Ash

“We’re only a few days away from Alvion but the Judges have split up. Three of them moved west this morning,” Old Wen explained. He was so thin and frail that Ash was finding it hard to compare him to the bulky warrior she used to know him as. He still had his height though and he wasn’t hunching.

“So there are four left in your troop,” Crystal said in thought before focusing again. “Thanks, old-timer. Your intel has been of much help.”

Ash hugged him again and put an earth-attribute crystal in his hand. He had requested it specifically. The moment he held it in his grasp, he sat down on the floor of the hut and she felt him begin to cycle. It was weak, which broke her heart all over again. It took him more time than necessary to completely absorb the crystal stone even with it being low grade. All the while he grunted in pain from the exertion.

Something was terribly wrong with his essence channels. But with no knowledge of healing or a physician nearby, there was nothing they could do. She barely felt the weight of his presence like she would other Sprouts who were considered weak. When he was done, Crystal carried him back to the enemy’s camp.

“We’ll find a way to help him, Ash… soon,” Uncle Rihal said from behind her. She jumped in fright.

“Uncle Rihal stop doing that!” She sighed. “Can we take him to Farryn?”

“We will. But he has to maintain his cover.” Uncle Rihal embraced her and she leaned into him. She loved to pretend she was leaning into Jerome anytime Uncle Rihal embraced her like this. “And you heard him say he has six children from the orphanage to look after.”

“Then let’s go rescue them!”

“Inside Alva? That’s not going to be possible, Ash. There’s a Transcendent there. One who’s mad we nabbed three Sages right from under his nose.”

Ash sighed. “Are the Transcendents that powerful? You talk about them like they are gods.”

“To us, they might as well be.” Uncle Rihal let go of her. “Ash, I need to get to the battlefront. Vorthe is taking too much damage. And even though I can’t fight openly, I can support the war effort from the shadows.”

“What sort of stupid rule was made to prevent the best warriors from fighting during battle anyway?” Ash complained. War shouldn’t be this complicated but humans made everything complicated.

“Those rules are a part of the Accords. They help prevent the spread of tyranny.”

“The Church broke the Accords,” she pointed out.

“Only the one part.” He held up a finger. “They are politicking… as all sovereign states do.”

A thump sounded outside the hut and Crystal walked in.

“I’ll be heading to Alvion soon,” Uncle Rihal said to her. Crystal’s face nearly fell but she quickly schooled her features. “The Messengers are too numerous for an army of average Sprouts and Blanks. Especially since they can’t depend on essence to fight, new orders might come for us though, so get yourself ready. I’m pretty sure Vorthe wouldn’t want those Judges anywhere near the battlefront.”

Crystal nodded. “And the returnees from Terra Praeta?”

Uncle Rihal sighed. Ash looked between the two of them, not understanding what was going on. Uncle Rihal sneaked a glance at her and she frowned.

“What’s going on? What happened to the ‘returnees from Terra Praeta’?”

Uncle Rihal glared at Crystal and she pouted. Some unspoken communication was passing between them that they didn’t want her to know. Rain began to fall outside their little hut. Thankfully, the hut was fortified with enchantments.

“They should slowly make their way toward the mountain in the distance, and then to Alvion. I just hope…” he sighed, running a hand down his face. “I hope Jerome won’t fall into the Judge’s hands.”

“He won’t,” Ash ground out, clenching her fists. Her heart began to race a mile away. “He’s a lot stronger than the average Sprout. You said it yourself, Uncle Rihal.”

“Let’s hope so, sweetie.” Crystal rubbed her arm to comfort her.

“Would you like to come with me to Alvion, Ash?” Uncle Rihal asked.

“No!” She walked away in anger.

Uncle Rihal cursed and said something about the returnees to Crystal. But Ash’s mind was on something else already. She wasn’t going to run away to safety when her family was still out there. Who knows, she just might meet Jerome out here. But the jungle was too vast. The chances of them meeting each other were very slim.

~~~

“It’s not like you can’t use essence against them,” Achilleia said. “You just have to overwhelm their runes enough to kill them.”

“Just like with Jerome’s fire bead?” Sheela asked.

“That’s a stupid name, Sheela,” Ms. Tara said, making a face.

“Yes,” Achilleia said. “Just like Jerome’s… we’ll find a better name for it. The both of you can also do it. But you would need some time to gather enough essence for such a powerful strike. But then there’s the issue of holding and sustaining such a powerful technique in the palm of your hand. Would you have the strength of will to do so?”

Ms. Tara and Sheela looked at one another for a moment. Silence reigned before Csala broke it.

“I think they would both do perfectly well,” she said. “Just do as Jerome has taught you. Squeeze as much essence as you can into a point.”

Jerome chuckled but kept silent as he continued what he was working on. He felt Csala was talking to herself as much as she was talking to them.

The night was young and they were resting in the last clearing they had assaulted Messengers in. A fire burned in the middle of the clearing and a domed barrier shimmered from the light rain around them. They were as protected as best as they could be, but if Messengers stumbled upon their camp — that is if they went on patrols — their runes would be capable of destroying the barrier since it functioned using essence.

There was an illusion of the forest around the barrier and whatever sound they made inside was absorbed by the barrier and converted to energy.

But many things still could go wrong. If the Messengers stumbled into the illusory forest, there was nothing to keep them away from the barrier. And if they weren’t prepared to fight these Church fanatics without essence, they could lose their lives. It would have been easier if there weren’t lots of them. Achilleia had confirmed as much.

Just to be on the safe side, he sent some hair-thin strands of Suzie into the soil and around the perimeter.

“What did you say you were working on again, Jerome?” Csala asked.

“A projectile weapon like Ms. Tara’s repeater crossbow,” Jerome replied, not looking up. A rifle, really. Achilleia would have provided him with mythril to build it if the mind-calming stone hadn’t eaten the keys, or seeds, as she called them. They were worlds away from Terra Praeta now and there was nothing he could do about it but improvise.

And improvise he did. He Shaped the steel from the Messengers’ armor, making sure to temper it under high temperatures below its melting point. He wanted to craft something akin to a hand canon.

Jerome never knew much about guns in his old world. Not their specific names or sizes. He knew there were different types of guns like rifles, shotguns, pistols like the nine millimeter, and so on but weapons never interested him during his previous life.

Why create something that could end life when so many people struggled to hold on to theirs?

How wrong he had been. Weapons were built to protect, even though that purpose would be corrupted sooner or later. After all, he was crafting this weapon so he could better protect those he cared for by killing those who wished them harm.

The irony.

Jerome shook his head to get rid of the negative thoughts. This was a world with draconian rules and those who adapted better, survived, just like Darwin said. Some of the movies he’d seen provided him with something to base his creation on and that’s what he was visualizing. But also, something with a little futuristic and fantasy look.

“Why is it so long?” Ms. Tara asked, breaking him out of his musings.

“I want something with a pretty long barrel to help stabilize projectiles,” Jerome said, not looking up as he compressed more steel in his hands to the desired shape he wanted. “The projectiles will go through the barrel. This way, they have more precision. I just need…” He trailed off in thought.

What were some of the things he remembered about guns? A barrel, cartridges, trigger, bullets, propellant, firing pin, action spring, primer…

“Wow!” someone whispered, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It’s like you’re Shaping while deep in thought!”

Jerome looked down at his hands. Everything he was thinking about was laid on the grass in front of him. He gasped, unaware he had been Shaping while thinking of them. Unfortunately, the sizes were out of proportion to what he wanted.

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He first took apart the magazine and added a spring to help feed cartridges into the rifle’s chamber. The action spring in the rear of the gun needed to be bigger to hold the firing pin. Jerome sighed. He felt like he was way in over his head. He didn’t know the first thing about making a gun.

You can’t give up, Jerome, Nyx transmitted to him. She also transmitted her trust in him through their shared Path.

Jerome took a deep breath. He could do this. Even if he didn’t get all the parts right, he could always shore it up with something else… for now. He needed a working gun that wouldn’t use essence and could take out Messengers from a distance.

He dove back into it as Ms. Tara and Sheela began to cycle in meditation. Only the action spring, firing pin, barrel, and trigger looked good. He was missing something he knew but couldn’t quite figure it out. He needed something to put tension on the firing pin before it hit the primer in the cartridge. What was it?

He Shaped something of his own to fit into the compartment of the action to push the firing pin when the trigger is pulled. Then the handle came together around the trigger. But a problem arose. The rifle wouldn’t have the balance he wanted as every important component was at the rear end. He had to distribute them along the length of the gun to make for a more balanced rifle.

He reshaped the whole thing again, moving the trigger and handle forward on the barrel — like the bigger rifles he remembered, the automatic ones. The rifle was an ugly lengthy thing that didn’t give him any joy to work with but he wasn’t going to complain. He had to create other components for it. Visualizing what he had in mind was simple, bringing it to bear was difficult. He went ahead to make the bullets and cartridges. From memory, he knew cartridge shells were made from brass due to a number of things. But magic could help with such things.

He made his shells using steel and lined them on the inside with scripts set to explode when the firing pin hit the… he needed a primer. And what about what to use as propellant?

“The fire essence crystals,” Achilleia reminded him. He had been paid with fire essence crystals for a mine of living steel he uncovered in the south before going to Terra Praeta.

Jerome brought out a few fire essence crystals and ground them to powder inside a containment ward so the essence in them would not escape. He packed them into the shells and used bigger grains from the fire essence crystals that didn’t ground completely to form his primer. He fit the bullets into the shells when he was done. He had to reshape his magazine again to fit the new magazine well. Yeah, that’s what it was called. And then reshape the cartridges and bullets again to fit into the magazine. Frustration took over and Achilleia demanded he go to sleep.

But he didn’t really sleep. Not in the manner he expected. The moment his mind relaxed and he felt himself falling into the embrace of sleep, he noticed he was standing on his feet, instead of lying on the ground. Cold winds blew against him and the rustling of falling leaves filled his hearing.

Jerome opened his eyes to find himself inside Autumn, his mind plane. He hadn’t been here in a very long time. The mind plane had a vastness to it, unlike the last time he was here. He looked down at himself. He was putting on his long black coat and fingerless gauntlets, a leather cuirass, and pants. His black thigh-high boots felt like it was an extension of his feet.

“How did I…?” he said.

“Amazing, isn’t it!?”

He whipped around at the voice. Achilleia’s voice, he reminded himself as his racing mind recognized it. Tialana sat on a loveseat a few feet away from him with her feet up. She was clad in a string bikini that had her enormous bust almost spilling out. Jerome gulped, his eyes roving over her bronze skin. He had to force himself to look away from her. Thankfully, he couldn’t get a boner here.

“Achilleia, please put something modest on,” he said, walking toward her.

“How do you know I’m Achilleia? I’ve been in your mind plane since we met in the First Heaven. I just didn’t reveal myself,” she said, donning a sunhat and matching dust-colored shades. Jerome looked pointedly at her clothes — or lack thereof — and back at her. Achilleia rolled her eyes behind her shades and stood up. She gave him a peck on the cheek before dragging him toward the trees. “Way to kill the mood.”

“Why am I here, Achilleia?” She must have pulled his mind here, somehow.

“Do you know how vast your mind plane is now, Xerae? It’s ginormous! You should come here more often to practice using dream aura. You can also build models of things you want to use in real life here.”

Jerome stopped. He had never thought to do that before. “I can build a model of my rifle here.”

She pulled him along again. “Urgh. This is too exhausting. Get us to the edge of your mind plane, Xerae.”

With a thought, they stood at the edge of a clearing — another clearing — in his mind plane.

“That’s creepy. Didn’t even sense the teleportation. You just bent reality to fit what you want. Had to see if we could make it to the edge, but no such luck, eh?”

“Hmm. that’s how it works.” He smiled. “In here, I’m god.”

Achilleia ignored his comment and quickly put him to work. He started from scratch, building his rifle once more. When he got stuck, she had him sit down in meditation so he could call up faint memories of guns and movies from his past life from his subconscious. The memories would invade the mind plane like wraiths, and they would watch them like a movie. Some memories were blurry and incomplete but with Achilleia’s help, he was able to sharpen his focus on them.

He woke up early in the morning before the sun came up, ready to tackle his ongoing project again. His time in his mind plane had helped him generate some new ideas that were now floating around his head.

His mag well needed a receiver so the bullets could be loaded, fired correctly, and spent rounds ejected without a hitch. A bolt would hold the round as it is chambered into the receiver and fired. That bolt would be pulled back into a cocked position with a handle, ready to fire. That should have been the compartment of the gun he worked on first.

So he started over again. Thankfully, he didn’t waste steel, even though there was a lot from robbing the dead Messengers. Being able to Shape metal made him incredibly efficient. He just wished he could use magnetism; pull metal from the ground or all around, create magnetic fields and all that shit. That was something that eluded him, perhaps because it was some type of ascended art. He had no idea.

It took him a few hours by his estimation but he got something great going.

“You know you don’t need a new weapon, right?” Ms. Tara said from her cross-legged position.

Jerome smiled at her. “Good morning. How was your meditation?”

“It’s a lot harder to compress my core than I thought it would be. I feel so sore.” She stretched where she sat before standing up and tidying up her bedroll.

“We shouldn’t assume that the Messengers would always wait for us to attack,” he said, answering her previous question as he continued his work. “I dare say they would be setting up an ambush for us. There’s no way they haven’t noticed all the damage and destruction we’ve meted out. Or they might just send a legion of themselves after us. They’re clones after all.

“Besides, I might end up not using the rifle at all.”

“The what?” she asked.

Jerome held up his strange weapon — strange to her, that is. “I call it a ‘rifle’. And maybe you’d be the one to use it. We’ll never know.” He preferred close-quarters combat and this was a long-range weapon.

Ms. Tara sat down near him to watch him work. “No, thank you. I like my crossbow just fine.”

We’ll see how long that lasts, he thought to himself.

They slipped into comfortable silence and only the sound of metal clicking into place or folding into each other was audible. Soon the sun came out and Csala woke up. At some point before dawn, Sheela had sneaked away. Nyx turned to face away from the sun, frowning. She covered herself with a blanket woven out of vines.

Jerome remembered she followed him to this world with nothing. He decided to get her clothes and other stuff, whatever she might need.

“Not a morning person, are you?” he chuckled. She grumbled and went back to sleep.

His work continued. Slowly but surely his gun was coming together. He had to do some trial runs to ascertain that the quality of his work was good — or at least okay. He worked on safety catches to prevent the gun from firing at unexpected times and several knobs to lock the bolt in place when firing. At long last, the result of his hard work began showing fruits.

Achilleia helped him to design mechanisms that would help make the rifle more efficient. With his knowledge and skill in Shaping and runing artifacts, he was able to bring her design to fruition — two interconnected mechanisms whose functions would help his rifle operate optimally. They were shaped in such a way that they made the barrel and handguard look like a sleek slab of metal — the first of which was the silencer at the muzzle of the rifle which muffled the sound of the shots. The other extricated resultant hot gases to prevent overheating. He also had to rifle the inner walls of the barrel so the bullets exiting it would rotate out.

With all that done, it was time for testing. Jerome scanned the forest in a three-mile radius around him — an impossible feat for a Sprout. Nyx gasped and shot up from her sleeping position.

“Jerome was that you!?” she asked.

Huh. He had forgotten to use the pod of Hezvar. Nyx had never witnessed him use his psychic energy nakedly before as the pod shielded it and made his scans intangible to her senses.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“That was powerful. You’ve been keeping the strength of your psy — your mental energy a secret all this while?”

He could just barely notice Achilleia’s interference in her words. Can we talk about this later? I’m kind of busy now, he said to her. She frowned but didn’t ask any more questions.

He stood, hefting the rifle on his shoulder. “I’m going to take a short walk to test out this bad boy.”

Ms. Tara tittered at him.

“What?”

She smiled up at him. “Boys will always be boys. You all love your toys more than you care to admit. Look how you’re caressing it like it’s a treasure.”

Jerome stopped. He didn’t know he’d been doing that. He cleared his throat and walked away from the ladies as they giggled mockingly at him.

The forests of southern Vorthe were dense and humid. But they didn’t hold a candle to Terra Praeta’s jungles. He found a tree that was thick enough to take a few bullets from his rifle and set about clearing a path to make a shooting range. When he was done, he held up his rifle and aimed at the tree from forty feet away.

The first muffled shot pulverized the tree bark, piercing the tree in an instant. The rifle kicked back against his shoulder, the force jerking him backward. Jerome whistled in appreciation.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. With steel bullets as tough as diamonds, I’ll be able to blow up heads like melons.”

“Hmmm,” Achilleia said.

What?

“If you reduce the silencer’s grip on the muzzle by a notch, you could increase the velocity of the bullet by ten point six percent… more if you deactivate it completely.”

Yeah, that’s a given. We’ll tweak it as we go, Achilleia. Thanks for all the tips. This is just the beginning though. I plan on making a handgun next.

“Sorry about this, Xerae. If I hadn’t fallen into Dashani’s clutches, I’d still be able to look into the river of time. There would have been no way for the Church to take us unawares like this.”

Huh. Didn’t know you could see the future. If she hadn’t said a word about it, he wouldn’t have known. But anyway, don’t worry about it. Besides, not knowing what’s gonna happen can be quite an adventure too.

He thought through what he needed next to support his rifle. He’d have to make a scope and a rifle stock to mount the rifle on for long-range shots. He decided to test the range of the shots, moving farther away from the tree to double the previous distance.

“Jerome,” Csala’s voice sounded in his ear. “We’ve got company.” From the coldness of her tone, he could tell what kind of company they had.

“Took them long enough,” he responded. “Guess shooting practice will have to wait.”

An idea suddenly came to him. “...or maybe not.”