Chapter 50 - Break the Machine

“I didn’t think you’d be content with being a prince in a tower,” Samila chided over her cup of tea. She daintily brought the cup up to her lips to have a sip, expertly dodging the ridged collar on her breastplate. Everyone was suited up today, except for me, of course. My armor had to be recycled after my little skip through the square.

“I’m not a prince in a tower,” I insisted. “I’m working.”

“Working on making yourself irrelevant,” she replied.

Trix, not willing to have my good name besmirched in such a way, chimed in, turning away briefly from the set of bubbling beakers and tubes where he had been concentrating. His hair stood on end, even under his robe, giving him a portly look, and the air around him crackled and popped with static. “Brother Ryan is as brave as they come, Sister. If I know him, he has good reason to spend all of his time hidden away in his room. Brother Ryan, not to complain, but why am I doing this again? I look silly.”

“It’s electrolysis,” I told him. “I need lots of oxygen, as pure as I can get it, and you can use the amulet thingy.”

“It tingles in unfortunate places. Are these hieroglyphs?”

I shrugged. “I’d have to ask the goblins I got it from.”

Trix made a face I couldn’t interpret. “I’m guessing this blood is theirs then. It’s not even dry.”

“Oh, uh sorry,” I apologized. “I’m not sure. Maybe a little of mine too. I can get you a cloth or something. To better address your concerns, Samila, I’m working here because I’m backed into a corner, and I need to find a path out of it.”

The ‘corner’ I was trapped in was more like a Rube Goldberg machine of destruction and death, but I didn’t want to get into it.

Not only was I trapped and under siege by a limitless tide of monsters that wanted to kill me, I was also trapped by my aura and how it played havoc with other practitioners, practitioners we needed for the defenses.

If my true nature was discovered, the church and the monarchy would want me dead, for fear of someone finding a way to send Ralqir back to where it belonged. Other factions would use me to do what the Dark Lord did but better this time. Then there were the crazy people that would worship me.

Wars would be fought over my fate.

Let’s not forget there was the tiny problem of the supremely powerful former human locked in the basement. It almost killed me with a look. That was a fun Sword of Damocles that had been hanging over Ralqir’s collective heads for a long, long time too.

The church, and by extension, my friends here literally worshiped the maelstrom’s light, saw it as a holy force for good, and they were even partly right. Currently, it was the only thing keeping the world from ending. If the human in the basement somehow got out and shook off its suntan, I got the feeling things would go badly for everyone and not just people on Ralqir.

The problem was that the taint purging, maelstrom light was deadly to everything else too, except for the Mendau trees.

The worst part, though, I was trapped in time, so to speak, stuck in neutral, because I had no idea what the influence of the System was doing to me as I gained experience. It had to be a gradual thing, the corruption of the self, or else people would notice as they changed, but I couldn’t help but look at all the experience notifications I was receiving while I worked and feel a sense of dread.

The System was changing me in more ways than I’d realized, and there was no way to tell how much.

What a damned mess.

I needed something new, a factor I hadn’t thought about yet, something I could use to change things, because, as they were, they sure as shit weren’t looking good for anyone involved.

My mana flowed into the Trigger on my new magazine design, but a more accurate term would be a tank or a reservoir. Once my mana entered the Trigger, what was once a head-sized balloon of steel slowly shrank down to its other, much smaller form.

The Trigger nearly tapped me out on mana, but I had some Mendau wood right there to put me back in the double digits again.

Letting the construct gradually do its thing, I swiveled on my stool and turned to check on the bundle of damp cloth sitting next to me on the table. Slowly, and with great care, I isolated one of the fibers that streamed off of the back of it and traced it to the end before splitting the tiny fiber down the middle with my little work knife, observing the way the inside of the fiber glittered as the mana made contact with it..

Willing Edge [2 MP/sec]

On a little knife like this it didn’t take much to encase the whole thing in a sheath of mana. Supposedly, my new sword ability was meant to preserve the integrity of your blade at the expense of your MP, something I would have found particularly useful in the last battle. I’d gotten some use out of it in the workshop, preserving the atomically sharp but fragile edges of my tools, but I was more interested in other applications. My machines could use my abilities now. How much mana would it take to sharpen a whole projectile or even just the tip? Not much, I’d wager. Magical armor piercing bullets? Yes, please.

I placed the split end of the fiber in a clear jar next to the unaltered control one and triggered the low powered Automation pebble I had wrapped up in the bundle with the larger part of the mockvine bulb. There was a muffled *FWOOMPH*, and both test jars lit up with purple light. The intact fiber, the one I hadn’t cut, produced a straight beam that strobed rapidly on and off for a full second before it went dark. Meanwhile the split fiber jar flashed only once then slowly faded away. I observed how the ends of the fiber retained some of the glow before the energy was all the way spent. The water never rippled or bubbled, meaning none of the kinetic or thermal energy was transferred. I checked the wording of the logs again.

Mockvine Fiber Bundle: Fibers gathered from the remains of an Ancient Mockvine. These fibers perform many duties while they are alive within a specimen, carrying nerve signals, nutrients, sunlight, and mana to all parts of the plant. With age comes sophistication, and mockvines are not an exception to this rule. These fibers are of the highest quality and conduct complicated patterns of mana nearly instantaneously over long distances.

Okay, so the bulbs work as repeaters, but they need intact fibers and water.

Samila pointed to the now smaller metal ball on my bench. “Is that shrinking? I could swear I see it shrinking.”

“It’s shrinking,” I replied distractedly.

Geddon’s curiosity was piqued. The big man got down on one knee next to me to watch the metal ball do its thing. “You can do that? Can you grow them too? I wouldn’t mind a bigger sword.”

I blinked, finally registering the misunderstanding and forming the words to dispel it. “What? No. Unless you give me more metal to work with or something. This was hollow on the inside, see? The mass doesn’t change.”

Geddon face scrunched up as he thought this over. “So… it’s- Smaller and the same?”

“It’s part of the new design. Hang on.” I scooped up the construct now that it had shrunk down to something about on par with a baseball. Then I gave it a little tap with my metal fingers.

Solid. Stable. Good.

I knew, on the inside, the walls had thickened significantly like I did with my air tanks, and the contents would now be under extreme pressure, the oxygen compressed down to almost nothing and mixing with the other substances. The Automated stirring mechanism hummed quietly in the stem.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Shaking my head to chase away any distracting thoughts, I walked over to my new turret design, a taller, sleeker model with a slender barrel and several of my new compression bulbs attached to the back of the action. I carefully inserted the final magazine and Triggered the activation sequence.

Focus time.

“Okay. Go over it again,” I said, retreating back from the turret to get behind one of the anti-explosive barriers in the workshop. Everyone else slowly ambled over to join me there.

Geddon spoke first, eager to tell his story again. Every time he did, he seemed to add more embellishments, but I just needed the timeline, really. “It was dawn on the day of our heroic victory, and we had just reached the cusp of the battle we were meant to descend upon. The light shown off of our enemies claws, and steel rang out from the beleaguered guardsmen-”

“The turrets were duds,” Samila interrupted. “We set them up like you asked, up high. We picked a roof where they could blast the creatures down below without risk of hitting our people. But we flipped the switches, and they wouldn’t fire. They just turned back and forth like they were looking for something to shoot, even though the enemy was plainly right there.”

I nodded. “Right, and then?”

“The brave dragonkin sisters did something that made me proud. They suggested a full charge, despite not having your machines on our side. It almost brought a tear to my eye. However, I am not one to leave such mighty weapons behind where the enemy might find them, so I put your turret on my back once more. It resisted being moved at first, not wanting to stand still, but I am irresistible.” Geddon grinned, flexing his armored biceps.

“It was taking a long time, and Sissa was getting pretty pissed,” Samila interjected.

“Indeed,” Geddon replied, holding up a gauntletted finger. “I insisted, however. I even went so far as to pack up Sister Samila’s turret too. The weight didn’t bother me overly much, given my prodigious strength.”

“I admit, I didn’t have as much faith as he did,” Samila added, unashamed at the admission. If she felt the need to spare my feelings, she didn’t show it. “I told him to leave the turrets behind. They were just going to slow us down.”

“Good thing I didn’t!” Geddon bragged. “It was glorious! We unsheathed our swords, strapped on our shields and charged with the rising sun into the waiting jaws of death!”

“The creatures spotted us after the first or second kill,” Samila continued. “Then they were all over us. That’s when the turrets started to do their thing on the big man’s back.”

“Blood! Brains! Tissue! Shredded organs festooned my armor and my weapons!” Geddon gesticulated wildly, flinging imaginary guts all over the room and making surprisingly convincing gunshot sounds with his mouth.

“He laughed like a madman and spun like Death’s Handmaid to hear the guards tell of it,” Trix added. “They had to be convinced our people weren’t some new breed of enemy.”

“So the plagued had to be close to the turrets,” I considered.

“Almost within sword range,” Samila replied with a helpful outstretched arm to indicate distance.

“Alright. Take this.” I said, handing Samila a scrapped table leg. “Throw it in front of the turret once I step out of the room.”

Summoning the sack of quellstone, I dumped the contents into my hand, feeling the cold seep in through my skin. Like Jassin had suggested, I focused on how I felt at that moment, diminished or maybe ‘less’ was a good word. It wasn’t a great feeling. I really didn’t want to feel like this all the time if I ever got control of my aura.

Then I stepped outside and shut the door.

After a minute or so, someone knocked on the door hard to let me know it was okay to enter again.

I came back in to find the scene unchanged, unfortunately. The scrap wood was on the other side of the room where the turret should have been able to see it and engage. Not good.

“Was that supposed to tell us something?” Samila asked.

“Just confirming a theory,” I replied, slowly walking forward toward the active turret.

Samila’s voice followed me forward. “And are you still confirming it, or are we safe to come out now?”

“Still working. Probably safer if you stay behind the barrier.”

“What’s going on, Brother Ryan?” Trix asked.

I stepped closer, past the workbench. Nothing. I took another step. Now I was close enough to reach out and touch the turret’s leg.

Experimentally, I slipped two of the quellstones back into the sack.

The action was instantaneous. The turret snapped into line, aiming directly at the piece of scrap wood. There was a purple spark at the end of the barrel, and a jet of orange flame shot out of the end with a *FWOOSH.* The heat on my face would have been alarming if not for my superhuman range of pain tolerance nowadays. Setting yourself on fire a couple times tended to recalibrate your pain scale a bit.

As it was programmed to do, once the turret doused the target in sticky, burning Pex oil mixture, it fanned back and forth to cover the entire area, a good twenty degree rotation that expanded the pooled inferno.

I stood there, watching the machine work.

Once the area was ablaze and the turret stopped spewing its payload, I reached up and turned it off.

Geddon’s curiosity got the better of him first. “So, did you just solve the problem, or am I meant to wear one of those on my back for the next battle?”

“I’ve always wondered how my doodads perceive things,” I said as I stared into the flames. “They don’t have eyes or anything. Turns out, they’re using my aura.”

“This new turret of yours is safe, I take it?” Trix asked, rubbing his arms and watching the end of the room burn. The smoke never thickened or spread around the room, though. It seemed to pass into the ceiling and disappear like the solid matter wasn’t even there. They really did design this room for everything.

I could only shrug. “Safe” wasn’t a word I would use for anything I did.

“Why didn’t they work for us?” Samila asked.

“I’m willing to bet you were on the edge of my area of influence, maybe slightly out of it. The turrets couldn’t ‘see’ anything until they got close enough to touch. Then they did what they were supposed to do.”

“And thank the light they did,” Geddon laughed. “I’ve never had that much fun. It was a sad moment when the enemy lost their will to fight.”

“I wouldn’t say they lost it,” I argued. “I had plenty of company the whole time.”

“Sissa is never going to forgive you for that, you know,” Samila stated matter of factly.

I reached up to re-Shape the turret’s fuel bulbs back closed before disengaging them from the housing. “And I guess I have to live with that,” I said. “And she gets to live with it too. Just glad she’s alive to hate me.”

“I didn’t say she hates you,” Samila argued. “You hurt her, though.”

I turned back to give her my best incredulous look. “She hurt me too.”

“A little black eye that you lost in minutes.”

“It’s not just that. It’s emotional damage.” I brought a hand to my chest to emphasize the point.

“The way you keep going on about it, I believe you,” Samila replied dryly.

“For all she knew, I was still recovering from grave injury, and the first thing she does is deck me. That speaks to a willingness to really hurt.”

Samila shook her head in pity. “I’m going to tell her she made you cry.”

“Who’s crying? Nobody’s crying,” I argued. “I’m building flamethrowers in a magic faraday cage-”

“Ones we cannot use until you get your aura under control, apparently,” Trix interrupted. “I don’t think a guard would touch your new turret for even a year’s worth of pay. I feel the ends of my fur curling up even from here. I still think it’s time you rejoined the battle, Brother Ryan.”

Samila piled back on. “Short and poofy is right. You’re hiding. Work on your aura and stop hiding from my sister.”

I frowned, remembering the frustration of my previous failures. “I’m doing the stupid exercises Jassin gave me,” I grumbled.

“Have you considered doing them better?” Geddon asked. “I happen to be very good at exercise. Perhaps you need a trainer.”

“We miss you, Ryan. All of us,” Trix said, putting special emphasis on the ‘all.’ “We hate to see you locked away, no matter your reasoning. No need for you to be locked away anymore, not when the enemy is on our doorstep.”

That struck a chord inside of me. Yes, I had plenty of good reasons to stay in here, but I’d gone, rather easily, into hiding hadn’t I? Did I slip into the hermit role because it was what they needed of me or because it was a well-worn path in my mind? In truth, no matter what I did, things weren’t going to get better before they got worse.

Simila went in for the kill. “Listen, monk, if it helps, we’re not just asking because we like your company. There’s a war council coming up, and we’re not invited. We’re outside their chain of command.”

“So much for the hero treatment,” Geddon rumbled under his breath.

Samila leaned in conspiratorially. “According to our man on the inside, it’s a big operation. They’re going to do a raid. Multiple fronts. One is headed for Riverside to grab as much food as possible for everyone here. The other is headed for the drawbridges. We think they’re getting ready for a mass evacuation via the river. The only problem is, we still have people at the southern gate. The church, I mean. Our people.”

“They’re not going to leave them behind, are they?” I asked skeptically.

“No,” Samila said with a head shake. “Probably not, anyway, but they are using them as a way to take pressure off of their forces until they can accomplish their missions. I can see why they’re doing it, but-”

“But…” Trix continued for her. “Seeing as how they’re not using us, maybe we can add something to the plan, remind them that we are fully capable of meeting our problems head on.”

“You want to just show up to the war council?” I asked. “And expect them to let you in?”

“Nope!” Geddon boomed. “The Rising Sun of Eclipse is showing up to their war council.”

I considered the pros and cons, briefly. I wasn’t getting anywhere in here, and my problems were all closing in while I stood still. There were dangers in what my friends were proposing, but I was quickly becoming convinced something needed to change. The trap that I was in was a complex one, but the thing about complex machinery was that it only took a single failure in the right place to turn it into a paperweight. If I still wanted to save Ralqir, I’d need to find that failure point.

“Sure,” I said, unbuckling my tool belt. “I guess I can play the hero.”