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.

—

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.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

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

—

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

—

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!

.

.

.

—