“So,” Fon’s voice rang out beside him, and Brock glanced over, “what’d you think?”

Silently, he scratched his chin. What did he think? Briefly, several images of the chasm and its depths flashed in his mind, sensations and emotions too. Among those, the familiar yet altered feel of his aura was prevalent. He was already well aware it was he who had created the chasm and its mysterious contents – the former was readily obvious – but still, it was good to remind himself.

Fon raised an eyebrow toward him, and Brock leaned back into his chair, finding himself subtly annoyed at the way the stone refused to lean back with him, “I’m pretty sure my Technique – the one that killed the Tyrant - made it; not just the chasm but everything in it as well.”

“You think your Technique made that stuff?” Harry chimed in from the side, almost disbelieving. Brock gave an awkward shrug and nodded.

They had only returned to the cafeteria a short while ago from their expedition, once Fon and Harry had roused to wakefulness of course. Midday was nearing, but they weren’t hungry. They just wished to take solace in the comfort of shelter as they spoke. None of the three had seen Erin or Margo anywhere along the way, so they assumed they were busy with their own issues.

Fon looked at Harry, “It’s not just him. I think so too.”

She gestured toward a wall. If Brock wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure it was in the rough direction of the chasm, “I could sense Brock’s aura everywhere in that place. It was different, somehow, but it was there. I’m fairly certain his Technique influenced the creation of those ores.”

“You have any idea how?” Brock asked, wondering if their resident energy ‘expert’ had any insight into the technicalities of it all.

He found his shoulders sag a little, however, when she shook her head in defeat. In the end, he found himself explaining his observations on the works of Salvation to his companions in the hopes that Fon may find some sort of inspiration into how it all went down.

He didn’t at all consider himself an expert on the topic of Techniques, far from it, but he was quite sure that he had a better understanding of his abilities than anyone else. Sure, Fon had enlightened him on what to look for and given him an idea of how it worked, but he knew the details of himself better, nonetheless.

Afterwards, Fon nodded, her eyes glazed in thought, “And you can’t try and use your Technique again?”

Brock winced as he was reminded of his crippled pathways once again, “Not without making myself its target. I like having at least one arm.”

“Can’t we just get your pathways healed?” Harry asked, his brows furrowed. Confusion was written across his features.

Together, the other two sighed. Brock spoke first, “Yeah, I tried. Even one of the doctors said they were fucked. I’ve got no idea how long it’ll take for them to heal, or if they even will.”

Fon continued after he stopped, “That means no Augments, no Techniques, no nothing.”

If Harry hadn’t really understood Brock’s predicament before, he did now, and he paled slightly. The boy didn’t choose to comment further, but Brock could see his condition was now weighing on the teenager’s mind. Alas, there was nothing they could do to fix it apart from wait. Time was their friend here.

Wait…

Brock froze.

In his experience, the activation of Techniques was responded to by a surge of compressed energy travelling through his pathways, essentially containing the ‘DNA’ of how his Technique was meant to unravel and function. At least, that was how he understood it.

But, if he recalled correctly, there was one Technique in his possession that defied that rule.

The fact that that energy moved through his pathways was the sole reason he couldn’t use his Techniques. Portions of the ‘DNA’ in it were stripped away once it passed by one of the holes in his paths, and therefore rendered everything that remained an inert and unstable mass of power. But what if his Techniques didn’t travel through his paths in the first place?

“I’ll be back later. Go nuts.” Moving so fast Harry almost fell out of his chair in shock, Brock slid out of his seat and vacated the building. Speeding through the town and scaling past the wall was a simple affair, and as time passed, the distance between him and the place grew.

Finally, when he felt he was far enough away, Brock slowed to a stop. Then his Intelligence empowered brain started processing his thoughts in overdrive.

Both Ethereal Shackles and Salvation required the ‘DNA’ to exit through him in some way or another. He was certain of it because he could vividly remember the sensation of its process. But no matter how many times he tried to recall it, he could never remember that same sensation from those times when he’d activated Oppressive Might.

Closing his eyes, Brock let his Inner Self appear in his mind. He surveyed it all; his Ascendancy, its glowing aurora, the dense pathways that surrounded it all. With but a thought, his paths faded to obscurity, revealing his ethereal heart in all its glory. His focus zoomed into the second node attached upon its flesh.

Oppressive Might. My aura Technique.

Brock hesitated briefly, memories of energy painfully exploding out of his body coming to the forefront of his mind. Clicking his tongue after several seconds, he dispelled them and sent a small surge of energy into the node. For a moment, he expected a resulting gush of power to travel through his paths, but then, he felt it.

The energy he sent within disappeared, and instead, his aura slowly became heavier and more rigid in nature, as though it was developing its own physical presence. As the activation completed and his aura blasted out of him in full, darkening the surroundings, a large, shit eating grin slid across Brock’s face.

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It doesn’t use my pathways at all! It uses my fucking aura!

While it was still a massive blow to his combat potential that he was unable to use both his remaining Techniques and Augments, it was a small blessing that he still possessed what amounted to an inefficient form of Telekinesis. The Technique was also drastically under levelled, but still, he had it.

That aside, it revealed a little piece of information that left him immensely giddy; aura seemed to be both transmutable and conductive. Fon had told them that Harry’s powers worked by transmuting aura to poison, and Brock had seen Gor’eth infuse its Augment into its own aura, which would point to it being conductive in some way.

If Brock could do something similar with his Technique, it meant he could use his Augments to do the same.

Hell, forget just Augments. He might even be able to find a way to substitute his pathways for his aura since his second Technique did it-

Hang on, mate. You’re getting way ahead of yourself here.

Brock had to admit he didn’t even know the first thing about aura manipulation, let alone the underlying principles of how it worked. He’d probably have to ask Fon for that latter part, though he doubted she’d be too familiar with it all. Harry had mentioned Tutorial given methods for honing one’s aura way back when they had first met, so he’d definitely go and ask about them some time soon.

The questions he was left with now was the how of it all. How was he meant to manipulate his aura? Augments were relatively straightforward and were akin to a tap; you turned them on when you wanted their power and could control the force of the stream. And controlling it was like having another limb; you intuitively knew how to do so, but it required immense practice.

Aura was different. Massively different.

It was always there, akin to oxygen in the atmosphere. So far, all he knew how to do was keep it inside of himself or let it all out, and even then, that lacked the control of a tap; it was more like flicking a light switch. Although, he supposed, there was nothing that was stopping him from learning how to change that.

Hmmm. Might as well give it a shot…

Idly, Brock let his Technique’s influence recede from his aura, leaving it mundane and normal and lightening the surroundings. Then, with his eyes remaining closed, he reached out and prodded it mentally. Nothing happened.

Clicking his tongue, Brock took a metaphorical step back, and instead tried to reign in a tiny bit of his aura back into the bounds of his Inner Self. It worked, although the amount was so negligible that he doubted even Fon would notice the difference of what was being projected. Slowly, he proceeded to take a little bit more.

Eventually, he found he could lower the amount he projected by only around five percent before his body just ‘flicked the switch’ and his aura came rushing back into his body. The same thing happened when he projected it outward; only a rough five percent before his aura roared out in full fury. He was making progress nonetheless, however.

Brock repeated the process over and over for the next few hours, getting a feel for the sensations and intricacies of it all. By the end, he was surprised to find he could alter the amount by a little more, only half a percentage extra or so, but still, he was surprised. It meant he could learn to control his aura.

Then… what about…

He was a bit leery for the next part of his experiments, but he went through with it anyway. He let his aura out all the way and searched inward for his Augments. The two were orbiting smoothly; one a flaring star of crimson, the other a silver orb of raging maelstrom. Deciding that he’d much rather be lacerated than burned in the event that shit hit the fan, Brock prodded his Augment of Skies delicately.

It was cold, yet so furious that it felt hot. It twisted and turned and raged on endlessly, shredding the very space around it. The sharpness was undeniably deadly. I… don’t know if I want to be lacerated anymore…

Hissing out a breath, Brock steeled himself and drew from its strength. Immediately, the energy went right to his pathways, and a grizzly gash burst out across his chest. Brock’s eyes flicked open, and he cursed, moving a hand to nurse the wound as soon as it appeared. It stung, quite a lot in fact, but the pain was manageable.

Take it slow…

Taking a deep breath, Brock closed his eyes once more and found his Augment ever the same maelstrom that it was. This time, instead of drawing its power, he tried to guide it into his aur-

Another spurt of crimson splattered across the earth and Brock swore.

It’s fucking impossible. He ran a hand through his matted hair and a fresh stream of blood drizzled down from the second wound on his abdomen. It just won’t listen. It only wants to go into my pathways, nothing else.

Brock sighed wearily. Maybe I’m going about this wrong…?

Another five tries later, Brock finally listened to his own words, it was fucking impossible. He was covered in blood and dotted with deep lacerations, and they all stung like a motherfucker, but the worst wound of all, was the one to his motivation. He had learned a little about releasing aura, yet he still couldn’t even use his biggest assets with it.

Idly, Brock noticed that his eyes were stinging, and he rubbed at them.

Gor’eth did it, so why can’t I? Brock looked back in the direction of the town. It doesn’t make sense. Why would my Augment need to go to my pathways first? Oppressive Might doesn’t need my pathways…

“Ahhhh,” Brock fell down to the earth and groaned, “Why’s this shit so hard?”

**

No more discoveries followed, even an hour later, and ultimately, Brock opted to return back to town. Just like when he was practicing braiding his Augments, he knew this wasn’t an issue that could be forced. He’d get it, he just needed time. And perhaps some inspiration.

Harry and Fon had been quite worried when he’d came back, mostly concerned with where he had disappeared to so suddenly. He had tried his best to cover up the gashes and remove the blood, but with Harry’s immense Dexterity, he could pick up the smell from two dozen meters away.

Brock hadn’t wanted them to know he was doing something so self-destructive, even if it wasn’t intentional, so he ‘came clean’ and told them he tripped.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t believe him.

It was just about dinner time after his several hours of testing, and Brock had to admit he wasn’t hungry. In fact, he was actually wondering if he was high. Everything felt so… strange since he returned. Every person he saw seemed to ripple with faint colours, and wisps of the ethereal rode along the wind currents.

The sensations and visions were so faint that he thought he could have been seeing things, but undoubtably they were there. What was weird about it all, however, was that he was certain they had always been there, and that it wasn’t a mere hallucination. It was like he had become more… aware of it all. Like he’d put on a pair of glasses after having blurred vision all his life.

It didn’t take long before his aura senses managed to match the ripples he sensed to the ones he saw. Did working with my aura… awaken me to it? Or did it trigger something in my eyes?

He was clueless as to the why of it all, but he seemed to have gained the ability to… see aura. He knew it would take some getting used to, and idly, he wondered if anyone else had experienced something similar. Either way, it was a great boon. If he could see how other people’s auras worked, then he might gain some insight into his own.

He’d have to ask someone else about it later. Maybe Hiroto. While he probably had no idea about his strange sight, he seemed like he’d be a good sounding board, being a wise old man and all that.

Dinner was the usual; insect meat and chitin seasoning. It was a delicious meal, but Brock was getting sick of it quick. You could only taste the same great flavour so many times before it just became a flavour. Margo had come by at one point, mostly to run him over her election speech, to which he gave an approving thumb up.

As far as he was aware, no one else was in the running yet, nor was the actual election even announced, but he applauded her enthusiasm, nonetheless. After all the injuries and the training, Brock was exhausted, and despites pleas from Harry and Fon to watch the sunset with them, he trotted off to bed early as soon as dinner was finished.

He had to say, after everything that had happened, sleep was still one of his favourite pastimes.