Chapter 11

As much as I hated my curse, my damned impossibility affinity for all four types, that didn’t mean I hated my mana. In fact, I loved how much mana I had. It was my strength. For all the pain and suffering the curse brought me, the silver lining, if there was to be one, was the impressive amount of mana I had at my disposal. The fact my very core encompassed my entire being, as confirmed by Holiday, had been even more eye opening to just how crazy the amount of mana I had was. Now though, once again, I couldn’t help but curse. What I’d counted as a blessing, the one thing I’d been okay with regarding the mana within me, was now an obstacle to overcome.

I had no doubt, for most of the normal folk out there, with pitifully dim cores, that pushing out all of their mana, replacing everything with raw, pure mana, would be no problem. Hell, they’d probably be able to accomplish that task in a few hours, even if they were inept when it came to soul breathing.

It was one thing, to replace a quarters worth of mana. It was one thing, even, to fill yourself with a dinner plate worth of raw, fresh, powerful mana. It was a whole different thing, to try and fill yourself, from head to fucking toe, with fresh mana, while at the same time apparently needing to prevent any of the new mana from becoming absorbed, and fused, within my core.

In short… as seemed to be the damned nature of my very existence, I was special. And that ‘special’ bullshit, just meant I had to work that much harder, and struggle that much more, to accomplish what in the grand scheme of things, seemed like such a minor thing now. Ninety-fucking-percent of all Marshal’s had Copper Cores. It wasn’t some impossible task. It was something they had all managed between the ages of 16 to 18. And yet, here I was, product of fate’s cruel, twisted since of humor, putting my life on the line, risking all the power I currently wielded, to simply get to the level of 90 percent of all Marshal’s.

I shuddered, and cursed, to think about what it would take for my core to reach Gold. What mountain would I have to climb, to get my core to the same level as Holiday? I didn’t have any proof, any evidence, that it would be worth it. And yet, I already knew, deep within myself, that I’d not stop pushing for power. My life had been one stubborn footstep forward after another. And I’d be damned if I’d let anything like despair or a pity party stop me from gaining the power I needed to accomplish my goals. I’d see Randal’s murderers brought to justice at the end of the smoking barrels of my Peacekeepers… his Peacekeepers. And short of death itself, nothing would stand in my way.

My other point in lamentation as I settled in for what was no doubt going to take me at least a week, if not more, was exactly that fact. If we weren’t traveling with a large group of strangers, then maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to accelerate the process. A single Tempest Shot could completely drain my wind mana from my body after all. Which would then leave me needing to only exhaust the other three types of mana. And with a couple sticks of dynamite, and a whole lot of patience, I’d be able to effectively drain the others.

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However, that plan, I already knew, which also caused my mood to sour, wasn’t really viable. For one, it was reckless. Who knew how much damage a full blast Tempest shot from me would cause. And no matter what direction I fired it in, if I allowed it to pull every last drop of wind mana from my core, I had no doubt it would draw unwanted attention. Not to mention, that much mana, expended that quickly, would frankly leave my body feeling like it’d been dragged through town by the ankles behind a carriage. Just because I was tough, didn’t mean I was keen to put myself through the wringer all willy nilly.

Along with that, emptying my body completely of mana would leave me extremely weak. I didn’t like that fact. Even with Emma and Clint by my side, I didn’t like the idea of being helpless. Mana made me feel alive. It strengthened me, as Emma said, and in fact, a part of me had known that to a degree all along. It was like eating a hearty meal before heading out for the day. Whenever I brought in new mana to my core, whenever it fused with my core and became a part of me, it energized me. The more mana I expended in any given time, the more I decreased my reserve of mana within my core, the more lethargic I’d become. Its why I always tried to avoid drawn out gunfights or confrontations. The longer they went on, the more rounds I formed and fired out, the more sluggish my limbs would feel, and the slower my mind would work.

Because of all of these things, after more than a little grumbling, accompanied by some sharp words and chiding from Emma, it was decided there was only one appropriate way to go about the refinement of my core. I would Soul-Breathe every waking hour, and slowly, but surely, push out all of the old mana within my body. While I focused on pushing the old mana out, imagining it seeping from my skin, dissipating back into the air, I’d also have to focus on the new mana coming in. Focus on isolating it, in the very center of my being, and using every ounce of force I could, to keep it from integrating into my core, which would only slow my process anymore.

That last bit of the process was the part that made the whole thing a waking nightmare. It was like asking my lungs to breath in, but not actually take in any air. How do you add water to a damned mixing bowl, and keep it from mixing with the ingredients? Even if I wasn’t ‘stirring’ it all together, a bit of the ingredients would mix. Meaning, all the while I added in the water, I’d have to actively keep scooping out the pieces that merged and combined within my core.

Another heavy sigh, as I visualized my entire core. All four colors ran through my body, swirling and shifting in a mesmerizing way, like oil slicked water. I took a deep breath, and ‘saw’ the bright, fresh mana filling my lungs, seeping into my very center. I focused on it, pushed all of my will into it, and grunted. I took that first, small kernel of raw, pure mana, and isolated it. No bigger than a grain of sand, it was a start. I breathed out, splitting my focus as I pushed some of the old mana from my body. Thinner than a sheet of paper to my imagination, it flaked off like dead skin.

The moment that thought ran through my mind, my attention on the kernel of mana broke, and I noticed it flicker. With a curse, and a growl, I redoubled my effort. If there was a god out there… he had a cruel sense of humor. Because this task, I thought as I breathed in once more, was just as, if not even more, impossible than my damned existence.

If the Marshal’s can do it, I told myself, as I tried to push everything else from my mind, using sheer determination and frustration to fuel my efforts, then so can I.