Alone, within the forest of bunk beds, Otis sat and listened till his escorts’ footsteps were no longer audible. Everything had changed, he was quite probably in a different realm altogether… and yet he was still alone.
With little else to do, Otis took hold of the levitating texts. It was an understatement to say he was merely disappointed that the leather-bound tome was nothing more than a glorified map. The pamphlet, if you could call something barely double-sided a pamphlet, was supposed to be his guide to everything magical, mysterious, and monstrous. So confounded, Otis couldn’t help a wry scoff escape him.
Reading past “Welcome to a world of imminent death”, Otis began to read through the pamphlet. Clearly, whoever wrote this had a morbid sense of humour and a minimal understanding of clarity. The sentences were simplistic and left the reader with more questions than the sentence before. The only constant was where the author discussed revealing an inner sight, a statistical outline of the self. If it weren’t for the callous nature of the pamphlet some of it could almost be comparable to Buddhist practices. There was only a single step to “self-discovery” noted, it read:
“Step 1: clear your mind, breathe deeply, focus on pushing your conscious into the palm that calls you. Find your own way… or waste.”
It was vague and ominous. Having ruminated on the single instruction and its overt threatening conclusion, Otis wasn’t sure what to think. He recalled the twisting shadows that had manifested, the way they warped about his hand. The instruction was simple but perhaps rooted within was something more profound. Unable to draw any substantive conclusions, he could only try it himself.
He breathed in, slowly. As he regulated his breathing he felt more firm in his resolve. Otis had never been one for meditation but he had tried enough in an attempt at finding an inner-peace. He tried to relax himself, muscle by muscle. Instinctively, as the calming sensation felt increasingly more tangible, Otis felt an imagined path draw out through his veins.
Visualising the path of his breathing, fleeting images of the automaton flashed through his mind. The sound of its powerful hydraulic pistons. Everything had happened so quickly but now it felt like he was watching everything play out in slow motion. Flashes of memory had quickly become all-consuming, forcing him to relive the events. The statue of living metal was so agile Otis hadn’t considered how heavy it must have been but in this mindscape he saw everything. He could see the floorboards warp and splinter as it moved. He could see the ease with which it had shattered the cabinets. He could see the damage it had endured and still moved like a powerhouse.
Consumed within the memories, he subconsciously began to transpose the sights of the machine to his meditative breathing. Like the automaton, he followed his own, far more visceral, pathways. Pipes, valves, and chambers; the human body had its own structure, its own wiring. In and out, he channelled his breath, slowly connecting his breathing to his hand, following these pathways.
Otis had used meditation to instil a sense of calm in a world he had no control over, but this felt different. To cite the mantra of the sole instruction, he felt as if he had found his “own way”. In a way that it never had, the meditative filled him with a sense of purpose, a vague sense that he might actually know what the fuck he was doing.
Culminating in a phantom pressure, Otis opened his eyes. Nothing. He looked every bit ordinary. Save for the odd blood stains he had yet to wash off, not a thing had changed. The blueprint-like structure of his veins he had imagined didn’t overlay his arm and the pulsating rhythm he’d begun to envision faded into nothingness. It wasn’t gone though, he couldn’t see it but felt it. Something… something was different, almost entirely intangible.
Maintaining his focus, Otis continued to scour his arm for something different, anything.
Right at the centre of his palm, a molten dot appeared. It was sudden, as though it had always been there and he’d just not noticed. Minuscule, its presence was barely noticeable. On instinct, Otis breathed deeply, holding the small molten dot within his mind’s eye. He directed the phantom pressure through to the molten fleck, tracing the delicate blueprints he’d previously imagined.
Seemingly affected by the mediative state, the dot reacted. Sparks of light shuddered into existence, funnelling out of the pinpoint in a small two-inch tall geyser before falling to his palm. The specks pooled and coagulated into molten plates that resembled freshly forged plates of metal. They looked like the interlocking plates of the automaton but individually scattered across his palm. Each plate was set firmly as the sparking molten pinpoint ceased its expulsions. Molten rectangular plates quickly cooled, shifting colour. They didn’t form cold steel, bronze, or even pyrite. They were barely discernible from Otis’ own skin.
Everything was still for only a moment. Each new manifestation slowly tugged about like the skin of an old custard. Otis felt a little ill, watching his crinkled palm shift. Thankfully, it was painless. Over the course of twenty seconds, the moving pieces formed a rough circle.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
The edges of the molten bead began to rotate. Slowly, the molten centre expanded, but right at the centre a needle of black appeared. It didn’t look raised. Instead, it looked more like a hollow pit. The molten bead formed a perimeter around this area of nothing, light sparks flickering into the expanse forming in the centre of Otis’ hand. Unlike the creation the conjuring of this bizarre creation the black abyss held nothing, no colour, no pattern, no end.
The entire process occurred with mechanical precision. Otis stared at the rift in reality, he had forged in his own flesh. He had created something from nothing. It went against every scientific principle he’d heard of but this was actually, fully, wholly, magic!
Forced to embark on a world of seeming chaos, Otis had, for the first time, made his own decision. It hadn’t been long but a lifetime of not feeling like he could exert his own force on the world had left him jaded. Not long into a new magical reality he had been attacked, saved, sworn to fealty, and effectively told to figure his shit out.
Entranced, Otis tentatively grazed one of the skin-tone-coloured plates. Like a callous it had been rough but wholly unlike skin and more like an unpolished metal. Gingerly, he continued the exploration of his now foreign hand. With a light staccato foray, Otis touched the rim of the glowing rift on his palm. The touch left a warm imprint on his forefinger but nothing more. That much made sense, as he felt nothing from the embedded circle, but something had felt off. Approaching the rift again, Otis found that he met with a resistance, but one he could push into slightly. Levelling his hand, Otis stared at his finger as it sank into his palm. The tip disappeared completely… magically.
Refocusing on not simply horsing about with the arcana but completing the bizarre ritual, Otis moved his palm to his eye-line. As he stared through the portal, Otis realised it wasn’t just empty space, the was something more. It lay just beyond the fringe of his perception and yet grew clearer by the moment. As Otis concentrated the words revealed themselves piece by piece.
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Otis Manning (Class: N/A)
Level : 1
Clan/ Sect : [Property of The Veil]
HP: 10/10 MP: 5/5
Status:
Strength 5 Agility 4 Endurance 6 (8) Intelligence 6 Will 6 (8) Charisma 4
Characteristics:
Undying Resolve, (endurance, will + 2)
Skills:
Manipulation (discovered)
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As the words unfurled themselves before him, Otis fleetingly thought that maybe video games might help him but he was still left none the wiser about any of the important characteristics. It clearly showed a breakdown of his major physical and mental traits. The ‘4’ in charisma had hurt him to read. It felt like it was giving credence to his shocking social standing. If these were innate traits, dolled out at birth, Otis vowed he’d smack his creator upside the head if he ever got the chance.
More than his low-average stats, the important stuff hadn’t been self-explanatory. Otis presumed [Undying Resolve] could have been related to barely surviving his first and almost last encounter with the vicious world of magic, but beyond that, he couldn’t tell. Maybe he was born with it, maybe these traits were imbued like achievements. There was all too much already unclear. Immediately feeling a headache come on, Otis gave up on contemplating everything too much. He would figure it out. Besides, supposedly he had a skill, some hidden magic he’d discovered. [Manipulation] sounded impressive but Otis was at a loss as to what that entailed. Would he manipulate things, people, the very fabric of space and time? Was this a curse or a blessing? Even if it was a curse how would he use it? At least there had been a guide for creating the rift, in a “path to self-discovery”. In hindsight “self-discovery” was an all too on-the-nose naming style, as Otis was given a quantitative breakdown of himself. Worriedly, Otis fixed his gaze on the last piece of undigested information: ‘Property of The Veil’. He remembered accepting their protection but until he was able to show his worth, it appeared that he was indentured into a life of servitude already.
Turning towards his bed, he grabbed the frame in a firm grasp and tried to meditate on moving the material, manipulating it. There appeared to be a faint fizzing sensation to the sensation, like brushing against the burnished surface of a device on charge. Nothing happened. Slowly but surely Otis clenched ever harder till he was all but wrenching at the cold metal frame. It became increasingly more likely that he either didn’t know how to use this power or that the skill couldn’t be used for this purpose.
Inspecting the pamphlet for any last nuggets of advice, Otis decided the last line would be his mantra; ‘don’t fucking die’. It fit well with his [Undying Resolve]. The advice was vague but definitely on the money. He didn’t know what to do next, but that felt like a good place to start.
With not dying firmly at the top of Otis’ to-do list, he turned his attention to the leather-bound book. If it had a map, then maybe he wouldn’t get lost or vapourised the moment he touched something he wasn’t meant to. The leather was embossed and stamped with the greatest of care. Compared to the standard pamphlet information it appeared that this was a compendium of knowledge. It commanded respect in a way that nothing else had, thus far. For now, Otis was back to the books, albeit probably more interesting than the materials of a composite bow.