“Uncle’s coming!” Vulcan shouted pumping a fist into the air.
“Can-Can, act your age,” Ailinn chastised.
Vulcan looked over at his wife and slumped back into the throne, “None of my retainers would say that to me.”
“Am I a retainer?” She folded her arms and faked a disapproving frown.
“Uhh,” The retainer in question was uncomfortable interrupting the chosen emperor. Most retainers in other countries would not dare to do even that much, but while Vulcan had an unpredictable attitude, it rarely was volatile.
When both royals trained their gazes on the kneeling man, he shuddered slightly before continuing, “No, he should be here, any minute.”
“That's great!” Vulcan glanced at Ailinn, and cleared his throat, “That is good news, prepare a reception, Uncle, uh Lord Enoch can not be made to wait.”
The retainer did not seem relieved. Vulcan did feel for the man, legends were different kinds of people. Possessing multiple forces caused people to affect the world in strange ways. With his force of gravity, many people felt heavy or light based on how they felt about Vulcan. It had a placebo effect that made people think of him in a religious light. Oppress the traitor and lift the loyal.
Vulcan was about to give orders to his head butler when the door was blasted open. The force was excessive, but the trees used in them were cultivated with resilience. On the other side was Enoch standing with his hand outstretched and a look of bemusement on his face. Behind him stood the mercenary priest Reverb, who was shaking his head. Vulcan often wondered what his real name was.
Ailinn sighed, “Honored elder, could you please refrain from putting palm prints on our home.”
Enoch made a face somewhere between apology and indignation. It had been his door once upon a time. Reverb teleported past Enoch using his force of passage. He inspected the room as if the man was somehow able to protect Enoch from anything. Still, he was a loyal follower, something which Vulcan could appreciate. Reverb nodded in satisfaction.
Enoch stepped through the door, glancing at the trembling retainer before refocusing on Vulcan and Ailinn, “Nephew, I bring some problematic news. The Sect of holy death has found their patron, you need to prepare the empire for war as soon as possible.”
Vulcan scratched his head, “Who?”
Ailinn answered, “The Sect of Holy Death follows the path of the phoenix. Most of them have a light and fire hybrid anima, that's not the issue though. They believe that the world can only be improved if it is destroyed and remade.”
“Oh, them, I had been calling them the Self-righteous Masochists in my head,” Vulcan smiled. Sects tended to be weak. Any group that focused solely on a single essence type had glaring vulnerabilities that empires and nations could exploit, “So by patron, you mean one of them became a saint?”
It was rare, inconceivably so, but sometimes it did happen. Typically, a new saint would do one of three things, most often set up a pantheon of people above tier fifteen, leave on a journey of self-reflection, or start helping those in need. The last two were how the realm of power got the name saint in the first place, at least that was Vulcan’s assumption.
Enoch nodded, “Yes. The Sect of Holy Death has already gathered a large number of the greater sects to their banner. I suspect that fighting will break out with the civilized world within the next few decades, though revolts and assassinations could have already started.”
Vulcan grimaced. Sects and empires did not respect each other's borders, meaning an empire as large as the Numitor Empire had hundreds of lesser sects and cults scattered across it. They weren’t even all known, a war with all of them would be more akin to a civil war than a war between nations.
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“Is there any way to stop the fighting?” Vulcan asked, “Maybe cut off the snake's head?”
Enoch glanced at Reverb gesturing for the man to speak. Reverb nodded, “The patron in question is an anomaly with a dissonant kern. Most of his forces are powerful, and mathematical in nature. Finding him is difficult and killing him might not be possible.”
Vulcan frowned, “He’s not stronger than you Uncle?”
“Stronger, no,” Enoch shook his head, “But you try killing someone leverages the concept of multiplication and ratios against you. It is damn irritating when a dodge rate is applied to his people.”
Vulcan blinked a few times, how did that even work? He could make most things. At least if they were made of metal. His entire skill set was built around constructing higher tier tools for himself to use. It was not the best at lower tiers, but later on, equipment became impossible to find. What armor could be used when your body was more durable than its protection, and what blade was valuable when a simple punch could sunder mountains?
“If I could make you some things to shut down his advantages, could you stop the war?” Vulcan asked.
He had some ideas. Even if it bankrupted the Royal Family he was willing to construct something to assist his uncle. Money could always be made again, but millions of deaths might not.
Enoch was not a crafter, he was a warrior, little more than a barbarian. He scoffed, “What could you make that would rival a saint’s power?”
Vulcan shrugged, “I don’t know if I can, but you claimed mathematics as his force?” At Reverb’s nod, he continued, “Math is based on quantity, so the void force might help, maybe stasis to stop him from changing anything. If you could get ahold of any chaos, I know for sure that would work.“
Enoch did not expect Vulcan to have an answer, “I do have some chaos, though I don’t know how it would help. It is simply pure destruction.”
He pulled out a soul sphere. It was hard to look at, both being colorful and invisible, bright and dark, and also being nothing. Immediately it gave Vulcan a headache, it was wrong on every level. This was the first time Vulcan had seen the force of chaos. Most of the elite were taught to fear it, but chaos was nothing more or less than the fundamental building blocks of reality. It was the force that all other forces were drawn from if the legends were to be believed.
Vulcan reached out to take the soul sphere, but Enoch snatched it back, “No, make me something useful without chaos, this is a last resort. I am truly not sure what it is capable of.”
It had to be tamable, otherwise, how could Enoch store it? Vulcan smirked, “At least tell me where you found it.“
To Vulcan’s surprise, his uncle’s eyes, the color of oxidized copper, unfocused, “There is a tree, it stretches up to the heavens. It is a befuddling tree. I can climb for a long time without rest, yet I never reached the top. However, from a distance, it is simply the tallest tree among a forest of redwoods, notable yes, but not insurmountable. It is injured, was injured, I’m not sure. Regardless, out of this tree flows sap like water. Death and chaos come from one side while life and peace leak from the other,” Enoch refocused on Vulcan, “If you ever get the chance, you should go, it's quite the experience.”
Vulcan was surprised that his uncle was so wistful about anything, “You’ll have to take me when you put down the leader of this death cult.”
Ailinn eyed the retainer, “You will keep this quiet?”
The poor man nodded quickly, “Yes your Highness.”
Reverb dropped his arm popping back over to Enoch’s side. The retainer was only tier three and had no idea what the force of passage could do to a human body. Ailinn thanked the man before dismissing him.
“So, I am just going to go and make the ultimate god killing weapon,” Vulcan said while he edged toward the door behind his throne.
Ailinn sighed, “Fine, go play with your toys.”
“Love you, honey,” Vulcan yelled as he ran from his responsibilities… uhh attended to important matters. Yeah, that was better.
He loved making stuff. It did not matter what, so long as it was interesting. He had once made a light based horseshoe to increase the speed of horses. To this day he was still blamed by the pottery merchant, it wasn’t Vulcan’s fault the merchant had not secured his stock of delicate dining ware.
Once he stepped foot into his forge he looked around at the tools hanging from the walls. Should he make a sword, he liked big swords too. This was for Enoch a man who used his bare hands. Gauntlets, he would make a pair of gauntlets that would allow Enoch to punch math. Vulcan paused, that was probably the most ridiculous thing he had ever thought.
He closed his eyes envisioning the construction and the rune patterns to direct the essence pathways.
When he opened them he was looking up at a clear blue sky. He sat up and looked around, there were tents everywhere. It was all vaguely familiar, but Vulcan could not tell how he had gotten here. A lamp post sat on his lap, it was likely a soul tool from house Numitor, but he did not recognize it. He took a deep breath and sent out his metal and flame sense. Something was wrong, it only went out one hundred fifty feet and where was his fire?