Sable, who had been up long enough to eat and do his business, received the mental message, “Operation Starburst in three seconds.”
At the three second mark, Wren shouted through the summoned bullhorn, “Operation Starburst,” and unleashed Sable on top of the outpost soldiers. Rozchereck barely covered his eyes with an arm before Sable slung a handful of 'flash-bangs.'
Emphasis on the flash, not so much on the bang. I'm starting to wonder if there's a combination of combustion materials that will work right. There might be more to the tech ban in many portions of greater reality beyond keepin it magical.
As the soldiers stumbled around rubbing at their eyes, Wren said through the bull horn, “You have violated the alchemist heritage act. Stand down or be blacklisted from the Protectorate supply list.”
An intimidating, nearly ten foot tall man with three faces and six arms standing on the wall of the outpost shouted back, “To the Gray Waste with the Protectorate. For the last hundred years we've received two barely trained apprentices wearing journeyman mantles and mostly spoiled medicine. Medicine that now slowly kills my son. They've left us to die out here.”
Wren chewed on that for a moment and responded, “I'm under no obligation to care for your concerns since I'm a material plane legacy but I'm in need of a mantle. If you're a true post captain and not some renegade colony, I'll see what I can do for your son in return for one of their undeserved mantles and a field approval seal of permission to practice during calamity.”
The asura looked across the distance at Wren and said, “I've already dealt with two pretenders. Why should I let a mortal desperation choice use my son as a medicine slave to practice on?”
Rozchereck spoke up, “I can attest that this mortal possesses solid journeyman skills. I would not have agreed to escort him else wise.”
Wren ignored the traditional lowering of value and raising of value concerning himself, between Rozchereck and the asura. Wren was mildly annoyed at being treated as property to be evaluated before he could handle business but considering the treatment most non-demons who found themselves in the Abyss endured, at least having an alchemist mantle would allow him to speak to a demon without being addressed first. He could even speak as an equal to any demon who was of the same standing or lower to the demon he was under the protection of.
Of course, if he claimed skills without proof or ability, without a mantle or seal, it was only a matter of time before he'd be killed or claimed. It was common practice to snatch up unproven and enslave them before they could so they'd spend the rest of their short, miserable lives practicing their trade to the benefit of a single demon or clan. Even the ennobled demons wouldn't treat talented alchemists cavalierly, however. A skilled medical alchemist could kill with the same ingredients used to treat. In fact, it was part of the alchemist apprentice's responsibilities to learn such methods, to counteract and to employ them, ensuring future generations were treated with the wary respect that often was their only defense against more offensively powerful paths.
As the two 'negotiating' demons and milling soldiers watched, Wren took out three of his last remaining five Tier IV sealed souls along with an apprentice's fiend cauldron. Stretching his calculation ability and BZ's extra attention abilities to nearly uncomfortable limits, Wren simultaneously demonstrated the three main soul refining methods: Tool assisted reduction that gave best purity and moderate return, direct spiritual reduction that gave moderate purity and best return, entropic reduction that most alchemists used for journeyman qualification.
Acceptable was 80% purity and 40% original quantity on the first while the second reversed the numbers. Entropic reduction was a method only considered viable on the battlefield where many souls congregated after death but for the test, a 50% purity with a 20% retention was considered passable since it was using spirit to detect and gather the shedding astral shell particles of a soul exposed to some form of corrosion technique. Using all three methods at once and having a ten percent over acceptable made Wren's talent apparent and after using a secondary refinement method on the second and third technique to increase the quality to 90% in match to the first method proved that Wren had what it took to aim for master.
Wren sent the pill and two apples to the asura captain using his weak telekinesis and said, “Enough devil tonguing. Either demon up or we'll be on our way. Once you're done inspecting the quality, hand them to Rozchereck unless you can replace double the souls or have three Tier IV slaves in good health for trade.”
The asura laughed heartily and said, “The spoils are already in my hand. You ask for payment now? You're not qualifi-”
Wren lifted the bloody bolt and dangled a hair over it that Sable had collected while the asura had been distracted.
Wren smiled as maliciously as he was able and said, “Not only am I qualified, I'm eager. If I can't negotiate with you fairly, perhaps your men will be more accommodating as we feast on you and your son's corpse. After I make sure whatever's wrong with your son isn't contagious, of course. I wouldn't want Captain Rozchereck's new men to be sick.”
The men who were ready to rush to their captain's aid suddenly paused and looked at their leader appraisingly. Not to say the asura didn't have loyal men but in a desperate strait like this, his most trusted or bound would be looking over his vulnerable son or he'd likely go back to find an arm or two missing to feed some hungry post member or other. That left the asura captain having to re-evaluate his position as the assassin he'd sent appeared dangling by the throat in Sable's hand.
If this was any place other than the Abyss, I'd have been getting ready to razz this place to the ground but this is just standard practice in a place where not only do the strong prey on the weak figuratively but literally as well... Damn cannibals.
As Rozchereck appeared to be looking at Wren to give directions, Wren gave the silent agreement to move forward and his demon said, “If the display has proven adequate... As a fellow displaced captain, I can show some grace and allow you to keep the soul medicine for yourself and the lesser fruit for your son's recovery. You can keep the greater fruit as well if you release us from tithing and provide what my ward has already requested. Beyond that, I'll allow Wren to strike his own bargains. I dislike lowering to these affairs. I'm no merchant son.”
After sharing a guesting oath and given quarters in the asura's home, the tense situation began ratcheting down.
“How could you let your pet, er, ward carry around such a dangerous item to play with, Captain Rozchereck?” the asura said.
As the walked into the asura's home, Rozchereck replied, “The loyalty that lies between us is unquestionable.”
The asura looked at Wren appraisingly for a moment before he said, “It is not as easy or cheap to procure the services of a curse master as it once was. Still, for one such as this, it's well worth the bargain I'd wager.”
Mood suddenly taking a plunge, Wren said, “Roz, since no one has mentioned anything of worth to discuss, I'll retire.”
The asura nodded sagely and said, “Yes, febrile mortals do tire easily. Your betters still have a few things to discuss so you are dismissed to enjoy your room.”
Wren's eyebrows shot up as he said, “Will this discussion include a meal at least?”
With a slightly pained look, quickly hidden, the asura said, “I'm certain we have a haunch or two of something to offer your guardian.”
Wren sneered, “Don't bother tightening your belt on our, or should I say Roz's, behalf.”
Wren summoned a honey glazed ham with some sides and a barrel of LE enhanced ale and gave a meaningful look at Rozchereck, earning himself a half choked whisper of gratitude for his services. Wren knew he was putting Rozchereck under some pressure by showing off so much but he wasn't in the best of moods due to the weak support he'd received so far from his demon subordinate. Not wanting to dent Rozchereck's position of respectable strength in front of a peer, Wren bowed and removed himself.
As Wren walked away he heard a boisterous laugh coming from the room he just left as the asura said, “Lots of fire, that one. Better bend him and stir his guts before that head gets any bigger.”
To keep the conversation from getting even more offensive, Rozchereck finally rejoined, “I don't know the state of affairs within the borderlands but our destination is to places where faces may change but unspoken rules do not. Why gain his ire when his new reality will break his spirit and my light touch will keep him gratefully at my side. An unwilling alchemist will not grant spawn as easily.”
The fading voice in Wren's quickly retreating form picked up, “Ah, I see. Wooing early for a pliant womb later. There's wisdom in that.”
Damn demons...Not beating, berating and raping me counts as wooing!? Shit's getting worse faster than I thought it was if a proven journeyman alchemist isn't worthy of a post captain's difference. Shit gets tight every time the Host wars take a break but this is sick bad. Then fuck the side trips. I thought Senega was exaggerating a little when he said even he wouldn't stick around longer than he had to... Alright. I got to do something to make sure when it's time for me to go, our gracious host wont try to find a reason for us to stay. In fact, it would be better if he was happy to see us leave for fear of shifting loyalties.
Instead of heading to his quarters, Wren brought Sable and Petre to his side with a request to look as intimidating and deadly quiet as possible and headed outside.
Wren spoke at conversational volume but the somber dreariness made it carry with clarion clearness, “People of the post. In light of your dire need, Captain Rozchereck has given me leave to open a portion of our largess to you.”
With a final whispered order to let no one approach him directly, Wren leaned on his sentient manifestation to summon a buffet of simple but generously proportioned fare. Seeing the oncoming chaos, Wren summoned a spiky wall of razor sharp ice spikes that left room around the table and an opening on both sides large enough to let one or two in at a time. He then bid them to file up properly or there would be no further provided, with the promise that everyone would get fair chance. He finished off by summoning three spectral servants to act as servers to the three sections of the buffet and provided a stack of bread trenchers to act as a limit to what could be taken.
Aside from a handful of individuals that took a little more than the simple presence of Petre and Sable to keep them away from Wren and a man who needed to be rescued from being torn apart after dropping his trencher that had been creatively piled a little beyond his ability to control, the impromptu feast was pulled off without incident. Wren finally retired to the sounds of people praising the generosity of Captain Rozchereck loudly and repeatedly. With Sable on guard, Petre and Wren got some fitful sleep.
After the rising of the dim red sun, Wren vocally sent Sable to get some shut eye of his own as the asura, who Wren refused to remember the name of, came to gently but decisively order him to remedy the son's illness.
Wren checked his glare for a more neutral gaze as he said, “So glad to see you in fine spirits this morning, Captain. Have you come with seal and mantle as agreed?”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The asura produced a killing aura as he said, “A paltry affair that can be addressed after my son's ordeal has been resolved.”
Wren held his temper in check as he tried one last time to resolve the situation without threat or violence, “My 'paltry affair' is the only reason I'm here. Your son's ordeal is of no concern to me. You have offered noth-”
The asura raged, “You will get your ass up to my son's room and cure his ills or I'll rip your impertinent mouth off, talking monkey!”
Wren closed his eyes and sighed deeply to keep from having to see the predatory smiles of the asura. As multiple still body needles peppered the back of the asura at Wren's nod, a frost coated blade burst the heart of the asura through his chest.
Wren said, “This is the last time you try to get a free lunch from me. One, your carefully worded guesting oath didn't escape my notice. Two, even as we speak, Captain Rozchereck is no longer getting his leg hacked on in your larder... Nice work on slipping him a poison that actually works on him... Three, you are going to use the last of your resistant will to oath me any and all I desire within your hold or today will be a feast in your honor.”
Wren moved his three cohorts to his middle realm before wresting, with all he had, to move the asura to his devouring void space as soldiers peppered the room with curse laden bolts and arrows which Wren snatched up on his own way in. The asura was no easy prey. It took countless hours of struggle, pushing the resisting demon closer to the center of the devouring void as Wren threw conjured elements at the demon to keep him from building up any momentum.
Significantly winded, Wren said, “I take it back. Your men aren't going to get to enjoy chewing on your tough ass. I'll be lucky to get any of your body out of here if you don't give up before you die.”
The flagging and partially disintegrated asura responded, “I also must retract. If I've the chance before I perish, I'd like to drop your trousers to see if you have any barbs on that baby prick of yours.”
Wren's face screwed up as he said, “After you puffed up to a thirty odd feet clown, a full grown man would look like a baby dick to you. Besides, asura don't have booby trapped dongs.”
Despite his personal suffering, the asura laughed and said, “You're such a simpering princess, I just assumed you were some royal's shameful bastard. Far too fragile and not nearly handsome enough to be even a weak quarter blood of one of ours.”
Wren retorted, “That's rich coming from an asura who seed is so weak a succubus bloodline beat it out of his child. She's fine, by the way. The curse master who turned her into a boy for you just did a shitty job and she's started menstruating with nowhere for it to go. It's a simple matter of removing the curse and letting nature take it's course.”
The asura said, “How did a devil spined imp like you get past my most loyal men?”
Wren sighed, “I didn't. And there's probably a lot off smaller problems I don't know about because I did my preliminary diagnosis at a distance.”
The asura shook it's three faced head and said, “If you knew, why did you have to throw a tantrum and just do as I said?”
Wren looked at the asura like the demon was stupid as he said, “Because every step of the way, you've been a shameless, devil brained bandit. I suppose I should just sell myself to you and help you count the money too. I won't claim to be a genius but your actions are so simple even a basic bitch like Rozchereck can understand them.”
For the first time in this conflict, the asura looked confused as he said, “No matter how courageous you are, surely you'd not speak about your oathed master like that?”
Wren laughed tiredly as he said, “He's mine. You think a royal's curse is good enough to make me hesitate when I can eat all the ones on you for breakfast? Yeah, that includes the one that had you stuck here on death watch. I'm assuming you tried to pull this same shit on a curse master so they fucked up your kid, robbed you blind and left you anchored here to die without resources besides your own men.”
The asura shook it's multi-faced head and said, “Not even close. Never try to be an oracle. They'd behead you.”
Wren said, “Whatever. New deal, you give me the damn mantle and sealed document I already paid for. I take you and your daughter as 100 year subordinates then we leave this shit hole to the wraith vultures. I get it. If I just removed the curse and resolved her medical issues, your own men would get you offed to fight for the right to knock her up... Just so you know, I'm doing it for her, not you. I wouldn't leave anyone but Aaron... long story... to a fate like that.”
The asura laughed bitterly, “Are you not doing this kindness for the same reason?”
Wren returned the bitter laugh, “Are you kidding me? Even if my balls were three time bigger I wouldn't fuck a succubus, even... especially if she wanted me to.”
The asura didn't have much time left before his astral shell would begin shredding under the intake and said, “A year and a day for my daughter. I'll take the 100 years.”
Wren said, “Fine, but if she wants into the nice parts of my domain, she's going to give me a 100 year or she sleeps in the dirt for all I care.”
The asura gave his oath and Wren finally committed to learning the demon's name, Chanda. After patching the asura up, Wren returned them to Chanda's home and promptly returned to his void space with a promise he'd return after he rested. Taking an impurity purge, Wren booted Sable over and collapsed into bed beside him then drifted off to sleep with a mutter about not giving a shit about sharing his bed but realizing he needed to make a barracks or something.
Wren stirred in his sleep while familiar scents were replaced by oiled leather and a memory stirring but pleasant animal smell. Drifting back into deeper sleep he began dreaming. As warmth and weight surrounded him, the fuzzy dream turned clear and lucid.
A child's voice asked a question. The boy who rounded the building corner looked battered and bruised but more annoyed looking than angry or scared.
The boy said, “Sure, Birdy. Let's run away. Where do we go?”
The child spoke more and the boy responded, “And if you can't find your dad, then what?”
The child started crying so the boy, half annoyed and half affectionate, pulled the child into a hug and said, “It's alright, Birdy. We can run away if you want to. I'd follow you to hell if you stop crying... as long as your mom's not in charge of the place.”
A feeling of time passed and a looming dark figure bent over the child as she said, “I've told you time and again, you chose him. I wanted you to have a spiritual beast, as my father did for me, or a youth who already had awakened a path, like your sister. Your first bond benefits the most from your connection and I will not let some pathless stray take that privilege. So stop running to me every time your little orphan boy gets a scratch during training. At the very least he can pick up a martial path and act as your shield till you grow enough to protect yourself.”
The feeling of a greater time passed as the scrappy boy turned into one on the cusp of manhood, strong and cold but still kind to the child. As the child watched his friend run through his sword practice, a strange new sensation ran through him, something like the familiar admiration but warmer. This new feeling ran through the child like a steady, low shock. The child's eyes followed the boy and noticed things that he'd never showed care about before. The emerging hard lines on the boy's stomach and chest, the rippling of muscles across the older boy's back and shoulders burned into the child's vision and stirred the buzz in his veins that settled in a place below his navel.
The older boy noticed and even seemed to welcome the attention. As if spurred by the subconscious flattery, the boy ran through his routine faster, more viciously. Finishing with a violent thrust of his sword and a powerful shout, the boy froze in stance for a moment before walking over to his spectator and wiped off his sweat with a towel. The motions seen many times before, now drew the spectator's eyes where they had never consciously looked before.
The boy caught his admirer in the act and with a conscious effort, tightened his stomach then pulled the viewer's hand to feel as he said, “All the hard work is finally paying off, huh? One thing spending all that time pawing over those books wont get you!...”
Noticing the trembling in his friend's hand and burning face, the now acknowledged as, young man said, “Hey. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or nothing. It not like you look bad the way you are.” Now it was the young man's turn to blush.
In a slightly cracking voice, the viewer said something which caused the young man to break out in goosebumps and pull on his jerkin as he said, “Not on purpose. Not ever! What am I doing all this for? I'm supposed to be strong and scary so you can keep doing all your spooky stuff and not worry about other things. One day, I might even have to lay down my life like all the other Knights your mother has had before the one that's beating the stuffing now out of me every day. All so you're safe... And I would, you know. Die for you.” The young man struck a prideful pose, with hands on his hips. Despite looking a little goofy, there was a seriousness in the young man's gaze that distressed the spectator.
All the growing, strange feelings snuffed out in an instant as a rising sense of dread squeezed the spectator's heart, causing him to say something and begin crying.
The young man's pride filled pose crumbled and a moment later he pulled the crying spectator to him, wrapping his arms around the slender shoulders then said, “Three years since you begged your mom to take me away from that... place and you've never stopped crying all over me since. Half the reason that Knight beats the stuffing out of me nearly everyday is so I don't die. Half the reason why I try to get better and beat all the other trainees is for me but the other half is so you won't cry when they beat me. What's the point in trying so hard if you're just gonna find other reasons to do it?... Come on, Birdy. What's it gonna take for you to stopper the waterworks this time.”
The spectator tilted his chin to look into amber eyes and spoke softly.
The annoyance in the young man's face faded and the affection in his eyes took on a tint that the spectator didn't recognize as the young man said, “I can't make that promise, Birdy... I will promise to never give up, to never stop until I make it back to you so I can do it all over again. Because...”
As the young man's face inched closer, the spectator closed his eyes. When his eyes opened again it was to his sister's cold, superior smile as the dark shadow of his mother once again loomed over him. He couldn't hear what she was saying over the ringing in his ears as his heart beat so hard he thought he'd faint. The accusations and implications over what was said was lost under the heavy knowledge that he would lose his friend.
As the strength in his legs gave way and he clutched his chest, wailing out in heartbreak, he glanced at his sister to see guilt and confusion on her face as she looked away. He knew she craved mother's approval in a way he never did so he always forgave her tattling but this was different, wrong. When his mother threatened to kill his friend if he didn't stand and face his consequences, his vision swam. He struggled to stand on shaky legs as his sister pleaded their mother for something but he heard no more.
Something inside of him ruptured, a splay of scales and balanced beams. Weights and counter measures, extremes swinging on the points between them. Beginnings and endings merged, parted with real and imagined. He had been looking for answers to the unanswerable: how to survive a mother's hard heart and still be himself, how to protect himself yet not break his sister's fragile one, to understand the mysteries of his father's unknowable heart. Gentle weight here, stronger there, something within showed him a path and he used it.
To save his friend and grant support to his sister, he commanded her to take his chosen for her betrayal. As his mother began trying to emotionally flay him for stepping above himself, he swore an oath on the eternal circle to never forgive her, that it was no surprise to him that father left. He flung every hurtful invective he could at the monstrous woman before ending it by predicting that she would die alone. The counter balance was placed, his friend would live and be safe now. His sister would get the affection that he would be denied.
His mother's cold fury was endless. He spent months isolated and alone, save for his teachers and his father's spy. Once he caught sight of his friend walking behind and slightly to the right of his sister, like a statue given life but soulless. To distract himself, he delved into the mysteries of his path.
To move people was crude and cruel so me moved on to the world around him. Cycles, spirals and the subtle placement of power to gain colossal effect, his magic reached beyond his third tier of accomplishment, some effects mimicking the power of demigods. He could rip his mother's illusionary models apart like tissue paper. His path made a lie of hers. He knew where it would lead, to challenge her so directly, but he didn't care. It felt right to continue. He saw a nearly unending time of pain and loss approaching but saw hope beyond it, though he could not explain such nebulous things beyond his feelings.
He stared his mother in the eye as she lied and said that she must divest him of this dangerous path, to cut out his weakness and cast it out. As she dug into him, he locked away a part of himself, condensed and warded it to float in the infinite till a condition was met. He saw his death in his mother's eyes but he wasn't afraid for he knew he'd live again and the deceptive yet potent strength of his mother's path would be what granted it back.
Once his mother was finished, he felt nearly nothing. She paraded him in front of others as a testament to her ability in the guise of loving guidance. He was a cold shell that acted on caprice, hurting and distancing his sister and friend. He exposed his mother's secrets, manipulations and hidden feelings to the entirety of her retinue with her journals then stole her most prized resources before forcefully raising himself to Tier V and headed where the distant light bade him. Free of his mother, hiding within his father's men, he acted recklessly and without fear. What he lacked in power he made up for in guile as he waited for the day his father dreaded would come. He plotted, planned and practiced concealment, all to the path a light that no one else could see, revealed. The death that the cursed artifact granted him as he finished pulling it out of his father, was relief as what remained of him joined the little ball of light and waited.
Wren woke up with tears drying on his face as Petre held them much as they did when they were children. He could feel a dark premonition hover over him but if he just held the path, he'd see the other side.