By the mercy of all that’s sacred, I manage to avoid the wrath of the [Viceroy] as the week crawls along. I make contact with Devyn, the [Chief Inquisitor]’s plant among Scalpel’s guards, and pass along the cryptic news that “I’m close.”
Without knowing exactly how secure of a communication channel Devyn will prove to be, I don’t dare to disclose any specific details or clarify my meaning. Even so, I hope it will buy me a little time and good will with my benefactors. The arrangement still makes me uneasy.
My nerves feel frayed by the time I reach Melidandri’s shop early the next week. I can't seem to shake the image of a cat tearing apart a rug bit by bit, scratching and worrying at it with its teeth and claws until the entire weave unravels. That's the story of my life right now, but there's nothing I can do about it other than soldier on.
The chance to set aside my burdens and make something out of glass is a welcome relief, but I have a hard time concentrating, and my efforts at mana imbuing fall apart. As my frustration mounts, the good Master of the studio takes me aside for a kind lecture. He’s aware of the stress I'm under dealing with Scalpel and the [Viceroy], even if he doesn't know the particulars, so his tone is gentle and encouraging rather than strict or chastising. Nonetheless, he and I both knew that I can—and should—do better.
“Nuri, why don't you make something simple? Put aside your grand designs and start with something simple. Reestablish some confidence, and then work your way back up some more advanced designs and techniques. Center yourself and try again.”
“You’re . . . probably right,” I say, changing my course at the last moment. My first instinct is to grumble about wasting time, but I know he's making sense. He's always giving me good advice and I'd be a fool to discard it out of hand just because I'm disgruntled. The key I need to create comes readily to mind, and I feel doubly foolish for not working on it from the moment I reached the shop. I need to create a well-fitted prototype sooner rather than later; who knows when I'll have a chance to access her workshop unsupervised? I have to be ready to strike when the iron is hot, as my brother Mikko so loves to say.
Setting aside my fears and frustrations, I take up the tools of my trade and begin anew. This time, I don’t allow the external pressures and internal doubts to distract me. I kill off every single competing thought and desire, rampaging against everything extraneous with a vengeance until only the urge to create remains.
Lost in a fog of creative insight, I find myself at the bench with hot glass, unaware of when and how I got there. Before long, the long-awaited key emerges in exactly the dimensions and details that I remember from my imprint. Born not of magic, but through old-fashioned blood, sweat, and tears.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever made.
=+=
Ironically, Scalpel delivers the perfect moment for me to infiltrate by scheduling a solo session with Melidandri. She wants to examine further intricacies of his skills without my help. Immediately, I suspect that she wants to study him and come to her own conclusions without me there to muddy the waters. On the one hand I assume she could simply tell me half of the information and keep some back, but it seems like she has other methods she wants to hide.
I march to her workshop, stomping past her guards and glaring imperiously if any of them look like they're about to ask what I'm doing. Purpose burns in my heart, an unquenchable fire of certainty and conviction. I let myself into the room, close the door, and lock it behind me. Thanks to my favorite position, the guards don't usually give me much grief, but even they won't hesitate to act if they see me fiddling with Scalpel’s private safe.
Niggling doubts eat at the edges of my mind like invasive worms chewing on the leaves of a plant and killing it before it can ever bloom. Scalpel is one of the most paranoid people I have ever met. What if she has security runes guarding the safe?
Mulling over the possibilities, I take a seat in her chair, swiveling about behind her massive desk and pretending that I'm Lord of the manor. Think like a sociopath, I tell myself. Humorous and horrifying as the thought may be, it does put me in the right frame of mind. She trusts no one, but she also thinks people are beneath her; we are tools to her at best, and mere chattel at worst. Within the walls of her demesne, she reigns supreme like some goddess of old. Treachery most likely doesn't even occur to her, not of the kind required to obtain the key to her safe, or produce its duplicate. Hubris will be her undoing.
I spring to my feet, withdraw the key from my inner pocket, and slot it into the lock with growing confidence that I won't trigger any fail-safes or further alarms. She is too arrogant to even consider the possibility that I—or anyone else—will even attempt to breach her defenses.
And yet.
My hand trembles as I reach for the handle. What if I’m wrong? What is my story ends today, right here and right now? She might have the safe warded to explode.
I clench my jaw. I’ve come too far and risked too much to turn back now. Determined now, I turn the key, tug on the handle, and pull on the door. It creaks open with only minor resistance, and I don't sense any mana or gathering storms of power ready to incinerate me. No runes or arrays activate. All my worries were for nothing.
Still, I don't breathe easier until I am sitting at her desk, reading the words for myself. Flipping through her notes, I look for any sort of system or categorization of information, but it’s scattered and frantic, like the wild, fractured ravings of a lunatic. My heart sinks.
Fighting the temptation to slouch back in the chair and give up, I make myself scan through the pages as quickly as I can. Who knows when the master of the house will return. I need to take advantage of the opportunity I have in front of me. Five pages later, my persistence finally pays off.
Running through the notes like a telltale scarlet thread is a constant theme of exponentially increasing difficulty in using runes.
Yep, she's definitely been holding out on us. It's both less mysterious and more informative than I expected. There's no secret recipe or esoteric knowledge that will propel me forward, but her research does show that she's carefully curated a sure-fire dead end. The path she’s presented to Xharrote and the [Viceroy] will only take someone so far; unless they happen to hit upon the problem and the solution Scalpel presents, they will never get beyond the basics, however.
The secret is so simple, it's almost insulting.
The difficulty I have in utilizing more than two or three complex runes simultaneously is not unique. In fact, it turns out that I am something of a slight prodigy since I can activate more than a pair of runes free form. The cost in mana and mental strain is exponential. Using four or five runes without the assistance of the Skill structures is difficult even for Scalpel, and she speculates that an old monster like Tapirs will strain to sustain six. Seven? Impossible. What chance does someone like me have? I had no idea runes were so limiting compared with defined Skills, or that Scalpel herself doesn’t even use them.
Instead of leveraging runes on their own, she relies on meticulously stitching in clusters of runic amplifiers into her preexisting Skills. These arrays of specialized runes empower her to punch above her weight class, so to speak, and offer an avenue to new abilities and permutations, but they aren't an unlimited and endless path to free power.
In a way, that's a comforting thought. I'm not sure I trust the Viceroy to wield even more power than he does, and I definitely don't trust Scalpel. But it doesn’t invalidate the value of her work. Using the modification arrays, in optimal settings, is enough to boost someone halfway to the next Threshold.
In that case, why don't people use scripts for everything? I suppose it's cost prohibitive and too complicated for most people. That's why earning the money to pay for the enchantments on the Iron Lunk took so long; we needed an expert with incredibly rare Skills.
Idly, I wonder what an [Enchanter] might make of Scalpel. They use a much simpler runic script, but the idea is similar. Her method is more complex, in the same way that an academic textbook or scholastic journal is more sophisticated than a child's nursery rhyme. In the end, though, they're still using language to convey an idea.
As I read on, three more key ideas emerge. First is the way she uses mana to create the blade from which she derives her name. Instead of leaning into higher-order concepts to manifest a scalpel that is sharp, her genius is in elegant simplicity: by guiding raw mana to split into two overlapping streams with a tiny bubble in between, she creates a thin layer of nothingness where no energy exists at all. Within this vacuum, the negative pressure draws in ambient energy to fill the gap, and the connections around the constituent runes in a Skill structure are severed at her mere touch. I'll have to practice the technique before I'm confident that I can wield it with anything approaching the precision she does, but my crude attempts at copying her masterful control ought to be enough for careful experimentation.
The second windfall leaps off the pages in the back of her personal journal. She wrote down a jumbled compendium of complex runes, many I've never seen or heard of. Some are neatly listed, while others are unlabeled, but all of them are fairly thrumming with power even in their shorthand form. The occasional lack of cross-references means that I don't have an easy way to flip to the right page in the journal to look them up right now, but it's enough to get me started. If I can find the right type of result I'm looking for, then I can begin the next phase: the painstaking work of adding a new rune to the existing set I have internally. It's a good thing she taught me her own shorthanded code.
The third and final piece of information I glean from her forbidden journal is at once the hardest and the simplest: how to get the heavens to verify the newly amalgamated runes as a Skill that can be used automatically and with greater mana efficiency. Ratification apparently happens on its own—that’s the simple part—as long as all of the proper requirements of a true Skill are met—the hard part. And that’s when it clicks for me. She’s not remotely interested in circumventing the way things work. Whatever system of principles or divine decree rules our world is not anywhere near as malleable as she led us to believe. Scalpel’s true end goal is artificially created Skills, not unlimited rune activation.
Incidentally, I’m now certain this is why she's so interested in how Melidandri mana imbues, since in her view he must impose his own will on reality; if she can copy his techniques, then in her mind she can command the very authority of the inviolable laws of reality to do her bidding. Whether the laws are the heavens, as some religions claim, or simply the governing scientific rules and mandates of the world, they must be obeyed. Regardless, she likely believes that she can authorize Skills on her own.
Unfortunately for her, Melidandri is a gentle, noble soul who charms mana so it wants to help him, although I think I'm ascribing too much personhood or volition to the energy. Trying not to anthropomorphize universal laws is strangely difficult. I sigh. I'm getting off track with that line of thought. Still, his strategy is to invite, not to impose. His mana manipulation methods aren’t about brute force or domination, although I suppose that those are the only tools Scalpel truly understands. Melidandri has opened my eyes to a more excellent way.
Which makes me wonder if I already have all that I need to complete her work. She lacks perspective because she is fundamentally broken. In my more empathetic moments, I wonder what happened to her that led her to end up the way she is, but in the end I discard the idea. Horrific as it probably was, she still has a choice. She's still responsible for her heinous actions and experiments.
I stand up abruptly, shivering. Time is at a premium. I can't waste this opportunity navel-gazing. Her sordid crimes—and, by extension, the crimes of her superior, who is now also my boss—will one day meet with a reckoning. In the meantime, I have to fix my Skills while I have the chance.
“Power is my problem,” I mutter, pacing now as I think through the task in front of me. Of course, I still need to nail down which runes I will incorporate from current Skills, and which new ones to add. I’ll need every mana crystal I can get my hands on to complete the process, though, so I start by looting the workshop. Take the steps right in front of you for now. Don't worry about what you can or can't do.
Despite lecturing myself, I’m giddy with fear that Scalpel will return at any moment. Terror and anticipation conspire to spike up my heart rate as I rush around the laboratory collecting the crystals I’ll need and frantically double-checking obscure runic meaning. The hollow thud of each footstep sounds unnaturally loud in my ears. Yet, somehow, before I even realize it, my preparations come together.
I take in a deep, shaky breath as I survey the haphazard pile of notes and mana crystals. This is it. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. No more stalling. With a final nod of determination, I seize hold of the power raging at my fingertips, turn my gaze inward, and begin creating my greatest masterpiece.
The familiar liminal space of my soul appears around me. I teleport forward, no longer restricted to traveling in a slow, straight line like I used to, but instead appear directly in front of the ruined-but-recovering mass of complex runes that comprise my various Skills. Scalpel has inadvertently taught me much about how to move within my core space, and her lessons pay off now. Locating the complicated spiral of runes in my inner world is the easy part. Reconfiguring them into a working whole is far more challenging, however.
Thankfully, I came prepared. Portions of each of my Skills are likely salvageable in the long run, but even with the secret details of Scalpel’s true research, I won’t be able to rebuild them exactly as they were. For today, I’m focusing on combining the most complete sections of [The Eternal Glass Forge] with [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. Losing the full functionality and prestige of my Artisan Skill will hurt, but I can’t hang on to it for sentimental reasons. Right now, I’m effectively crippled. I need to take advantage of every resource at my disposal.
I already know how to combine the two Skills based on my breakthrough in Melidandri’s shop, although I haven’t been able to replicate my success via external mana control. Stitching them together internally with the new techniques and ancillary runes I’ve learned from Scalpel’s notebook should help me bridge the gap.
Equipped with my prototype of Scalpel's “mana scissors,” as I dub them, I hover closer to the first pulsating, rust-colored rune I've identified, and begin to cut. Searing agony erupts along the line of my incision. My control over the mana wavers, and I almost lose my bearings entirely and return to my body. Groaning, I squeeze my fist and focus, determined to stay the course. How could I forget about the pain? I must have blocked it from my memory.
Now, the raw sensation comes roaring back with an undeniable vengeance. Give up, a whisper in the back of my mind says, soft but growing louder. More insistent. This isn't worth it. Haven't you suffered enough? What if things go wrong? Do you want to be a ruined husk of a man forever? Think what you're doing to your soul!
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Crazed laughter bubbles up my throat and out of my cracked, parched lips. Distantly, I wonder when I got so thirsty. The world spins around me again, but I continue to cut away the connective tissues that hold the complex runes in place. I’m desperately trying to hold on to the vision I sketched out of the new Skill I’ve imagined before I pass out. All I can speculate is that the sheer amount of raw mana I'm drawing from the crystals arrayed on the table in front of me is rapidly drawing out the vitality in my body and leaving me dry, like I’m nothing but a haunch of meat roasting over an open fire. I have to pick up the pace before I burn myself out. I don’t want a repeat of the disastrous fallout from closing the Lesser Rift in Lamont’s Rapids, but stopping now is a sure way to ensure my failure.
Now that I’ve started slicing apart all my Skills, I’m committed to seeing things through. Nothing in the world can convince me to stop until I finish rebuilding. Unless Scalpel shows up and forcibly drags me away from the mana crystals powering the runic transformation, I’ll push forward no matter what. Fueled by my rising conviction, I accelerate the flow of mana and cut away larger and larger swathes of crystalized mana, no longer trying to preserve the shape of what’s already there. All I care about now is removing anything extraneous so I can build anew.
Complex runes flash by my inner sight, flying by so quickly that I can barely recognize half of them. I let them go unless I see pieces I need. Moving at the speed of intent and will, I snatch an intricate whorl of meaning, and then another, collecting them like cards as I assemble my deck—an “apt analogy,” I can just imagine Lady Evershed saying. I manage to smile tightly through my grit-teethed grimace.
One rune burns with the multivariate fire of Memory. The second rune I pluck from the chaotic flow shouts Transformation to any who will listen. Another, calcified rune tells the story of Crystallization. And yet another sings the chorus of Eternity.
I gather up the leftover mana generated from breaking down the runes I cut off the Skills, and begin inscribing my own complex rune. I firmly fix in mind my favorite memory of my father in the hot shop in my mind as I work. Tenacity, the image declares. Sinuous swirls and intricate, crossed lines comprise the new complex runes. They’re dizzying to behold, but the mana flows into them willingly, providing the missing template to fill out the pattern. I don’t need to possess explicit knowledge of the process; I simply trust that the energy of the world will supply whichever details I need as long as I uphold my end of the bargain and infuse meaning into the construction.
A cleansing flood of pure mana slowly but inexorably scours away the detritus of twisted runes and damaged Skills in my soul. As my core space clears out, I find myself breathing a bit easier, although the burn of handling so much mana is still agonizing. Without the interference of the debris cluttering my view, I can now see the best way to combine the diminished remains of [The Eternal Glass Forge] with [Architect of Unseen Worlds]. The jagged, broken peaks of my targeted Skills drift together like the glaciers in frozen seas I used to read about when I was still an [Apprentice Glass Worker] back in Silaraon. I squeeze more mana out of Scalpel’s stash of mana crystals, and after what feels like hours, the two structures finally grind together.
The crash of their meeting makes my bones tremble. Shaking like islands unmoored and roaming the dangerous seas, the Skill structures creak and groan ominously, battling each other for solo supremacy. The rumble grows deeper, more profound, and I can taste the pain of their merging like dull bones, like iron on my lips and fire on my tongue. My vision swims, even here inside my inner being, and I feel myself washing away, lost in the seafoam spray cast up by the clash of the two titans—I flinch, jerking back into my right mind as the two become one at last.
Their titles flicker in my sight, like I’m watching the world through the spinning spokes of a wagon wheel, phasing in and out of view. With a rattle, the words puff into smoke and drift off into the ether, leaving only rubble behind. Regret fills me at losing my chance to earn more Way of the Artisan Skills now that I’ve destroyed the one I had, but sacrifices had to be made.
Methodically replacing the broken structures with pristine new runes, I push onward until I complete the delicate surgery. The last of the mana from the crystals swirls around in cobalt and silver patterns, then settles into place with a final flash. The complex runes I created slot into the structure, and a sweet, clear chime announcing that I’ve earned a new Skill rings out, echoing across my soul.
Pale and ebullient, my inner world churns with a writhing mass of contradictions. “I did it,” I hiss sharply, although I'm not really talking about my new Skill, or making the key, or all the work I’ve done since surviving the Rift. True, I'm still reeling from the implications of breaking down and rebuilding the remnants of my once-glorious Skills, but what resonates with me now is my long-standing claim that glass is a viable path to power.
Melancholy and unrestrained joy war within my chest. Finally, my path forward is clear. All I need now is the will to act.
Shaking and shivering, soaked in slick, cold sweat, I slip out of my soul space. The room spins around me, but I squeeze my eyes shut until I feel less light-headed. With a shaking hand, I tear a blank page out of the back of my notebook, holding it up to one of the overhead mage lights so I can see the result of my test. Even though I don’t actually have to speak in order to activate my new skill, I can’t help the burst of pride that accompanies uttering the words aloud for the very first time.
“[Vitrification],” I command, drawing now on my glass cores instead of the spent mana crystals. Keeping my voice low to avoid giving away my actions in case Scalpel or one of her seemingly ever present guards is around, I ignite the new ability I’ve created, and watch with wide-eyed wonder as the world warps to my will.
The piece of paper transmutes in front of my eyes, turning from pulped and pressurized wood pulp into a thin sheet of purest glass.
Vicious satisfaction boils within my chest as I hold up the proof of my success. More beautiful than any trophy, the slender pane of glass is proof that I’m on the right path. I've been working towards this for so long. After far too many false starts and failures, my many sacrifices are finally worth it.
I slump down in Scalpel’s seat. My legs are wobbly, too weak to bear me up any longer, but I don’t care. I may not have all of my old Skills and tools at my disposal, but what I've lost in diversity I've more than made up for raw, undeniable power. Chances are that I’ll never truly be able to restore my core and channels, but at least I have a way forward now with a fully working Skill and my glass pseudo-cores. Today is only the first step of many.
=+=
Until this last week, I never truly appreciated the meaning of the saying, “jumping at shadows.” Oh, I understand the general idea of being overly sensitive and fearful, and I thought I’d felt the depths of woes during various times in my life. Dashing through the Labyrinth with Tem leaps to mind immediately. Or my awkward escape from Silaraon. Fresh in my memory is the constant sensation of prey fleeing a hunter—running from the cadre of [Inquisitors] on my trail left scars on my psyche. Yet I’ve never experienced anything as terrifying as hiding my betrayal from my perceptive and vindictive master, Scalpel.
Spending time around her is strangely akin to spending time around a teenage crush, but in the exact opposite manner. Every little look from her sets my nerves on fire, and not in a good way. I break out into chills around her, my palm gets sweaty, and my chest tightens up painfully. Desperate to get away, I feign stomach illness and spend an inordinate amount of hours holed up in the lavatory just to get out of my note-taking responsibilities.
I make sure to act better in the morning of the day before my scheduled visit to the glass studio. I attend to my duties in Scalpel’s workshop as usual, if a bit subdued. To my great relief, she doesn’t push the issue, and I survive the first week with my new Skill without making any potentially lethal missteps.
Bidding her farewell and leaving the compound makes me positively giddy. I feel like a massive boulder has been lifted off my shoulders, and my burgeoning sense of joy only grows when I greet my only real friends in the capital, the esteemed master Melidandri and his newly Classed [Apprentice Glass Maker], Tanaq. I’m happy to see Tanaq is taking his first steps on a long, arduous path, and I trust that he’s in the best of hands. Melidandri will guide him true.
Melidandri personally ushers me to his workbench. He sets up the privacy barriers to keep out prying eyes, and turns to me with concern etched on his slender, handsome face. He hands me a cup of steaming oolong tea, which I take gratefully. “Trouble, master Nuri?”
I freeze in place, like a hare before a hawk. Is my terror so obvious? “Yes,” I whisper at length, covering the shaking in my hand by gulping down a steaming sip of the fragrant tea.
The distinguished lines in his face seem to deepen in sorrow. “Anything I can do about it? Or is this a burden you can’t share?”
I set down the tea cup, careful not to knock the fragile porcelain over. “You’re very kind, but not this time.”
“Ah. Glass, then?” he says with a tremulous smile.
I nod. “I’d very much like that.”
As usual, working with glass is therapeutic. I craft additional mana-core beads, and only half of them crack during the formation process this time. My success rate is getting better and better the more I practice, which is immensely encouraging given the obstacles I face.
When they finish annealing a short while later, thanks to Melidandri’s incredible multi-part Skill, [Elevated Art, Suspended Time], I test stringing the new beads together and draping them around my chest. As soon as the glass draws near to my previous pseudo-cores, they tremble and hum, vibrating violently the closer they get. Melidandri seizes my wrist and snatches them out of my hand, his eyes widening in alarm.
He lets go of my bruised arm, murmuring an apology, and removes my experimental first string of beads, carrying them across the studio before he replaces them with the new, stronger batch. “Careful, Nuri! That much resonant feedback between your mana-imbued items promises a truly fiery reaction. Seems you’ve reached proximity saturation sooner than I expected. My fault for not warning you earlier.”
The blood drains from my face as the danger of the near-miss dawns on me. Melidandri likely just saved my life by his quick thinking and quicker actions. I bow deeply, choked up by the turbulent rush of emotions, and thank him profusely. Working with Melidandri is a balm for my wounded spirit after all the abuse Scalpel has heaped on me. He reminds me of a more tranquil version of Ember, who never hesitated to step in and help me. He’s a placid, soothing lake to her fiery volcano, but they’re each dear to me. I’ve been truly fortunate to serve under such exceptional masters in my short life.
We work side by side on our projects for the rest of the day in companionable silence. His actions mean more to me than I know how to tell him, but he seems to understand me anyway. I’ll miss him when the time comes to leave the capital, even if I’m anxious to return home. Time passes by far too quickly, but my heart is lighter when I leave the studio.
Scalpel is waiting for me when I return to the compound that night. She reapplies my security ward in quick, practiced motions, and practically drags me to her workshop in her urgency to get working. Something seems to be eating at her; I haven’t seen her this agitated in a long time. I only hope that my intrusion isn’t at the root of her foul disposition. I don’t think I have the energy left to deal with her in this kind of mood.
“Come, apprentice. It’s been too long since we’ve delved into your core space. I want to compare you with master Melidandri, since you’re both workers of glass.”
My gut twists. If she sees what I’ve done, then it won’t take much to connect the dots and figure out what I’ve done. I can’t very well protest, however, and soon I find myself sitting on the edge of one of the examination beds. Her spindly, spider-leg fingers stretch out for me. I close my eyes in resignation.
Her touch brushes against my skin, and I shudder involuntarily. In an instant, Scalpel is present within my core space, and her eponymous avatar freezes in place. Her shock radiates out, moon-bright and scintillating, a palpable thing in the otherwise comforting darkness of my soul, and I know a reckoning is coming. I ready myself for action, and open my eyes to see her staring at me intently.
Without a word, Scalpel sketches out a depiction of my new Skill structure in her notes. When she finishes, she meticulously tears out the page from the book, flips back several dozen pages, and finds my original Skill illustrations. She spins the notebook around to face me, and a tremor in her arms gives away her mounting fury as she forces me to compare the two pictures side by side. Her posture goes rigid a moment later as she regains control, and her eyes bore into me with slow, disturbing intentionality. “Tell me, Nuri. Where did you get these runes? I have not taught them to you, apprentice.”
“Are you certain? We must have been over them together. You’ve taught me so many things, Master. I can’t keep track of them all,” I reply, hoping she buys my stumbling lies.
Terrible awareness blooms in her eyes. Impossibly, they turn even darker than before as her rage burns. The very air around her warps, drawing toward her body like dark flames of the abyss itself. The temperature in the room spikes alarmingly.
“Traitor!” she bellows, backhanding me into the wall. My body shudders on impact, and I collapse to the floor in a writhing heap as she stalks toward me with murder in her eyes. Flows of energy surround me, trapping me like a rat in a cage. Her claws grasp at the air around me, and she lifts me up from the ground on chains of pure mana.
The mana gag slithers back into place like a hateful snake, clamping my mouth shut. I can't speak, can't move, held in place by pure energy that feels as unyielding as bonds of iron. Screaming internally, I can only watch in silent horror as she considers what to do with me.
Anger, disgust, and disappointment flicker across my unlikely mentor’s unnaturally pale face. “Why, little apprentice? I taught you more than you deserved, took valuable time away from my studies to help you plan your Skills restoration, and indulged your whims by letting you play with glass. Is this how you repay me?”
She actually sounds . . . sad. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her after the misery she put me through? Anger burns in me, white-hot and furious. I can’t do anything, but I hope she can see the hate in my eyes as I spit venom and invective at her in my mind. After what she’s done to me and to the others here, she no longer deserves mercy.
Scalpel lifts up a sharp, glittering claw, tracing it along my cheek and drawing blood. I shiver inwardly under her touch, struggling ineffectually to free myself from the mana binding. She shushes me, still looking hurt—as though she is the victim. How dare she!
She’s inches from my face, invading my space with her stony displeasure. I shrink away, although it does no good since I still can’t move. An idea hits me then, and I glare all the harder, daring her to escalate. C’mon, you thrice-cursed witch! Just a little closer.
She takes the bait.
Tutting in annoyance, her long, unnatural fingers grip my face. With a surge of power, I discharge the mana I’ve hoarded in my artificial, glass pseudo-cores, activating [Vitrification] at full blast and targeting the minerals and particles in her blood and brain, hoping against hope that it will work.
Against anyone else, this is a fool’s errand. I’d have to overcome the foreign mana in another person's body, or have a vast disparity in rank, but in this case, Scalpel has opened the gates by removing her natural mana barrier—the soul’s defenses against involuntarily sharing mana. Her actions are a two-edged sword: no barrier allows her to delve into others, but also leaves her without any real protection against intrusion. Or at least that’s my hope.
The pale skin on Scalpel’s face erupts as shards of glass lance outward from her, jagged and blood-red, and I snarl in pent-up rage and a flood of relief. It worked. It actually worked! Her dark, wide-open eyes burst apart under the force of vitreous fluid transmuted into glass from within. Agonized screams rip forth from her throat, then cut off as her vocal cords harden in place. My Skill reaches its end, but through the waning connection, I feel the bloody spurs of razor-edged glass rip through her brain, tearing her apart from the inside out.
Her mana control cuts out. I drop to the floor, no longer held in her grasp, and grab an actual scalpel from her workbench. Roaring in anger, I stab her through the chest, plunging the wicked, gleaming edge down into her heart over and over again until she stops twitching and thrashing on the floor.
I flop down beside the steaming corpse, my chest heaving, resisting the urge to spit on her remains. As the fire of my wrath burns out, I feel only pity. She’s a monster, but without her tutelage, I wouldn’t have learned any of the mysteries of magic. I’ll give her this one, final show of respect.
I yank on the ribbon around her neck, tugging the key out from where she kept it hidden under her tunic. The blade flicks forward, slicing through the black silk, and I pocket the key. No one needs to know that I already have a duplicate. I’ll make good on my promise to Xharrote to bring him the rest of Scalpel’s secrets by delivering the key and letting him open up the safe for himself. Maybe it will buy me enough goodwill to go home, and they won’t bother me about what I know.
I can’t leave the building, though, not with her security wards still active. I stare down at the scalpel in my hands, my chest still heaving from the shock and anger of killing her. Do I dare cut myself open and try to scratch the runes off my bones? As I try to work up the courage to perform the gruesome surgery, the sight of her glassified face gives me pause.
Who says [Vitrification] only has to work on other people? I shuffle over to her desk, still wincing from the bruises where she flung me into the wall, and rummage through the drawers until I find another mana crystal now that my small glass beads are drained. Gritting my teeth against the hot pinpricks of pain, I draw the mana out of the crystal, using the mana to power a more delicate application of my new, self-made Skill.
The shallow runes etched into the bones in my forearm smooth over, metamorphosed from bone to glass. I cut off the Skill quickly, only changing the surface of the bones until the runes are gone. I don’t want to lose the arm if I get bumped too hard; glass isn’t exactly noted for its incredible resilience, although I could always try imbuing my own arm. A task for another day. Just get out of here while you still can.
Transformation from bone to glass complete, the rune’s warding restrictions fall away. I crack my neck and grin. At long last, I’m free.
End of Book Three