“We should call it exotic matter,” Jerome muttered, looking at the hovering spear in front of him.
He was surrounded by complex geometric runes that glowed with a golden color inside his tent, lighting up the whole place like a circus. Charybdis was hovering in a horizontal position while slowly spinning in front of him — also covered in glowing runes.
“Just because you taught your computation ring the periodic table and quantum physics doesn’t mean we have to do things by your sciency brain, Xerae. That ‘thing’ has no matter. It’s a void, a hole in the world.”
But it behaves matter-like. It has weight so it’s not entirely empty—.
“It is folded space, Xerae. Wrapped in on itself — by magic I should add — and isolated from the vacuum you call space. It has its own physical laws that do not align with the natural laws of space and time you know; of course it’ll have weight.”
The feedback from the runes on Charybdis seem not to agree with you, Achilleia, Jerome argued.
“Or it’s probably how you interpret the output from your computation ring after processing the data from the spear.”
Jerome frowned at that. Whole lot of words just to call me dumb. Hurts, Achilleia.
She gave him a mental shrug. “Compared to me, you are, Xerae.”
Ouch.
All he knew was that his research on the void beads had led him to this conclusion: they acted like exotic matter with negative mass, moving in the opposite direction of applied force from similar energy fluctuations. But anything with substance was sucked in and probably ripped apart to atoms. Scientists on Earth would have killed to work with something as strange as this. Heck, they’d be pulling out their hairs to work with just runes to test for exotic matter. He, on the other hand, didn’t need particle accelerators or telescopes and observatories to observe the nature of the void bead.
“Your observations aren’t enough to conclude that it’s exotic matter, Xerae.”
True, but it’s the only data we have at the moment. At least we can work with this. He reared back realizing something he had ignored for a while.
“Yes, Xerae. The origin of the portal is not our side of the portal, it’s in Svol, the capital city of the Church.”
“Shit.”
If he were to use Charybdis to stop the attack, it would have to go through the portal to the other side, destroy their tech or magitech, or whatever shit they were using to power the portal, and most likely be left stranded there. And he wasn’t considering the fact that there would be those powerful enough to stop his spear there, or that the portal was probably a one-way wormhole.
“It goes both ways, Xerae — well, it can. But Charybdis will be left stranded on foreign soil for approximately fifty-three hours.”
Damn. That’s a long time.
“And that’s if the path out of Svol proves peaceful. They would do everything in their power to keep it in their domain, to harness its power for their own.”
They can do that? He asked but thought of it again. Of course they could. If they could build gravity generators they could unlock the secrets of Charybdis, an extraterrestrial technology by the way. That would be disastrous. We have to find a way to destroy the portal that wouldn’t require Charybdis crossing over to the other side, like resonance frequency. Charybdis could be attuned to the portal’s frequency, allowing it to disrupt and shatter the portal without plunging into it.
“They would have countermeasures against that, Xerae. The portal is a complex spatial rift connecting two points in space. The distortion it creates in space-time may or may not be capable of adapting to the resonance frequency emitted by Charybdis, learning from it.”
Jerome nodded in understanding. So its stability is most likely maintained by a network of singularities—.
“Micro-singularities,” Achilleia corrected.
Right. Micro-singularities that generate a containment field preventing uncontrolled energy release.
“So we go for the micro-singularities…”
Jerome smiled to himself and the floating spear in front of him hummed in delight. We go for the micro-singularities.
Someone snorted from the entrance of the tent and Jerome turned to see Ms. Tara smirking at him.
“You have that evil smile evil men have when they want to do something evil,” she said.
“Really?” he asked, dismissing the runes lighting up the tent. Charybdis slowly sublimed and was sucked into his body. “Maybe I do wanna do something evil… to the Church.”
He walked up to her as she walked into the tent toward him, hips swaying and the swell of her breasts jiggling. Ms. Tara had grown more confident ever since she began using her computation ring. He could see it in the way she walked, talked, and laughed. She was… freer; there was a liberty and pride growing in her that he found beautiful.
He hugged her and she hugged him back, holding onto him and breathing in his scent. Trepidation filled her for a moment but he could also sense her determination. Whatever it was she wanted to ask, he would give it to her, as long as he could grant it, but only if she asked. But Ms. Tara surprised him. She slowly raised her head to meet his eyes and they stared at each other for a while. She smiled hesitantly and looked away.
“I love your eyes,” she whispered. And reached up with her right hand to touch his growing facial hair. “And this. It makes you look… manlier.”
“You mean I haven’t been looking manly?” he asked with a little humor.
Ms. Tara blushed and he sensed, or rather smelled that determination rise in her again.
“I love all of you, Ms. Tara,” Jerome said, causing her to blush even harder. “Your eyes, your mind… your curiosity and attention. You make me want to be better.”
Ms. Tara smiled. She wanted to hide it but she was blushing too hard for him not to notice. Jerome raked his hand through her long black hair and kissed her forehead. She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, and then she looked up at him again. Her hands left his back, caressing his body upward until she wound her fingers around the back of his neck. In this position, she was standing on tiptoes and he was hunched a little forward, as he had a full foot on her. Ms. Tara was five-feet-six.
She lifted herself onto him with his shoulders and wrapped her toned legs around him. Ms. Tara was a petite lady, barely reaching up to his chest and weighed next to nothing. Jerome grabbed her butt to keep her balanced. He leaned forward slowly and she did the same. Her heartbeat was raging in her chest as the sexual tension between them grew. He kissed her — a chaste kiss, so as not to ruin the moment. But then she kissed him back. For the first time she took initiative, took action. But he knew it scared the hell out of her. He could smell her fear, though it was quickly receding as he responded to her kiss. They kissed for a while, enjoying the taste of each other.
Ms. Tara tasted like flowers, myriads of flowers she must have picked throughout her time with the Shifters. Jerome held onto her by her soft plump ass, wishing he could grind her pelvis against his. But that might scare her. His boner was almost painful in his pants but thankfully, Ms. Tara’s pelvis sat against his abs. The sexual tension was so high between them that Jerome wanted to take her right then and there. That bed in the corner was looking very pleasant right now. But there was a battle to plan for; a portal to destroy.
They broke the kiss, barely out of breath, and leaned their foreheads against each other.
“Thanks for this, Jerome,” Ms. Tara whispered. “I needed it.”
“There’s more to be felt there,” he said and she blushed. “But we’ll take our time. No pressure.”
She nodded, still hanging onto him. “And thanks for letting me speak with Ash. I’m so happy she’s alive and well.”
Jerome nodded. He had warned Ash not to mention that she was in Alvion but Ms. Tara wasn’t a fool. She had caught wind of the fact that Rihal was in Alvion and if he was the one sending supplies and she was speaking to Ash around the same time he sent word for supplies, then Ash must be in Alvion too. She had given them an earful — both Ash and Rihal. Jerome wondered if the woman that once had a crush on Rihal still remained, but remembering the look on her face when she spoke with Rihal through the Comms, he shook his head, smiling to himself.
“We are about to have company, Jerome.” Ms. Tara slid off him. “It seems the supply you asked Rihal for is finally arriving.”
“That’s good. We should go receive it.” He took her hand and they walked out of the tent to meet the others. The simple act of walking hand in hand made her joy swell and she walked with a slight hop to her steps. Jerome was glad that she was happy about them. They were a couple now.
Everyone was going about their business inside tents of their own, meditating or sleeping. With supplies low, the Sprouts were taking care not to overextend themselves. Only those from the Great Clans and his teammates still had energy to spare. But the Baelors were weakening fast, even though they tried their best to hide it.
Jerome looked northeast, from where a clump of golden lights were flying toward their makeshift fortress walls.
“Forester,” he said.
“Who?” Ms. Tara.
“A Royal Sprout I fought in the Royal Estate once.”
“Did you win?” Selene asked as she, Lang, Fei Lin, and Berj walked up to him. “Forester is an egotistical maniac who only cares about being the best at everything. If you bested him before, Jerome, you better be ready.”
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
“Ready for what?”
Selene looked him in the eye and said, “Envy can be a driving force sometimes. The only positive thing about it is that it makes one hardworking.”
Jerome heard the words she hinted at but didn’t say out loud; Forester was driven by emotion, negative emotion. “He has issues,” he replied, nodding. “Of that, I know.”
Ajax and Trudhorn were a step behind them and some other Feis he didn’t know. The rest of his teammates also joined them a moment later.
“Let me do the talking, Jerome,” Lang said. Jerome gestured with his hand in a ‘be my guest’ motion.
In about three minutes, the group of Royal Sprouts slowed down a few hundred feet away before reaching their wall. They remained hovering twenty feet above the walls of their fortress while golden light poured off them, obscuring their features but lighting up the entire camp. But Sprouts were still Sprouts, and he could tell each one from the other if he scanned them.
“I don’t remember Forester being this powerful,” Lang said with a frown as they lifted up into the air to meet with them.
Many of the Sprouts grunted as gravity seemed to become more powerful the higher they rose. Jerome’s teammates looked around in confusion — besides Nyx. They weren’t feeling the effects of the Sovereign’s aura like the others.
“Do I even want to know?” Lang asked, noticing the difference. He wasn’t affected by the suppressive aura. No one else noticed as they were all expending effort to remain in the air. But they could hear their conversation. Jerome hoped they would confuse this question with the previous statement the Fei protector made.
“That’s the Sovereign’s aura protecting them,” Jerome said. “It’s the reason they were able to pass through the blockade at Solon’s Tower unchallenged.”
Lang gave him a flat look but Jerome only shrugged. He wasn’t going to reveal anything to him. They had to land on the wall they had constructed as most of them couldn’t fly further. Even at that, it was punishment to remain there for too long; they would be crushed if they did so. Sometime during the flight too, his team had gathered around him. In fact, they all stood in clumps as teams. He didn’t like it. It made them look divided.
“That… makes a lot of sense,” Selene said, almost in pain. He could see sweat drops beading on her forehead as she stood with a slight hunch. “But it doesn’t explain how you recognize this… as the Sovereign’s aura.” She was almost out of breath saying those few words.
“Ever the inquisitive one, aren’t you?” Jerome smirked at her. Selene would someday need to accept the fact that she wouldn’t get anything out of him, at least not the secrets she was poking around for. “My knowledge is my secret, Selene. I hold it close to my heart.”
She pouted.
“And here we have the runts,” Forester spoke up from behind the swirling cloud of golden aura around him. “And the cunt” — his teammates laughed behind him. That was directed specifically at him, but Jerome kept quiet, not giving Forester the opportunity to continue harassing him — “Tell me, how is war treating the lot of you.”
The Royal Sprouts hovered twenty feet above them so they had to look up at them. A good way of saying, ‘you’re all beneath us’.
“Light embrace you, young lord Forester,” Lang greeted. Jerome was half expecting him to bow but the stoic protector remained ramrod straight under the pressure of the Sovereign’s aura.
Jerome had never heard Lang speak that respectfully to anyone though — maybe except for Fei Lin — so it came as a surprise to him.
Forester hummed in reply, a disrespectful way to answer one who was in a higher Realm than him and also from a noble family. Surely, he could sense that Lang was now a Spirit Realm artist. Even if Forester was royalty, that didn’t give him the effrontery to disrespect strength. Vorthe respected strength — above all.
“We put in a request for supplies, young lord. Might we assume that you bear our supplies with you?” Lang asked.
“Are you calling me an errand boy, Lang?” Forester bit out. The Sovereign’s aura stirred around him, shining brighter and they all felt the pressure in the air intensify. The Baelors went down on their knees first, grunting in pain.
Berj roared in defiance, slowly pulling himself back up. He glared daggers at the Royal Sprouts but could do nothing to help his situation. Nobody else moved. Nobody uttered as much as a groan. Only the sound of the wind rushing through their midst broke the silence. This must have surprised Forester when he realized it and he upped the concentration of the pressure he was emitting.
Jerome tapped the ground lightly with his booted foot and the pressure lifted a little. The Baelors slowly rose to their feet and the glaring contest continued.
Lang, looking into the younger Sprout’s eyes said, “You assume rightly, young lord.”
Forester growled. The air seemed to stifle and Jerome could almost feel his teammates preparing to attack. He held Nyx’s wrist, drawing her attention. Jerome shook his head at her.
Don’t do anything.
Nyx ground her teeth together in anger and nodded curtly.
“I do have your supplies,” Forester said, his anger subsiding a little. “But for your insolence, you’d have to take it from me.”
He spread his arms, floating backwards and his teammates moved aside, giving them all a wide berth. Jerome scanned the glowing, angel-looking team of twelve Sprouts — stealthily with the pod of Hezvar — to see if Layla was among them. She wasn’t. The other two who had spoken to him in the training ground weren’t with them as well. What were their names again? Hyde and Alana. Yes.
This was good. It meant he wouldn’t have to feel bad wiping the floor with all their asses.
“You wield the Sovereign’s aura, Forester,” Fei Lin said. “And you expect him to fight you? Lang just recently became a Pillar.”
Lang gave her a grateful look. Jerome could tell that only Fei Lin could talk back to the Royal like that. He wondered why?
“Oh, you’d love why,” Achilleia said in his head.
“It is a blessing from the Sovereign himself,” Forester said. “A blessing you lot have been enjoying ever since you stepped foot back in our world.”
“You must have hit your head or something, Forester,” Fei Lin replied.
“Oh, have I now? The weather is mild, the soil is hard and dry, pests are nonexistent. Tell me again, am I concussed?”
Jerome realized that was true. This region should be a rainforest, similar to the Amazon on Earth. Terra Praeta had a harsher ecosystem but it was a larger world, with larger landmasses, and continents twice — maybe thrice — as large as the ones here. That affected humidity and the level of moisture in the soil. Talk less the denser, practically magical foliage which would speed up the consumption of water.
So where were the swamps? Where were the bugs, and the predators like the anacondas? This region wasn’t like that. It was either the Sovereign made it so or Forester was talking out of his ass and this was all just natural.
Lang frowned. “You’ve said your piece, young lord. Let’s get this over with.”
He drifted upward to confront Forester. It wasn’t a surprise Lang could still increase his altitude against the pressure bearing down on them.
“Hold it there. Not you… him,” Forester said to stop him, pointing at Jerome. Lang continued though, as if those words meant nothing — because they didn’t. Not to a Spirit Realm artist.
Jerome smiled. He drifted upward too, stopping beside Lang. “You know what they say, ‘the first time might just as well be luck, the second time’s the charm’.”
“What are you talking about?” Lang asked in exasperation but Forester growled in anger in front of them.
Jerome chuckled. “He knows what I’m talking about.”
Lang looked between the both of them, trying to decipher his words.
“Have you forgotten who I am to you, you cunt!?” Forester growled in rage.
“Hand in the supplies, Forester,” Jerome said, consciously stopping himself from rolling his eyes. He was tired of the theatrics. “We don’t have time for this. And besides, we have a battle to plan for.”
Forester snorted with a chuckle. Or was that a chuckle with a snort? Either way, it was demeaning. “A battle you’ll never win—”
“Oh, we will win… the moment you hand over our supplies and get the fuck out of—”
“Jerome!” Selene cut him off.
Forester growled. Jerome could smell his rage in the air, and that of his teammates as well. He and Lang stopped at the same altitude as the Royals, facing Forester at a dozen-step distance from each other.
“This will not go as well as you think it would, Forester,” Jerome said, willing as much finality in his tone as he perceived was necessary. “It would be just like at the training ground… all over again.”
Forester snapped. He shot forward, fist cocked back to deliver a punch to Jerome’s head. If it were before, that glowing hand, filled with so much power would have popped his head and brain like a watermelon. He may not even have seen it coming as Forester was moving extremely fast. But to his senses, it was normal speed. In a split second, he activated his computation ring — the diamonds, jades, quartz, and even the rubies — pushing its power to limits he would only use for the Judges, by his estimation. He needed lightning in his veins to achieve the speed he needed to put this egomaniac in his place.
He shot toward Forester as well — half a second after. They punched each other and the shockwave resulting from their clash, pushed them and everyone else apart. He didn’t give Forester the opportunity to find his bearing. He was on him the next moment, fist glowing like a star in the night sky. He punched the bastard, sending him sailing skyward and pursued. Jerome wanted to keep the battle away from the ground a much as possible.
“How the fuc—” Forester was saying when Jerome punched him again.
He felt the older Sprout’s jaw break against his fist. Teeth flew every which way and Forester was sent spinning upwards again. Jerome pursued, breaking the sound barrier. Tiny explosions went off in the air anytime he moved or stopped.
“I would like it if you were done with this so we can discuss the strategy for tonight, Xerae. Time’s a’ wastin’,” Achilleia said, though there was no urgency in her voice.
You know… Jerome dodged a beam of light from Forester. I had thought he’d be a lot more challenging to deal with.
“You’ve grown, Xerae. Overcoming challenging battles and a near death experience does that to people. He on the other hand has been riding the coattails of the Sovereign for two years. There’s not much he can do against you. Remember when you asked me to keep you as far away from him as possible in Terra Praeta?” Achilleia chuckled as the memory surfaced in his mind.
Don’t remind me. Jerome flew circles around his opponent, punching him at every opportunity he got. None of Forester’s beams touched him.
“Damn!” he heard someone say from down below. “The Daemon’s moving too fast for the Royal to hit.”
“That’s on him,” another said. “If he can’t hit the Daemon, then he shouldn’t have provoked him.”
Seems we have an audience, Achilleia. He punched Forester again, this time sending him downward toward the earth.
At an altitude of seven hundred feet, Jerome caught up to him and punched him again. Forester hit the earth with a loud boom, sending rocks and soil everywhere outside the walls of their camp.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk… I would have warned you,” Lang said as he flew toward the downed Forester. “But you were a little too eager to get an ass whooping.”
~~~
Forester
Rage burned in his heart as he watched the cur hovering a hundred feet or so in the air above him. He spat out the blood in his mouth and it only enraged him more. No Sprout had ever disgraced him like this. If it was Lang who did this to him, he could salvage the situation, but this? There was no coming back from this!
“Get him!” he roared at his teammates.
They moved to surround the cur but the cur’s teammates surrounded him first, protecting him from them. A battle ensued and it didn’t go the way he expected. Forester marveled at how fast these strangers moved. It was like watching the circus perform acrobatics in the air. The ease and precision with which they glided and curved through the air could only be called otherworldly. And they worked as a team, running circles around his teammates until they were pushed clearly away from their target. His teammates were beaten back like they were toddlers, enraging him even more.
To make matters worse, the bastard only hovered in the air in the same position. His teammates did all the work while he posed midair like some monarch standing in front of his throne to address his subjects. He never moved to defend himself or attack. He just stayed there looking down at him… looking down on him.
Rage boiled in him. Forester clenched his jaws and fists till his head ached and his nails bit into the flesh of his palm, with dirt and grass held in his fist. He shot upwards, covering the space between him and the cur in less than a breath. He was burning through the Sovereign’s aura but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was going to take down this turd tonight no matter what.
He had to. Else he wouldn’t be able to look his Echo in the face, in the reflecting pool of the Mirror Well.