Adam gazed at the floating cluster of energy. The air shimmered around it, refracting the surrounding table and accessories. His breath caught in his throat. A faint cacophony of voices whispered from the center of the Mystic Imprint, like several church hymns jumbled together. He saw himself in his mind’s eye, feet carrying him forward, hands outstretched, fingers extending…
And he would have, if not for him biting down on his tongue. The pain broke the spell. "Oi, Miriam," he said.
"What?"
"There’s a Mystic Imprint here. You know what it is?"
"A Mystic Imprint? It must have spawned from one of the deceased officers." Miriam said. She leaned closer, squinting.
"Great, but that ain’t what I asked."
"It’s a cluster of plasma and energy coalesced into a blueprint for a type of mysticism. Did you forget high school?" Miriam asked. He could see her eyebrow raised, a hand on her hip.
"So it’s like magic."
"No, it isn’t nearly as old. You must have flunked those classes, civvie."
"My combat harness says it’s ready to integrate it."
There was a pause. "Huh, guess you’re trying to kill yourself after all."
"Hell no, I’m not!"
"You’re not a caster, I’m assuming. Yeah, Mystic Imprints can awaken mysticism inside you, if handled correctly and with the proper equipment. I’ll correct myself: it won’t kill you, but it’ll overload your nervous systems and burn out your sinuses. You’ll be a slab of unmoving meat for the War Maiden to devour."
Oh, really? ADOSCH, what are the chances?
Success probability: 89.14%
Warning! Mystic Imprints will degrade when exposed to open air. Please seal the Mystic Imprint if not in use.
The War Maiden had just so happened to throw him toward this seemingly useful object. It couldn’t be a coincidence, not after learning magic was real. Was it Her handiwork, having bequeathed upon him the title of Chosen? He glanced down at his hands. Blisters and burns covered his palm, yet there were no scars from earlier wounds. How much of this body was still his?
"Nine of ten. That’s better than normal." He said.
"You’re going to do it? Well, be my guest, civvie. I wouldn’t want screaming to be my last rites."
Adam’s skin crawled. The phantom sting of needles and cigarettes flashed through his head. For all his faults, ingesting foreign substances wasn’t one—it was why he entered the military while his peers languished in the ghetto. But this situation wasn’t a just rock and a hard place. He was dangling off a cliff edge with a lifeline covered in thorns.
But it was a lifeline, regardless.
He knew nothing of magic besides the movies or gas station novels. Gouts of fire, spells that turned kids into toads, that sort of trickery. He stuck his hand out and prayed that this Mystic Imprint would give him something as good. The cluster transformed into a wave of light that wrapped around his right arm and merged with it.
At first, there was no reaction. A blue spot formed on his skin. The veins leading up his arm bulged out. The spot blossomed into the shape of a star. He tipped over to one side, head hitting a shelf with a hard thud.
Recognizing Mystic Imprint…
Performing compatibility verification…
Integrating Imprint into Mystic Core…
He was gone. Catapulted out of the warehouse, past the purple sky, and into the great yonder beyond.
A light that once died was revitalized and rippled the great ocean of space fragments melded into elements and linked into stars. One line grew from a star and connected with another, then four, then sixteen, and over and over until She returned in the center of the vast network.
Her mouth stretched into a smile. She caressed him in her gigantic hands. She reached into his brain and scooped the grey matter out. Shaped it like clay. Patched it like needlework. Adam saw, a private movie theatre, woven from Her fabric.
An image of the warehouse frozen in time. Tiny men and women, dressed in blue and white, carrying boxes with magnet-powered guns or the mere wave of their hands. One of them wiped their brow, inspected their stack, and smiled.
A clock sped up and crashed to a halt. Wraiths swarmed the area. Several more monsters burst down the doors, amalgamations of flesh and bone. A woman in the officer’s uniform howled as debris swirled around her in a miniature tornado. The monsters charged, the woman let go and the walls and floor buckled in the impact.
Push and pull. Lift and throw. He watched the solid polygons shift amongst a white empty canvas. The woman in the uniform officer’s tipped her hand down. A shipping container crushed a group of wraiths into paste. The officer smirked, turned around, and collapsed in front of the altar.
The work was done. She pushed Adam back. He woke up, the taste of salt in his mouth.
He tottered to his feet again, rubbing his forehead. The back of his jumpsuit was matted with sweat, not to mention the stinging sensation racing down his front. A trail of drool leaked down the side of his chin. Worse than a hangover. Least I know what happens then…
A loud crash. A wraith had fallen through the floor. It slouched back up, limbs flailing around like noodles, and lunged straight at him. His body moved, but not towards his gun. Instead, he flicked his hand to the right. A fire extinguisher rose off the ground and beaned the wraith straight in the face.
Mystic Imprint [Psychokinesis] installed successfully!
The Plasma Gauge has been added to the HUD!
The Mystic Core UI is now available!
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Learned Mystic Techniques [Psycho: Push] and [Psycho: Pull]!
The wraith gave a loud squelch as the fire extinguisher caved in its head. Strips of flesh danced across the ground like worms on an electric grate. Adam jerked his hand forward, dragging a metal plate smack-dab in the back of the wraith. He limped forward and smashed it on the head with his tomahawk, finishing it off.
Welcome to the Mystic Core: the link between ADOSCH’s core and the User’s biomystical systems. Unlike most combat harnesses, ADOSCH allows for the integration of multiple Mystic Imprints into a single unit. The User is therefore capable of wielding a large variety of mystics and their techniques, switching them in and out as the situation requires, without the usual feedback trauma on top of that!
Note that Mystic Core does not supply the User with any plasma. The User should be aware of the standard limitations of mystic use.
A new meter had appeared next to the Vitality one, colored a deep blue.
Plasma: 95%.
This was the resource needed to perform the mystic. The window expanded in size, showing the six-sided polygonal star that swiveled within a sphere. A single label sprouted off it to display the newly acquired [Psychokinesis].
[Psychokinesis]: Influence physical objects via mental effort alone.
Below it was a small list of its techniques.
[Psycho-Push]: Displace objects away. Cost: Low.
[Psycho-Pull]: Displace objects towards. Cost: Low.
Next was a bar graph with four horizontal lines.
ADOSCH also keeps track of the User’s magic capabilities via four attributes: CAPACITY, MIGHT, PRECISION and RESISTANCE.
CAPACITY determines the maximum amount of magic fuel.
MIGHT determines the raw power of magic and associated mystics.
PRECISION determines control over magic.
RESISTANCE determines the User’s defenses against other magic.
These Attributes are a reflection of the User’s current magic state and will be raised as the User develops.
All of Adam’s attributes were set to 1. Not very good, Adam surmised, but what could he expect as a newbie? He clenched and unclenched his hands and clasped them together. The magic—mystic, whatever—swam beneath the skin. No, it was beyond that. Deeper than touch, sharper than taste, it permeated all facets of his body. A lost door had opened in his brain and he was loathe to ever close it again.
Aluminum cans and plastic bottles rolled away like the parting of the sea. A dislodged shelf deck rose and fell. He grabbed a medkit from across the room and rummaged through the contents. All under a minute.
Screw those evangelists on the streets with their megaphones and hand-crafted cardboard signs. Screw the alcohol and weed and all the drugs he once ran with as a kid. He had the real deal filling his sinuses up right here. It almost made being jerked out of his career plans worth it.
Almost.
Experience (Mystic Imprint acquired) acknowledged: +40%.
"What did I tell you, Miriam? What did I—" Oh, she had disconnected. Figures.
He opened the medkit and began cleaning the last of his wounds with a bottle of fluid. The contents stank of traditional alcohol, but also contained tiny particles that clotted his blood faster. He sealed the wounds with strips of lemon-scented gauze. He stood up, expecting his wounds to sting—they did, but the pain was dulled.
He reloaded his handgun with a nearby battery. He gave his arms a good stretch. A high-pitched shriek reverberated through the hole in the warehouse walls.
Adam froze. All the nice feelings crumbled to dust.
The War Maiden emerged, her form eclipsed in the crimson hues of the light outside. Brown stains lined her clothes. Her hands hung slack, her posture hunched, a trail of blood dripping behind her. A gurgle left her throat as she jerked around, as if it were controlled by loose wires.
Her pupils locked onto him. She raised her rifle-hand. Adam threw a box at her with his new mystic and tossed his body sideways as she shot once more. He ran behind a shelf and levitated up another fire extinguisher. It pelted the War Maiden in the face, knocking her off the makeshift perch and tumbling into the loose pile of materials below. Several fragile things cracked.
Plasma: 81%
Go!
Adam ran towards the rubble at the entrance and began tearing it apart with his new mystic. Lighter pieces could be moved with a flick of his hand. Heavier ones needed him to grip those invisible muscles tight, squint like a little kid and pull with all his might. There was no physical pain, but he felt something vanish inside him, leaving a hollow pain in its wake.
Five pieces. Three pieces. His consciousness recorded the seconds down to the last bit, along with the struggling sounds coming from the back. The War Maiden burst out of the pile, rifle raised. Her bullets scattered everywhere, pinging off the shelves and bouncing off the walls. Adam flinched as one grazed his shoulder, ruing a bandage. He whipped out his handgun and fired back.
This time, she didn’t stand there and take it. Her body knelt low to evade, then leaped forward, swinging around on the shelf racks with a single hand. Adam threw a box. The opening hit her straight in the face, sending her tumbling into the ground. Adam ducked behind the shelves and ran, hurling garbage and firing shots as he did.
Plasma: 56%
Plasma: 50%
Plasma: 44%
Warning! Plasma capacity is approaching low levels. Please find a restorative solution in the near future.
His weapons were insufficient. The shelves were too unstable to climb and too heavy to push with his new mystic. The stitch in his side was now a spike jabbing into his intestines.
His head throbbed. No, he thought, not like this. He couldn’t fall after coming so far, after receiving literal magic, for God’s sake. This warehouse belonged to a military installation. It may not be part of an armory, but there had to be a solution somewhere!
He found it at the end of the corridor. The fridge full of toxic chemicals. He grabbed the handle of one of the canisters, popped open the cap, and pitched it straight at the War Maiden.
"Hoo-rah!" he screamed.
Plasma: 24%
The sheer force of [Psycho-Push] caused the canister’s contents to explode out in a cloud of sharp-scented, orange poison. A single whiff turned his nostrils into a fiery inferno. Adam couldn’t see what happened next—too many tears in his eyes—but he heard the War Maiden scream, followed by a heavy thump and a loud crash.
He shot a glance behind. A fallen shelf, toxin clouds, and scrap peeking out from beneath the gaps. A result without a procedure. He ran back to the entrance rubble, scrabbled up the pile, and tossed the last piece aside. He squeezed through the small hole and emerged back beneath the crimson-colored skies of the MOB grounds. He didn’t stop running until he burst through the door of a nearby building.
The security encryption of [Prayer Hall Reception Door-R01] is weak enough to allow forceful decryption and/or exploitation. Initialize hacking procedure?
Do it!
Adam raced straight for the throat of the encryption. Open, Secure, and Emergency Shutdown. He couldn’t slam his metaphysical fist on the last option fast enough.
Metal shutters slid down with agonizing slowness. Adam pointed his handgun at the door with one hand, [Psychokinesis] ready in the other. He heard the War Maiden slam into the shutters right as they hit the ground. Her rifle cracked off, the shots pinging and screeching. The War Maiden took a step back and rammed her head into the shutters. There was a loud gong. The shutters refused to budge.
The War Maiden stopped. Her boots scraped against the dirt. Her footsteps receded into the distance.
Only when silence reigned did Adam collapse on the floor, shivering and shaking and forcing down the urge to puke all over the abandoned receptionist’s desk.
He was safe, for now.
Experience (Combat) acknowledged: +40%.
Experience (Hacking) acknowledged: +10%.
User Adam Westfield’s Competency Level has increased from 1-2 to 1-3!
Acquired 1 Biometric Key!