great spirit!¡± The boy huffs and puffs with pride at the trick he pulled and at the thing he will steal from a god, yet just the same, it looks at the boy expressionless and stiff before saying, ¡°Very Well.¡± Chopping off its very own hands with an ethereal blade, they shrink to the size of the boy and approach. The boy smiles before the gods perfect hands of polished stone tear off his own nimble fingers and crawl onto the torn stump they created. He screams in pain as the god who blessed him sends him back down to that curious ball, to spread its word for all to hear. The boy awoke in a haze, his cold sweat chilling him to the bone. Groggy, he thought for a second that it was all a dream, but when he looked down and saw his hands, an intricate piece of art atop his still bloody stump, it¡¯s stone fingers inplacable proof that a god had chosen him. The boy waved his fingers, the stone machinations perfectly following his instructions, better than his own ever did. He smiles with joy at his new hands, even mere minutes after receiving them he could not think of losing such perfection. Confident with his god-given hands, he stood up in the early light, and set forth to bring the tribe under his gods protection. While for other tribes such a thing might require a duel, or skilled political maneuvering, in his tribe such a thing isn''t neccessary. From before he was born to our day, there has long been a tradition of accepting the truth, whether or not it hurts, and taking the counsel of others for decisions young and old. For we cannot sacrifice our lives on the altar of pride. So when the chief accepted the queries of her people that day, the boy stood up and proclaimed to the chief, ¡°You are foolish for not allowing our people to follow a god; year after year, those who are blessed by great spirits take more hunting ground, grow stronger, and forage more. While we starve on what little they leave behind." The chief, her bones weathered by years of hunting, stands from her weathered seat of old wood and furs and croaks out, ¡°You do not know what you speak of child, the gods are cruel and merciless; they do not care for us, any scrap you might receive from one is earned by more blood than its worth.¡± Grabbing her cane from beside her seat, she points at the boy''s stumps, still covered in dry blood, and says, ¡°You should be the one to know, foolish boy; since you certainly sacrificed enough, even when it wasn''t asked for. You didn''t even ask for help dressing the wounds you earned by cavorting with the spirits. How can you speak of what is neccesary, with such paltry wisdom?" The boy winces as he feels his new stone hands atop bloody stumps, but despite this, he grits out, ¡°Does it matter if I am unwise or if the gods are are cruel? Our tribe is dying; we will either all starve in honor or we will be absorbed by another tribe that already swears fealty to another god. What will happen to our traditions and celebrations, then? The other tribes are led by the blind and arrogant; their pride nurtured by a people unable to say anything other than praise and the heady scent of their own strength. If we take the power of creation, we need not die in body or spirit.¡± The chief considers this, her weary eyes staring at the hands of a god bolted onto the boys stumps, but steels herself and asks, ¡°What you speak of is true, but what does this god of yours even give? A pair of hands alone cannot bring us food.¡± The boy is taken aback, his cleverness not saving him from his brashness, for he doesn¡¯t even know what magic the god he bled for even grants. He hesitantly tries to speak despite not having anything to say, but before he can choke anything out, he feels his god''s hands rise on their own, carrying his arms with them. The polished stone shines under the morning sun as the melodic voice of his god resounds from within and says, ¡°I am Perfection, god of creation, and under my banner, I shall give you the tools to forge your bodies into your perfect vessel. Come with me, and you shall approach that impossible horizon, perfection!¡± As the hands of perfection shine in the sun, down from above, a grand light, yellow like yarrow root, cradles the boy, and within it¡¯s light all weakness is stripped away, the boy''s thin, weak body forged into a strong, healthy frame. The boy smiles with damn near rapturous light, as dozens of parents fall to their feet before him, desperate for their children to be given bodies not ravaged by long stretches of empty stomachs, desperate for their children to survive and thrive. The chief sighs before getting down on her weary knees and swearing fealty to Perfection on one condition: that the boy does not lead while still trapped in youthful ambition and idiocy. Perfection agreed, and from that day on, Makar stood as the first priest of Perfection, and as promised, he saved the tribe from its inevetable, slow death. Perfections blessings to the hunters allowed them to hunt more and keep the children fed; its blessings rejuvenated the young who withered without proper food; its blessings allowed everybody in the tribe to perfect their body in their own image. Under his elders careful tutelage and his gods whispers in his dreams, Makar learned much. He learned how to logically consider situations, how to reserve judgment and wait, and how to consider the intricate web of interconnected factors behind each and every little thing. While in his dreams Perfection whispered to him secrets of metal and stone, of how heat can allow even the sturdiest of things to bend, and how the artist''s eye examines the world. Makar emerged from his forging a chief of great wisdom and strength. His clever ideas and quick wit leading to more and more prosperity for his people. As he discovered and created a way to use the formerly useless shiny rocks to make grand works, and weapons. Soon, his clever fingers tore the formerly useless metal from the ground and clad his people in armor and weapons of copper made by the First Forge. Gave new life to the warriors of the tribe who attacked other tribes and brought them under Perfection. His creations spread across the lands, his tribe forming the first center of trade, their bounty full enough to no longer need to hunt. He established the first city, a place where the art of forging he created reached closer and closer to the horizon of Perfection, while his people forged their bodies through his god''s grace. He instituted clear laws that limited the power of the chief and priest and kept him accountable to all those above and below. He forged the Anvil tribe into a behemoth of power and influence that would last for centuries. Perfection the god of the forge chose the cleverest girls and boys to be forged into its priests, generation after generation. Creating better and better leaders over time. Who built upon what their ancestors built in a grand chain of progress. An intricate machine of influence and power built by the scrappy Makar and his god. Until one day before Perfection could choose its pick, a clever child by the name of Kokoleka was visited by Language, he who brought meaning to the meaningless. The clever great spirit instructed the child to become the chief, and then in the seat of their power, take all the clever smiths and form a new tribe under it. So Kokoleka took the power of language, and when Perfection blessed the child, they smiled, for with their wise eyes, they could see the path ahead. Kokoleka excelled; taught by many wise elders, she passed every test and dazzled them all with her skill and wit. And when she took the forged throne at the end of her training, built by Makar the first, she took it all from Perfection, as she took all of her dazzled elders, smiths, and schematics with her out of the city and into the savannah to form the Jsarihousa, leaving only the young warriors and their children. Perfection, its impassive form furious for the very first time in its creation at the foul trick, destroyed the democracy of the Anvil Tribe in a rage and appointed the strongest warrior, his pride fat from his undeniable strength, and skill, to be the totalitarian ruler of the tribe. The tribe was lost; all of their recipes and skilled workers taken away in the night. Yet despite it all, they still had the simplest type of power, the power of blades in strong hands. For while their forges and smiths might be gone, they still had the blessings of their god Perfection, and their weapons were still the best for miles around. So the tribe abandoned their grand city, no longer able to sustain its trade, and became less of a society and more of a marauding wave of bandits, here to take, take, and take. And as the long years stretched by Perfection turned twisted and cruel, less something of the forge and more something of blood and pain. A horrid totem of destruction whipping them forward as they desperately killed for another day of rest. There was no art or tradition to speak of, only whatever joys they could scrape together in between raids, and the spilling of blood. The anvil tribe was turned into a husk of itself by the very god that had brought it into the sky. The people of the tribe yearned desperately to escape the grasp of their god, but year after year, his appointed chiefs skin gleamed like the metal they used to forge and held them within its fist with fear and pain. So when the First strolled into town, decapitated the spoiled chief with dozens of wind blades, and spoke of an insane crusade to banish the gods from these lands, we were the first to come to his banner and fight for his cause. We participated in many battles, and we found that new runes would decorate our then ancient blades, and despite all it took, we won. Under the Firsts banner, we got rid of the practice of swearing fealty to the gods and banished what jealous gods came down, to the lands far away. After it all, we changed our name to the Hammer tribe to commemorate our lost art of forging and come to terms with the weapon we had become. As time went on, we became less of a marauding tribe of murderers who ate the spoiled crops of our victims and more of a sculpted band of mercenaries with a strict code and codified laws that kept the people in power on a tight leash. For we cannot sacrifice our lives on the altar of pride. This went on for many years as we settled and solidified. But not so long ago, a foolish boy who would be called the Last promised us a great many things but did not deliver. We recognized the same metal grip that terrorized our people for years under Perfection, even if the hand beneath it didn¡¯t have any callouses, and we stormed the once-grand city of Jsarihousa and took all that we could. We found little, but what we could find, we welcomed with open arms. For our lost forging arts were returned to us at long last, and the many hedge wizards with small inheritances of runes and enchantments allowed us to return to a tribe of crafting alongside strong blades. And today, with your help, we plan to recover the many lost runes of our people lost in the battle that created the people before you today great spirit. 2.3 Alright What Now? Ugh, I reeled back after receiving the extraordinarily large packet of information that was their backstory. I don¡¯t know what I was expecting for size when I asked for their history, but I certainly didn''t expect practically all of it. Is this supposed to happen a lot because, man, are these shamans fond of slamming a bunch of information straight into your brain. I''m not particularly enjoying it. Especially since it seems that they can manipulate the information at least somewhat. They definitely skimmed over the war of the gods, most likely in order to not offend me the apparent spirit of language she who blah blah blah. Either way, it is apparent that I have to be skeptical of this source of information, same as any other. But their offer is tempting since teaching them a few runes could give me concrete benefits in exchange for time, something I have in abundance. Although for that to be true, I need to actually be given something, so I ask, ¡°What is it you offer me, Spirit Callers?¡± Still in that respectful stance, as before, they say in a beautiful and layered speech, ¡°We offer you the gift of language freely given.¡± I am confused for a moment before I remember Patient Bridge sacrificing some oddly specific facet of anger to a spirit for their service. And then my skin crawls as I remember the horrifying emptiness of language leaving me; even after gaining it all back and more, I couldn¡¯t read for months. Hells, I don¡¯t even know if they have a writing system; if language is stolen from someone who can¡¯t write, do they not know how to speak anymore? I shiver in horror as I vigorously shake my head and exclaim with a voice that drips venom, "No, I shall not accept such a foul gift for my time!¡± ¡°No, No, No need to get angry, great spirit; we can give you something else." Ehsa nervously says, obviously picking up my extreme reaction. Ashe, making a placating gesture, frantically says, ¡°We can give also uh give you perfection spells! Although you, magnificent as you are, have found perfection in the forge, we can give you perfection in body and soul.¡± My heart begins to slow as I hear their fearful voices, and my anger shrinks as I face this ugly facet of survival I pushed to the fore. The fawning of the desperate chokes my righteous anger until it turns into disgust. Fuck am I really the type of person to make others cower and shrink when I don''t get my way? At this point, I breathe in, breathe out, and with the calm I grasp, I ponder what I could even ask for. Obviously, I want more spells, especially since the spells described in the legends they stuffed into my head greatly enhanced the body of the user, although they seem to have mostly been used to combat malnutrition. Since they seem to also have some great smiths, I¡¯ll ask for their services as well. But before that, let me ask about their spells in order to squirrel away some secrets about how all of this magic works. Getting into a more relaxed posture I say, ¡°Alright, I wish to learn the spells you speak of; tell me more.¡± Ashe, at this point clearly more comfortable lets out a breath and says, "Well, firstly, it won¡¯t be useful on you great spirit.¡± I frown a bit disappointed before she continues, ¡°Due to the fact that we were only taught spells to enhance humans, we know not any spells that could enhance your glorious form great spirit. Most likely any spells that could perfect a spirit would only be known by Perfection itself, and it was banished away from our lands.¡± Oh, that isn¡¯t a problem for me; I don¡¯t have a funky body made out of mist, or out of rusty discarded shaving blades, or other such silly things. I¡¯m as human as they come, if a little bit enhanced, although this does make me wonder what they see me as; presumably, it''s a bit different than the eye-wateringly bright gash in reality, Patient Bridge saw me as. Or if their human body is the same as mine. Seeing that Ashe paused for me to think, I do a little shooing motion at her and say, ¡°Go on, Spirit Caller.¡± Taking a big gulp, she says a tad nervously, ¡°But undoubtedly it would be useful as a trading tool, and if you have any devoted, you can help them.¡± Ehsa glancing at Ashe¡¯s more hesitant speech gives me a sunny smile as she takes over and says, ¡°What they do is enhance your body so that it can approach perfection for a purpose. Each individual enhancement would be weak, but when put together, they allow for a qualitative change in your body for a specific task like mapmaking or forging. You don''t gain the skill you seek through the process; you simply have the best chance to approach perfection.¡± Ashe, extending the description, says, ¡°Additionally, as a perfection type spell, it burns inspiration, that profound spark to create, so take care, or the creations you perfected yourself for will be dull and miss the essence of truth behind them.¡± Wait, they burn that emotion? I have known of the price of magic for a while, but it does not involve losing emotion; it involves growing. Each spell invoked with anger makes my next fury deeper, and every lance of cold I make carves my well of sadness a bit deeper. How does that even work? Are they like invoking the opposite of inspiration? Ugh, I can¡¯t ask them; the current perception of me as a powerful great spirit is useful. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Picking apart their words in my head, I say, ¡°These spells you will teach me, but I desire something else for my service; I need a good smith. When the students come to be taught, bring a smith to work for me.¡± Both of them look at me attentively and nod. I wonder if I should ask for more, but well, it¡¯s not like I know my value currently. Additionally, I have no idea what the fuck else I could even ask for. I make a dismissive wave, and with that, they bow and fade out of existence. I sigh glad that they are gone, if only because I don¡¯t have to speak anymore. Especially since I kept up an imperious and grand voice that certainly isn¡¯t my own. Tired, I slowly swim back down to my throne and place myself into its silken straps. Huuuu, exhausted from the strange facade I put up, I wonder why I am even tired in the first place. I used to love talking to people, but now I just wish to be left alone. Regardless of my new strange desire to shut up. I need to think of a lesson plan for whenever they might pop back up. I can''t exactly wing the lesson, I''ve boxed myself into an impression that could help me but would also most likely cause me some trouble if I throw it out the window. I don¡¯t know what they want to learn, but obviously I can¡¯t teach them anything crazy like industrialization, that would wreak untold havoc, or anything that they can¡¯t already produce. Without the First¡¯s bracer that recharges enchantments, they most likely don''t have a way to keep useful items around for a while without constant upkeep. If I don''t teach them any battery spells or lessons on how to recharge enchantments, they will have to go to me if they want to make anything truly impressive, which means more earned. You know, like the lightbulb agreement of the 20th century, where everyone agreed to not make any lightbulbs that lasted forever since more lightbulbs burning out meant more lightbulbs bought. At this thought, I jerk back. Why am I even thinking of this? The lightbulb agreement of the 20th century was taught in school to talk about how insider trading leads to worse products. Not as a step-by-step guide on how to exploit others. Humanity stands on the shoulders of giants; it doesn¡¯t exactly get better when people viciously protect their knowledge instead of sharing it. Ugh, I feel sick just thinking about this, but what am I supposed to do? I need to keep an edge if I am to get the resources and power necessary to get home. My empty stomach heaves and flips around as I ask myself. Am I really willing to abandon the morals of my species in order to keep a little ember of power? But as I think of this, I remember my family. The warm hugs of my father. The bone-deep understanding that I am safe and warm surrounded by them. And I remember my aunt Prajaktha. ¡ª She was my favorite auntie, a family friend of that had been welcomed into our home for so long that she was blood. She always looked so beautiful with her meticulously arranged makeup and her colorful saris. Oh, how precious they all were. She practically wore a rainbow of long, heavy saris passed down from mother to daughter in an unbroken chain for centuries. When I saw them and the sheer weight of their beauty and history, I knew I wanted to make my own. Prajaktha encouraged this, while she did enjoy the luxuries of gene replacement, she disapproved of the utter lack of threadwork she saw, with everyone printing out designs rather than sewing them by hand. She taught me how to pick out the right silks, carefully honed my patience, my steady hand, and my eye of beauty, just as her grandmother had done for her long ago. The complex I lived in when I was young was less of an apartment and more of a communal sprawl that had everything you needed, so she saw me often. Always bringing me something beautiful and coloring my day with her stories. One day, when I was far younger and far more foolish, she found me sulking in the central room. Obviously, she noticed, and when my mouth stayed shut, she whirled me away to the airport for a quick trip to a wild planet purposefully kept clean of as much influence as possible. She dragged me through that portal after a short line, and with a blaze of color, we found ourselves in a tropical paradise, surrounded by glowing blue plants, a large dull red sun hanging atop the trees that glistened with sap and rain. She didn¡¯t allow me to stay gloomy for long, not among such beauty. Nature always felt a bit more special since it was so close, with it being a single portal away, and so far, with my entire world being the sprawling complex that I could live and die without ever walking more than 15 minutes away from. It lent the beauty of nature a sort of strange mysticism, even if I didn¡¯t believe in such things. Although nature isn¡¯t exactly kind either, especially to the unenhanced, it¡¯s a struggle to hike when the gravity is higher than the earth standard unit, and the very air is heavier than it should be. But nature doesn¡¯t need to be kind when people are. When we approached the end of the hike and I couldn''t finish the climb, Auntie Prajaktha grabbed my arm and lifted me to the top of the rock at the summit with ease. And as she brought me up, I could begin to see it¡ªthe strange composition of the air catching the rays of the sun¡ªa dull red that swims with vibrant gold and dusky oranges, interspersed with strange flashes of green as the light refracts. My feet planted on the ground, I could see the marvel in full, the red giant dipping below the treeline ever so slowly, its immense size meaning that this sunset would last hours. I sniffed a bit, those little tears that come from crinkled eyes leaking out, as I saw the beauty afforded to me by the work of my forefathers and mothers. Auntie Prajaktha was giving the view a wild, painted smile before she turned to me and guided me to a rock that would be a convenient enough seat. Auntie Prajaktha said with a sweeping gesture, "Beautiful, isn¡¯t it? I wanted to bring you to somewhere nice and far away before we had this conversation. Now, child, spit it out; leaving your sadness in your heart only allows for it to fester and rot.¡± A gloom fell over me, but it was quickly overtaken by a furious burst of anger as I said while flailing my arms, ¡°Fuck you, Terrance! You¡¯re such a dick; even worse, you¡¯re a dick who only thinks with his dick, you fuckwit you!¡± Upon hearing me, Auntie erupted into hysterical laughter. I turned then, my ire poured onto her before she quickly waved me down and covered her smiling lips. She said while still trying to calm me down, ¡°Alright, alright I get the idea Tara, now please go back a little bit and explain so I can know whats going on, don¡¯t you worry your auntie has got your back.¡± Sighing and sticking my arms into my pits, I said with a voice leaking frustration, ¡°It¡¯s simple; Terrance didn¡¯t know how to take no for an answer.¡± My Auntie¡¯s face immediately turned severe at my words, and she made the gestures I knew were to call someone silently before I stuck my arms out and said, ¡°No, that¡¯s not what happened or what you think happened, ugh, just wait a second Auntie. He didn¡¯t force himself onto me; he just sort of expected it to happen, and when I didn¡¯t want to, he broke up with me.¡± ¡°Which is a major dick move, but not a crime. Although I don¡¯t know why I even said no, I guess I just felt scared? Or well empty, I just, I just couldn''t do it.¡± I said, my voice lowering in volume and growing more hesitant. ¡°Everyone in all my books, movies, and shows talks about how big and important love is and how freeing and fun sex could be. But when I looked at him, I didn¡¯t feel anything at all. He was nice enough¡ªthat good mix of kind and opinionated I like in my friends¡ªbut all those butterflies people talked about never appeared. I just sort of said yes when he asked if he could be my girlfriend, and then I built a sort of weird shrine of happy memories that I could use to pretend I was attracted to or in love with him or anyone else.¡± ¡°Although frankly, despite the emptiness of the relationship, it still hurt when he left, especially since our friendship is doubtless sunken and dead, and that was the only part I cared about.¡± I said, my voice twisted into wilting sadness. ¡°I just can¡¯t help but wonder if theres something wrong with me when everyone else is doing their little dances and dates together and I just don¡¯t have it¡ªthat love thats been mythologized and held up as humanities greatest act. Everyone else talks about these tingly feelings when you look at someone, but I just see a person boring and dull.¡± I said my voice bitter, and weak. Taken aback, my Auntie quickly brings me into her arms after my little rant and says while stroking my hair, ¡°There is nothing wrong with you at all child; you are you, and what everyone else says and talks about doesn¡¯t matter when you are something new all on your own.¡± And despite the curdled feelings and fears I had left to rot being spilled, inside my Auntie Prajaktha''s arms, I smiled and felt just a bit better about myself. ¡ª As the warm, loving memories of my family wash over me, my eyes harden, and I say to the world, ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s selfish; I¡¯ll do what I have to come back to my family and my home." And with that, I settle onto my throne and wait for the students I shall rob of their full potential. 2.4 My Unfortunate Students Alright, now I just have to wait. The fabrics flutter past my face as they dance with the imperceptible motions I make. The paper hanging on the non-existent air is rearranged with every sweep and gesture, making it so that my plans are never static. My eye catches on one of the papers that is swept up and up and up and up until it falls into the gravitational pull of the frozen meat plannet and is lost, making it so that all plans not lucky enough to stay afloat will die before they kill me with their bad luck. I start to wonder if any good plans were ever lost to this before my eye catches on a doodle I made, and an ugly weld, and everything else within sight. UGH, when the fuck are they going to arrive! Wait, I never specified any specific time, and neither did they. Fuck now, I both can¡¯t do anything productive for fear of being interrupted, and I can¡¯t distract myself with my 50th trashy face slapping novel without being stressed out. You know what, I can just wait. With all the weird, timey-wimey nonsense they could arrive right this minute. I sit on my throne of silk ribbons and wait, hmm, is that plate cracked? That shouldn¡¯t be possible if I¡¯ve properly been powering the recharging. I should really check that out. No, no, I¡¯ve got to wait. Hmm, I wonder since my reserves of language are so deep, I bet I could make a pretty powerful magical item by just dumping all of it onto one wand instead of thinking of trying to make intricate and useful enchantments. Although those certainly are useful, I probably wouldn¡¯t have made the sticky iron plates if I just blindly strapped 40 different attack spells to one wand and blasted it. Plus, I don¡¯t know what could happen; perhaps the material could be overwhelmed and explode or simply hurt me due to the proximity. Wait, I shou- No FUCK THIS, I¡¯m doing something more interesting! ¡ª I stand in the slightly singed experimentation room, most of the more damaged sections patched over with new panels after my latest experiment. It was quite surprising and fascinating to see that if you blast one of the regenerating panels to pieces, if you do so hard enough, they waste all their energy trying to piece it together mid-explosion and fail. Either way, I am currently investigating if I could make a lava-based attack; there¡¯s no rune for it in the book, presumably because those who made it never saw lava or magma before. However, lava''s highly damaging and heavy physical nature makes it ideal for a weapon, so I¡¯m going to make this work anyway. My current hypothesis on how to weaponize lava is to stuff some summoned true rocks into a metal tube plastered with heat spells pointed at the interior of the tube, and then throw it like a makeshift lava grenade. Invoking a small amount of Freedom, I stop grabbing the handles on the wall and fly over to the center of the room to place the tube in the middle, before floating back over to the heavily enchanted wall and taking out the 11-foot pole I¡¯ve prepared to press its button from afar. My eyes glimmer as I wiggle the thin metal rod towards the makeshift lava grenade''s trigger, but I can only stop and wince when I am suddenly interrupted by the sound of a cacophony of babble, drivel, and small talk coming from my throne room. I stare longingly at the tube, wondering if I should just give it a push, despite my guests. But more rational thoughts prevail as I sigh and ruin its trigger rune so that it might not float around and accidentally go off while I''m not looking. Thoroughly peeved at the interruption but willing to deal with it, I grab the handles I use to navigate my gravityless base and pull my way to my impromptu throne room/planning room. Remembering to grab the spellbook and a couple samples on the way. ¡ª I walk or, more accurately, pull my way into my own throne room to see a horde or perhaps a gaggle of children. Although there''s not only children, there¡¯s a couple middle-aged people, some elderly. Bluntly, it''s the usual community college spread of younglings who are only technically adults and people with fully formed lives getting some knowledge or a degree. I wonder why there¡¯s so few of the elderly, though. Back home, it was fairly common for centennials to come back for unfinished degrees and a fresh perspective since it''s so easy and free. I wince as I realize that the reason there are so few centennials here is because my home has the resources and power to keep its people healthy well into their 150s; they might not even be able to get their people to the 110s. Before I can further delve into that kernel of despair, I catch a quite strange conversation ahead of me. One of them excitedly remarks about the strange and exotic fabric swirling around them, even when it is nothing but random dyed fabric. Although before I can ascertain more about their strange opinions on fabric, everyone quickly looks at me, before with the same speed, looking away with a wince, as if they had accidentally glimpsed the sun. I am momentarily confused before I remember that in the perspective swap, Patient Bridge saw me as a figure of blinding light. It is easy to assume that they see me similarly. But why? The people who saw me as that presumably never even talked to the people who saw me as a figure of light, so why would they have the same perspective on my appearance? Is it showing my true form or some other wishy-washy bullshit? Realizing that it is a bit irrelevant, I forge ahead and say with a steady voice, ¡°I am glad to see you students of the Dual Tribe, I am Tara, and I shall be your teacher today. We are going to start by introducing you to the basic utilizations of runes and then expand your repertoire of runes.¡± Nervous but holding firm, I get into a criss-cross apple sauce position while floating above my unfortunate students, using a touch of sadness to freeze into place. Taking a deep breath in, I say, ¡°The simplest enchantment of all is to simply place one or more property runes on an object, for example, healing on a steel plate.¡± Pulling out a simple healing plate, one exactly like the ones that make up my walls, I show it to the class, displaying its rune. I begin to speak when one of the younger boys begins to try to heckle me, saying, ¡°Tayari tunajua hilo, endelea!¡± Although they don¡¯t get to speak long when one of the elders swats him and says, "First, reapply your translation spell, and second, shut up; we¡¯re not here to listen to you.¡± Mollified, the boy takes what I think is a painted rock and crushes it before rubbing the dust onto his neck. Trying to make it seem like I didn¡¯t know that they attempted to fuck with me, I ask in my most innocent voice, ¡°Well, now that I understand you, what did you mean to say, student?¡± I barely contain a small amused chuckle when they just stumble through some umms before clamming shut. Feeling a bit more confident, I continue with my lecture. ¡°They are immensely useful due to their simplicity and effectiveness. Most things don¡¯t need more investment than one or two property runes when they are already useful and powerful. What¡¯s the point in making it complicated when it''s fine by itself?" Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°But they are inefficient due to the fact that they are always influencing the object. This plate is currently being healed, despite the fact that it isn¡¯t being damaged. It doesn¡¯t conserve its strength, and it doesn¡¯t increase in power; it just is." ¡°The simplest way to solve this is a button rune, a condition-based rune that allows you to choose when the rest of the enchantments are active. This allows you to conserve energy based on the situation, greatly increasing the enchantment''s life span.¡± Taking a deep breath I smile, glad to see that the only interruptions and naysayers seem to be younglings too big for their britches. I start getting into some basic examples of my usage of runes with full confidence. ¡°Which leads me into the easiest-to-make complex enchantment, wands; they are just a button and an attack rune, with some type of shaping or aiming rune. Incredibly simple, but effective. To start with, we will-¡± ¡ª I make a little cough as I reach the end of my prepared material. Thankfully enough after the young fool was silenced by his elders, the lesson went smoothly. With a sweeping gesture, I say, ¡°And that is the end of today''s lesson. Return, and I shall have more to teach. But now, at this moment, I require my payment. Who shall teach me your body forging spells?¡± As I ask this, the crowd shuffles around, and I see an older, angrogynous-looking fellow calmly walk out of the crowd. They make a sushing gesture to the chattering crowd before saying, ¡°I am the one who guides the younglings through their first forgings; thus, I was chosen to assist you.¡± Making an elegant bow, they say in a respectful tone, ¡°It would be my honor to guide you, great spirit; my name is Kailin.¡± Looking at them with more fervor, I see that they have a strange arrangement of what seems to be cultivated muscles, less like a thing of nature and work, and more like someone coldly arranging their own body for the sake of efficiency. They look similar to those who have had extensive body modifications back home, both for beauty and power. Well, it does make sense that those who are best at modifying their own bodies would teach others how to modify theirs. Anyway, with a dismissive wave, I say, "Well, toddle off students, thats all I have for today. Come back with refreshed minds and a mind fit for learning.¡± ¡°As for you there, come with me, and we will get started on what you have to teach me.¡± As I look into the crowd, most of them give a quick bow before they shimmer out of existence, no longer maintaining their presence on the Astral Plane, which I now unwillingly call home. The teacher, however, stays, patting invisible dust off their knees before coming up to me. Wordlessly, I walk to the experimentation wing, since damn near all the other wings would reveal too much. Thankfully, that wing is pretty much just clean steel rooms and some improvised barricades for the more explosive experiments. Pulling my way through the base, I head into one of the more empty and clean rooms before sitting criss-cross applesauce on the air. Looking back, I see them awkwardly duck through one of the very few door frames in my base. Their tall form, devilishly mixed with the strange invisible ground they all seem to walk on, worked together to put them in an uncomfortable position, their head incredibly close to one of my rare ceilings. Although, luckily for them, it put them close to my height in the air. Kailin glances at the overly close ceiling before they similarly get into a crisscross applesauce in front of me, although despite the grace and elegance in the action, it looks like they haven¡¯t done it before. Once we sit eye to eye, they say in an informal manner, "Alright, give me your hands.¡±. I look at them quizzically, but they simply give me an exasperated look and gesticulate wildly at me before saying, ¡°Come on, just give em up, I need to get a good look at you.¡± Puzzled and a bit hesitant, I nonetheless offer up my hands, and Kailin grasps them in theirs. It¡¯s quite a strange feeling holding their hands since their muscles aren¡¯t placed like most human muscles; it feels more like holding an alien or rubber-covered robots hands. My puzzled and a bit amused mood is broken, when I hear a horrific wrenching crack, like someone tearing off the leg of a chicken, and as I hear that, a flash of light spins underneath my teachers eyelids. I stare at them mildly horrified, but all they do is sigh and say, ¡°Oh well, guess I¡¯ll have to change my lesson path.¡± In response, still a bit horrified, I say, ¡°You don¡¯t need to change your lesson plans; you need to go to a hospital. Do you have a hospital? Wait, of course not!¡± Forcing myself to go through thoughts of healing, of slow reconstruction, and of finding joy, I begin to emit an aura of healing similar to the time I helped out that strange ginormous ant. But when it approaches them, they wave it away, dispersing the gathered energy, saying, ¡°I don¡¯t need no help, youngling. As you will soon learn, forging your body will allow you to have some creative triggers, although it depends on what you are looking for.¡± I stare at them confused because, for one, they just waved away a magical aura, and for two, they explicitly stated the spells wouldn¡¯t work for a great spirit. Why would they offer me instruction on how to upgrade my own body when, to them, it is impossible? Wait, but what if they know it is possible, perhaps due to a spell? With their quite dramatic casting, they probably figured some stuff out. Well, let¡¯s keep this charade up a bit longer, them treating me as a god instead of a peer is useful in negotiations and maintaining distance. Putting up a front, I say, ¡°I thought that your people did not know of any spells that could alter a great spirit.¡± Looking at me with an extraordinarily deadpan expression, Kailin says with a sigh ¡°I¡¯ve been guiding younglings through their first forging for decades, and I know what a human body feels like. So are you going to tell me your goals, or should I just let you flounder with a list of spells like I was planning to earlier?¡± Fuck, what am I supposed to do now? Hells, what can I even do now, I¡¯m not exactly going to silence a random old person to keep a secret. All I can do is hope for their mercy. I begin to say something to the effect of, please keep this quiet when they interrupt me. ¡°I don¡¯t give two shits if you¡¯re human underneath your shiny exterior; I ain''t no -person who reveals secrets for meager rewards-, you wouldn¡¯t believe how many weird modifications and bloodlines folks give their kids, you aren¡¯t even my weirdest case of a disguise. Now get on with it¡± Well, what do I want anyway, or well need? There¡¯s plenty of loot to find in the astral, but it won¡¯t be without danger. So an obvious choice would be an increase in durability or regeneration, although enhancing my speed would both help mid combat and with work, and I of course would want to kick my brain up a few notches in processing since its the only reason I''ve gotten this far. Unsure of what to do or choose, I simply say, ¡°I don¡¯t know what I want, hells I don¡¯t even know what I can do with your magics.¡± Nodding, they reply in an understanding and kind voice ¡°That makes sense. Most of my students plan their first forging for ages and know what is possible. Simply think of what gives you the greatest joy about your body, and we can work together to make that happen. As long as you have a clear purpose, I can pull off the regimen required.¡± Curious, I ask them, ¡°What is the purpose of your body teacher?¡± Their face curls into an amused smile when they say, "Well, my use is more obtuse than most; I never felt comfortable in the skin of a woman, so I created my own perfection spells to alter my body to a more suitable shape, not that of a man, since I am not that either. But something in between.¡± Chuckling a bit, they look up and make a reminiscent smile as they say, "Oh, how they screamed about my lost potential, about how I should have instead given myself skin of iron, and hips suitable for child, instead of making myself comfortable in the only thing anyone can ever truly own.¡± ¡°But look at me now; my expertise in creating and altering Perfection spells makes it so that every one of the brats of the people who cried false tears over my potential comes to me for my expert instruction.¡± they say with an exuberant aura of pride and victory. Calming down, Kailin ends it off by saying, ¡°Either way, my experience isn¡¯t exactly a great example for your first forging, unless you similarly are in the wrong skin.¡± Scoffing a bit, Tara says, "No, and if I was, that could have been solved long ago.¡± Kailen looks at me in a curious fashion at that comment, but quickly dismisses the thought. Falling into the recesses I begin to think of what would be the best option. My greatest asset here in the Astral Plane is my mind, and from what I saw in their myths an enhanced mind is something they can readily do, I''ll have to be a bit careful since most mind enhancements from my world require at least a couple years in front of a therapist before they allow you to stick a chip into your mind junk and start automating remembering the names of all your acquaintances. I doubt messing with my mind with magic wouldn''t have some sort of effect. Hmm, while my mind is a good target, the most obvious thing to upgrade does have a lot of merit. Flat out, making me harder to kill with harder skin and some backup organs gives me a much bigger leeway on how risky a move I can make, while also making it so that I won''t die in a freak accident. It is a tad bit boring as the main focus, but survival trumps boredom and well everything else. Although speed, the last thing I thought of would handily increase my survival capabilities while also not being as dull as a bag of rocks. Plus it would still be useful on the home base for projects.I almost salivate thinking of how much work I could do with something similar to the speed mods you could get back home. I remember my brother could set up a table in seconds with some replacement tendons and an increased ratio of quick twitch muscles. Although frankly he needed a chip stuck in his brain to handle the speed, so how would this work, perhaps ¡­ wait, I have someone who knows way more than me right here I should just ask them. Casually I ask Kailin ¡°What would racketing up my brains power require, and what would I get?¡± Musing Kailin says ¡°For requirements on the mind there aren¡¯t many since you can¡¯t exactly stuff iron in your brain and expect it to work better, but your mind is already greedy for food increasing its potential requires some minor alterations to the digestive system before you could do anything major¡± I make a minor wince as I realize that they have no proper precautions for messing with a mind so even as they speak of what an enhanced mind can do, such as being able to personally choose where memories are sent, simulate the flight paths of projectiles and get a natural instinct for learning. I promptly and swiftly throw my plans for an enhanced mind out the window, we put regulations on mind altering modifications for a reason, you can¡¯t just jam an entirely new way of perceiving the world without preparation. Hmm if that¡¯s the case then out of what I want only durability and speed is available, and frankly I appreciate being able to do something more than I appreciate the ability to resist something. As Kailin finishes up their speech I decide right then and there what my first forging will be. ¡°Alright Kailin load me up with some spells, quickly for I¡¯m going for some real speed!¡± 2.5 Rebirth Through The Forge Smiling I carry a long scroll of some type of beast skin down into my experimentation hall. I wave away Kailin as I began to wonder what I could do with such speed. I certainly saw some of it when Kailin wrote down the entire regiment I shall be following in the space between the blink of an eye. Especially when telling me about it, took nearly 30 minutes of uninterrupted descriptions. Although the basics are much simpler than what the density would imply. Perfection or body forging magic works by choosing a body part and then listing in excruciating, exacting detail the new traits you want that body part to have. Which is fascinating since that means that you could technically get like floating hands if you had enough Inspiration to burn. However, Kailin warned me not to get too creative because apparently, while you can expend more Inspiration to patch up holes in your bodies schematics, past a certain point, patches aren¡¯t going to cut it, and that body part will begin to create strange, and disastrous side-effects. Although despite the limitations of the patches, they are absolutely fascinating since this must be what allows more bizarre and weird transformations like metal skin. Because frankly, I¡¯m pretty sure that most people would be poisoned to death if they had something like iron skin. Although the anemic might instead jump for joy at not needing to refill their iron prescriptions. I¡¯m not perfectly sure, for all I know having that much extra iron makes your bones stronger. After all, I¡¯m a fashion designer, not a doctor, but I don¡¯t believe having metal instead of skin would be healthy or even possible without magic being involved. As I think this a thought wanders past my mind, wait, you can get a body mod that replaces your skin with armor back home, and while it does make you look like an idiot for cosplaying a super soldier in peace, it doesn¡¯t kill everyone who wears it. There¡¯s obviously some way to deal with the consequences of armor plating. Curious as to how I pull up the dead body of Stevens, my A.S.A.A.I and search through his database for body mod schematics, while I won¡¯t be able to get the most modern ones, I should be able to get all the ones in the public domain, which means I get anything older than 20 years. Scanning through, I quickly find a 24 year old blueprint on how to install cosmetic armor plates. Skimming the patent, I feel a rush of disappointment as I see that the armor plates don¡¯t replace the skin but simply adorn it. Frustrated that I won''t get an explanation of how to replace skin my face contorts into a frown. But quickly, my frown is turned upside down, and my disappointment fades away when I realize something. ¡°If I can access the patents, then why can¡¯t I replace the body parts that Kailin describes with better, stronger ones!¡± I say excitement and inspiration flowing through my veins in a rush. Adrenaline pumping through my veins I paw at the clasp of the scroll and read what the first body part in the sequence is. Alright, it¡¯s my tendons, apparently so that they can withstand the force of my movement. Almost feverish, I wonder what incredibly strong tendons could do. If they''re meant to withstand the force of my monstrous speed, could I go faster, blast into obstacles? Oooh, I can almost feel my next big power spike happening right now. Through the power of a society focused on science for the last 5 centuries mixed with magic that gets stronger and stronger the more you know about the human body, I can¡¯t wait to see what comes next. ¡ª Groaning in pain I realize that I very much could wait; in fact, I probably should have. As I float above my experimental chambers in an extremely strange fetal position, all of my body pulled as inward as possible by superhumanly strong tendons. I would scream expletives and enough curse words to make every era of sailor run away in fear, but right now my jaw is practically wired shut and pressed relentlessly into my chest by painfully tight ropes of my own flesh. FUCK, I wasn¡¯t willing to screw with their weird mind magic because they didn¡¯t properly think of the consequences. and what do I do? I promptly and immediately run head first into a pile of my own idiotic and shitty decisions. Ugh, still steaming with anger at my own stupid decisions. I use a touch of freedom magic to float towards the scroll, and I use my practically paralyzed foot to nudge it open. The scroll slowly rolls out, its bumpy surface making the already painful process horrifically slow. After it finishes rolling out, I float above it to get to the very end for the reverse chant. I grimace as I read its description; it¡¯s meant to be a chant spell like the spell to alter your body in the first place, but it seems Kailin might have predicted my fuckup or was at the very least prepared since there¡¯s an alternate way to cast the spell. Burning with pain, indignation, and shame, I take my lip and bite deep into its surface until I draw blood, and then I wipe my bloody lip onto the scroll through a clever use of flight. Only for the pain I was in before to not even compare to the pain I felt in the next second. As I felt a bit of my spark, of my inspiration to create and make art, be burned to ash in order to fuel the spell. I lay on the air, my limbs now free of the locking tendons but now dragged down by the weight of the emptiness I feel within me. I try to think of a way out of this, a way to feel better, but I just can¡¯t. The fundamental part of me that would do so being robbed from me. I do this for an indeterminate amount of time until it feels like something has crawled over the wound and held the emptiness inside. Hells below and above I-I don¡¯t think I can do this; I don¡¯t know enough about the body to make these schematics work, and I can¡¯t take having more of myself robbed from me like that. Even if I could grit my teeth and force my way through with trial and error, what would be left of me at the end? Nothing but an empty husk, unable to even think of something as creative as not being a husk. I shiver in pain and fear even as I wonder what I should do instead; after all, I cannot willingly cripple myself by being too weak to get better. How will I ever get home if I am a quivering coward who can¡¯t take a couple risks? But How? Maybe I could get somebody else to do it? But how would I find them? There aren¡¯t exactly many humans up here in the astral, and the only ones I¡¯ve found must be from another dimension, considering all their magic; my world has never had magic. For all I know the reason the upgraded tendons didn¡¯t work is that their biology is slightly different. Plus, who would willingly go through having their tendons contort them into a horrific husk of pain once a week or so? Although now that I think about how long did it take for most of the missing Inspiration to regenerate. I certainly have no idea; the clock only works on the planet since it''s the only source of gravity for a good long ways in at least two directions. Hmm, maybe I should do more experiments in front of the clock just to figure out how long my experiments take, time is an important factor after all in my data. Wait, I was thinking about tendons. Yeah, even if I hired someone as a dummy, what would I pay them with¡ªmy winning smile and an excellently tailored dress? No, if I want to push through the impossibility of both making better tendons and not turning myself into an empty shell of myself, I¡¯m going to need some help. But what help can I even get? I have no way to contact Kailin she didn''t exactly leave behind their number. No I''ll have to find a more roundabout solution. Well the fundamental problem of the spell is that it takes away my Inspiration in enormous quantities when I fail. if I changed it to my type of spell, where it would give me Inspiration, I could trial and error my way through this, while becoming even more of an idea-thinking machine. My great stores of Language have made me amazing at everything from understanding body language to flipping through a scroll a scarce couple of seconds after I received it. Who knows what having an enormous amount of creative inspiration would do for me. Before that, however, I need to know how to alter the spell in the first place. And frankly, I have no idea how I would change the spell, but there is someone else I know who has some insight into these strange people''s weird spells. Plus, unlike Kailin, he gave me something that I presume was to call him. With a less haggard expression on my face, I invoke Freedom, and float over to a handle attached to the space station, and pull my way to the throne room, carelessly brushing the floating papers, dooming the unlucky plans to fall into a corner or down to the frozen planet of meat. Pulling myself through several doors, I find myself in the choked entrance of my junk drawer of a room. The floor covered by floating junk, random plates of iron and steel inscribed with failed runes falling upwards to the ground of the frozen meat plannet above. Alongside a horrid attempt at making a teddy bear without any stuffing, an abandoned crochet project, a litany of scribbles, and a little dude I made by welding iron nails together. My eyes drawn to the little dude, I grab him out of the nonexistent air and put him closer to the floor so it takes longer for him to be swept away. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Shaking my head, I focus myself on finding the little badge thingy that Patient Bridge gave me. From what I remember, it looked like a carved piece of wood with two feathers attached to it. He left it behind when he gave me some space to grieve. Once I reach my makeshift couch, the epicenter of the room, I search amidst the random junk I threw in here, and after far too long, I eventually find the badge floating underneath a horde of papers. Gripping it, I see its triangular surface, with two bronze rings embedded into the wood holding two brown feathers. Puzzled about what I should do, I poke it over and over again. Getting no response from it, I eventually shrug and begin to turn back to my throne room to hopefully wait for Patient Bridge there. But as I turn around and begin to head back, I hear a subtle tapping as I see Patient Bridge tapping his foot on thin air in front of me. He makes a small cough before saying in a calm voice, ¡°You were calling me Tara? Quite insitently as well.¡± Slightly embarrassed and a bit confused, a flush climbs my cheeks before I stuff those unnecessary emotions into a metaphorical bush and say, "Yes, Patient Bridge, I have been looking for you; I could use some help, and you''re the only one that I can contact down there.¡± Turning their head slightly, they reply, ¡°Help with what exactly?¡± Clearing my head, I say, ¡°Well, all I need to know is how the hell does this burning emotions stuff work, because I cannot lose more of my spark, I feel as if something integral to my very existence will be taken away if I allow more of my Inspiration to be burnt away.¡± I hear Patient Bridge make some sort of hmm sound before a very queer expression crawls across his face, like he was half-heartedly forming anger out of a burned-out husk before quickly shuffling it away. Sighing, he says, "Well, firstly, my condolences for losing some of your foundation; it is beyond discomforting every single time it happens. Secondly, I ask that you have some patience, for your question is a decidedly difficult matter to explain without quite a bit of background. So please excuse my digression into the past.¡± Nodding I wait for his explanation, a thought in the back of my head satisfied that I can contact Kailin fairly easily. Getting into a more comfortable position Patient Bridge goes into a crisscross applesauce upon the air and says, ¡°In ages past, we learned magic at the feet of the gods, gifted scraps of power for service in order to service. But within these gifts lay foul poison, even if the gods above phrased it as a boon. For with each incantation, each careful sacrifice, and all the quivering compliments we gave to the uncaring gods above, we became more like them. We became more clever, more cold, more angry, our very beings supplanted by their corruption.¡± ¡°Those of us who were bound to the gods were also bound to their mistakes, to their flaws, but beneath their boot we found ways. Through time and learning, we understood that there were other ways of magic, that instead of choking on their poison, we could burn it for warmth. The gods despised these spells and vigorously fought against their spread. But like crushing an ember, each attempt at extinguishing the spark only led to more sparks flying everywhere, and Emotion Burning slowly spread. So that the war-mad zealot might look at their family and not see fear. So that the priests eyes might not be clouded with unearned pride, and so that our children will not inherit our anger several sizes too large. Why build ourselves a shrine to unworthy gods by hammering at our minds when we can throw the burning carcass of our faith at the gods themselves?¡± I see with this that a beautiful smile crosses his face, one formed of pure, unadulterated joy. Before, with a calmer look, he says resolutely, ¡°God invocation spells have been thrown to the wayside in the age of the shaman. Instead, we prune, and we cut at the sprouts of emotion. I myself have burned away my anger, for it has no use in this world; anger only leads to pain and war. Any uses of anger beyond those are merely academic. The mind grows back after burning stronger and heartier if you do it right, but why tolerate having it at all? I won¡¯t insist that you turn to burning your emotions, but God Invocation is dangerous. It turns men to monsters.¡± I stare at Patient Bridge in abject horror, he has traded and burned away all of it. All of his anger is apparently just gone, and he is robbed of even feeling angry at the society that taught him to destroy his ability to feel a core emotion. I may not believe it, but good God, I¡¯m torn between horror and tears. I am reluctant to simply disparage an entire society from a couple words but after picking up my jaw I say ¡°Patient Bridge how are you okay with this? You¡¯ve been robbed of your anger.¡± With a calm gaze, he says, ¡°You act as if wasn¡¯t my own decision to prune away my anger, but I find no fault in this. You do not understand, and ignorance should never be returned with anger, in fact nothing should.¡± I feel a burst of relief that he doesn¡¯t get angry with me for rebuking his entire society before I realize he cannot stop being calm. He is forced to be calm, at all times, for the rest of his life. Nervous after our strange exchange, I ask him, "Well, if you''re going to be nonjudgemental about it, why don''t you teach me how to swap Emotion Burning spells with Invocation." I see Patient Bridges face shift through several emotions before landing on determination as he says, ¡°While I will not force you to stop or even encourage you too, as it would be a violation of your will, I shall not help you turn into more and more of a -foreign invader- and monstrous being¡± Taking a moment to pause and think, Patient Bridge then says, ¡°Would your people even recognize you if you come back to them clad in skin of bronze and burning with the anger of a thousand suns?¡± I scoff at this and say dismissively, ¡°What I am doing will not visibly change my shell, and even if I did, my homeland has many procedures to drastically alter your body, they would not give a wick, although they might be concerned as to why I was clad in armor¡± Patient Bridge looking intrigued says ¡°Your homeland sounds fascinating, since from what I glimpsed in the swap showed that you were quite new to magic. How strange to have a world where they mutilate people into different shapes without the guidance of a Shaman.¡± Guffawing I reply ¡°to you it must seem strange and nonsensical but to me AI overlords, and body modifications are just home.¡± Hells I miss home, I miss my workshop, with its full shelves and specialty tools, I miss my friends and the simply truth of not being alone, I miss my family scars and all. My mind turns to more wistful images of home, but I can''t stand here thinking about them forevor I have to work towards getting back. Alright, getting back to business, I debate my options since I can¡¯t exactly use the old body mods when I know flat out better ones, and my plan of going around the high price of trial and error by changing the price has been foiled by Patient Bridges odd moral stance. "Well, if you won¡¯t help me, can you at least tell me how to fix these plans so I don¡¯t break my tendons again?¡± As I say this mildly exasperatedly, I take the scroll and unfurl it towards Patient Bridge letting him see the spell. I see an amused expression crawl across Patient Bridge¡¯s face as he says, "Apologies, but why don¡¯t you ask someone who has even the faintest clue what that is?¡± "Well, I don¡¯t exactly have a handy dandy medallion thing for them, and I can¡¯t exactly pop down for a chat and some tea.¡± I say, my mild exasperation pushing into the territory of passive agressiveness. "Oh, that''s fairly easy to solve; the dream descent spell will be a bit more inefficient for you, but it should still work; you do at the very least believe that dreams exist. Let me just¡± As they say this they poke me in the forehead and with a rush of memories I understand how to cast the spell. ¡°Now I must be off. I have a wonderful nap to get to.¡± As they say, this Patient Bridge fades out of existence with a sparkle, and I am suddenly alone in my base. Alright, more magic is always more fun, although, Hells, do these people have to make all their spells take forever. Scanning through the spells requirements, I see it requires precisely 8 repetitions of 8 mantras in order to activate. After which, I must go to sleep and speak my target''s name. Shoving the medallion back into its little spot in my junk room, I float over to the couch and plop down before attaching myself to the couch so I do not drift away. Secure I begin to repeat the words embedded in my memory, for who knows how long in the timeless mush I live in. Before I promptly fall asleep on command, my mind finally letting go of my extremely tired body. I feel a strange drifting sensation as if I were falling on top of a swirling leaf, winding and twisting in the air as I approach the ground. After some time, my feet touch down on a soft, bouncy surface, all around me are faint clouds of purple and pink. Huh, my dream reminds me of the astral plane, it has the same freeform feeling. Perhaps my dreams have been influenced by my long stay in the astral. Oh well, shaking my head to dispel the unnecessary thoughts, I call into the pinkish purple expanse "Kailin.¡± As I do so, I find my footsteps taking me farther and farther away from my gentle clouds of stardust, and I soon find myself walking on crimson velvet, which shifts with every movement. It¡¯s wriggling eerily similar to a heart, with the floor and walls around me pushing in and then pulling in. Slightly creeped out by the fact that Kailin''s dreams are apparently preoccupied by fabric hearts, I call out, "Kailin, you in here; I¡¯d like to talk to you about the spell regimen because I kinda ¡­¡± Appearing out of the folds of velvet fabric in a meditating position, Kailin says ¡°You fucked it up didn¡¯t you? Alright, what ill-advised last-second modification do you have for me? Don¡¯t be shy; you aren¡¯t even the hundredth person to do such a thing, although you are the first to come to me in my dream.¡± Sheepishly, I say, "Well, I had some better, more detailed designs for tendons, but when I tried to apply them, they all snapped forth with such strength that I couldn¡¯t move any of my arms.¡± Wincing, Kailin stands up and pats me on the shoulder and says, ¡°Oh god, that must have hurt like -blasphemers prison-, tendons might be the usual first step, but they are extraiordinarily painful when done wrong, and you seem to have done the usual fuck up. My guess is that you made the tendons too short. If they aren¡¯t long enough, your tendons pull on all your muscles until you¡¯re forced into the shape of a ball of pure pain, and you''re forced to do an emergency reset.¡± Surprised, I spurt out, ¡°What, how I used the measurements for how long the tendons should be from your spell? Maybe it¡¯s the tendons I used?¡± Exasperated Kailin says, ¡°The correct length for tendons and practically any body part you want to modify changes when you change the body part itself -contempteble inept person-. You can''t give yourselves the biggest muscles if they''re attached to a short frame; you need to change everything to change any one thing." Frowning I think about the contradictory fact that, frankly, short people are usually super buff, which kinda throws away her entire point before getting back to the point. I begin to speak before I am interrupted imediately by Kailin asking "What did you even change, did you just increase the tension strength or pull power without thinking about it? You can''t just make numbers go bigger and expect them to be better!" Slightly disturbed, I see Kailin whisper to themselves, screeching complaints about idiotic children who think power equals all the numbers being bigger. Hesitant, I pipe up and say, "Well, no, I didn''t just make the numbers bigger. You see, where I''m from, we are a lot better at anatomy than you are, and I have access to the plans on how to change that anatomy with a higher amount of detail and hundreds of years of knowledge." As I say this Kailins sculpted form whips around and stares at me, I am surprised as I see the first hint of shock I''ve seen flicker across their face. They didn''t care a wick about me being an entirely different species, but they currently look like the jaw that they designed themselves has detached and fallen onto the floor. Oh well, it makes sense. I''ve essentially dropped down from above and claimed to an expert that I have research from another world that is much better. It looks like I''m not doing a disservice to Kailin, but rather that their helping me also allows me to help them. Although, as quick as the surprise comes, Kailin quickly wipes away her shock and replaces it with a more calm and curious face. Looking intrigued, Kailin asks, "Well, can I see it? This sounds amazing!" Nervous at the idea of sharing something like this, I hesitate for a second before I realize that I can''t exactly get the help I need if I don''t show them the things they need to do to help me. With a flick, I activate Stevens solid light projection and show the 22-year-old schematic for enhanced tendons based on polymer elastics. At first, they''re a bit distracted by the projection, but they are quickly entranced by the designs shown. I hear them muttering nonsense under their breath, like, "What the fuck is a polymer, or plastic? Is this translation spell working? It cost me a fucking tooth. It better work." Before, with a burst of excitement, Kailin says, "Yes, yes, I can work with this. Hmm, if I want to alter the spell to accommodate for these body mods, we might have to slightly adjust your height; there doesn¡¯t seem to be enough room." "Wait what?" 2.6 Evolution Bouncing on my toes, a pleasant, cool sensation coming from the icy planet of churning meat below. I smile thinking about the enjoyable feel of my newly advanced tendons. ¡°Although frankly, I can¡¯t tell the difference between before and after except for the strange sensation of the Perfection spell taking some of my Inspiration,¡± I said. Well, I can comfort myself that it wasn¡¯t nearly as painful as last time, and it didn¡¯t have that same crawling feeling of my very core being robbed from me. It just feels vaguely unpleasant, and by what Kailin and others have told me, it should grow back stronger than before. And over time, I might eventually patch over my damaged core with new growth. Looking around, I see the strange and desolate surface of the planet, only adorned by my factory that constantly clangs out metal plates for inscribing, the little metallic hut I use for inscribing, my water park, my forge, and many others, but most importantly, right now, my crude water clock. Approaching it in great bounds due to the weak gravity, I eventually drift down for the last time and pull out my infinite notebook, noting the approximate day from my clock, and then turning to my plans. An obvious obligation of mine are the lessons, so I shall need to make a lesson plan for the next one soon. Additionally, after the required resting period between modifications, I¡¯ll consult Kailin on the next steps and implement the next changes in my body. Finally, I¡¯ll be returning to Home rune studies since it''s the only rune I¡¯ve found in the spellbook with teleportation, and it would be foolish to rely solely on the charity of others to escape the Astral Plane. ¡ª Entry 25, Page 1384, Day 93? I write this with great pain, mostly at the time/date. I have not been properly taking care of or even looking at the water clock on the surface of the meat planet. Note: Name the frozen meat planet. So, it only registered that a day has passed and nothing else since all the water ran out. Similarly, my factory has fallen into slight disrepair due to the fact that I didn¡¯t empty out the plates from their storage, and they piled up. As the plates over spilled it led to a pileup on the assembly line which led to them spilling all over the floor. All my work making sure that the damned thing was self sufficient enough to not need constant supervision stabbed me in the back! I only needed to pick them up and dump them out of the factory, but it''s still annoying that the mess was so large in the first place. Making sure that a small amount of neglect wouldn''t shut the factory down, only allowed a huge amount of neglect to create a huge mess. Although getting back to the date I estimate that it¡¯s been around a month since my last entry, although I¡¯m frankly guesstimating, especially since the page space on my notes suggests that it¡¯s been months. But me spending months in what feels like a week is absolutely ridiculous, so I capped it at a month. Thankfully enough, I¡¯m spending more time downstairs than before, so I can properly notate the date now, useful or not. Additionally, I expanded the water clock by 7 so I could track an entire week rather than a day. Although considering that this is a digression that itself spawned a digression, let me get back to my point. Since I spoke with Kailin last week, a horde of students piled in again. It was far easier to deal with them this time since it seems that most of the arrogant children were browbeaten into shutting up, but it was still a bit of a shock and interruption to my busy days of reading garbage faceslappers. It wasn''t a terrible interruption altogether, but it was one nonetheless. Even if it made me learn so many new fascinating pieces. Like the fact that what they are impressed by in my grand base chock full of weird magic and enchantments, the thing that resoundingly all of my visitors find most impressive is my cloth. Not even my complicated and near-impossible-to-sew clothes, but rather the cloth itself. I think I remember seeing one jerk back when they accidentally touched one of the silk streamers attached to my throne. Which is frankly impossibly funny to me, it''s like seeing someone ooh and aah over someone''s breakfast cereal. They kept mumbling nonsense about whatever creature the cloth came from being quite strong to have fur this soft. Which is a whole load of hokey since, for one, how does soft fur mean impressive to kill, and second, I didn¡¯t kill for this. We figured out how to make artificial silk without harming the worms decades ago. And while some prefer to have the worms boil to death to get the authentic feel, I am perfectly happy with artificial silk. Either way, the lesson itself was easy; I mostly just described and notated more runes along with bringing along effect chains. That being where you link two spells together to get a slightly altered effect. I don¡¯t use them often, except for my sticky plate wand and the storage enchantments needed to make proper magic items that don¡¯t run out of power. But they can be used to get some really, really weird effects without needing more runes. They were quite excited at this, at least from what I can glean from listening to them chatter. They didn¡¯t translate when they did so, but my deep stores of language meant that understanding them was fairly trivial, even if it was garbled. Apparently, they had already figured out that sometimes other runes affected the output of other runes and used it earlier, but they didn¡¯t know how effect chains worked or how to use them in more creative pursuits without incredibly exhaustive testing. It¡¯s not like they¡¯re dumb; if there is an obvious phenomenon, they would note and react to it, but the knowledge of how and what the phenomenon was, or even did was lost, so they floundered in the dark. It isn¡¯t like my society hasn¡¯t experienced it either. The burning of the Library of Alexandria led to a horrendous amount of knowledge being lost. Even to this day, historians scream in rage when they find ancient texts that reference incredibly important books that were burned to ashes. The Death of the Internet led to untold amounts of knowledge being lost when no one considered the need for a backup to the global network. Some of the most important information only survived through illegal copies and archaic paper records. The Nazi book burnings led to decades of research on sex, gender, and expression being lost. The truth is that it isn''t strange at all that they''ve found themselves in a little dark age of enchantment knowledge, uncountable amounts of poetry, art, and research have been lost through chance and idiocy. Although the current trajectory of the lessons lightly worries me simply due to the fact that eventually I will run out of runes to teach them and I can¡¯t access many runes inside the book with my own perspective, lowering my gaze. And despite all my efforts and pestering the beings inside the book do not respond, even when I told them about their descendants! Which is frankly ridiculous considering what the book was concerned about when I talked to it. Note:Consider showing the book to Kailin, in order to gain more runes in EXTREMELY controlled conditions. Other than that, I am excited for the upgrades to my body coming up soon, I apparently need around a week and a day of recovery time in order for my body to adjust and continue. Ending Entry. ¡ª Entry 26, Page 1402, Day 100. This week was fairly uneventful; the lesson went well, I simply showed them some more runes, and then I did a Q&A on runework. Annoyingly, I found that they asked me questions that showed that they had spent far more time enchanting objects than I had. Thankfully enough, I had spent more time with a wide variety of runes, so my words were still insightful. The only remarkable thing about the lesson was that the kid who tried to heckle me in the first lesson, Ujasiri, showed back up with a nasty scar. This time he was a lot more mature, and he asked some really piercing questions. Who knew someone could change so much in just a week? Although I don''t doubt the recovery changed some things. I didn¡¯t ask, but I assume that with all this body-forging business, healing must be a breeze, so it couldn''t have been long, but such a grave wound changes someone all the same. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Although the fact that they could heal it in the first place so quickly does make me wonder why they didn''t get rid of the scar. Perhaps it is a cultural thing; I know that back in the day, scars were seen as attractive by warrior cultures. Since it proved that you had lived to fight another day, and considering the fact that someone received and healed a nasty scar within a week, I don¡¯t doubt that there is considerable amounts of combat down there. Other than that, I am pleased that I started working on the Home rune this week. Below is a copy of the notes. ¡ª Home Rune Teleportation Experiment 1. Hypothesis:If the home rune is tied to a button, the plate attached to it will not return home automatically and continuously and instead only return home when pressed. Instructions.
  1. Carve a Button-Home enchantment into an hexagonal plate
  2. Melt a similarly thick amount of iron dust onto the earlier hexagonal plate, creating a stamp
  3. Melt off any blooms of metal on the edge of the stamp
  4. Apply stamp to heated iron
  5. Take the new hexagonal plate, mark it as it¡¯s iteration.
  6. Place paper onto the floor of experimentation room 2.1(Note:The 2 series of rooms has no blast shielding, take extra care).
  7. Take that marked plate, and place it inside experimentation room 2.1
  8. Then take that marked plate and press the button in the observation room 3.2.1 nearby room 2.1
  9. Record results namely the location and effects of the Home rune
  10. Repeat steps 4-9 2 more times
  11. Note down and interpret results.
Results Trial 1:I pressed the button and simply put nothing happened, it did not move to any place, the only notable difference being that I couldn¡¯t move the plate or it would quickly move back into my hand. At this point, I was annoyed but already fairly certain what the answer to my experiment was, but I couldn¡¯t just introduce new factors to the experiment without proving the original premise. Trial 2:I pressed the button, and the second plate again stubbornly refused to move, although something strange that I noticed was that when I pushed against the active plate, it didn''t phase through my finger or anything to stay in place my finger could just not remove it. My hypothesis is that the Home rune isn¡¯t teleportation per se but extremely rapid movement to the designated home. Trial 3: Much the same as before although when I tried to move the plate more forcefully with a steel rod, I found that the rod started to bend before I could even budge the plate. Failure Error:As was readily apparent in the first trial, it seems that the Home rune designates a place as home when it is first activated, and thus pressing the button for the first time when you plan for it to go to a certain place is utter foolishness. Which should have been readily apparent if I had ever wondered how in all that is above and below would the plate have known that it was supposed to go to the center of room 2.1 instead of where it was first made or where it had its first sandwich, because how the hell does a plate now where is home. Disregarding the earlier rant, I will first press the button in room 2.1, turn it off, and then activate it in room 3.2.1 in order for it to hopefully be transported to room 2.1, although this time I will leave the door open since otherwise the plate might smash through that very same door. Home Rune Teleportation? Experiment 2. Hypothesis:If the home rune is tied to a button, the plate attached to it will consider its home to be the area where the button is fully pressed, and rather than returning home automatically and continuously, it will instead only return home when the button is reactivated. Instructions.
  1. Take the stamp that was created earlier from below and place it inside room 2.1
  2. Apply stamp to heated iron
  3. Take the new hexagonal plate, mark it as it¡¯s iteration.
  4. Take that marked plate, and place it inside experimentation room 2.1
  5. Press the button within the room
  6. Then take that marked plate(Note:LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN), and press the button in the observation room 3.2.1 nearby room 2.1. Taking care to not have any body parts or items in the way of the plate.
  7. Record results namely the location and effects of the Home rune
  8. Repeat steps 2-7 2 more times
  9. Note down and interpret results.
Results Trial 1:I pressed the button, and when I did so, I was struck with utter fear as I saw for the briefest moment a grand breach bloom from all the walls of my base and a horrendous screech as presumably what was once that plate of metal tore through my entire base, rendering both itself and my base into rent and torn metal, before that base promptly reformed. I currently have the remains of the plate in my possession after it tore through three different heavily reinforced experimentation rooms, several of which housed advanced blast protection, before finally stopping on the larger outer wall. Fuck, I¡¯ve seen my walls reform from damage so fast that they fling the option back to the sender. How the hell did the plate blast through an entire wing of those walls before it finally fucking stopped? Strangely enough, the plate did not go toward the activated location but instead went straight left from my perspective, which makes no fucking sense! Trial 2:CANCELED, too dangerous to repeat the experiment without changing the parameters. Additionally, I need to clean up the mess that was made; thankfully enough, those rooms weren¡¯t full, but the scraps floating in the air are quite annoying. Failure Error: Well, that was a fucking disaster. I have pretty much no idea why or what the fuck happened. I can¡¯t exactly not do further experiments since this is so far the rune that has the best hope for me to be able to get out of here. But I¡¯m frankly pretty shaken; my only idea was that somehow the plate being in the air instead of on the floor or in my hand caused something horrible to happen. Next time, the plate is firmly going to be on the floor, and I will be completely suited up in case it goes in a completely random direction again. Hopefully my armor will absorb the magic that''s propelling the plate, and I¡¯ll only get mangled instead of dead. Home Rune Teleportation? Experiment 3. Hypothesis:If the plate is first activated in a clearly marked spot, then the hexagonal plate will precisely arrive and stop at that marked spot. Instead of moving to an unknown location or not budging from its original spot. Instructions.
  1. Take the stamp that was created earlier from below and place it inside room 2.2(Note:2.1 got thoroughly destroyed)
  2. Apply stamp to heated iron
  3. Take the new hexagonal plate, mark it as it¡¯s iteration.
  4. Place paper onto the floor of experimentation room 2.1(Note:The 2 series of rooms has no blast shielding, take extra care).
  5. Take that marked plate, and place it on the floor of experimentation room 2.1
  6. Take a replicated pencil and then mark the area around the marked plate, to note where it was activated
  7. Press the button within the markings
  8. Then take that marked plate(Note:LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN), taking care not to smudge the pencil, and press the button in the observation room 3.2.1 nearby room 2.1. Taking care to not have any body parts or items in the way of the plate.
  9. Record results namely the location and effects of the Home rune
  10. Repeat steps 2-9 2 more times
  11. Note down and interpret results.
Results
HRT E3 Arrived Error
Trial 1 yes no
Trial 2 yes no
Trial 3 no yes
Success Error:On Trial 3, due to the pencil being smudged, the plate arrived off center. Otherwise, the experiment was a complete success; the plate arrived at near instantaneous speeds to the designated location, currently called ¡°anchor points." It seems that this ¡°teleportation¡± only works if the location is clearly designated. In order for this to be easier, the next usage should mark the intended location with more permanent markers, like indentations in metal. So that no smudging errors can lead to disastrous results like HRTE2. I still have no idea why that happened and frankly even I would be fine not knowing more about it, if it simply doesn''t happen again. Other than the main focus of the Home rune experiments, the body modifications are coming along nicely. I should have upgraded my stomach this week to make up for the vastly increased metabolism, but I haven''t needed to eat a lick of food in what, at the very least, is a couple months, so Kailin and I decided that it would be safe to skip out on those modifications. Instead, we¡¯re replacing my bones with a helix structure that¡¯s packed to the brim with marrow, which Kailin and I found while browsing the patents. It¡¯s a good mix of sturdy and light, which is rare due to the relative peace of the Interstellar age. So there aren¡¯t any combat-focused modifications open to the public, and many of the mods open to the public that had the required lightness were also delicate to the extreme. Which is okay when you don¡¯t really care about fighting, but considering that most of the ruins I delve into don¡¯t exactly give their goods for free, I need some sturdiness. Additionally, packed in with the bone modifications were a different bone pattern, and additional padding for my skull. We found the bone pattern in the patents, but the padding was Kailin''s own invention. Apparently, one of the weird injuries those with superspeed get is a constant and horrific headache caused by your brain getting slammed into the back of your head through momentum. It reminds me of that futile attempt to ban American football for its horrific danger five years ago. I make an amused shake of my head as I think that sometimes those above, despite their greatness, don¡¯t quite understand those below. Especially when just making it safer rather than banning it would have been far more effective. Regardless, Kailin apparently designed a fat-based padding that holds the brain in place around a decade back, that¡¯s a bit better, although more magically expensive than what modern solutions offer. I might shirk at using more Perfection magic for other uses, but the brain needs to be protected above all else, so I went through it. Thankfully enough, Kailin managed to budget the spell so that it didn¡¯t dig into my core. And it¡¯s quite invigorating to have the first modification that I can actually feel. Now, I am quite literally lighter on my feet, I¡¯m pretty sure that if there wasn''t a planet below, I would simply float away with a stray astral breeze. And while the increased sturdiness is less apparent, I''m pretty sure if I punched a brick wall now, the brick would break before my fingers did. Either way, I¡¯m quite excited about the body mods and quite eagerly await next week! Ending Entry. ¡ª He¡¯s dead, the kid is dead. ???.1 Tara floats in her workshop, her body subtly corkscrewing through the air as she curls around her project. Her fingers steady and strong carve intricate lines into the forged tube she holds. They are working on a rather interesting project that has floated in and out of their head weeks. A lava bomb. Currently she was having a bit of trouble due to the fact that the false earth summoning rune, didn¡¯t melt, since apparently no one perceived rock as melting into lava, and the true earth summon rune, creates far too much rock, leading to a uncontained explosion. The newest attempt was interrupted however when a strange golden magical circle springs around Tara¡¯s feet. Startled Tara grabs a rock expulsion wand and blasts at the golden circle but it is all for naught as she is overtaken by a blinding white light. ¡ª Some time later Tara¡¯s eyes open to see a dull white void. Curious she steps onto nothingness and walks forward and she eventually finds herself in front of a simple desk. It is a nice desk, made of hardwood, and without the telltale signs of Replicator usage. A rather rare and expensive luxury for just a desk. But despite its quality what is important here is not the desk but rather the one that presides from it. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Sitting in a comfortable leather chair, is an ordinary somewhat handsome white blonde man in a black suit, the only remarkable qualities being his eyes, filled with unending hunger and pain. And the simple fact that this calm man is missing a hand, the bone, and fat, and blood exposed, that very same blood dripping down onto the luxurious desk. He smiles regardless, seeming unconcerned with both the mess and the wound as he says ¡°I¡¯ve brought you here today Tara, She Who Breaks Chains, in order to give you a limited-time opportunity, that you would be loath to not partake in.¡± ¡°And it truly is limited, even now I feel the strings of the story break and fray if this is not completed by the midnight hour you will never receive my gift.¡± Tara scoffing at this obvious tactic to create scarcity simply asks ¡°What do you even want bozo?¡± The man at the desk pressing his palm against his bloody stump, says ¡°Your story is too strong to be diverted far, but by using this last hour, I can bounce your story against others, and lead to a new world. I will replace you with someone meant to be victimized by those who would summon you there, instead, they will receive an avenger, She Who Breaks Chains. The only thing I ask is that when you do what you were bound to do you make it large and loud.¡± As he says this Tara briefly peaks behind something and sees a dense rope of rainbow strings tied to her skin, before she quickly shakes her head. Stern, Tara says ¡°Regardless, if you want me to do something, you better pay me, so what are you offering?¡± A smug smile drifting across the man''s face he says ¡°I can either give you a nudge of luck towards your journey, a chance to solve a regret, or you may return and leave this evil I offer you unchallenged, what do you choose oh Breaker of Chains.¡± 2.7 Vain Struggle I¡¯m not even sure what I should be feeling. Ujasiri was just a person I sort of knew, but it feels wrong that he¡¯s alive one second and dead the next. There¡¯s no ceremony or anything; they aren¡¯t even saying anything. The crowd is just smaller, missing someone. No fanfare for the lost soul. After that, I asked what happened to Ujasiri, and they, with sorrow clearly dripping off their words, said that he died in bravery and worth fighting off a lion that had gotten close to some of the tribe''s children. I almost wish to laugh; he didn¡¯t look like he was more than at most 15 years old. He was a child himself who died for no reason at all except sheer chance and a willingness to die. I want to ask, where were the adults? Where was the medicine? But I know the answer, there wasn''t any, and because of that, he died. My mind swirls amidst my silent students, unable to process this. In the only context I''ve ever known, a lion couldn¡¯t have even gotten close to children, much less mauled someone to death. Any simple wound like what killed Ujasiri would have been quickly and easily solved. But that isn¡¯t the case here; instead, a child died in order to save some other children. Died for the crime of lacking medicine. When he had so much more to do. I watched him grow, mature, and learn, and now it''s just gone. ¡ª Entry 27, Page 1414, Day 107 My new skin is odd; it feels strange, the rough plates of its makeup lending my skin both strength and immense traction. Kailin was inspired by a shark''s skin when we looked through the patents, fascinated by the animals themselves since she¡¯s never seen the sea. I don¡¯t feel anything particular; however, I¡¯ve seen the sea before; I¡¯ve seen it hundreds of times; it just isn¡¯t all that special. Although it does feel slightly strange for someone with such intense expertise to simply have never seen something as widespread as the ocean. But they¡¯re still a person, and no one can do everything, so I suppose it is natural. Regardless, we used one of the patented designs for a decorative skin pattern. Mostly due to the very large notes all throughout the patent document that were decisively stated. Do not install in order for the patient to have smooth skin; shark skin is very rough, and will hurt people who rub it the wrong way. Make the patient fully aware that this will not make their skin but instead the opposite. And if a patient insists that shark skin is the smoothest thing in all of existence, please ignore them and direct them towards a procedure that actually makes their skin smooth. With how insistent and everpresent the notes were, I suspected that they would have extremely large amounts of traction, and I was pleasantly surprised by the specs. Sharkskin is a series of sharp keratin plates called denticles that are arranged in such a way so that moving from the nose to the tail, they are smooth and very efficient while swimming. On the other side, from tail to nose, however they are very rough since the overlapping teeth-like structure of the denticles splays upwards and digs into the surface to stop them from moving. Me and Kailin altered the denticles so that when I pull on something, the denticles dig into the surface to make sure that I stick to it. While also allowing me to have fairly regular interactions with others if I make sure to have them not pull on my skin. Since the other way around is fairly smooth. It was a bit fragile since the original design was built for a cosmetic modification, and thus the plates weren''t made up of keratin. But there was enough space in the Perfection magic budget to fit in some general enhancements to the defenese and strength of my skin and replace my skin with keratin, the same material as my teeth. Over these last couple weeks, I have felt my stores of my Perfection magic grow, so I was able to make this blueprint viable. Which is comforting since all the options that the tribe of hammer and spear came up with independently, left the prospective speedster feeling horribly sticky. The only other solution is learning Jealusy hedge magic in order to selectively stick to substances. And I refuse to do such a thing; it would feel awful for both me and anyone I ever become friends with to give myself an intense and impossible need for them to interact with me and only me. I won¡¯t burn away my Jealousy since it seems like a bad idea to remove an emotion that makes me strive for more. But frankly, I could see a less ambitious version of myself burning my Jealousy to the nubs, it truly is an awful feeling. Either way, my new skin is obviously quite queer and odd right now, and it will take a bit of time to train myself to not pull on anything fragile. It¡¯s already ruined a couple clothes already, although I shudder to consider what feeling sticky at all times would have done to both myself and my fashion, eaugh! Next week we¡¯ll start heading into the final changes, which would be a general enhancement of my mind, along with some specific snarls added in so that I can actually process what¡¯s going on. In this, I am quite grateful that Kailin is giving me detailed instructions since, from what we can tell, The Dual Tribe is a bit better at messing with the brain. After all, they don¡¯t need to interact with the extremely complicated biology inherent to the brain in order to change it; they just need to describe general actions while adding blanket safety clauses. This does make any serious mind enhancements like the ones I was thinking about earlier a no-go due to the extreme cost of Perfection reserves. But when what I really want is to just not smack into walls, it''s a true blessing to not need to actually figure out the confounding mystery that is the brain. Humanity still has no idea what''s going on up there after centuries of study, all of our technology related to it, like memory transfer, relies on alien trade. But I suppose I should get this over with and start doing the Home rune experiments again. It''s not like it could be any worse than what the rest of my week has been. ¡ª Home Rune Experimentation 2.1 Hypothesis: If there is something placed upon a Home rune, it will move with the object. Thus teleporting them to the target destination. Instructions
  1. Take the Home Rune Stamp
  2. Take a standard hexagonal iron plate
  3. Take a steel frame.
  4. Heat the iron with the hot hands spell.
  5. Apply the stamp to the heated metal within the frame
  6. Remove the plate from the frame when it has cooled down
  7. Mark the plate with its iteration
  8. Take the frame from earlier and place it in Experimentation Room 2.2
  9. Take the plate and place it inside the frame
  10. Press the button
  11. Press the button again to deactivate it.
  12. Take the deactivated plate into room 3.2
  13. Place another standard blank hexagonal plate atop the enchanted plate
  14. Press the button on the bottom with an 11-foot pole
  15. Record Results.
  16. Repeat steps 2¨C16 two more times
  17. Note down and interpret the results
Results Trial 1: When the button was pressed, I was suddenly very thankful that I remembered that I had an 11 foot pole lying around. Because the plate flipped faster than I could blink, rocketed its passenger into a wall, and then smashed through the frame. I had to go into the tinkering wing, grab a hammer, and smash it back into usefulness for the next try. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Trial 2: Similarly to before, the plate seems to respect the orientation of the original placement, and thus, if it is placed upside down, it flips back up mid-flight. At this point, I know that the experiment is a failure, but you need at the very least three trials, or the entire thing could just be a fluke of luck and idiocy. Trial 3: Again, a failure. Thankfully, the 11 feet of distance is enough that I don¡¯t get smacked into next week. I''m, of course, still being as cautious as possible by wearing my armor, but I haven¡¯t needed it so far. Failure Retrospective/Errors: Firstly, in the future, the orientation of the plates at anchoring and activation must be noted and accounted for. Due to this, any objects placed on or attached to Home rune plates must be smaller than the plate in order to press the button. Secondly, since the plate smashes through all barriers, any anchoring points must be inlaid rather than placed within an object. This is frustrating due to the fact that the healing floors reject any attachments and the simple fact that I do not also want to carve an inlay into the floor, permanently scarring it. Finally, since placing an object on the rune that moves things so fast that they¡¯re faster than human sight. It seems that simply placing objects on top of the enchantment is just a good way for that object to either be left behind, like how the plates stay on the table when someone rips off the tablecloth, or, more dangerously, allow the object to be flung to who knows where. To combat this, I will attempt to strap items to the plate so that they can be dragged there. Hopefully, things strapped to the item will experience the same perfect stop of movement, and I can travel around with Home runes like a discount Thor, raising the ante. I also hope against hope that I might be able to use this to get back home. ¡ª Home Rune Experimentation 2.2 Hypothesis: If something is strapped to a home rune, it will move with the object. Thus teleporting them to the target destination. Instructions
  1. Take three hexagonal plates
  2. Weld the edges together.
  3. Take a standard hexagonal iron plate and then carve the outline into the center of the three hexagonal plates; set aside the object made in steps 1-3
  4. Make three ropes by braiding string found in the relaxation wing; set aside
  5. Take one standard hexagonal plate and carve off halves until it¡¯s 1/8th of the original size, set aside
  6. Take the Home Rune stamp
  7. Take a standard hexagonal iron plate
  8. Take a steel frame.
  9. Heat the iron with the hot hands spell.
  10. Apply the stamp to the heated metal within the frame
  11. Remove the plate from the frame when it has cooled down
  12. Mark the plate with its iteration
  13. Take the inlaid plate made in steps 1-3 and then place it in room 2.2
  14. Take the plate and place it inside the boundaries
  15. Press the button, to anchor the rune.
  16. Press the button again to deactivate it.
  17. Take the deactivated plate into room 3.2
  18. Take the rope made in step 4 and tie it to the plate
  19. Then use that firmly secured rope to strap down the piece of iron made in step 5.
  20. Press the button on the top with an 11-foot pole
  21. Record Results.
  22. Repeat steps 6¨C11 two more times
  23. Note down and interpret the results
Results Trial 1: I seem to have neglected to do one thing in this experiment. I neglected the crucial aspect of making a functional rope, which led to my contraption failing to stick together mid-flight and flinging the carved metal plate into the ceiling. It was thankfully going at a much slower speed than the plate itself, so there was only some buckling in the walls, but it was still frightening. Although at this point, I think I¡¯m getting used to objects being flung at high speeds nearby since it wasn¡¯t nearly as scary as it should have been. Either way, I¡¯m going to look up how to more properly make some rope, make some more, and try again. Trial 2: Alright! This attempt was partially successful; it ripped apart the rope when it came in, and thus the carved plate that was attached slammed into the back, but it transported it across from room to room. So I don¡¯t have the same problem. I¡¯m going to add a couple of rings to the top of the plate so I can tie the carved plate without having any rope on the bottom. Trial 3: SUCCESS! Well, not a complete success. I have no idea what the hell the force is for the items attached, and I thus have no idea how I will do strapped to a home rune plate. But when the button was pressed, the carved plate arrived at its destination unharmed and on course. So I should at the very least survive with the dense imbuement of healing energy that my armor grants. What could possibly go wrong? Success Retrospective/Errors: Alright, since this worked, I¡¯ll be strapping myself to a home rune and trying to use this as both a way of quickly returning to places and to bust down into the mortal realm. I doubt I¡¯ll be able to do the latter due to the fact that the home rune doesn¡¯t teleport people so much as it just moves the object to its anchor extremely quickly. Additionally, it won¡¯t even get me to my home; it¡¯ll just get me onto a weird alien planet. Regardless, I¡¯ll be trying both. For safety, I¡¯ll be altering the design of the rune and the destination so that I don¡¯t smash through several walls and crush myself into a bunch of itty bitty pieces, by drilling a hole in the center of the anchoring plate so I can align myself properly and not flip around in the air. Thankfully, I recently increased my skin''s durability greatly by shifting them into a bunch of tiny teeth knives, so I should be fine, but I¡¯m obviously taking all precautions possible. ¡ª Home Rune Experimentation 2.3 Hypothesis: If I tie my feet to the plate and then have the plate return to a location with no walls, I will arrive at the location safe and sound. Instructions
  1. Take an eleven-foot pole and bend it in two places so that the end of the pole points back towards the body.
  2. Take the old anchoring rune plate and carve a hole so that you can press the button.
  3. Take the leftover rope and set it aside
  4. Use standard procedures to make a home rune plate
  5. Attach six iron rings to the plate.
  6. Take the old anchoring rune plate and melt it at the top of a very long pole that is attached to the bottom of the space base, pointing it away from the meat planet. (Note: The planet has still not been named, get to that soon)
  7. Take the plate and place it inside the boundaries the rune facing down through the hole in the anchoring plate.
  8. Press the button to anchor the plate through the drilled hole
  9. Press the button again to deactivate the plate.
  10. Take the deactivated plate used in Trial 3 of HRE 2.2 and place it above the anchoring rune plate.
  11. Take the old rope and tie it through the rings, firmly around your armored boots.
  12. Press the button on the bottom of your boots with a bent pole
  13. Record Results.
  14. Repeat steps 6¨C11 two more times
  15. Note down and interpret the results
Results Trial 1:FUCK! FUKCEIT FUYCIK FUCIKO FUCKKKK! *A great distance of infinite paper is strewn with expletives before it eventually reaches a more coherent statement.* In the future, I should refrain from breaking all of the bones in my legs and then pushing those broken legs against a solid metal surface by healing the bones back into place. I should probably never ever fucking do this again. Oh, above and below what was I thinking, someone else would have pulped their entire lower body, but what else am I supposed to do to get out of here? This is a clearly available and powerful form of transportation. It¡¯s just one that I can¡¯t stop, interact with, or control in any way. I oh so despise this horrid feeling overtaking my heart. The sheer lack of control this transportation bridging makes me want to freeze in place and never touch it again. But I can¡¯t stop; I have to keep going. All right, All right, I¡¯ll try again, but first I need to protect myself. Perhaps I could imbue myself with sturdiness the same way my armor imbues me with healing. Trial 2: No! Failure Error: Okay, I¡¯ve found a reflection rune, and I¡¯ve tested it out a bit. It seems to take the energy of a blow and then push it back against an attack. Due to that, it seems to do nothing at all and just stays in place. Which means it''s utterly worthless for anything that moves like a person. I also had to toss away Protect, Slow, and Guard. I eventually settled on a Call:storageRecharge-Button-Target/Touch-Call:refuse-Call:durationFive rune scheme, it places me into a stasis for around 5 Jwarihousa time increments. I managed to make it work by having both the storage and the Refuse, Refrain, Stop runes placed with five other backups in an array. I blink, and for five Jwarihousa time increments I freeze into utter immunity from harm and change. Due to the nature of the stasis, I can¡¯t understand or process anything during it, but these stasis runes were the only ones that didn''t lock my position in space, so I''ll just have to deal with it. Regardless of my resistance and hesitance to such a restrictive method, I''ll be using it anyway in my next attempt very soon. ¡ª Nervous I take the rope tied around my armored boots and tighten them once more. I take a deep gulp of fear, but regardless, I move forward. Clearing my mind with a deep breath out, I stretch out and grab the rod that allows me to activate this not so slightly foolhardy teleportation, and with hesitation, I stretch it towards the drilled hole in the plate I am attached to. Swirling with fear and desperation, desperate to actually do something to escape this awful place, I screw my face shut and press the button, a tiny flare of magic piercing my eyelids as two separate enchantments simultaneously activate, distracting me for a bli- And I¡¯m there, my eyes still painfully screwed shut, I slowly open my eyes, and I find myself at the top of a metal pole far above my base. Undeniably proving that I moved, that I teleported across vast distances in the blink of an eye. A roar of disbelieving nervous laughter bursts out of me. A bloody grin cutting its way across my face as I begin my journey to clawing my way out of here, regardless of the natural laws or people that might stop my return. ???.2 Tara carefully considers the rewards that this strange spirit offers her. Although it would be disingenuous to say she carefully considered all of them as Tara promptly dismisses the last option, walking away, immediately. For one, Tara isn¡¯t one to back down, and secondly, she very much would like the two boons the person offered. Anyone with this much gravitas and a personal dimension to themselves is bound to be an extremely powerful spirit. Presumably, some sort of spirit based around stories, since they seem to be overly concerned with them. And any type of magic based on influencing stories when applied to the world means that they must warp reality itself, which is quite powerful and thus useful in the journey back home. Curious as to what exactly the person before her is, Tara scrys him and peeks past the thing layer on the outside. Only to immediately feel just a bit of regret as a spike of pure pain and power drives into her mind. As she does not get a feeling of what type of spirit they are but instead the horrific pain of a dog with shining gold fur viciously tearing off her arm, the straight and sharp teeth turn her skin to strips and dig through her bones until they break through and take the whole arm. Tara can do naught but stare at the stump as she falls to the floor in pain. Yet despite that horrid pain, she can¡¯t help but feel that she was the one who betrayed the dog, not the other way around. Before it all suddenly comes to a stop and the strange spirit looms above Tara on the ground, that godforsaken smirk still taped onto his face, laughing, he says, ¡°You should stop pondering the possibilities or the mysteries, little one, and make a choice, quickly at that.¡± Gritting her teeth in pain, Tara begins to disparage herself for the foolishness of her actions. What was she thinking, trying to scry such a powerful spirit! But the disparagements never really pick up any steam, considering the fact that she can¡¯t bring herself to regret learning more. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. What could that scene mean, and who was the d- Interrupting her is the sound of impatient fingers tapping on the desk as the strange spirit says in a lilting musical tone, ¡°I¡¯m waiiiiiiting!¡± Not wanting to mees any more with someone who was so clearly dangerous, Tara huried up in thinking of what she wanted and quickly reasoned that she would want to not regret something more than a tiny nudge towards success in getting home. After all she need all the tiny nudges she can get but in the end luck can''t get her back home. Quickly, Tara says, ¡°I wish for a chance to solve a regret.¡± The strange spirit satisfied smiles and makes a gesture as if he meant for his hands to clasp together, yet all that happens is that his hand grips his stump and squeezes the still bloody wound. Grabbing a book from nowhere, he says with a brilliant smile. "Excellent. Now, with my authority, I will displace the one meant to arrive and replace them with you. The idiots are trying to eternally trap my heroes for cheap labor, and I won¡¯t have it. You don¡¯t have to destroy them, but frankly.¡± A smirk rolling across his face as he closes the book in his hands, he says, ¡°I know you, you wouldn¡¯t let the fools you¡¯ll meet run around once you see them.¡± As he does this, Tara sees the title of the book for the briefest moment and reads "Astral Escape" on its cover. But she does not get any time to process this before he sighs and says with a quiet voice, ¡°I dislike the fact that you aren¡¯t one of mine, and I thus don¡¯t get to keep you, but oh well, your ongoing story is the only thing that would allow you to come back, so I might as well use what tools are on hand.¡± Finishing off, he says, ¡°Either way, Toodloo,¡± as he waves Tara off with his stump. Tara, unsure of how to react to all of this, begins to object and ask questions, but soon finds her foot caught in a tiny crack in reality and plummets into a new world. Screaming in shock, the last thing she hears is that smug spirit giving her a gloomy final word with ¡°Fair warning, you¡¯re going to be neck deep in amnesia and religious nutjobs, so watch out for that, oh great Breaker of Chains.¡± Tara begins to scream ¡°WHAT!¡± but before she can finish, it all goes black. 2.8 Finally Getting to Basics Breathing in the fresh, non-existent air, I begin to diligently note down the results of the first trial before repeating the circumstances again twice. Exactly like the first attempt, the activation was flawless, and I found myself instantly transported to the station unharmed in a quite literal blink of an eye. Grinning I review the experiment in full, and begin to write some further tests for the enchantment, built to stress-test the magic so that I don''t die alone in the astral. Taking in a deep breath I say "Oh this is going to be wonderful!". ¡ª I grumble to myself in my armor as I awkwardly put the twisted pole into position, angling it just right so that I can somehow press the button on my feet. After a bit of time and a few more clumsy scrapes, I get it in the slot, and press down the second I feel the button. And in the briefest instant before I was frozen in stasis, I realized. Wait, whats going to happen to the po¡­ And in the next instant, I stand on the relay station, surrounded by metal debris, and the remains of the pole. Fucking hell! ¡ª HRT (Home Rune Transportation) System Development Log 2.2 Future models should not have the buttons placed on the feet. I am not sure what I was thinking or how it took that long for the metal pole to be shredded by my movement and become an orbital hazard. All it required was not perfectly placing it into the slot. Regardless buttons will not be placed in such ridiculous and awkward places. ¡ª Invoking a bit of Freedom, I fly away from the new anchor, this one thankfully free of any undesired floating metal debris, and as I do so, I hum a bit. Settling into a groove, I begin to tap my forearms, and I begin to think, ¡®Oh shit..." I find myself mid-groove, attached to the anchor, and rendered utterly blind by random debris. Disoriented, I scrabble at my eyes and take away a random piece of paper that somehow caught on my face plate while I was in stasis. Still discombobulated, I yell at my stupid forearms and their stupid singular button. ¡ª HRT System Development Log 2.5 Future models will have two buttons in sequence in light of the recent failure. ¡ª HRT System Development Log 2.6 Future models will have three buttons in sequence in light of the recent failure. Okay, now how is it that goddamn easy to press two buttons at once accidentally! ¡ª HRT System Development Log 2.8 For FUCKS SAKE, THE DEMENTED SPIRIT WHO MADE THESE RUNES WAS GODDAMN EVIL. WHY, OH WHY, IS THERE NOT A DOUBLE CERTIFICATION RUNE! FUCK IT 5 BUTTONS NOW! ¡ª My iron boots crunch on the thick ice that covers the planet of rotting ant meat and chitin, scraping away little bits of the ice that forms it as I traverse the planets surface. Nervously staring at my forearm and the five visible runes placed on top of the metal, I, with great caution, begin the teleportation sequence one button at a time. Clenching my eyes shu¡­ I open them and immediately begin to choke, rotten ant guts and blood filling the inside of my helmet. Panic overtakes my mind; my thoughts rapidly race through my brain, filled with idiocy and fear, but desperation sharpens my mind, and I quickly reason that my only way to survive is to keep pushing through. Quickly, I tap all 5 buttons of the HRT System ¡­ and find myself still stuck inside my own personal planet, sure to drown if I don¡¯t escape its rotten insides. I forcibly hold my brain down and press the sequence of buttons again ¡­ And again ¡­ And again ¡­ And again ¡­ Until finally, I find myself coated in fetid ant guts, spitting out their foul liquids, attached to the anchor station. After tearing my helmet off, and releasing the ant guts to float into the ether, I take in a hungry gasp of not-quite-air, big heaving gulps of it, my knees held in a deathgrip as I slowly spin in the air. But before I can find more than brief relief, I realize, that if there are two massive holes in the ice, then surely ¡­ FUCK! Flipping the switch in my boots, a great blast of illusory rock rockets me towards the surface of the planet, where the resultant gases of decomposition have already caused the spoiled innards of the ants to bubble onto the surface. I quickly begin the familiar process of sadness invocation, summoning memories of loss in order to freeze the bubbling gases in place. Yet despite my attempts, the spoiled innards begin to rocket into the air as the trapped gas inside the planet finally finds an outlet. Panicking I dig deeper and remember the utter emptiness of the sight of my fathers casket. The dull eyes, the ill-fitting suit, the ridiculous silence he would have hated. My eyes burn as a flood of ice erupts from my chest, stopping the burgeoning spout of trash and guts. Unable to process the situation in the moment, I somehow remember Freedom, and fly to the other side of the planet, and patch the hole in the ice there as well with a scream of grief and some hand gestures to corral the ice. Before I stand on top of the ice formed from my own torn-open grief, covered in the spoiled innards of dead ants, and begin to cry. ¡ª HRT System Usage Guidelines
  1. NEVER EVER USE IT WHEN THERE¡¯S AN OBSTACLE IN THE WAY.
  2. Be careful of your surroundings, even if there isn¡¯t a physical object in the way. Spirits don¡¯t seem to notice or care when I¡¯ve accidentally flung myself through their homes. But who knows what one might do if I get taken out of stasis in their territory.
  3. Prepare yourself for a strange situation coming out of the stasis. There¡¯s a bit of delay between arrival and awakening, and that delay could ruin you, whether it be through environmental danger or a clever enemy.
¡ª Looking over my short but hard-won list of guidelines, I realize that, at this point, the transportation is fairly workable. A smile drifts across my face for the first time in a while, as I think this is a perfect opportunity. While I can¡¯t blast through anything, in fear of waking up from the stasis in the middle of a wall or finding myself in the middle of a trap, the sheer speed of the enchantment means that I can be adventuring in one moment and at home experimenting in the next. Pondering my options I begin to feel a bit stir-crazy as I look at the iron walls of my base¡ªthe same walls I have been staring at for the last month and change. Shrugging my shoulders I think, why can''t I just leave right now? I''m sure there is so much that I can loot; wait, no, so much that I can retain for safekeeping. I could really use some thrills that don''t involve ant guts in my life after what happened. Additionally, if they aren¡¯t strong enough to keep their things, they don¡¯t deserve them anyway. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. As I think that, I immediately start to backpedal in my own brain. Because that is the sort of thinking that allows you to think you''re a good person despite the fact that you are mindlessly hurting others. However, in this situation, I mostly steal from dead people, and who cares for the wishes of the dead? They can¡¯t exactly complain about their poor treatment. Eager to get out of here, after having my preconceptions of its safety shattered, I begin to don the slightly updated armor, grab a bag that''s bigger than it seems, and stuff a duplicating bag, my rune book, and many, many baggies of steel dust, and iron plates into it. In order to prevent a minor disaster, I also turn off all my factories on the planet below. Then, as ready as I can reasonably be, I climb onto the steel floor of the top of my base and get ready to take off. But as I float above the floor of my base, I realize that I have some house cleaning to do first. Firstly, I should tell everyone nearby that I¡¯m leaving and that they shouldn¡¯t just pop into my base and wander around when I¡¯m not home. I can¡¯t exactly carry around the water tower, only my wrist, like it''s an antique watch to check the time, but most likely my journey out will interrupt the lessons. Additionally, while I have been doing pretty well for myself, the tribes below have been apparently using magic for what seems to be hundreds of years and would thus know the foundations of it much better than I do. So I should both drop into Kailin''s dream, tell them what''s what, and then ask Patient Bridge for a lesson on magic. Alright looks it¡¯s time to finally get to the basics. ¡ª With a practiced cadence, I walk through the ritual of dream descent, mumbling its mantras and hymns the exact number of times necessary to initiate the spell. Carefully pronouncing each word so that I might not be forced to repeat the extraordinarily hard spell from the start, as I was forced to many times in the beginning. Until I eventually feel the well-worn feeling of a soft fall through my bed and into Kailin''s dreams. I find myself in the beating heart of velvet that forms my teacher''s dream, but this time it is a bit dull. Noting the fact that Kailin isn¡¯t awake yet, I sit down in what could be called the center and calm my frenetic and excited mind with some meditation. I imagine streams of energy entering through my nose and into my core before being dispersed out through my mouth. The pattern flashes over and over again until my mind feels at peace. Soon, however, my eyes slowly open as the heart of cloth begins to beat with more vigor, and I see Kailin''s self-made figure stand above me, their kind smile framed with wiry, and well-defined muscles. Their strong yet creaky voice echoes out, ¡°Tara, it is good to see you again so early. Although I do ask. Did you call me because you fucked up, or are we just going to read through some of your wonderful records?¡± Bemused I answer back with, "Neither teacher, I just wanted to tell you that there¡¯ll be no lesson for the others this week; I am off to explore the Astral, and I don¡¯t want anyone running around my home while I¡¯m not looking.¡± Barking a laugh, Kailin says, ¡°Hah, as if they could even get in without your well wishes, although I don¡¯t doubt that those pricks won¡¯t like the sound of you leaving for a bit with their machinations.¡± Mildly alarmed, I begin to ask who exactly Kailin spoke of and what type of machinations they were doing, but before I can, they wave off the question and answer simply, ¡°We¡¯ll be fine missing this cycle, Tara; some just always want more than they deserve. Don¡¯t worry, the petty ploys of the Anvil Council can¡¯t really affect you. Just return after the body parts settle to start working on your brain; it''s a delicate script for changing that one, so you should stay nearby.¡± Nodding, I reply, "Yes, teacher, I''ll see you again next... cycle? It was a pleasure to hear your voice." ¡ª I ponder the question of distance in the astral, but as I do so the walls of the beating heart of velvet fade away, and I find myself strapped to my bed once more. My eyes flutter open as I untie myself from my couch. Strangely, both ungroggy and not refreshed from my false sleep, I begin to paw through the various pieces of junk that float around me for Patient Bridges medallion. Eventually, I find it and grasp it firmly, now knowing that merely touching it is what notifies Patient Bridge. Slightly bored as I wait for him, I browse through Stevens interface, looking for another faceslapper to mindlessly consume for a week. And as I finally find something that¡¯s the right mix of not too racist or sexist and nigh-endless amounts of OP-MC beatdowns. Patient Bridge shimmers into existence amidst my junk drawer, a patient and calm smile gracing his face. My words, slightly awkward due to the fact that I forgot to summon Patient Bridge in a more welcoming place, I shove out a "Hello, Patient Bridge, how has your day been? You must be busy with leading the tribe and all.¡± Patient Bridge, brushing a few random pieces of junk away from the invisible floor he stands on, replies, ¡°I¡¯ve been doing well, Tara. Thank you for asking. As for the tribe, that has been a bit troublesome lately. Encouraging him to continue with a timely nod, Patient Bridge sits down and continues by saying, ¡°A local clan of hedge mages who had gathered many dream spells over the generations bargained with a spirit and then tried to evade their debt by blocking off their dreams so the spirit couldn¡¯t descend and retaliate themselves.¡± An exasperated and tired sigh leaks out as he expounds further, ¡°What they didn¡¯t consider, however, is that they aren¡¯t the only ones in the tribe, and that the spirit was perfectly willing to torment and hurt their friends and community instead.¡± Mildly shocked, I reply, ¡°Wow, what a bunch of assholes, so what did you do? Kick the crap out of them and hand their sorry asses to the angry spirit.¡± Patient Bridge, seemingly bemused, reacts, ¡°No, of course not; there is a certain base violence necessary for change, but other than that, discussion and diplomacy are far more effective. I simply paid off the foolish clans debts and wiped their ability to astral project.¡± Patient Bridgfe first makes a warding gesture towards me before continuing, ¡°I am not diametrically opposed to violence; without it, my people would remain in chains and the children would go hungry without brave hunters killing our food, but forgiveness is not to soothe the aggressor, it is to benefit you. The hedge mage''s eclectic collection of spells means that they are more useful when kept closer to the chest.¡± Exasperated by Patient Bridges overly serious speech, a sparkle glimmers in my eye, and I decide to poke fun at him, saying, "Well, frankly, I¡¯m surprised that you¡¯re so vigilant about debts considering the mess that I recently pulled you out of.¡± Cladding a stern and reflective face Patient Bridge says, ¡°I was wrong; peace with the spirits is incredibly important, and my own failure four cycles ago caused a great loss of trade as the entire tribes crop was lost and some of our mines were taken by outsiders when they were untended for weeks. I caused great tragedy in that act, and only you saved my home from completely collapsing.¡± Taken aback a bit, I stare at Patient Bridge, for few people are willing to admit their mistakes and reflect on them. Especially since there are even fewer leaders willing to admit their mistakes, it''s always easier to pretend it was the fault of the world or someone else rather than admitting it''s your fault and attempting to grow. Patient Bridge, placidly taking in my eyes, asks, ¡°Now I appreciate a bit of conversation, but at this point, I must ask, what did you summon me for?¡± Embarrassed that I haven¡¯t really had any social calls with Patient Bridge, and thus don''t quite have the social capital to ask him for a favor, I nonetheless still choke out, ¡°Patient Bridge, although I have persisted on my own, now that I know someone whose society has had access to magic for far longer. I was wondering if you could teach me the basics since you obviously would know more.¡± Patient Bridge, mildly surprised, says, ¡°Of course, that¡¯s trivial, especially considering you have done so much for me and my people.¡± Continuing he says ¡°I will warn you, however, since I am the one teaching you, my perspective will color yours, and align it closer to mine own. Do you understand?¡± Thinking through the fact that we already swapped our world views and saw through each other''s eyes, I brush off his warning and say ¡°I understand, however, this knowledge would be extremely useful for making new spells, something that is required for me to get back home.¡± Nodding, Patient Bridge says with a bit of channeled gravitas and seriousness, "First, I ask you what I will eventually ask my disciple. What is your fundamental understanding of the world? What single phrase can show me, you?¡± Responding with the same amount of seriousness, I answer, ¡°Simple, the only true things are the things that you can observe, record, test; anything other than that are the illusions of hope and failure.¡± A glimmer in his eye Patient Bridge says, ¡°Excellent, now that is your perspective it is your quite literal view of the world. Only what your perspective illuminates can you understand and, thus, cast or see. It can be expanded, and in fact, it will naturally, but ultimately, everyone can only truly glimpse a fraction of the world.¡± Patient Bridge pauses and places a hand on his muscled chest before saying, ¡°I myself understand that ¡®People are the only thing that matters¡¯ and while others may blast their foes to pieces with spears of stubborn rock and lonely ice, I can only touch people, the one thing that I can understand.¡± ¡°My perspective has of course expanded over time; previously I could only understand humanity and thus found myself helpless in my encounters with spirits; before I lived, laughed, loved with spirits, ants, and jellyfish all across the astral jungle, and realized that they were people too.¡± I frown and turn my head before I say, ¡°So the reason that I can¡¯t cast divine spells is because I fundamentally can¡¯t understand the divine? Am I really stuck on this horrid plane because I¡¯m an atheist?¡± Patient Bridges face curling into an unwanted smile, they say, ¡°Not exactly; your perspective is formed by who you fundamentally are; an uncountable number of factors led to your exact phrase being constructed. It is less that you are stuck because you are an atheist and more that your inability to understand what cannot be interacted with made you an atheist in the first place. You wouldn''t be able to suddenly cast the spell we have to descend if you accepted God in your heart. Fundamentally, faith requires faith¡ªthe ability to believe in something even if you can¡¯t prove it exists.¡± ¡°That is no mark against you; I personally couldn¡¯t cast a divine descent spell either due to the fact that it doesn¡¯t alter or change a sapient being; it simply transports them.¡± Blinking my eyes in confusion, I reason together, ¡°So essentially, if I can¡¯t understand something, I can¡¯t do it.¡± Patient Bridge nods in approval and says with a pointed finger ¡°Exactly, but let us move on to the next step, Belief. In order to do magic, you must believe that you can do it in the first place. Due to this, spells must be long, strange, and painful because it convinces the caster that magic is important and structured, and thus gives them the strong belief that the spell will work. Curiously, the more inconvenient you make a spell, the easier humans find it to cast. And those who learn a specific way of magic early can often do all the spells associated with it extremely easily, but they might find their perspective and beliefs tainted in such a way that they can only do those spells.¡± Going on a slight diatribe, Patient Bridge continues by saying, ¡°This isn''t the only way to cast, but without a large structure that allows the caster to believe that magic will happen, most are unable to cast spells. You, however, due to your perspective that anything that you can prove and test, can and will happen in the future greatly helps you in this manner since all you need to do is make a magical effect happen once in order to believe it is possible.¡± Puzzled, I turn my head and say, "So the reason that the tribes have such inconvenient and bothersome spells is because the more annoying a spell is, the easier it is to expect it to happen." Clasping his hands together, Patient Bridge says, "Exactly. Humans, strangely enough, naturally believe that the more inconvenient and difficult a thing, the more important it is, and thus can most easily cast long, arduous rituals. Most powerful humans find a way around this, but it is a frustrating quirk of our psyche." Pondering this, I realize I can most likely make spells much faster if I make them extremely inconvenient or stick to some sort of theme. But unwilling to waste these precious lessons, I gesture for Patient Bridge to continue. Taking a deep breath in Patient Bridges says, "Finally, in order to cast any spell, you must either invoke or burn the emotion associated with the effect you want. These effects are tied to your perspective, and specific emotions will fuel thematically appropriate magical effects. For example, when I still had anger, burning my anger caused those around me to feel pain because I understood that all anger does is cause pain. Emotions are the fuel for all magic, conscious or unconscious, and have far more power than those who disdain them might think.¡± Processing what Patient Bridge said, I wonder which emotions my earlier spells invoked. I try to be self-aware, but frankly, I never noticed any spike in emotions after a spell. Well, except for summoning nails, that annoyingly long ritual is the pinnacle of repetitive, dull tasks, I swear. Wait a second, that¡¯s definitely a boredom invocation spell! Hmm, I wonder what boredom invocation does; perhaps it summons or copies things since the nail summoning spell obviously summons nails. I should definitely try its invocation sometimes; although I should be a bit careful, my life could quickly turn horrendous if my already frequent spouts of boredom became incredibly intense. Still pondering the various possibilities open to me, I muse to Patient Bridge ¡°So you cast a spell by using emotions as fuel to do something you believe is possible, that you can fundamentally understand. So, for example, if I believed that saying ¡®cold¡¯ in a mysterious language summoned frost because I saw someone do the same thing, then if I said the same thing, I would also summon some frost after invoking some sadness?¡± Nodding, Patient Bridge says, ¡°Almost, based on your perspective, the emotion you burn might be different, in that example, you might burn speech instead to fuel the spell, cast the spell slightly differently, or be unable to cast the spell at all due to a difference in perspective. Perspective, while it might not seem like the most important aspect next to Belief or Emotion, still tints the rest of your magic like a pane of colored glass¡± Huh strange that Patient Bridge knows what glass is¡ªmuch less colored glass, oh well, not really all that relevant. Regardless, this knowledge is quite useful, especially now that I know that I can expand my perspective by understanding more things. Which isn¡¯t the easiest thing to do, but I¡¯ve got the vast majority of humanities knowledge on my wrist, so I¡¯ll manage. Grinning I say to Patient Bridge, ¡°Thank you for your courtesy in teaching me the basics of magic as you know it. However, I must be off; I have some adventures to get to.¡± A gracious smile naturally forms on his face as he gets up and shimmers out of existence with an ¡°Of course, Tara, may we meet again under warmer skies.¡± ¡ª I hear and feel the rattle of iron plates around me, as I blast off into the astral expanse by summoning ethereal rocks. Looking forward I see the grand expanse of living color, a smile playing across my face as I head off to a new adventure. ???.3 Tara screamed as they fell through a crack in the universe, her closed eyes barely a barrier for the blinding barrage of lights around her. She tumbled through a shrieking tunnel, a shifting array of lights achingly flashing all around her. Desperate to understand what the hell is going on, Tara hesitantly opens her eyes and finds herself in a strange in-between reminiscent of the astral plane she has become so familiar with. Although this space is far more physical and real than the astral. Tara tumbles down the tunnel, surrounded by reaching shards of twisted glass that point their sharp edges towards the center. Beyond that, strange-colored lights shine, giving an impression of something grand. Although most seem broken somehow, as if they were cracked open, their insides spilled across the cosmos. Fascinated by the sight before her, Taras screams slowly taper off as she observes the strange place she is in. She intuits that the colored lights are similar but different than the blooms of emotions she is familiar with. Wanting to know more about the strange lights that seem so familiar Tara invokes a touch of freedom to stop her fall, but strangely enough despite her fervent efforts she can''t arrest her fall. Falling with incredible speed through this strange tunnel of twisted glass and light, frustrated, she screams anew, this time fueled by her pure frustration at the inability to understand more. Yet Tara does not scream for long, as she soon sees another crack on the long coming floor, and she smashes through it to find herself in a strange cave, surrounded by monsters? ¡ª A shrill shriek resounds through the air as a strange woman plummets through the air, an enormous mound of curly black splaying all over the floor as she slams into the formation we are all kept in currently. Above and Below, she''s wearing something mighty strange, it looks like someone trapped the rainbows in the glass on someone''s skin, although bizarrely enough, it doesn¡¯t reach the soles of their feet. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Although, considering all that is around me, she is not the greatest concern. Above and Below, I¡¯m stuck in a dingy cave with a fish beastman, and a purple ooze shaped vaguely like a person. What do I care for a slightly strange woman. I wonder if she¡¯s one of those immortals Father told me about¡ªthe ones who live in the mountains above humble villages like ours. A fire burns in my heart, if I make it out of this. I must seek a way to step onto the Path from her; even the tiniest smidgeon of power would mean a great bounty of providence for my village. Just imagine the smile my mother would give if she saw me plow a feel in less time than it takes for an incense stick to burn down! My guts burning with the awkward silence that¡¯s descended, I awkwardly stutter out, ¡°W-what is your name, fellows? I¡¯m not really sure what we could be described as, maybe prisoners since we¡¯re in a formation, although we probably aren¡¯t prisoners because who would imprison people who had just arrived? Maybe we are honored guests. We should be; it must be a storm of providence for us all to appear here, what are the chances right?" In response, there is nothing but an empty cavern of silence. Oh, all that is Above and Below. Why did I talk so much what are all these people going to think now. What do I do now. Unwilling to just leave this be I squeak out, "Well, I might as well start I''m Wu Gu, I wonder where did you all come from, I¡¯m from the Chu province nearby the Wei River.¡± Having spit out as much small talk as I could, I waited in baited breath and let out a sigh of relief when the strange woman getting off the floor says ¡°My name is Tara, and well, you could say I¡¯m from Earth, although frankly, it would be more accurate to say I came from the Astral Plane.¡± A small sigh of relief escapes before I hear a gurgle. I turn and see the strange humanoid blob formed of purple slime, they were content to stay quiet earlier but now they rise from the puddle they were before and say ¡°God when do we get out of here, I can taste the floor, and it tastes like a mix of copper, despair, and ash. Oh, and my name is Neauclix; I¡¯m from a frontier town somewhere in the Beast Guards Territories.¡± Taking the break inbetween there words to think. I ponder what the Astral Plane might be is that somewhere the immortals live? and where is the Beast Guard, That doesn¡¯t sound like a province of the empire. An uncomfortable feeling creeps up in my stomach. But it does not get a chance to truly fester as in reply to the complaint, a melodic trill bursts from the fish beastman, clad in scales of steek, several patches of their skin suddenly lighting up with the trill, as they seem to commiserate? With Neauclix''s struggle, although I¡¯m uncertain as to why, I doubt they are tasting the floor as well. I can¡¯t know what they mean exactly; after all, they seem to be communicating through some sort of music? But I heard the breadth of their words, although I wonder what they precisely said with their song. Communicating through song seems so beautiful, but I have no idea what those trills meant. Oh well, what will be, will be. It was lucky that the other two knew proper Imperial anyway. Having gotten all of my answers, I begin to continue the small talk, but before I can, someone exclaims through a dark hole in the cave, "Well, dear children of chaos, you won¡¯t need to taste the floor anymore, it¡¯s high time we brought you in and processed you.¡± I stare at the dark entryway as an ethereal figure with skin like the pale moonlight, wearing elegant pure white robes adorned with the simple design of a clouded eye, walks through the entryway. A beautific smile filled with vibrant glee dawns on their face like the first glance of the sun as they look down on us from above. And with that smile, I relax because I can just tell that everything is going to be okay. 2.9 Setting Off I begin to pick up speed, blasting off a torrent of rock from my newly bare soles, pushing me more and more until I reach a ludicrous amount of speed. Soon I leave behind the space station below and pierce the white veil that covers my home, and I find myself in the beautiful astral. Which is an even more wondrous sight now that I can understand more of it. Behind me, I see a glimpse of a series of grand royal purple mountains peaked with a shock of pure white reminiscent of snow. Surrounded by an ethereal purple mist. I peer past the sight scrying the bloom, and I feel a solemn grandeur¡ªthe majesty of something that stands above the blood and dirt below. Even if it''s made of the same earth, everything else is made of. I see a dark pink, its color approaching a soft purple spirit; its form covered in softer swirls and white highlights, grappling what seems to be a wondrous dark blue cloud, with a scattering of shining stars on its surface. The dark pink cloud seems to be sinking some type of tendrils into the cloud, and some strange dark gray substance leaks in the space in between. As they twist into a strange new shape and color. Hmm, I wonder what¡¯s happening there; it¡¯s so alien and strange that I don¡¯t even know if the pink one is devouring the other, if they''re melding into one greater being, or if they¡¯re doing something entirely different. Dismissing it as none of my business, I move on, and I eventually find myself in the midst of a vast golden river, curling in on itself with glee as it twists through the dark sky. Lighting up the world around it with a light of pure joy. Smiling and entranced, I see beyond the surface and scry the vast bloom in front of me. Determined to understand something so wondrous. I see a boundless sea of wanderlust. I see a million million, women, children, men, in between, neither¡ªall set out from home and feel the infinite joy and beauty of the world around them. I feel the thrum of the truck on the road. I hear the crunch of gravel as it gets crushed. I taste the last bit of sandwich from 50 miles back. I see the rolling countryside above. I feel the back of my head on the cheap aluminum of the truck bed. I smell the wet hay around me. I hear my own whistle in response to the wind''s song. I hear a clack as I make a crooked smile, as I feel the dust through my worn-down shoes, as I feel the world I¡¯m so glad to be a part of. I feel their grasp leave, I hear the tear as I fall free. I taste the wind and unfurl. I hear a tiny swish as my wings of leaf catch the air. I swim as I twirl upon nothing at all. I smell the dirt below and the water that hangs in the air. And for just a second, I feel all the glittering wonderous possibilities before me. I feel the tug of hands pulling my hair into a pigtail. I smell the last bits of breakfast, I hear the scrape of sand on wood as my new shoes slip on the stairs. I feel the scrunchy tighten and hear well wishes as my shoes thump, thump, thump as I tumble out the door, mama in tow, and I feel the wind on my smiling teeth. I drift back down to my own eyes as I see the golden river of wanderlust and pure exuberant joy swirl around me for a brief moment, wrapping me in a cocoon of wonder. And then, just as suddenly as it came, it left. Speeding past what I can properly see. I let out a little giggle as I feel a flame of joy spark deep inside. I look around and see the world around me, and I feel the thrumming pulse of the universe around me as it delights in experiencing itself, through itself. Strangely enough, as I see the last vestige of the river, I feel a slight prick. And I realize two things: One, it''s probably pretty rude to peer into the core of someone''s being. Two, I¡¯ve felt that prick before, when I''ve passed by one spirit or another. Usually after I scryed the spirit. I think that pinprick might be what scrying feels like to the recipient. Huh, staring up at the various blooms above me, I wonder what that beautiful golden river saw when it peered into me. Did it see my struggles, my anger, my journey to be more? I sigh, knowing that I have no way to answer that, so I turn roughly towards my previous direction, flip the switch on my boot, and blast away on a torrent of rock. ¡ª Moment after moment in this timeless place, I see more and more beyond my ken. I see monsters the size of cities curled around motes of joy. I hear the tinkling laughter of a court long dead. I see the dance of the cosmos in miniature all around me. But still, the sight in front of me is quite strange indeed. I see a grand building of some sort perched on top of a mountain that fades out of existence. The building is an intricate thing of marble, the gray speckled and streaked stone almost shining. A series of sharp, pristine stairs leads up to two sets of three marble columns, with their edges carved into regular curves. Atop is a vibrantly painted traingular roof, with intricate carvings that shift in the light, adorning the bottom of the roof, visions of battle, string and wit. And inside, I see an ordinary human man. Clad in a linen chiton, with a rectangular brown cloak thrown over his shoulder, held together with an ornate pin. Curly black hair and a bushy beard surround warm olive skin and well-worn laugh lines. As I speed past, I hear the man say something, and I slow down with a touch of Freedom. As I slow down in front of the gates, I hear him say, ¡°Come traveler, it would be a shame to eat this food by myself.¡± A bit intrigued and frankly feeling more than a bit of disbelief, I approach the strangely illusory mountain and feel the grasp of proper gravity again, at 1 earth standard unit. Falling to the marble floor, I quickly stand and feel the stone on my newly armored and enhanced soles. Walking up the stairs one at a time, I soon find myself in front of the man again, I see he sits on some sort of blanket made of the same material as his cloak. Seeing this, I sit down in front of the blanket in a criss-cross applesauce motion, and I twist off my helmet before putting it to the side. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Shaking my head, I let the enormous weight of my currently tightly braided curls shaped into a swirling bun, decompress from the helmet. I then sigh, look at the man in front of me with a broadly smiling face, and admit something. I am currently slightly falling apart. I knew there was something strange going on when I saw marble and the distinct look of a doric collum. But I cannot kid myself; I¡¯ve taken History of Fashion before, and that man is clearly wearing linen cloth. A type of cloth that exists nowhere else but Earth due to the fact that what few planets that can sustain life always create different life even if they fulfill all the same niches. This man is undoubtedly a human from Earth, my Earth. Yet despite my slightly crumbling mindscape, I maintain a pleasant enough expression. Thankfully, I have plenty of experience hiding these sorts of things. As thoughts race through my head at a mile a second, the man reaches behind himself and pulls out a dried grass basket, pulls off the lid, and reveals a small spread. He quickly gathers two eggs, a handful of olives, and two rolls of bread and hands them over to me with a smile in a small bundle of rough cloth. Smiling, he says, ¡°My name is Mnesikles; I am a humble architect, and it is my honor to offer you what I can while you stop by, traveler.¡± I want to burst into a torrent of questions, my understanding of all of history currently shattering behind my eyes. But mumbling a thanks, I look down, grab one of the rolls, and bite down. It¡¯s a simple barley bread; most likely, it is just some ground wheat that was held over a fire, it¡¯s not even leavened. And yet, it still brings a tear to my eye. I haven¡¯t tasted anything in, oh, so long. It tastes like nothing more than a helping hand while you¡¯re falling. Mnesikles, his face forming a frown for the first time, says, "Oh, what brings you sorrow, traveler?¡± Quickly wiping the tears from my eye with hard-earned experience, I say, ¡°It has been a long, long time since I had the simple pleasure of a meal, or even anything at all down my throat other than blood and bile.¡± Mneskiles, something glistening in his eyes, replies, ¡°Then eat, eat; let no one say that I was an improper host before Zues [-Protecter of Strangers-].¡± Taking that advice to heart, with the dried remains of my tears still on my face, I tear through the food. I taste the sourness of the pickled eggs, and I tear the unleavened bread into pieces as I shove it in my mouth. I taste the saltiness of the olive, and it damn near makes the floodgate burst open again. Strangely enough, I don¡¯t think I ever ate them back home when they were up on the table at every dinner. A little chuckle tears through me as I think that I ate my first olive in the depths of another dimension after years of pressure from my family. And I think it tastes great. Hells, Earth, and the rest of humanity don¡¯t seem that far right now. Although I guess they weren¡¯t ever that far away. I can try to make up an explanation for why it¡¯s somehow completely normal that distinctly human people are casting spells and communicating with spirits and gods. I can say that it¡¯s an alternative universe or that humans somehow popped up in an entirely different place with the exact same animals, plants, and cultural practices. But no, that is not the case. What is more likely¡ªthat humanity found magic early in its development and then gradually lost it¡ªor that I somehow stumbled into a perfect copy of humanity with the same exact history, cultural practices, and environment? Occam''s Razor, the most likely answer is the simplest. Humanity reached for magic long ago; in fact, we reached for it so long ago that I truly have no idea when or where the tribes and people of the Shaman age are. I can guess that they''re before Mesopotamia and the other precursers, since otherwise, we would have found their unique cultural artifacts, and that their location is somewhere in Africa due to their skin tone and their descriptions of their climate. Although this brings up incredibly confusing questions. The most important being, how the fuck am I talking to someone who seems to come from Ancient Greece at the very same time, as I take weekly lessons from someone who lived in the time before Mesopotamia. Okay, okay, okay I cannot shatter here, I¡¯m just going to accept that time is not functioning properly, as I¡¯ve already suspected for most of my time here. I must move on and address what I know more about and admit the truth. That I am no grand destined princess of fate, the first human sorceress who stole magic from tragedy and the gods. Instead I¡¯m just one amongst many. Oh well, it is not like being the first sorceress was a core piece of my identity. If I took magic for myself, why couldn¡¯t have other humans in the past have done so. They are no duller or lesser than me. Especially since the history I¡¯ve learned from Patient Bridge and the Dual Tribe indicates that spirits have meddled with the development of humanity. Gifting us magic and knowledge beyond our wildest dreams. But when you stubbornly hold onto a view long past its usefulness, it can become hard to dislodge. Closing my eyes, having eaten all the food I was given, I sigh, a strange peace coming over me. Piercing this peace of mine Mseikles gently asks, ¡°What brings you here traveler?¡± Answering with a laugh, I say, ¡°Simple, I seek out unique and strange loot to bring back.¡± Laughing with me, he says, ¡°A common enough answer for those who venture beyond the walls. After all, what¡¯s the point of all the danger if you don¡¯t come back with riches galore!¡± Hmm, I¡¯m not seeking something that simple. I need bargaining chips, and subjects to study if I¡¯m ever going to make it out of this place, not simple money. But considering his dress and the architecture surrounding us, he comes from a time when many who would venture out would be soldiers or soldiers of fortune. The type of man who would seek out glory and power through the tip of their spear and the strength of their arm. Although the notion that we''re experiencing different times at once is still extremely disquieting. Although, frankly, if that''s who he thinks of when he thinks of an adventurer, I wonder what he¡¯s doing here then. He doesn¡¯t look like some sort of soldier or mercenary, here to plunder and conquer. His reason for venturing out must be truly bizarre. Curious, I ask, ¡°Why are you in the astral yourself, kind stranger? It¡¯s not a place one should stay long.¡± Settling down into a more comfortable position, Mnesikles says, ¡°I seek out the confirmation of Athena of the City for my humble design of the entrance to what will be her greatest temple!¡± Slightly bewildered, I ask, ¡°And she will respond? Surely Athena would have more important things to do?¡± Waving the idea away, Mnesikles says, ¡°Of course, it is a common arrangement after a foolish architect who lusted after Athena The Virgin was given the honor of building and designing a temple of hers. He persuaded his servants that it was only right that Athena The Virgin be worshipped as the woman she is. So with their help, he built a sacrilegious temple devoted to his lust and not her virtue. And when the day came to have it consecrated so that Athena might reside inside, she descended and struck down the temple with a spear from the heavens, so alight in fury was she that she anhilated every villain, and exterminated their bloodline to the last." I wince, that man was disgusting, but did his wife, all his brothers and sisters, and children deserve to die for the crime of not stopping a madman? No, no they did not. Mnesikles, shuddering, says, ¡°After that, Athena of the City made sure that nothing so horrific would ever be built in her image. So we must bring our designs to her feet for review. I am not so foolish that I would build something so vile, but Athena despises all those who hold hubris in their hearts, so I submit to her divine judgement. So that under her eyes I shall approach perfection.¡± Hells, the spirits apparently cannot leave humanity alone, even after the shamans drove them back. I would say that they¡¯re more subtle now, but considering that they¡¯re slaughtering people to the nine generations, they aren¡¯t exactly acting subtly. I was a bit hesitant to ask more, but my curiosity guided me to ask, ¡°Is this the usual spot for these requests of judgment? Why are you here specifically?¡± Mnesikles, chuckling, answers, "No, this is not the place where my design would be judged. It is my design.¡± With a flick of his wrist, the temple rearranges and jumps around me; the columns shift from doric to ionic, from six to nine to sixteen. The marble ceiling far above flys away, and I can see above me the beauty of the astral, complimented by a swirling hurricane of marble. I look down and see the floor beneath me flicker and shimmer like a glitching mirage. And I find myself with Mnesikles all one on a magnificent column that spears into the infinite space below, surrounded by the crunching, cracking splendor of the remains of the entrance swirling all around me. And with another flick of the wrist, it all comes back to normal. Or, as normal as the astral gets, I still see gargantuan monsters formed out of the remnants of human desires, concepts, and emotions, twisting in the sky beyond Mnesikles. With that now-expected smile on his face Mnesikles says, ¡°If Athena [-Bright/Sharp/Owl Eyed-], is dissatisfied, she shall strike down my plan and continue to do so until I fit something that fits her divine image. Until I build something that captures her essence, her perfection.¡± I simply reply, "Huh,¡± not knowing what else to say. Well, I must leave. I can¡¯t exactly find a bargaining chip or a subject for further research here. And I might get smited by Athena if I stay when she strikes down his design. Looking down at the small cloth in my hands. I decide I can¡¯t leave him with nothing for this kindness I haven''t felt in so long. Reaching into my bag, I pull out some iron dust and shape it into a small disk with my hands before melting it with a hot hands spell, and then quickly freezing it with a burst from my gauntlet. Now brittle but usable I carve in a durability rune with a quick varving beam to make up for the weaknesses caused by the quick cooling. I carve in a rarely used emotional recharging storage function since I doubt Mnesikles has access to lightning or electricity to recharge the disk, and a small button on the back of the disk, and then I use all the space I left on the front to make the stasis rune as large as possible. I hand it to him and say, ¡°Press this rune, and it will freeze you, keeping you safe but unable to move for 600 breaths. May my gift save your life one day.¡± as I begin to stand. Mnesikles, surprised but joyous, says, "Thank you, traveler; I see you are leaving. I would offer you an escort as a proper host, but I see that I am far weaker than you and that my escort would be a burden. Instead, take this with you." With these words, he pushes another bundle of cloth into my hands, the other half of the meal meant for him, and he says with wild, vibrant eyes glistening with passion, "I see you have sorrow in your heart, traveler, and while we shall never meet again, I must say. We humans are never as dull, cruel, and small as we imagine we are." After this, I get up and begin to fly off, and as I leave behind his grand work, I hear a piercing owl screech and a now familiar chuckle as I move on. ???.4 Tara, only barely cognizant of her surroundings after being slammed into the floor, slams straight into an intricate array of unique symbols carved into a circle. Still groggy, Tara opens her eyes and looks around. Her bleary look quickly turns into a wince as they idly look at the design they land on. Looking at it makes it feel as if knives were being driven into Tara¡¯s skull, and considering the fact that she had nursed a headache from before with all the blaring colors and speed in that cursed tunnel. Tara is in a world of pain. Yet, weirdly enough, those knives that sink into her brain bring tantalizing information with them. Each stabbing wince gives off strange impressions of containment, holding, restraints, and redirection. Which is frankly bizarre considering that she arrived here via a spatial tunnel. She doesn''t know how this works, but shouldn¡¯t there be summoning symbols? Or does this work in a different way? Tara, regardless cannot bear to look at the strange design anymore and so she drags her head back up. As she does so, she gets a better look at the strange sight she peeked at through the tunnel. She sees a strange bipedal fish figure with deeply set eyes, a pronounced muzzle that trails whisker-like tendrils, and a mantle of thicker leathery flesh that sweeps down their body like a royal cloak. Accentuating this is a series of dull patterns that sweep all over their skin. They also wear a magnificent set of scale mail, so detailed that it almost seems like a part of their skin. Directly next to the fish person is a nervous yet enthusiastic-looking young human boy. A messy scoop of black hair frames an almond pair of brown eyes, and a messy hemp knee-length robe and trousers that seem a bit too big for him loosely frame his body. And on the very end, there is a pile of slime? The slime is laid out on the floor like a puddle, but the puddle is vaguely shaped like the usual two legs two arm body plan that sapient beings tend to fall into. Although I wouldn¡¯t call a sentient pile of slime usual in any sort of way. Tara, slightly bewildered, clears their mind by guessing that the slime might not even be sentient, although that does seem to be the pattern. And instead, they might be the remains or the failure of the redirection formation we stand on. Although considering all the strange things she''s seen, like sentient emotion clouds, Tara shouldn''t get too comfortable. Tara, having gotten her bearings, unstable and strange as they are. Pushes herself forward. But as she does so, she is firmly pushed back into the center of the carved circle. Tara, recalling the stabbing impressions of redirections, guesses that they must be installed to keep people inside. Tara feels fear rise in her stomach, her hands clench, and her untrimmed nails dig deep into her palms. Why do they want to keep us imprisoned? How does it work? Am I going to die here? A heady cocktail of fear and panic rush through Tara urging her to slam into the barrier and break through. But Tara remembers her breath and takes a deep breath in. Then, as calm as she can, she begins to inspect her prison for faults. Tara presses her fingers against the edge of the circle and gradually increases the pressure. As she does so, more and more pressure is placed on her fingers instead, unable to push past the drawn circle. Eventually, the pressure becomes unbearable, as if each push was pushed back with twice the force. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Tara, confident in their sudden new theory, suddenly puches the barrier and winces when that fist is pushed back and hurts in the very same manner. She confidently pieces together that the redirection runes somehow, keep her in place by counterbalancing any attempts to break out. But as Tara revels in her quick understanding of the diagram, she suddenly frowns as she realizes. Tara cannot think of a way to get out of a place when any attempt to get out is redirected. She doesn¡¯t exactly have any way to teleport, and any more conventional movement is perfectly countered by this strange diagram. However, as Tara¡¯s heart is shadowed by this thought, the decidedly more nervous teen, shuffles up to the edge of his barrier and says, ¡°W-what is your name, fellows? I¡¯m not really sure what we could be described as, maybe prisoners since we¡¯re in a formation, although we probably aren¡¯t prisoners because who would imprison people who had just arrived? Maybe we are honored guests. We should be; it must be a storm of providence for us all to appear here, what are the chances right?¡± Ooo, that simply stinks of desperation and fear. Makes a fair bit of sense for that to be the case since he seems to be some sort of teenager, and those are plagued by fear in general, and we are in some sort of trap. I doubt that they decided to make a prison for the sake of a laugh, so it would be extremely reasonable to be afraid. The teen speaking up again, so soon that no one was even given a chance to respond, says, "Well, I might as well start I''m Wu Gu, I wonder where did you all come from, I¡¯m from the Chu province nearby the Wei River.¡± Hmm, it seems like Wu Gu is from an agriculturally focused region since Wu Gu thinks that a river is extremely important. Tara wonders if he is from one of the feeder planets; there aren¡¯t many of them since most city planets can easily sustain their city, but some still exist. Intrigued, Tara wonders if the other people are also from such an agriculturally focused culture or if this haphazard summoning grabbed a wider array of people. She presumes the second, considering that most feeder planets are in the center of the Earthling territories and so rarely, if ever, see any nonhumans. Regardless, since Tara wants to get more information, she gets off the floor, her hair swinging to the more comfortable position of her back as she says, ¡°My name is Tara, and well, you could say I¡¯m from Earth, although frankly, it would be more accurate to say I came from the Astral Plane.¡± Tara sees that the boy is a bit confused, which confuses her as well. Even the most isolated feeder planet should know the homeland of humanity. But before Tara can tangle herself in confusion, the ooze, vaguely shaped like a standard galactic tool using biped, somehow emerges from the very shallow puddle into a diminutive human-like figure with a large sphere of ooze for a head. While Taras mind is boggled, the slime person says, "God when do we get out of here, I can taste the floor, and it tastes like a mix of copper, despair, and ash. Oh, and my name is Neauclix; I¡¯m from a frontier town somewhere in the Beast Guard¡¯s Territories.¡± Tara frowns. What the hell is a Beast Guard? Did someone somehow use the Astral to roid up some poor dog and unleash it on their foes? Her head still filled with confused and baffled thoughts, she forcibly stills the noise with a deep breath. Tara looks toward the aquatic alien, since they haven¡¯t spoken yet. Only to be quite surprised as a flash and a ripple of light communicate [-My name is Tealdara Coralhome, I see that I have stumbled into a new world.-] [-I should have known this would happen eventually, considering my husband.-] [-pause-] [-That one couldn¡¯t sit still if his life was on the line-][-exasperation/love/fear-]. Nevertheless, I am from Vadi/Water-]. As the lights flicker on and off across their body, dim lights shining beneath their scale armor, Tara also hears a sheer trill, which communicates [-LOOK AT ME-] [-LOOK AT ME-] [-LOOK AT ME-]. In an incessant loop. And before Tara can even get a break, without even turning the flashing lights, communicate to Neauclix. [-I understand your struggle, these dry and dusty floors are terrible for my-] [-SLIME LAYER-]. Tara''s head, having recently had several other concepts and ideas shoved into it, bristles and throbs with pain. But her head soon swims in other ideas. Like the sheer utility of communicating through light. It¡¯s instantaneous, hard to spy on, and doesn¡¯t require any pauses for breath or any other resource. Tara wonders what type of emotion might summon light. Perhaps she could replicate the light language by swiftly turning off and on a series of magical light panels. Morse code could be an effective stopgap language during the development of the new magic. Suddenly, Tara feels slightly jealous that she doesn¡¯t have a large set of unique light patterns splayed across her skin. Before realizing how inconvenient and alienating it would be to actually have it. But before Tara can swim for too long in the wondrous advantages of light based communication, she hears the subtle clack of shoes on uneven stone. Quickly twisting her head towards the sound, an elegant man practically glides into the room, wearing a pure white robe emblazoned with the simple image of an eye. He turns to us and suddenly smiles, the smile reaching past his silver eyes. Spreading their arms out wide, they say, ¡°There is no need for any pain any longer; come, come, children, we must have you all initiated." And with those words, Tara suddenly feels that something isn¡¯t quite right. 2.10.1 What is a Dungeon I speed through the astral in a silent streak, idly playing around with some iron dust as the lack of wind resistance and immense speed cause me to blast past dozens of beautiful and strange monsters and spirits in the blink of an eye. Yet even as I do so, I see something so vast and so beautiful that I can¡¯t help but stare as I approach. My immense speed meaning nothing to their gargantuan forms. Peeking over a bloom that could dwarf a housing complex that could serve thousands, I see the bells of a dozen or so immense jellyfish. As I approach, I begin to slowly see more. Their bells are a dark and deep purple with hues of red dotted by a scattering of blue and green. Draped over the bell is a veil formed from clear, lacy fronds that drift in the astral expanse. Dragged behind the immense jellyfish is a moving expanse of clear tendrils that seemed to have captured the stars themselves. Looking upon the group of jellyfish, I can¡¯t help but cry out in joy; it¡¯s like I¡¯ve seen my own personal living universe unfold before me. As jellyfish, the lack of water pressure from the astral expanse must have caused their size to balloon over the millenia, and the colorful environment of the astral might mean that being an immense sea of beautiful color would blend in rather than stand out. It''s so wonderful to see the artwork of nature, the joys and wonders it creates for all to enjoy. As I see the full group, I continue to speed through the Astral, but as I pass by them, they begin to approach, with surprising speed for something so large. More than I could manage on short notice, since I rely on the lack of air resistance to slowly build up speed. As they come closer and I begin to slow myself down with an application of my now rather impressive reserves of Freedom, I see that each of them is around the size of an old world skyscraper. Although huddled in the middle, I see a few smaller ones that might only be the size of a single-family home. Eventually, when they reach close enough that their bells cover the astral expanse, one of the larger ones emerges from the group, and the series of lacy fronds that covered their bell previously, separate into two groups of four fronds and begin to move in a complex pattern. At first, I am confused, but soon enough, I get an instinctual grasp of what seems to be some sort of sign language. I didn¡¯t see any word that felt like a repeat, but with my understanding of the fundamentals, I got a feeling that four fronds that move in one direction before whirling back might be the right thing to say to get them to repeat what seemed to be some kind of greeting. Turning around, I take out a copy of my hardened light hair structures that I previously used as a jury-rigged laser. I then take it in and out of the duplicating bag three times to get eight hardened light structures. Then, by moving them while they float in the air, I slowly say back to the patient leading jellyfish, [-Can you repeat/redo that-] [-?-] As I examine them for their response, they strangely enough seem to be slightly surprised before they make a slow, sweeping gesture that I now understand means [-Yes, I may-] There is a small pause in their sweeping gestures. Then I feel a slight pinprick from nowhere, before they continue and sign [-I am Star Spirit of the Swirling Stars Bloom, and I ask why-] [-She Who Breaks Chains-] [-Wanders the area-] Curious as to why or how they used that title, when I¡¯ve only heard it from the Dual Tribe, I slowly piece together the [-why-] symbol and then repeat [-She Who Breaks Chains-] Star Spirit seems a bit confused, but then signs to me. [-I saw past the veil, and I understood that using the title was a sign or respect-] [-Was it not-] [-?-] After they say this, their hand tendrils that they¡¯ve been using to sign sweep their bell as if they were wiping away detritus. But their bell is spotless, and the gesture stinks of nervousness. I internally groan, dissatisfied by how often people seem more inclined to suck up to me than to actually speak to me nowadays. I sign back [-no-], and I see that Star Spirit is a bit confused, but I don¡¯t have a good enough grasp of the language to eloquently describe my emotions regarding that title. Hell I can barely understand what I feel about it. I am proud of what I did to achieve the title, I''m not exactly going to denounce my participation in freeing the population of a village from slavery at the hands of a cruel spirit. But it makes me feel queasy, I don''t like the fact that this title separates me from others. It firmly places me above everyone else. The title creates the illusion that no one else could have saved those people. I just did my best, but now the thing I am most proud of has been turned into something that makes me feel alien, strange, unlike everyone else. I sigh and return to the conversation. In a halting manner, by slowly moving the shining, hardened light, I clumsily sign [-I seek/search adventure and new/recent interesting things-] Slowly, they sign back. [-If that is what you wish, perhaps you may want to visit the dungeon we just left-] After they say this, Star Spirit rambles about some sort of spread, and a few others chime in behind them to say that the spread is decent. With low amounts of danger, unless you¡¯re a fool, and great rewards. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. But the swirl of what seem to be foreign words and their native sign language make their signs hell on earth to parse. Understanding the sign language is like trying to pat my head and rub my tummy at the same time, and adding another language makes it feel like I''m trying to do a choreographed dance while rubbing my tummy, patting my head, and dictating a memoir. My head turns from side to side, my mind clouded by immense confusion. I don¡¯t exactly understand how a fruit or salad spread can have great rewards, and I¡¯m unsure why or how a prison houses a spread that gives great rewards. But I¡¯ve been flying through the astral at speeds that would boggle the minds of most for what feels like days. The last solid object that wasn¡¯t fiercely guarded by a spirit or a rock was Mnesikles¡¯s design. The astral is mostly empty, and any interesting element would be a balm to my bored soul. Clumsily, I use my hardened light structures to sign [-Can I have-] [-directions-] [-to dungeon-] [-?-] After that, Star Spirit gives a surprisingly mundane set of directions, gesturing towards its direction and giving a workaround for any spirits that might be in the way. Seeing this, I nod and begin to head that way, but as I do so, I remember one of my weirder experiments, and instead, I quickly sign to them [-wait-] I pull out my design for an experimental wand that looks more like a ineffective oar than a wand. My thought for its design was that since runes get stronger the larger they are, I should massively increase the size of the wands tip so I could place massive attack runes. But the large tip made it incredibly unbalanced; any errant swing made it nearly rocket out of my hands, and worse, whenever I was on the frozen ground of my planet, it nearly instantly fell out of my hands. While gravity is rare here in the astral, the more powerful places, and spirits can enforce it, disregarding small and petty things like physics and common sense. I could have made the tip smaller, but at that point, the increase in effectiveness would have been quite small. So instead, I extended the handle. At that point, since I had such a massive flat surface at the end of a staff, I decided to give up and sharpen its point to turn it into a somewhat strange, poorly formed oar spear with an incredibly large tip. All that work and effort gone down the drain for a worthless and unwieldy weapon. But considering the fact that most of the Swirling Stars could envelope a small skyscraper, that won¡¯t be a problem for them. Hell, for most, the wand would be too small to be their toothpick. But the smaller ones can probably use it. The larger one, Star Spirit, pauses, and while he does so, I form a tube of iron dust, melt it, cut the craggly and messy tube into a better, more comfortable shape by using my hot hands spell to precisely cut off the edges. I then create a rough spear shape around three hands large and melt it into shape layer by layer, acting like my own personal replicator. Smiling I raise the oar, spear, wand thing into the air with triumph, but as I do so a frown invades my pleasant expression. I''m not exactly comfortable with offering what is presumably a child a dangerous weapon, even if it could save their lives. It would be like handing a child a wilderness survival gun while they hike. But making a weapon that is properly sized for the adults would be absurd. So what would be a good rune to give for protection? Perhaps the oar spear wand thingy, can put the child in stasis if they press a button so the others can save them? Wait no, I gave a stasis rune for protection last time. I''m not a hack; I won''t give someone else a weirdly shaped copy of my last gift. But now that I think about it, a stasis rune would be a pretty good weapon to give the child. If they miss or point it at the adults like it is a toy, they won''t murder them. Additionally, stopping someone mid-battle could be quite useful, especially with the extreme amount of time they''ll be gone. It could both take opponents out of the fight, and in an emergency save someone else in the Swirling Stars. Satisfied with my new enchantment design, I carve a massive stasis rune on one side of the panel with a very small target rune on the dull tip, and the standard series of storage, emotional absosrption, and energy transer runes on the other large surface to extend the tools life span. Along the handle of the oar wand, I carve with a finger a connected array of small durability and healing runes. Finally, I carve two large buttons, one near the head of the staff and one near the bottom. Then connect the storage array to the regeneration and durability function, then to the buttons, which connect to the status rune, and then to the targeting rune. Satisfied with a fairly good rush job, I look up, and I am surprised to see the Swirling Stars crowd around me looking intently at the oar wand. Drifting backwards with a touch of Freedom I leave behind the oar wand and sign, [-This is weapon-] [-When press this button-] [-It stop those you point at-] [-Make them hard to damage/hurt/embarass-] [-They can do nothing-] [-In order to repeat/restart stop after you use-] [-have emotions near weapon-] Looking at their reactions, they are first a bit puzzled before they piece together the meaning of my broken words and pass the spear quite quickly across the entire group. Eventually, after some handling, it is gently passed along to the smallest jellyfish, a runt barely larger than a studio apartment. I see many signs being passed along the group at extreme speeds, far surpassing the slow patient speed Star Spirit showed me, and I can only understand impressions of excitement. Eventually, seeing that I have nothing more to say, they slowly begin to gather up and leave. One of them signs [-We will remember you-] as they leave, but the rest spiral quickly into the depths of the astral. But as they all begin to speed up and move at an alarming speed, Star Spirit lags behind. Looking nervous their bell swivels from side to side before they hesitantly sign to me [-You seem like the good sort, watch out for the ants alright, their wars turn even more strange and warped than usual.-] I surprised attempt to get more information, but Star Spirit speeds up, and the speed of the enormous pod leaves me behind, unable to build up such a large amount of speed quickly. And soon the immense beauty of their star-studded furls and enormous dark bells disappear behind a spirit, and I can no longer see them. Dejected I try to piece together what Star Spirit meant with his warning. But without any other information, I can only keep going, unable to make any conclusion or decision about it. Confused but unable to do much of anything about my confusion, I begin to head to the dungeon they spoke of. ¡ª After getting a wee bit lost and eventually finding my way by using a spirit shaped like a giant ball as a compass, I eventually find myself in front of the dungeon the Swirling Stars Bloom talked about. It¡¯s a door. It¡¯s an ordinary wooden door that leads to nowhere that floats in the astral unremarkably. I am both slightly stunned and slightly regretful that I took the time to help the jellyfish out. Now I understand why they were signing nonsense, it was because all they had in their heads was nonsense. Just sending me off on an idiotic goosechase for no reason. Exasperated, I swim over to the door, grab the handle, and try to wrench it open. But no matter how hard I pull, the door stays shut. Frustrated, I keep trying to open it when suddenly a green light blinks on in the corner of my eye, and like a studdered frame in a movie, I suddenly find myself in a cave? Looking around, I find myself in what looks to be a natural cave with a winding passage forward, the only oddity being what looks to be some sort of sign posted on the side wall. It says, "Welcome, Stalwart Adventurers, to the Teleporting Dungeon! Brave this dungeons many dangers and you will be rewarded with magic items and gold beyond your wildest dreams. You may leave at any time, but cowards never get far here! Dive Deep and Grasp the Stars! Hmm, if I can leave at any time? Turning around, I swiftly open the door and find myself back in front of the previously ordinary enough door. Reevaluating my circumstances I mumble to myself, ¡°So a dungeon is a place where you do dangerous things and get rewarded with gold and magical items? Why? Who made this dungeon, and why does it have a name?¡± As I ponder this I wonder about who fell to the dangers of the dungeon. What were there names, why did they brave the dangers, why did they have to die. A corner of my enhanced sadness peeks into my mind, threatening to overwhelm me with endless tears for those who have fallen, but I calm down and begin to examine the door itself. Looking at it with less frustration, disappointment in mind, I can see that it isn¡¯t quite as ordinary as I thought it was. In its top right corner, there are two tinted pieces of glass, one green, and one red. Currently, the green one dimly shines. Hmm, presumably this is some sort of system to determine if someone is inside already, like the occupied signal on the doorhandle of an outdoor toilet. Overwhelmed with disgust at the thought of public outdoor toilets, and their designs, which were surely made in some dark pit, while their inventor cackled in dark delight. I am suddenly very glad that I haven¡¯t had to poop this entire time. Even if it cuts out some reading time. Well, disregarding public toilets, this dungeon doesn¡¯t have much for me. Perhaps its magical items could be useful, but I can make a lot of varied and powerful magical items in the time it takes most people to shit. Gosh, darn it why is my mind stuck on poop. Ugh, regardless, magical items aren¡¯t as appealing to me as they are to most, although I could still use them for stealing ideas for magical ite-. Wait, no, I can use them as inspiration for some new, original magical items. The gold might be useful just for the sake of having another metal to play around with. But if these truly are death-defying dangers, it isn¡¯t worth it to risk death for a magic item I can probably make myself and for some gold I don¡¯t really need. Instead, the far more intriguing and important quality of this dungeon is its teleportation. Merely opening the door transported me to somewhere entirely different, and if I can categorize and understand it, perhaps I can attempt to replicate it or its circumstances. After all, I¡¯m not exactly going to get home by sitting on my ass or being given a conventional free way out. I need to be proactive, even if it feels nice to pretend someone is going to save me for no effort. So in order to accomplish my goals I need to understand how returning home would even work. So let¡¯s figure out the Who, What, When, Where, and Why of this dungeon. 2.10.2 The Frying Pan Before I can figure out more lofty things like the fabric of space, let me at the very least get a grasp of how this portal moves people about. With a smooth motion, I do the IBA procedure, precisely tapping the surface of my binder, until, with a sudden flick, I grab a previously nonexistent nail. With the same motion, I shoot it towards the door. In the blink of an eye, the nail disappears, shwooped into the portal. Quickly, I use a touch of Freedom to float into the portal. A shuddering click overwhelms me, and I find myself in the same room as before. Looking around, I search the floor for my nail, but curiously enough, it¡¯s nowhere to be seen. I casually shrug before I turn around and walk back out of the dungeon. Floating a bit away from the door, I create another nail by successfully tricking myself into expecting another one, and flick it into the open door. Walking back in, I am mildly irritated to find that my newly created nail is missing again. For the third time, I create the nail, only for it to be gone by the time I get back in. I walk back out in a huff and pull out my infinite journal. I quickly scribble the annoying and inconclusive results into my journal. As I do so, I wonder what could even possibly be happening, is the dungeon eating my stuff. I screw my face together in confusion as I look at the dungeon, great devourer of nails. I don¡¯t hold onto this thought for long, but considering that I can¡¯t think of anything that might explain why or how my nails keep disappearing, Given the lack of data, I turn to another experiment. Examining the open door, I can see no hint of the dungeon beyond; instead, I only see the seemingly empty door frame. Considering the situation, I am currently unsure how this door functions, since walking through it causes a strange shuttering sensation and tossing things in only takes the blink of an eye. It might be just a nail, but there should be some observable shift as it moves through the portal. Ugh, I wish my skin had finished settling in by the time I left. My observations would be greatly improved with an enhancement to my brain. Regardless, my current hypothesis is that the portal, isn¡¯t actually a portal but rather a trigger for some form of teleportation. Since the shuttering effect makes it feel like an instant appearance rather than the step-by-step movement of standard astral airport portals. In those you walk into the Astral Plane for a fraction of a second, then you walk back out in the same motion to your destination. It''s one fluid motion, while, the door feels more like suddenly appearing in the dungeon. The wormhole theory, still unsubstantiated in our day, theorizes that you might be able to move across vast distances quickly by bending two pieces of space together. If that were the case for this portal, then moving through it should be one continuous motion. However, I doubt that it is one continuous motion, and it would frankly be quite easy to see whether or not this is the case. With a smooth well practiced motion I move through the IBA protocol and create a nail, then grabbing that nail I place it inside the door frame. When I do so the nail quickly shutters out of existence in the blink of an eye, wondering if the same thing happened to the nail I step into the portal after it. Looking at the stone floor, I again see no nail, and my minor bit of annoyance begins to burn inside me, as a flood of escalating thoughts storm into my brain. Each thought leading to another more furious and irrational thought, as the dungeon around me starts to roil with heat, the little piddly sign at the front bursting into flames, as my own runaway anger burns the world around me. Even as I think these thoughts, I''m also panicking about my own anger, as if my consciousness were trapped behind my own brain. Able to watch and panic, but unable to affect anything at all as the thoughts run towards more and more ridiculous conclusions. Eventually, the anger fades out, and I take a deep breath. I gently remind myself, that I have a literally infinite supply of nails, and that my anger is unfounded, built more off of a brain prone to escalation than a rational understanding of anything worth anger. Yet despite all my own self reassurances, and therapist-taught techniques, a low simmer of anger still goes strong in my stomach. Unwilling to return to my experiments while still burning with anger, I stomp toward the next room for the first time. Soon enough I pass through a bare stone tunnel and find myself in a small meadow surrounded by stone, filled with strangely familiar soft grass, and alien flowers I don''t recognize. I look around not seeing much of anything, but as I turn towards the next door I hear a rustle in the grass and look over to it''s direction. In that direction, I see the cutest little bunny rabbit, with an adorable dappled coat, a quivering nose, and strangely enough a little horn on its head. I approach it, with my hand out, hoping to touch its soft fur, but as I reach out the rabbit snarls, its eyes suddenly shining a bright red, it hurls itself toward my outstretched hand, its tiny horn shining with a strange light. Panicking I switch on the heat beam installed in my gauntlet, and almost instantly flash fry it alive, its body falls, and it makes a final shriek of pain before my still functional gauntlets reduce its body to a dirty pile of melted fat and cinders. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. A ball of something rises in my throat as I choke in my helmet from a mix of disgust, and horror as I stare at the ruined remains of the adorable rabbit. However, as I start frantically trying to wipe my eyes while still stuck in my helmet, I hear something in the ceiling begin to turn, and a deluge of coins dink off my helmet. I stare up at the ceiling as the hole that let down the coins begins to close up, my disgust and horror melting away into a mix of anger and exasperation. Choking back a scream at this ridiculous thing called a dungeon I scoop up the gold coins from the floor, and stomp out of this miserable place. After a tiny walk back through the slightly burned entranceway I find myself back in the astral still holding those miserable little coins. Gritting my teeth, I shove the coins into the bag, and looking back at the annoying, and vaguely horrific experience, I conclude that most likely it isn''t one continuous motion. But I need more evidence to say that, so let''s get something a bit larger so that it will be easier to see the difference. Grabbing a handful of iron dust, I first plan to make a rough oval, considering my lack of tools, but an idea springs to mind. Then giggling all the way I make a roughly 11ft pole. Feeling a bit better from the thoroughly irritating experience I humm a familiar melody as I lift the pole into the air. Then, with great care, I slowly push the adventurer''s best friend, an 11ft pole, towards the portal. Moving to the side as it slowly floats through the astral, I carefully observe it as the standard-issue trap detector an 11ft pole touches the edge of the empty doorframe and disappears in the blink of an eye with little fanfare. A small smile spreads on my face, as my hypothesis is vindicated. I repeat the experiment, getting the same result every time and put down the results. But as I finish my table and begin to write what errors there were in my experiment, I realize that this is nothing to smile about because if it¡¯s not a wormhole or a portal like an Astral Airport Portal. Then how the fuck does it work? Maybe it moves things really fast? No, if that were the case, I would have broken all my bones upon reaching the dungeon unless it had a similar protection clause to my stasis rune. Wait, maybe that¡¯s what the stuttering feeling is; it feels somewhat similar to the stasis rune I use to protect myself. If that¡¯s the case, it would be perfectly reasonable for it to be just like the Home rune. Fuck, now I need to check if this is the case just to be sure, but how? Well, if it''s a physical movement like the Home rune there should be some travel time, even if it''s quite small. Latching onto my first idea, I try to think of some way to properly note down the time. But I keep running into dead ends since I didn''t exactly bring an atomic clock with me to the astral. But as I start to mourn a promising way to understand how this portal works, I remember my first Home rune experiments and how most ended in disaster with the object crashing through whatever lay in its path. It would be easier to check if it moves me by setting up obstacles to smash through, rather than trying to cobble together a makeshift and most likely innacurate clock. Ugh, I¡¯m going to raze this little dungeon to the ground if its teleportation turns out to just be complicated movement, like the Home rune. Exasperated by the lacking results and the nagging suspicion that this dungeon is a scam, I sigh and begin building a large series of barriers around the door. ¡ª A new adventurer has come in WONDERFUL! I just finished processing the last one, and a brave new soul aims to traverse my depths. I can hardly stand still with excitement, although standing still isn¡¯t much of a choice since the human inside blocks most movement I can make. Hmm, although I''m not sure if I should be excited. This adventurer is quite queer; they are utterly alone in my depths. Don¡¯t they know that loneliness is a dangerous thing in a dungeon? Oh well, what will be, will be, anyone who walks into my depths alone is either a fool who will quickly die or someone strong enough to be worth processing. Quickly I set up the sign to the appropriate language while it is still in the corner of the adventurer''s eye. Soon enough they turn to the sign, but strangely enough, they look nonplussed. Slightly worried that they might be the real deal, and that I¡¯d have to deal with a dungeonbreaker. I use [Identify] on them.
Name:---- Power
Title: She Who Breaks Chains Class: False Spirit Physique(?) Soul(6) Equipment(5) Total Power 47 8999 12 36 327 9421
Oh no, their power level, IT''S OVER 9000; there''s no way that can be right, right? But no matter what I change or how I look at them, their rating stays the same. I keep frantically looking for any excuse or disguise but I find nothing and something shatters inside me. Fuck FUCK FUCK! Almighty below, I would nash my teeth if I had any at hand. A sheer panic fills my brain as I see this monster nonchalantly sit in my waiting room, the one place I can¡¯t hurt them at all. Yet as I internally scream, they just walk out? What, was she too scared to continue? That doesn¡¯t make any sense, even her equipment would allow her to steamroll through the entirety of my first floor. Oh no, is the wench going to bring back some compatriots? I can survive one person with over 9000 power, but I¡¯m fairly certain I¡¯ll perish if a full party of them storms in and tries to grab the real prize. FUCK, I HAVE TO CLOSE THE DOORS OFF, and suddenly, as I think this, I hear a tink and a nail falls onto the floor, huh? Instinctively, upon seeing an unattended item, I absorb it. Just as I finish this, the monster bursts back in and looks at the floor, as if they expected their nail to be there. I watch bamboozled as the monster repeats this two more times. What could possibly be the purpose of this? Why aren¡¯t they just strolling to my core for a nice snack? Why must they torture me in such a way? Can¡¯t they just get it over with and blast through half the walls and dig through my guts? At the very least, if they leave the accursed waiting room, I¡¯ll be able to do something. You know what? Next time if I survive this, I¡¯m removing this waiting room. I don¡¯t care if I¡¯ll be called a deviant dungeon; I¡¯ll just teleport away from the nearest inspector. Anything in order to not be hounded by this patient monster. If they¡¯re going to leave, why can¡¯t they stay gone? why must they-Almight damn it, they came in again. The monster bursts in, staring intensely at the floor, yet this time they begin to roil with an immense heat, warping my sign and singing my immaculate door. Before the air around them slowly cools down to normal temperatures. Then, with that, they huff and walk forward further into my depths. Previously, this would have terrified me. But instead a thought spins to life in the back of my mind. That heat could have been generated by any two-bit mage, who would need to valiantly retreat if they fell into my depths alone. Do I have any need to fear this knave at all? As this thought starts to grow in the back of my head, I see the monster casually walk into my first room. Finally, with this, I can begin to fight back against the knave. I might not be able to manipulate much with them inside, but with a simple split of the mind, I siphon away all the mana from my various floors, robbing them of both loot and any ability to regenerate any mana. All the while I set up a spatial spell of grand power to valiantly retreat against this superior foe. Who cares if they maybe aren¡¯t the strongest? I can¡¯t afford to risk it: most adventurers would cut off their arms for a dungeon core. But as I do this and monsters droop throughout my dungeon, a fraction of my mind observes them apart from the vast majority of my brain putting together the escape spell. As that small fraction observes them, it sees the little knave use a spell befitting some bizarre mix of a noble failson with far too much power in their hands and a novice mage who has never heard of a spell before. Truly horrendous efficiency, and yet they don¡¯t emit a wiff of mana. Baffled, my metaphorical jaw on the floor of my own body, I watch as they retrieve some gold that fell from the emergency adventurer reward system I installed in the ceiling. Curses I forgot I installed that when some idiot mage sucked out all the mana, and the adventurers stormed down my halls, looking for revenge for their lost loot. Agh, finally they¡¯re gone again. Now I can escape, but do I need to? It seems to be more and more obvious that what that monster has is false strength. It seems fitting enough; they are a False Spirit after all. From the looks of it, they seem to have large stores of some bizarre power but no legacy or education on how to use it. Their equipment alone is quite powerful, enough to contend with some of my strongest monsters. However, their novice spellwork shows that they aren''t exactly the most competent; additionally, if they fall here, I would soar past several stages of strength if I consumed them. I would also get their undeniably legendary equipment. Ooooh, I want it; I need it; I''ll get it. Perhaps the best move would not be fleeing or throwing them some bones so they won¡¯t kill me, but instead striking at this powerful person while they still don¡¯t know how to use their power properly. YES! They will terrify me no longer. I¡¯ll wait until the little knave takes a bit too much time on the outside, and I¡¯ll show them why adventurers fear a deviant dungeon. Let¡¯s remove the frying pan and dump them into the fire. 2.11 Into the Fire I mumble grave insults at the inanimate door as I crudely smash together a series of iron walls. Eventually I seal the final corner and find myself floating in the darkness, surrounded by the crude iron cube I built to detect if the teleportation was physical movement. The only light the small, dim green orb embedded into the door of the dungeon. Barely illuminated by the indicator light, I lift up the rudimentary clock I made. It looks fairly ridiculous¡ªa series of 30 large metal tubes holding small iron balls. At the start of each tube is a tiny force rune I calibrated to be just the right size so that the iron ball would reach the other side of the tube in approximately one second. On the other side of that tube is the button that directs the next ball to be pushed to the other side of the tube next to the first one. Since each ball takes one second to reach the other end, and each end makes the next ball take another second to reach its own end, it functions as a crude but functional 30 second timer. Using the same molds I used to make the first timer, I¡¯ve made a second timer, and my plan is to turn both clocks on at the same time and walk in and out of the dungeon. If there¡¯s any large discrepancies in terms of time. I¡¯ll know that most likely the door isn¡¯t instantaneous travel, allowing me to be more specific in my experiments, slowly coming to a more concrete understanding of how this teleportation works. After a quick nervous gulp, I turn on both timers and step through the portal. Quickly turning around to leave so that there might be the smallest amounts of human error in my experiment, I stare blankly in despair as there is no door to be seen on this new wall. ¡ª Turning around, hearing the whistle of something in the air, I find a massive hunk of metal crashing towards my face. I fall back; it¡¯s too late; I am slammed into the wall I so recently stared at with despair; my helmet rings. I scramble to get up. The soldier¡ªno soldiers advance; they¡¯re heavily armored in what looks to be some type of plate armor; one wields a long spear, the other quickly lunging towards me even as I think this, wields a strange sword with no tip. Panicking as I see them approach with a burst of speed, I kick towards the closest one and release a deluge of stone with a flip of a switch embedded into my boot. They are blasted backwards by the torrent of rock and slam into the strangely alien back wall; it doesn¡¯t look like the room before. The room seems to be made up of blank grey stone now, not a mossy cave. I am confused, addled, afraid. I press on the attack; the one with the spear¡ªfuck it, I¡¯ll just call them Spear¡ªcircles around me, waiting for the other to return; I can¡¯t have that. Quickly I flick on the heat beam and point it at them, but quick as the devil, Spear lunges to the side out of the way of the beam. They¡¯re overextending; they won¡¯t be able to get out of the way. Pushing off the harsh stone floor, I leap across the room on a dime, with a crash I tackle Spear. I crash into Spear¡¯s chest; they are knocked onto the floor like a tin can hit with a baseball; they clatter to the floor. I soar over their prone form. Tumbling through the air, I bewildered wonder why such a heavily armored person is so ridiculously light before I abruptly smash onto the floor. I grit my teeth as my armor digs into my laid-out body. I gasp, no air left in my lungs. I desperately try to breathe to no avail; I lay on the floor, unable to do anything, as Spear gets up off the floor, and Sword quickly advances towards me. Spear reaches me first; they take the but of their spear and lay it into the layered plates of my midsection; something crumbles, and as Spear pulls out the but, I can feel the ruptured metal dig into my skin. I finally manage to bet a breath of air, but as I do, Sword reaches me and slams his strange pointless sword into my back three times, each time it glances off the plate, well protected against wild slashes like those. Remembering that strange excessive lightness, I use my position on the floor to spin and sweep the two soldiers legs. With a strangely empty series of clangs, they quickly fall to the floor, not more heavy than a large dog, and thus easily unbalanced. With a quick push, I get back onto my feet as the two soldiers try to do the same. My breath still faint and painful, I nonetheless scream as I take my foot and stomp onto Sword¡¯s head. It feels strange; there is no iron cloaking my feet, only my extremely tough, subtly scaly skin, so I can feel it when the helmet crumples and I feel something wet spurt against my skin as something splits and tears. They screech, the sound more like a movie monster than someone in pain, but they push off of me and scramble up, still somehow moving after I caved its armor in. Reaching out with my hand, I flick the switch on the ice beam, and with a quick sweep, I block off Sword behind a wall of mystic ice. Quickly turning off the beam so I won¡¯t be surrounded by ice, I turn on Spear. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Spear is getting up as well; quickly I leap backward and retreat, getting out of melee range. The heat beam was turned off in my tumble, but I quickly flip it back on, and the beam leaps out of the gauntlet towards the prone form of Spear. Somehow detecting the invisible beam of heat, Spear tries to scramble out the way, but with their position on the floor, they can¡¯t get far, and it hits their armored legs. The beam instantly fries it; I hear something sizzle as they stop trying to get up and start spasming with pain, waving their spear everywhere as I maintain the beam on their writhing body, before they eventually lay still on the floor dead. I stare at the dead body blankly. I intellectually understand I''m supposed to feel something, anything. But I can¡¯t bring myself to do it. I can¡¯t summon anything other than apathy at the sight of the corpse. But while I stare at the corpse blankly, its partner reacts with much more fervor, a deluge of ink-black liquid erupts from the hole I tore into its helm. The inky black liquid dripping from the holes as if they were tears. The tears drip down its arm, intermingling with its blade. With a screech it slams its strange blade upon the mystic ice. Already damaged by Sword¡¯s earlier attempts to break out, the blade cleaves through the crude wall in one smooth motion. It¡¯s blade still extended. Sword nimbly leaps over the much reduced wall and runs at me with great speed. I note down that they might be immensely vulnerable to heat considering what happened with Spear, but all strategy leaves, as its blade swings down, the executioner''s blade onto the guilty. Desperate I raise my hands in front of my face so that I won¡¯t have my head cleaved into two. But Sword takes its sword, and with a lunge, it knocks aside my guarding hands. With another elegant sweep, it crashes its blade into a chink of my armor, and I scream as I feel it dig into the bones of my wrist. I hastily turn around and try to scramble away, all thought except for survival disappearing, but as I do, I hear a scrape and I feel my ankle blaze with pain as something important is cut, and I crumple to the floor. Swiftly, I turn back to my opponent, only to see the dull point of its sword rocket towards my helmet. Clumsily, I slap aside the blade with my gauntleted hands only to screech when I feel something shift in the hand that had a blade dig into its wrist. Sword ducks as the still-on heat beam nears its form with my clumsy block, but it doesn¡¯t stay away for long. As Sword quickly slaps my already injured hand to the side, my hand brushes against the activation rune for that hand, and the beam shuts off. Smoothly, Sword transitions from knocking aside my hands into a different stance before it slams a heavily armored foot into the side that was crumpled in by the dead Spear. I gasp in pain as the hard boot digs into my ribs, but I am not held back for long, the extraordinarily light form of my opponent not allowing for an immense amount of force in its kicks. One of my legs still strangely floppy. I take the still-effective one and kick towards its legs, flipping on the switch at the same time. But unlike last time, they are ready. With a flurry of sword swings, Sword reduces the deluge of stone into nothing but dust. However, unable to ignore momentum and Newton''s Third Law as easily as they ignore any and all convention for swordcraft, they are pushed backwards, their boots grating against the stone floor. On the floor, unable to move due to a faulty leg, I filled with panic. Reach for my shoulders hoping to pull off the Shiver technique so that I could freeze them in pla- I scream as they leap towards me, my efforts to freeze them foiled. They fall onto me with little grace but much noise, their strangely light form quickly covering me. A shock of purpose running through me I get the hand with the mangled wrist into their way, and desperately try to turn on the heat beam with my mangled ha- They let go of their sword, grab my hand by the wrist, and twist. I scream as I feel my broken wrist roil in their grip. I feel something slip out of the armor, and as I look at the helmet, inky black tears dripping onto my armor I see tendrils of flesh jump out of the armor and slice against my own thick armor. More and more meat tendrils hook into the back of my armor holding us together as another tendril retrieves its sword. Unable to scramble away any longer, I am pinned down as It takes its strange sword and stabs it toward the chinks of plate in my midsection. With desperate energy, I using my last effective hand, grab the blunt of the tipless sword and push against its vicious stab. A struggle ensues; at first I managed to push its swords nearly off course, but soon enough I get tired as it pushes the sword closer and closer to my vulnerable belly. I try to turn on the rune for the ice beam but I can¡¯t do it while also keeping the blade away. And my other hand is being crushed. Death inches away, a sudden calm overtakes me as I try to figure out someway, anyway to make it out alive. Considering the circumstances, the enemy that Sword most closely matches is the Golems. Since it seems to be some creature of minimal biology and largely a creature of just armor. Thus, its armor is the main point to the conflict. Since that is the case, the earlier solution to the golems should be quite effective. I just need my tools, whatever the cost. I grit my teeth and push the blade away from the meat of my belly. With this, I roll in its fleshy grip, twisting my mangled gauntlet out of Sword¡¯s hand. The blade digs into me, taking a gouge of meat with it as it slices a deep gash into my side. My hands now free. I flick on first the ice, and then the heat. Held here by its fleshy tendrils, its own weapons turned against it, Sword cannot get away in time. Both beams hit, and I hear a strange burst as if steam erupted inside a sealed tanker. I see Sword''s armor rupture and explode, revealing nothing inside¡ªno man. Nothing except strange fleshy tendrils somehow embedded into the armor. Bits of meat and metal fly into the air as the ravaged remains hiss and scream with cooking meat and spilled inky tears. Exhausted, bleeding, and broken I fade out of consciousness. ¡ª Barely a second later, I blink back awake. Laid out on the floor, with more parts broken than whole. My heat beam still on, I slowly point it towards myself. I huff and puff in the armor as the horrendous heat is absorbed and turns on my healing enchantments. Slowly my various slices, bruises, and broken bones lessen in pain as the enchantment puts me back into one piece. After a long, long while, I feel that my Achilles tendon is finally in proper order and that my hand no longer screams with every movement, so I slowly get onto my knees and then achingly stand up. ¡°Fuck that is much slower than I thought it would be,¡± I say as deep pain shoots through my lungs with every word and broken metal scrapes against my durable skin. I gingerly touch my side with the three separate wounds, and gratefully enough, I see that the blood has stopped flowing. It seems to be good enough for now. Shuffling on the floor tired, I approach the bodies of my two opponents, curious as to why they were so undeniably strange. Coming across the ruptured and blown apart body of Sword. First I see that, strangely enough this plate armor isn¡¯t a series of solid plates but two plates pressed together with strips of strange flesh pulsing inbetween. Hmm, how interesting that accounts for why they¡¯re so light; they couldn¡¯t have been much heavier than a normal set of plate armor and a weapon. Additionally, it explains why my usual heat-based attacks were so incredibly effective; any high temperature would essentially lead to the creature being stuck between two frying pans it couldn¡¯t escape. I wonder what circumstances caused this sort of creature to arise, perhaps they''re somewhat similar to hermit crabs, who make up for a lack of shell by sheltering in any item they can find. This armor seems to have been custom made for the creature due to the two plates it lived between, so perhaps these specific creatures are some sort of trained guard animal. Although where in the hell was its brain, there should be a fairly large one in here; it shed something for its fallen companion; it knew how to swing a sword; I have no idea if it was sapient but it was certainly at least sentient. Oh fuck, what am I supposed to do now? I¡¯ve just killed something, and I don¡¯t even know what it was. Hell, I didn¡¯t even try to talk to it; all I know is it was trying to kill me, and I don¡¯t know why. How did I even wind up in here? Did the portal mess up or something and drop me into the middle of the dungeon. I breathe in, I breathe out, I remind myself that it was trying to kill me, then knowing that there¡¯s not much else to do, I get up and move on. I''ll spend some time here in the first room to recuperate and examine this dungeon for a way out. I don¡¯t have the knowledge necessary to do something more creative than hope a portal pops up. And while it might be my paranoia talking, I can¡¯t rely on something so flimsy as hope. 2.12 While Being Battered By The Frying Pan Ugh, well, now that I¡¯ve gotten a general understanding of the situation, I guess I should start healing myself. With a grimace, I begin to invoke Healing. At first, it feels nice, like the gradual understanding of your joy, of fear conquered by raucous friends and bright lights. Like that one glorious moment long after the wound where you realize the pain is gone. But as I take the aura into my hands and concentrate it down to a thin cone, where it touches me, I feel my flesh weaving back together, bones shifting as they move into the correct places. After I sweep the cone over all the injured parts, I feel whole, although not well in the slightest considering the awful wriggling feeling of everything coming together. I sigh, I can roughly feel that around 30% of my reserves of Healing were invoked with that burst of healing. I won¡¯t be able to repeat that often. Additionally, the large healing rune along my back is not nearly as effective as the ones that repair my base. Which confuses me: runes are generally most effective when used in ways that align with its purpose; the Hidden Beauty rune even actively dislikes when you try to use its sight for practical things. I assumed that a rune for healing would generally be used to heal people, so why is it so much more effective for iron plates? The iron plates on my base heal so quickly that you can use the crumpled metal like a trampoline. While I wriggled and squirmed on the floor for an hour before I had the strength to get up. Perhaps the rune is intended for keeping items in shape, or simpler objects are less complex and are thus easier to fix. Regardless, this rune is not as effective as I might have hoped; it seems to be ridiculously slow and not applicable at all to combat, and the healing I do have that¡¯s quick enough to be used mid-combat is excruciating. Which is, as you might say, just a bit counterproductive. You can¡¯t exactly concentrate on dodging while you feel your tendons wriggling back together. Ugh, it looks like I won¡¯t exactly be able to run through any damage like some sort of berserker. Although even if I could it wouldn¡¯t exactly be like a berserker; they after all know home to use some sort of weapon. I flail my way through combat; it¡¯s not exactly like I ever needed to know how to fight back home. Without training, it¡¯s not exactly like you can be a master by just surviving. Wait a second. I should probably negotiate for training from the Dual Tribe, the Hammer tribe, who, from what they said about themselves, are the finest warriors under the sun. They most likely aren''t the best; after all, pride clouds the mirror. But considering my circumstances and the need to, at the very least, not freak out mid-combat, even a mild amount of training could be extremely useful. As I think of this many images of a bold and brave warrior dance in my head, overtaking my more mundane concerns of design. Eventually I shake my head loose of such thoughts, turning to the dungeon around me and the more pressing matter of escape. I have no idea how I would even try to get out of here when the door has disappeared. My current best guess is to go forward and hope for the best, but hope is a flimsy thing; I cannot rely on it. With a fully restored body, I walk over to the back wall of the now-meat-splattered room and examine the blank surface. Of course, as I discovered earlier, there is no door leading to the outside¡ªnothing at all, in fact, just blank gray stone scattered with dimples. But perhaps I¡¯ll see something different with other eyes. Reaching for the side of my helmet, I tap a rune, and suddenly the room lights up under a barrage of blue windows attached to each unique object. Staring at the wall, I see a simple pop-up that says
Dungeon Wall
Frustrated at the uninformative and entirely useless information I look around the room and see nothing of particular note, except when I skim over my fallen enemies I see something extremely fascinating. When looking at the armor I see
Rosy Steel
And when I look at the meat itself, I see
Armor Crab
It looks like my earlier assumption that the fleshy thing was somewhat similar to a hermit crab is correct, additionally, it seems like the armor is made of a unique metal, although I¡¯m uncertain as to why it¡¯s called rosy steel, since it doesn¡¯t look pinkish; instead, it¡¯s a rather bland dark gray. A sparkle emerging from my eye I approach the scene of the battle and pick up a piece of that rosy steel and tear it off of Sword¡¯s helmet. With a whistle on my lips, I examine it with loving eyes. Finally, something¡¯s come of this trip to the dungeon other than annoyance or violence. I can¡¯t wait to examine the metalurgic properties of the metal. If it¡¯s called steel, it¡¯s some type of alloy of iron and coal. I wonder what the other material is? Considering my fantastical environment, it¡¯s bound to have some strange properties I can use, but if I want to use the damn thing, I¡¯ll need to get out of here first, and I still don¡¯t have the soggiest clue of how to do that. A grimace spreads across my face as I am ripped from the throes of joy into the grim truth that I don¡¯t have a clue as to what¡¯s going on. With a tap to the side of my helmet, I turn off the previous rune and then turn on the Hidden Beauty, facing the back wall yet again. But as I do so, I find that my gaze is drawn away from the wall and, inexplicably, towards the corpses behind me. My eyes are unable to turn away from their still frames, from the still dripping tears on Sword¡¯s face, from the crumpled-in holes I tore into them, from the smell of cooked meat twisting together into the reaching arms of the corpses. Looking away from them, I see my hands clasping the grim trophy I tore away from their corpse, flecks of meat still on the underside of the metal. I can clearly see the vision, the framing of the grim painting formed by my own sin. Throwing away the chunk of steel, I frantically twist my helmet off and heave my empty stomach on the floor, forced to gaze upon the lovingly reconstructed scene of the refuse left at the end of the battle. Hells below, what the fuck is that? It¡¯s supposed to show me hidden beauty, not a horror show. There¡¯s nothing beautiful about that. I didn¡¯t even see anything worth seeing¡ªjust a grisly monument to my si- no it wasn''t sin; it was self-defense. Worst of all it changed how I thought, it twisted my eyes to see new dimensions, a new message, a new scene. The hidden beauty rune is more bizarre and dangerous than I first thought. I''m still feeling the strings of my throat burn as they try to chuck out the contents of my empty stomach. Turning away, I first tap off the rune before twisting the helmet back on. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I am nauseous still, but considering the situation, I push through it and activate the last of my enchanted gaze''s, Oddity. Looking back at the empty wall, my eyes drawn to the things out of place, I notice something, or rather, I feel something: there should be a door here; there can¡¯t be a missing door without a problem. The door has to be here. Strange intuitions flood my mind as I instinctively understand that a proper dungeon must always have an exit at the start. Staring at the wall, I begin to feel something on my face¡ªsomething ethereal. Following the feeling closer and closer, I eventually find a tiny pinprick of utter blackness among the empty stone, and suddenly all seems right¡ªthe door is here after all, and I am freed from the grip of oddity. Tapping off the rune, I stare at the tiny pinprick, hardly big enough to fit a needle into it. Well, apparently this is the exit, but how the hell can I use it to leave? Am I supposed to shrink to the size of an atom and walk out? This is obviously rigged. I felt with the utmost certainty that there had to be an exit, but this exit isn¡¯t anything more than a lie. Filled with anger, I slam my gauntleted fist into the stone, yet despite my half-enhanced body and sturdy gauntlets, I don¡¯t even leave a scratch upon the stone. Snarling I start pulling item after item out of my bag and quickly shove those items in and out, replicating some of the more uniform items, arranging the others as I begin to take my anger out on this ridiculous excuse for a door. ¡ª Experiment Dungeon Wall Destruction (DWD) Experiment 1 Hypothesis: By setting up two different wands, one that conjures extreme heat and one that conjures extreme cold, and then setting up rudimentary timers connected to them in a loop, I can create an automated system of two high temperture difference zones that will crack the dungeon wall. Experiment Instructions
  1. Take a wand blank,
  2. Soften it with a heat beam
  3. First carve in a Button rune
  4. Using the clock tube mold, create a 30-second timer connected to the activation button for the wand (refer to the RCE procedure on the previous page).
  5. Using the same button, connect it to a different 30-second timer, which, when finished, will activate the first 30-second timer.
  6. Copy the heat beam rune from my gauntlet and apply it to the wand.
  7. Repeat steps 1-6
  8. Apply the cold beam rune to the second wand
  9. Create a crude supporting lattice, made out of welded-together wand blanks (refer to the wand pillar and wand rod notes 47 pages back)
  10. Picking up the lattices, place both wands pointed at the back wall
  11. First, activate the heat beam wand.
  12. 30 seconds before the heat beam is done, activate the cold beam wand so that during the 60-second break, the cold beam is activated for 60 seconds.
  13. Monitor the two separate looping constructs until there are either results or they run out of power.
Rune Diagram Simplified.
  1. 30-second timer -> 2. Heat Beam/Cold Beam Activated.
-> 2. 30-second timer -> 3. 30-second timer -> 4.Heat Beam Deactivated -> 4. 30-second timer -> Step 1
Automatic High Temperature Fluctuations Damage Done(If the description exceeds the table, note which page the extended description is in)
First Build No damage done
Second Build No damage done
Third Build No damage done
Failure Error: In the future, timer designs will have to be slimmed down; the timers were more complicated and elaborate than the weapons! Plus the irregular mistakes in forging make it impossible to replicate each clock wholesale, and the incredibly confusing way the loops had to be done gave me a headache. I filled a page with diagrams, just trying to figure out how long each period would last. Hells, I could certainly use more meta runes that interact with other runes, they would be incredibly useful for the more complicated automated projects, but so far, the only runes I¡¯ve made are copycats of abilities I already have, not entirely new ideas. So that¡¯s a dead end for now. No damage was done to the walls over the entire period; the only notable thing is that I had to clean up the ice. Which is absolutely ridiculous considering I only stopped each attempt once the runes ran out of energy. This took several hours, and all I have to show for building the most elaborate marble-based death machine on this side of the Astral is a whole lot of nothing. ¡ª Experiment Dungeon Wall Destruction (DWD) Experiment 2 Hypothesis: Earlier on, when attempting to make a durable iron for my wall, I tried to use Earth-Gather-Condense to somehow jack the metal full of earth energy to make it more durable. Instead, this series of runes creates a rudimentary earthen explosion. My hypothesis is that if I summon the earth into the tiny crack and then have it explode, then I might be able to widen the hole enough for me to jam my finger in and teleport out of here. Experiment Instructions
  1. Take a wand blank
  2. Soften it with a heat beam
  3. Engrave a Button rune that leads to an Earth rune, modify that Earth rune with a Permanent rune, and then send the earth out of the tip of the wand
  4. After the targeting rune, connect it to a Gather and then a Condense rune.
  5. Take some welded-together wand blanks and convert them into a stand by welding the wand to a wand blank rod (refer to 49 pages back) that reaches the height of the pinhole
  6. Then stabilize the stand by welding a fan of wand blanks to the bottom.
  7. Place the stand so that the wand is partially inside the pinhole
  8. Make an eleven-foot pole out of wand-blank rods.
  9. Take that pole and press the button from far, far away
  10. Note down the results.
Failure Error: The explosion did occur in accordance with previous experiences; it rattled me even while I was half way across the room. But it didn¡¯t do shit. All of the stone just poured out without leaving even a single scratch on this horrid wall. In the future this combination can be used carefully in demolition, and with further testing could be used as a new wand template with different elements. ¡ª Experiment Dungeon Wall Destruction (DWD) Experiment 3 Hypothesis: By placing an enhanced nail into the hole and then hammering into the side, I might be able to crack it open. I''ve got no hope for this, but FUCK THIS STUIPID ASS WALL! Failure: All that happened was that the nail disappeared, ruining the leverage. ¡ª Experiment Dungeon Wall Destruction (DWD) Experiment 4 Hypothesis: Since both the nail and the earth disappeared when they went into the portal, and I know that the portal teleports your entire body, even if only the tiniest bit has touched it. Well, then why can¡¯t I stick a hair into the pinhole? ¡ª Squinting with my tongue out, I gingerly place my perfect hair into my crude replacement for a hair straightener. Two flattened rune blanks engraved with a weak imbued heat. Hesitant on account of never using a hair straightener before, I slowly place my hair in the middle before clamping down the two flat surfaces, and then pulling the very ends of my hair to a relatively straight form. It hurts, I can feel the hair snag and shrink through the dull heat I feel from the tool. A frown is embedded into my face. I¡¯ve always loved my hair, and mutilating it with a jury-rigged hair product is something I deeply dislike. Regardless it is necessary, my hair at 4C is too curly to fit into the tiny pinhole the exit is inside. Sighing as I look at my bedraggled and most likely horrifically heat-damaged ends(I couldn''t even wash it beforehand!), I pick up a single strand and slowly guide it into the pinhole. It¡¯s extraordinarily difficult, like stuffing a frayed thread into the shank of a needle but after a couple dozen tries I push it into the tiny hole. I guide the heat-damaged strand until I feel something strange. Smiling I feel that now familiar sensation of everything glitching apart as I disappear. ¡ª HEAVENS ABOVE WHAT ACCURSED HELL SPAWNED THIS HELLION TO CURSE ME SO. FIRST, THEY DRAIN MY MANA BY PUMMELING THE WALLS, AND NOW THEY USE SOME STRANGE ARTIFICE TO TRANSFORM THEIR HAIR INTO A PIN SO THEY CAN EVADE MY CONTROLS. NO, I WILL NOT ABIDE BY THIS! In my room far away, my gem hisses like a teakettle as it begins to spin with outrageous speed and anger. A bead of spatial mana floats above me, a careful trap meant to work around the wench''s absurdly high defenses to teleport them to a grave end. Hissing and spitting, however, I am forced to hastily break it apart in order to form a recursive loop around the pinhole exit. As I do so, I begin to feel the flow of tainted mana slow and eventually stop as I trap it by refusing to allow anything to reach my exit. I will die within the day if I do not open the exit again, but for my ascension, I am willing to risk it. I must consume this false spirit, it will take centuries to even attempt to ascend without their energy. All my dreams and all my power will slip away, as I am doomed to nothing more than mediocrity. A second seed unable to reach the stars like all the others. Well, I refuse. I do not care for the condemnations, or the danger I bring, I will not rest until this impudent wench is dead! 2.13 Researching The Kitchen. As I put my hair through the pinprick-sized hole and feel the now annoyingly familiar sensation of a forceful teleportation, I find myself, not outside this arbitrary hellhole but instead, when I open my eyes again, I find myself in the exact same position 1 meter away from the door. I blankly stare at the wall, and I just get the pointed feeling that if I hadn¡¯t only a bit ago screamed and chucked explosions at this wall for hours, I would have given an unholy shriek and punched this wall. But I just can¡¯t; I¡¯m exhausted by this nonsense. I utterly despise when I discover a set of rules or uncover information, only to receive information that utterly flies in the face of former conventions. The world is good when it makes sense, when it follows strict known rules, but the truth is that the world is messy and complicated, not something that is entirely known and limited. Anything that does not adhere to previous conventions has conventions of its own. Everything in the world has an answer, and I refuse to pretend that the world is some unknowable mystery. Tired down to my very bones, I approach the pinprick hole in order to examine the new changed circumstances. As I approach the pinhole, I see something strange; I see the same old, same old view of nothing at all, same as before. But the nothing I see now is a bit larger, as if someone placed a screen a bit closer to me. I think I¡¯ve got a feeling as to what¡¯s going on here. A new portal was installed in front of the earlier one. One that teleports anyone who goes through it one meter behind themselves. Exasperated but understanding the need for posterity and certainty, I take my bit of straightened hair and put it back in the pinhole. Once I do so, I find myself in the same position as before, roughly one meter behind the hole I placed my hair into. At this point I toss my hands into the air and say quite bluntly to the ceiling, ¡°FUCK YOU,¡± while doing my best impression of a middle finger with my nonarticulated gauntlets. Because at this point it is frankly rather obvious that there¡¯s something that is at the very least sentient around here fucking things up. It¡¯s not like a natural magical phenomenon could suddenly decide to trap you twice. I¡¯ve already learned that clouds of random emotion are sentient; at this point, a building being sentient isn¡¯t that much of a far-fetched conclusion. Especially since it would be utterly ridiculous to somehow think that a new portal being installed in front of the first is somehow something done on its own. No face it, the building I¡¯m in is at the very least controlled or affected by something with a quantifiable intelligence, and that intelligence wants to trap me here, unable to leave. But that does mean an old tool suddenly gets a lot more relevant. Scrying, When I¡¯ve previously used it on non-sentient objects like the temple way back when. I¡¯ve seen visions of its history and the people and times associated with it. But when used on sentient things like the spirits I previously inadvertently peeked in on. I saw who they fundamentally were. For the spirits, I usually saw the emotion that was their fabric, like the envy of anothers ease of loving, or the wanderlust that comes when the sky shines just right. Although more complex emotions showed me visions of the meaning of them, like the unending compassion of humanity amidst disaster. If I scry this dungeon, I might get a glimpse of how they operate. Although, nervously clacking my teeth together, I remember that I have no idea how long scrying takes. What if the dungeon chucks a meat tendril monster operating a custom suit of armor at me while I¡¯m conked out scrying it? Hell, I really need a name for those things. Regardless I have no clue how long it takes from the outside, since scrying shows me a vision that can take a considerable amount of time from my own perspective. For that one vision with the man in the earthquake, I spent hours in his brain. For all I know, every time I scry something complex, I really float around for a couple of hours. It¡¯s not like I would know. Nothing really grows or changes in the Astral. My hair doesn¡¯t grow longer, I don¡¯t get any aches from standing around when I float, I never feel any hungrier or thirstier, time measurements are bonkers here. Wait, now that I think about it. I note down in the infinite notebook that I should do further experiments on how long it takes to scry, using the more sophisticated water clock back on the base. Anyway, if I don¡¯t want to walk straight into a trap, I should get as much information as I can, but I don¡¯t have to be an idiot about it. I don¡¯t need to breathe, eat, or drink. There¡¯s no reason I can¡¯t scry the dungeon behind several inches of solid iron. Grinning I pull out the hexagonal plates I kept carefully stored in my pack, then I stuff them in and out of the duplicating bag a couple of times until I have plenty of iron to work with. Then, after cutting off the edges of the plates so that they form the ultimately inferior square, I take those and duplicate the square plates until I have 4 of them. Then I weld those plates into a larger square, then duplicate that square. Repeating the process until I have a plate a bit taller than I am. I then stack that plate onto another one and reincorporate them into one thicker plate, by melting the two plates together and then folding them into one piece of solid iron, before hammering them back into the proper dimensions. After duplicating the new plate a couple times, I form them into a cube around me and then weld them together with a bit of iron dust. Finally, I bore a hole out of the cube with a heat beam from my gauntlets. Then peeking out of the cube of iron, I scry the dungeon that has dared to trap me in its depths. ¡ª I see an endless horizon of dancing plates, surrounding a beacon of hope. It beckons the supplicants, whispering sweet nothings. Come, do you wish to stay in the muck, to be poor, cowardly, WEAK, or do you want to rise. To become rich, virtuous, and strong? Give me all of you, and you can join the light. Bits and pieces of the dancing plates fall off; their surfaces scorch under the merciless light, they break into tiny pieces and those that can painstakingly piece themselves together. The pain, the horror, the loss does not matter if they can be something more than the dirt they were before. Blood drips from the worshipers as they give their labor, their lives, to their only hope for salvation.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. A scouring light, burning and breaking the weak, the unworthy, the impure. Leaving behind a person, a group, a community stronger than before. ¡ª Earnest joy, hard work well done, radiates out an endless stream of victors as they strive to become something more. The sacred light showing them the path. Sweet tears fall onto the floor, a group rejoicing in well-earned valor and loot, as tears fall, debts shatter, hopes rise. Home beckons in an empty slab of darkness, well-earned rest gifted to those who fought for that rest to be given to everyone else. Death retreats in the last second. Safe sanctuary found through clever tricks and quick feet, not brute strength. The hissing maw of death snapping shut empty when the door is crossed, for the sacred light brooks no treachery by its own hands. Soft murmuring prayers and absolutions, prayers and respect given to the sacred light all around. After all, it is only its blessings, both painful and joyous, that have allowed them to venture so deep into their own paths of light. Under pressure, under fear, a leader is born. Someone who is more than a sword, someone of honor, of beautiful words, strong enough to stand under the noonday sun. Not in spite of the pain, but because of it. If only passes through the lips of a thousand faces, weary, weepy, wild. All could rise if only they grasped the star at the end of the horizon. But steel cages, honed claws, and gentle white wings guard that impossible dream. Fairness in death and life, the buzzing plates, part of something grander, a steel cage around the purifying light. Laughter erupts as the poor rogue looks around for a lockpicking set now long gone, spirited away by his own sloth. The dull thrum of grief overtakes the light, love lost, turned sour and twisted by the impossible distance of the veil. Behind its blinding, burning rays, the scouring light hides an endless sea of blood. Fools scrabble at the insides, scratching and tearing only the very surface, only for despair to descend when the thin film comes back like nothing ever changed. No escape from the end for cowards. Choking laughter rings out as the dungeon begins to consume the errant silverware the party dropped. Not bothering to wait for some soon-to-be corpses. Craven insults repaid with pressing walls, impending threats, impending hopelessness, impending death, prayers babbled echo against the guts of the very thing set out to devour them. A child just barely crawling out of the corpse of a first life crawls into the last grave, where no growth may enter. And at the end of it all shines a star, overseeing it all from their throne of bones, shielded by claw and drooping wings. Certain that it has done its duty, that it has made the world just a bit better of a place by scouring the rot with its holy light. ¡ª My eyes burn as I open them, a gout of light escaping the gaze I dragged it into. I frantically look around for threats, an endless swarm of glittering plates coming to and fro, pressing against my eyes. But as I look around, I see only strong walls of iron, so I calm down. My breath heaving in the background slows to a crawl, and I gingerly stand up off the floor I fell onto during my scrying. I give a wince as my legs inside my armor peel free of the plates that indented against them when I fell. Well, it looks like my idea that a certain amount of time passes when I scry was proven true, and quite a while as well, considering that my armor stayed there for long enough to imprint into my flesh like a pair of socks after a long day. Although I am still confused about how long is long, considering my circumstances. But ugh, I should get back to more pressing matters, namely the dungeon. Hells below is it disgusting. From what I could scry, it seems so proud of its slaughter, seeing it as righteous, the rot scoured so that the rest may stay clean. There is no doubt about it; the dungeon is not only alive, it¡¯s intelligent and vindictive. I shudder as the scrap of the sensation of I and my friends burned alive because of a few insults washes over me. Which is more than slightly alarming considering that right before I scryed it, I screamed, ''FUCK YOU'' at the top of my lungs. That probably won''t change much of anything since it''s already tried trapping me in here and tried to kill me, but I''m still pretty sure it isn''t the smartest idea to insult the person you''re standing inside. Anyways, it also seems to have some measure of control over itself, namely it consumes anything it can get away with. Spoons, lockpicks, sets of armor¡ªyou name it. Yet, there seem to be some sort of rules over what it can do. But those rules are unclear. After all, while I never saw a vision where something in someone¡¯s hands or in a backpack was eaten. That clearly can¡¯t be the only rule because the wands I set to blast open the entrance were never devoured, despite me not holding them close. Additionally, the dungeon doesn¡¯t seem to be abiding by the ¡®politeness¡¯ it usually does. Whatever grim little thing that politeness is considering, it sees murder as some sort of holy duty. I saw many scenes of loot given for hard work, so where the hell is my loot from my fight with the flesh tendrils inside the armor! Plus when I fought the strange rabbits, I did get a reward, but in the form of useless gold coins raining from the ceiling and dinging my helmet. For others I saw loot being generated from thin air! Useful things too, like knives, clothes, and wands engraved with runes. Hells below, I want those runes. They don¡¯t seem to be in the same style as the ones I use, but that just makes me even more excited. If I can replicate their effects, I could have a whole new world of effects to play with when making enchantments. Even more intriguing than that, however, is that after particularly difficult fights, it was fairly common for portals to be loot. But considering how unfair this dungeon has been to me, I can¡¯t expect to earn a portal when it seems to disregard some of the rules and tendencies I saw. Although I wonder if the walls are so indestructible as I¡¯ve seen myself in both effort and vision, why doesn¡¯t it just put a wall in front of me and have me starve to death? That wouldn¡¯t work on me of course. I haven¡¯t eaten in weeks, months, years? I¡¯m not sure how long it''s been but I don''t need to eat. Regardless, it works on others, so why wouldn¡¯t it try that instead of some bullshit portal in front of a pinprick-thin hole that leads to another portal? I don¡¯t understand how or why; it¡¯s restrained, but it is. A sensation flits across my mind of a steel cage the star operates in. The metaphorical density of scrying makes me not quite understand what that cage is, but it seems to be in one. But I can¡¯t rely on that cage to escape; if I want to leave, I¡¯ll have to reach for the star. I chuckle a bit at using the dramatic phrasing that pulsed through my mind in the vision. In reality, that star at the end of the dungeon is likely to be the dungeon itself. Or at the very least a core piece of it. After all, for something to be coveted so much by so many, it¡¯s highly unlikely for it to be unimportant; additionally, for them to know of something so valuable without ever seeing it must mean that it popped up before in other places similar to the dungeon. But I find it unlikely that all dungeons have the exact same loot. That would be like competing storefronts selling the exact same item. So it must be something of the dungeon itself. My hypothesis is that if the dungeon is alive, it probably has specialized organs to do particular things. So if that star is found frequently in dungeons at the very end, guarded heavily, then it could be an important organ of the dungeon. My guess is that it would be the central processor of the dungeon. After all, isn¡¯t the most heavily guarded organ in most bodies the brain? Even alien biology tends to follow that, well except for those who aren¡¯t heavily armored, period. The Clavicula are more like disembodied brains with branching tendrils of nerves only thinly clad in squishy flesh. But even the Clavicula have a spread-out nervous system and excellent regenerative capabilities for nerves. Many of our greatest breakthroughs on nerve repair came from willing studies of them. Digressions aside, if at the end of the dungeon there¡¯s a highly vulnerable organ of the dungeon, then I can use it to threaten the dungeon! After all, if it can understand insults and has a posse of people pray to it. Then it understands language and can be spoken to. There might be some language difficulties, but if I scream ¡®OUT¡¯ while holding an organ of theirs, they will probably get my point; they might toss me out themselves if it means getting me away from them. If all else fails, however, I can always break whatever organ it is; if it¡¯s important enough to be so heavily guarded, even if it isn¡¯t the brain, most likely it''s important enough that its destruction will harm the dungeon severely enough to kill it. Most humans can¡¯t live without our heart, lungs, or brain after all. But as I think through this, a queasy feeling shoots through my mostly empty stomach. My thoughts turned so quickly to murder even when the victim is as smart as any person. I have fought and killed, but should I be so quick to jump to murder as a solution? I take a breath and steel myself; ultimately, this situation is a lot different. The victim here isn¡¯t some innocent animal or a spirit I couldn¡¯t truly talk to. They¡¯re a person, a person who is so sick and twisted that they view the death of the weak, not as something to mourn, but as something righteous. Why should I respect someone¡¯s right to live when they disrespected so many others¡¯ right to live? If I must kill, I can accept killing them. I might not like violence as a solution, but violence is a necessary ingredient for change, and I am willing to kill someone who has caused such misery. Hells, I don¡¯t even know if I should let it live if I have the chance to kill it. Nobody would kill a literal money-summoning machine. If I don¡¯t kill them, they will keep killing the weak. The very same people who should be protected, uplifted. But can I really appoint myself judge, jury, and executioner when all I know about it comes from strange metaphorical visions? I don¡¯t know, but I¡¯ll keep moving forward; it¡¯s all I can do. 2.14 Dousing The Flame With careful sweeps of my heat beam, I dismantle the iron box I was in previously for protection, the iron slabs clanging to the floor as the seams melt away. Luckily enough, I didn¡¯t need it. Looking around, I¡¯m assuaged by the fact that my items still exist. It would have been unfortunate if my grimoire or my basic creation supplies were consumed by the dungeon. Gathering up my things, I stuff them back into the bag and kick the trash into the corner, not minding the strange black ink smudged onto my foot from the still leaking corpses. I take a breath, compose myself, and walk out of the room. Soon enough I step out through the exit, and as I walk through the corridor, I eventually step out into an uninspired concrete block. But this one at least has something that isn¡¯t a murder attempt. I walk to the other end, and I see a bricked-up doorway with a small note nailed to the wall. It says, ¡°What happens when a wastelander and a rosie walk into a -drinking establishment-?¡± I stare at what seems to be some sort of riddle, and as I do so, a storm of flickering memories overtakes my mind. All of them involving a riddle, and me absolutely failing to solve it. For if there is one thing I know, it is that I am absolutely terrible at riddles. I didn¡¯t and still don¡¯t know what has a tail and a head but no body. I¡¯ve always hated them with a burning passion; there are just no rules to them. There is no step 1, step 2, step 3 done. You¡¯re just supposed to intuit the correct answer somehow with no innate foundation as to how or why riddles are constructed. Puzzles, the far superior cousin to riddles, have the decency of consistent, clear rules and constraints built into the puzzle itself, instead of the rules being artificially slapped on. For example, it''s clear that you aren''t supposed to cut up the edges of puzzle pieces until they fit together, but riddles are a whole nother level of utter stupidity. The most famous riddle in all of existence: the 4 legs in the morning, 2 legs in the day, and 3 legs at night makes absolutely no sense! Why would it make any sense that the morning is equivalent to early life! The entire time someone asked me that, I was flipping through my memories for some type of insect with a rapid cocooning process. The worst part about them is that there is always a specific answer, even if there is something else that fits the criteria. No matter how creative or applicable your answer is, they always want a specific answer that you have to stumble onto through pure luck. Worst of all, riddles are highly dependent on culture and language structure, and while my large reserves of language do mean that I can understand the words it¡¯s not like I can get a quick crash course into the cultural landscape of a foreign world. What even is a rosie? Does that even refer to roses, or is it just a highly valued flower that got forcibly translated? As all of these thoughts rage from my brain, I suddenly stop, breathe in, breathe out, and empty my mind, and with my mind completely empty, I scream ¡°FUCK¡± at the top of my lungs. And with that the door slides open. Beyond it I see another corridor practically identical to the one I just came through. I dumbfoundedly blink at the open corridor. What the fuck? How was the answer to that riddle ¡®FUCK¡¯ and why could I even answer it? I doubt that wherever this dungeon is from has English. I remember in the beginning, before it trapped me, the dungeon had some signage, but they were all in foreign tongues. Wait a second, was Rosie, and Wastelander like a race, or class thing. Was this riddle a niche racist joke? While such things aren¡¯t common in the present day, after all, it would be ridiculously hypocritical to condemn mixing nowadays. Jokes that certain races lusted over their ugh ¡°betters¡± were a common way to delegitimize interracial love back then in the before times. How would any reasonable person know that the riddle is actually a racist joke about two specific groups? Gosh darn it, I bet this cruel dungeon was trying to screw me over again. Even someone who was good at riddles might not know the specific groups involved and the implications when both of them head into a bar. Anyways, I should keep moving forward; I don¡¯t have any wounds to heal here since this encounter was so brief. So there''s no real need to delay. Still confused and baffled, I shoulder on, passing through another boring corridor before I open a door to find myself in a strange room filled with pipes. On the ground there¡¯s a series of large square tiles, in the center of every four-tile group, there are three pipes that reach the ceiling before pointing down at one of the four tiles, with one tile not having any pipes pointing at it. Each pipe has a different colored tip, either red, green, or blue. Maybe it¡¯s a color-coding thing, but what could it be coding for, and for whom? Whatever the ceiling is strangely low, my armored frame almost scraping against the concrete of the dungeon walls. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I stare at this, wondering if this is some kind of puzzle, grateful that at the very least the dungeon was merciful enough not to force me to try to solve another riddle. As I do so, I hear a strange thunk-thunk noise, as all in unison the pipes turn and each spit out something. Blue spits out a misty fog, red spits out a gout of fire, and green spits out some type of liquid, my guess being poison or acid, with only one tile of the group being free of effects. Hmm, I doubt anything in those pipes is good, so maybe it¡¯s a hands-on puzzle where I have to figure out the pattern to get to the end of the room on those blank tiles? However, as I muse on that, a door at the end of the room slides open, and three strangely muscular lizards walk out, one red, one green, and one blue. Hells, they look weird; their bodies look like someone took a lion and covered it in armored scales, and their face is bizarre, a long narrow beak with a bunch of teeth popping out from the sides and what looks like yak horns pointing backwards on the back of their skull. They look less like any ordinary animal and more like some strange, wingless dragon straight from a book. Hmm, muscular lizards is a bit of a mouthful, so let¡¯s call them drakes, since they look quite like the ones I¡¯ve read about. The three drakes prowl towards me, each clearly a deadly predator, a hungry look shining in their eyes. As I get ready, I see that the drakes carefully wind through the tiles and their various effects, but the red one walked straight through a gout of fire, not looking the slightest bit bothered. At first I guess that the drakes are immune to fire, but I see the other two carefully avoiding the fire, so I conclude that instead each is immune to their own color. I don''t know for sure, but considering the circumstances, I¡¯ll figure it out soon anyway. I get into a low stance as the red drake bursts through a tower of fire and lunges toward me in my empty tile. I step to the side, its vicious claws barely missing me as it slides into my space. Its claws dig into the tile as it narrowly avoids diving into a gout of sparkling mist. Seeing a golden opportunity, I run up to it and drive the tip of my armored boot into its chest, pushing it into the mist. My strong blow causes it to stumble and slip onto its side in the mist, where it promptly roars with pain as a rush of blue and white frost spreads over its scales. I look back at where the rest of the drakes were and see them moving at the edge, blocked off from reaching me by a lucky turn of the pipes, forced to take the long way around through a narrow series of safe tiles. As I see them merrily diving through their respective safe colors, I realize something: there¡¯s no way these pipes aren¡¯t magic. Even if you¡¯re really well insulated or something, that doesn¡¯t mean that frost wouldn¡¯t spread as a cold mist touched you. Someone in a flame-retardant suit still gets heated up by the surrounding hot air; for these drakes to so casually walk through these hazards, these can¡¯t be actual physical things; these have to be the same sort of thing as the conceptual fire I can create, the idea of an element rather than. the element itself. Which means, with a wicked smile, I stick my hand into the still raging inferno, and it stays inside perfectly fine, as I feel a flood of healing energy pulse through my armor as it absorbs the magical flame. Turning back to the red drake scrambling on the frost-covered floor of the tile they¡¯re on, I smile as I take my fist and slam it into the back of their struggling head. I feel a satisfying crack as one of their horns breaks apart. But my glee doesn¡¯t stay for long as the drake snaps at my fist and manages to sink its teeth into my armored hand. I panic and step backwards, and as I do, the drake stands up and headbutts me, sending me sprawling to the floor. With a quick flick, I activate my cold beam and try to aim it at the drake to slow it down, but it cleanly avoids my flailing arms and shoves me with its head into the spout of flame. My feet no longer cleanly on the ground flail around in the air, and the soles of my feet, unprotected by iron armor since my feet need to touch the ground for my modified skin to work, burn in the heat. I wince in pain, but I disregard it lest my reaction lead only to more danger. I grab the armored face that pushed me into the flames and slam it against the tiles. I feel some of its strange protruding teeth crack as they fall to the tile below, blood soon following the fragments of fangs. Taking advantage of its strange and strained position, I kick at the strong foreleg holding it up, and the red drake tumbles to the floor with me. I continue to mash its face against the tile, but its strong legs raised to the sky due to me taking it down to the floor, latch onto my armored chest and begin to desperately claw at me. Hearing the horrid screeching of iron getting gouges torn out of it by brutal claws, I take my armored hand gripped against its skull and use it to turn the entire immense beast wholesale so that its ridged back presses against my chest. Panicking I hold onto its head, trying to stop its vicious bites from latching onto my helmet and tearing something off when I hear a clunk-clunk as the fire above moves away, replaced by a gout of icy fog. The red drake squirms in my grip as its scales begin to frost over, and icicles begin to grow in the cracks of its body. The red drake slows down its squirming, and I let out a sigh of relief. The switching from fire to ice is a welcome addition. The cool touch of the mist soothes my burning soles, freeing them from the torturous cycle of burning, healing, and then burning again. Now I know at the very least, fire goes to ice; if I can figure out the rest of the pattern, I¡¯ll gain an advantage from knowing when and how to turn the tables on the individual drakes. Speaking of, the red drake seems to be getting into worse and worse condition. I should exacerbate that. I take the hand with the cold beam and take it away from the drakes throat and instead aim it at the drake¡¯s legs, quickly coating them in mystical ice. From that point I cover more and more of the drake in ice, still holding onto its throat in one hand. Its eyes, filled with defiance and malice, stare deep into mine own, unwilling to back down even as more and more of its body gets encapsulated in ice. I look at it with pity, yet I- suddenly its maw opens up, trailing with fire, as in between every scale a burst of light arises, and a conflagration of flame and pure concussive force washes over me. The flame is absorbed, but I find myself being blasted away from the drake, crashing and sliding into the previously empty spot behind me, now a hellscape of flame. I place my unprotected soles firmly on the floor, knowing better than before to leave them to be burned like the last time. Then look at the red drake; it stands on an empty tile, scales askew and teeth missing but alive even if not well. Recognizing its relative weakness, considering its injuries, I point my cold beam at it, but it agiley dodges in between my sweeps of ice and moves away, placing itself behind many tiles of fire, until I can barely see its red scales amid the flames. Regretfully I let it get away as I look at what the other two drakes are doing, and with a shock I realize that the blue drake is quickly racing towards me from the right, flowing gracefully between many blue tiles and empty tiles to approach me from an angle I previously didn¡¯t consider. I quickly turn to face it, taking care to not lift my feet in the gout of fire I stand in. As I do so, the blue drake skids to a stop and opens its maw to spew out a gout of blue icy particles. I smirk, predicting quite handily that the icy breath would do naught but increase my reserves of healing power. But soon that smirk is knocked off my face, as the green drake I almost entirely forgot about bursts through the cover of the green tile to my left and tackles me to the ground in a burst of fury and claws.