Even without sight, Anton noticed Oriz stiffen in the steam.
“Yes, it is,” she said.
“Do you know why?”
“It’s damage from the [Mirrorbell Dungeon]. It was a Black Star dungeon and when it fed on the Black Star energy in my body, it left scars throughout my Skein.”
Anton nodded.
“You know, the spell book never explained curses. It acted as though I would know one when I found one. What if the block on your Skein…”
“What are you talking about?”
A note of worry in Oriz’s voice. Hope? Concern? Frustration? He couldn’t bother parsing it out. In his mind, he jiggled the lock, and he felt the key sliding. A key needs no light to perform its function, but it needs to turn.
He ran a hand through the steam and left it swirling.
“I used to think clouds would be warm, but they’re as cold as the rain that falls. Though, I’ve heard, rain can be warm in the tropics.”
“You’re babbling like a madman. The heat is getting to your brain.”
“I don’t think it is.”
And he reached inside himself, and outside, turning a key in a lock as the words leaped to his lips unbidden.
“Beneath the wind and the rain lies the heart of the lightning, and from the heart to the storm comes furious love, and, with mountainous fury, does it return to light the way in darkness.”
[Spell Comprehension: 100%]
A spark left him and his Skein plummeted.
[Storming Absolution]
It was different to a technique, different to activating his body path. Where one was an extension of his body, and the other an extension of his soul, this felt purely hypothetical — an extension of his mind.
In as much as any of them were truly separated.
The steam swirled around him. Faster. A wind rose from the boiling waters. He smiled as gusts swept through his hair and brought blessed relief from the all-encompassing sweat.
The growing gale swept away the steam, and he saw Oriz kneeling there. Weeping. Terrified. Clouds formed above her, around her, spiraling up into the sky in dread funnel black as night. The spell separated from his mind and grew into something living, something out of his control.
Lightning crackled down the funnel and struck the wooden planks beside Oriz. Ozone reeked in the air. Wood charred. The cabin door flew open. Bella exited with her runeblade drawn and glowing and her hair whipped by the furious winds. She pointed the sword at Anton.
“What did you do!” she shouted.
The boat rocked as the wind tore scraps from the ragged, mossy sail. Warm rain splashed down and fell into the boiling waters.
Anton threw back his head and roared with laughter. The wind grew, and the rain stung, but he loved it! This was what he sought, and he shouted up at the raging heavens!
“Absolution! Let the storm wash away the past! Let forgiveness sound out in thunder’s wake!”
Lightning forked, and the thunder cracked as the funnel swept down and seized Oriz. She floated from the deck. Rain slashed. Wind tugged. Lightning coiled around her limbs like a python. Nothing about it looked painless, but her face looked up in rapture.
The humans could only watch as she floated higher and higher toward the blackened clouds with her eyes closed. Lightning slammed into her chest and she screamed until thunder swaddled the sound.
The storm vanished as quickly as it came, and Oriz flopped to the deck. Bella crouched beside Oriz. She ran a hand through her wet yellow hair.
“What did he do to you?”
She glared at Anton and stood. Her sword’s mouth howled. The sound keening and painful now that the wind had died. She stepped forward, but Oriz grabbed her ankle.
“Stop…”
Bella looked down.
“No, let me…” her eyes widened. “Oriz!”
For it wasn’t Oriz’s hand wrapped around Bella’s ankle, but a strand of vibrant grassy Skein. Bella fell to her knees, sword forgotten, as she swept Oriz up into a hug. She babbled congratulations as she ran kisses over the face of her alien lover.
Oriz endured and enjoyed the affection, but she met Anton’s eye over Bella’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Anton nodded as he gripped the wheel.
Finally, he felt the spell slot into place within his mind. He already itched to find another one. Maybe this could wake Zoe?
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Skidmark wandered out of the cabin with wide eyes.
“So… things are kind of intense with you guys, aren’t they?”
“I suppose.”
Anton shrugged, and opened his mouth to say more, but fell silent. Anton shrugged. “Oh, we’re here.”
The wheel no longer hummed. The boat no longer spoke. For, beyond the prow, through the storm-cleared steam, an island rose like a mountain.
And, chained to the cliffs, colossal in scale, hung a being that could only be called an Angel.
###
Though some steam still shrouded the island, the form shackled to the cliff was unmistakable. Wings spread out, each one golden and burning like dawn upon a field of wheat, but the feathers overlapped, and they passed through the rock and air with equal ease. When Anton tried to count the number of wings, he kept losing his place, until he tasted blood on his upper lip and dabbed his nose.
Bleeding.
Bella shook him.
“You saved her Skein!” she said ecstatically. “I could kiss you, Anton!”
He grimaced at the thought, and she laughed again, wrapping him up in a hug that would have broken his pre-system bones. With his hands pinned to his sides, she planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“You’re a bloody bastard, Anton, but you know I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Ah, just let me down.”
She dropped him and laughed.
“Wait, why are you bleeding?”
He pointed past her, and she turned.
“Oh… wow… I didn’t…”
All four of them stood on the deck as the ship drifted toward the rocks at the base of the cliff. The Angel loomed. Countless wings overlapped like melodies on the wind, and they were rooted in broad shoulders, flanks of muscle mounted on ribs, a collarbone protruding like a ridge of stone, and eyes that spiraled, digging themselves into holes that —
Anton blinked as tears filled his eyes.
He wiped, and his fingers came away with blood.
“We can’t look at it directly.”
“No…” came Oriz’s voice, softened by joyful awe. “You shouldn’t. I feel it pricking my senses, but for you three…”
They all looked away toward the deck, and Oriz, eventually, turned her head as well.
Anton squeezed his eyes closed but still the images flashed like colors from staring at the sun — sculpted legs, a knee harboring titanic quads, dangling calves — he pressed his knuckles against his head and ground — blood flowed as golden manacles dug into perfect skin, iron blood dripping molten and hissing with every splatter into the water, the heat bleeding out and boiling the marsh — heat dug into Anton’s pores and his blood boiled in answer as pain spiked behind his eyes, growing, protruding from his pupils like stubble — silver hair cascaded from a brow unbowed, one thread, two, three, perfect Skein given physicality like sparks bleeding from a fresh forged creation, four strands, five, six, seven, eight, can you count the stars in the sky little mortal? Do you dare? Nine, ten, nine, eleven, twelve — Anton screamed but there was no sound and no pain only a desperate scramble to see.
Someone shook him. His eyes opened, and he saw unknown faces filled with concern. Three women. Who were they and why did they block him from gazing upon perfection?
He fought them off, pulled away, snatched at his shirt, and tore it open. Didn’t they understand?
He had to see!
His shirt ripped apart. No sound. Only the feeling upon his fingers and he faced the Angel in all its shackled glory. The eye in his chest opened.
And stared.
[Epiphany of the Eye: 12%]
[Epiphany of the Eye: 43%]
[Epiphany of the Eye: 67%]
[Epiphany of the Eye: 89%]
[Epiphany of the Eye: 100%]
[Epiphany of the Eye: complete!]
[Reward pending…]
Light.
There was only light.
[Reward delayed…]
Darkness.
And heat gripped him.
Crushed him.
Hammering. Dull blows of heart in a cage, a fist on a door, a skull bouncing off the pavement, a hammer against molten steel.
A thousand fires bloomed, and he sat in the prismatic forge once more. Naked once more. Shivering, he gazed up at the Smith’s grin of rotten teeth and bloody bandaged eyes.
[So, Anton Biggs returns before the due date of his Body Path]
The Smith’s hulking muscles groaned as he leaned down like a gorilla above a dandelion. His fists rested on either side of Anton as sparks flew from the ten thousand forges in the distance — for even if this Smith stopped working for the moment, the others continued.
[Should I blame your choice of companions? Guilty by association? Yes? No?]
A finger as hard and thick as a telephone pole jabbed Anton’s chest and picked him up like a contact lens. The smith grabbed Anton’s arms and examined him. Sniffing. The eye in Anton’s chest blinked, and the Smith laughed.
[Her crafting isn’t that bad, for someone so intent on destruction. I suppose a surgeon is just a smith of blood and flesh… but we are not here to discuss her. We are here to discuss you gazing upon an Angel before you were ready]
He let Anton fall, and Anton fell. Tumbling. Head over heels through eternity, distant forges like flickering red stars, the pounding of hammers like a heartbeat in his ear.
He landed atop the Smith’s outstretched palm.
[You are not the first with your Body Path to come here early. The Flower Opens is a path that encourages curiosity. To open things that should stay closed. To gaze upon that which burns the eye. Do not think I disapprove, for I am ever in favor of a thief… especially a thief of experience]
Anton’s mind swam with emptiness — for what could he call anything that felt like this except emptiness? Certainly being this full, of light, of love, of life, would not leave him feeling so eroded… but he heard the words, and he forced himself to gaze up at the Smith with all three eyes.
“Am I to be punished?”
The Smith shook his massive head.
[No… think of this as a check-up, which you have passed… and let me ask you a question]
“Yes?”
[When my brother died, what emotion did you feel?]
Anton’s tongue went numb in his mouth. The question weighed upon him, and to his horror, he found himself answering. Some inextricable force dredging up the truth from the depths of his soul.
“Joy.”
The smith let out a sigh, a ripple through the dark folded reality of his prismatic forge, and on the wings of that sigh flew a deep and sullen silence. The quiet gripped Anton and held him there as the stars in the sky shivered and shrank. Finally, he understood why.
None of the Smiths hammered.
None moved.
The Smith was one, and he was many, and as a legion, he stood still and mourned. His brother? The idea of his brother? Anton couldn’t know and dared not intrude to ask.
He couldn’t say how long he sat there in the Smith’s palm, until, at last, one by one, the hammers resumed.
[The way things are, is not always the way things should be. The path… who knows where the path may lead? Who knows which fork in the road should be followed? For are not all divergences born from the same origin? The true path never truly ends, and even I…]
The Smith looked down at Anton.
[This is not for you]
The Smith tilted his hand, and Anton fell onto the wooden deck of the boat. He gasped and curled up in a ball.
“Anton?” Bella asked. “Are you alright?”
He nodded, shivering, cold as ice with shock despite the sweltering heat of the steaming waters.
“S… Smith…” he stammered out.
Oriz helped him up, helped him unfold, and wrapped his chest in broad green fibers. It felt like long grass hugged him, and he leaned against her, shivering.
“What did he want?” she asked as she patted his back.
“I don’t know,” he said. The joy of his epiphany extinguished. “I don’t know.”