The input from his external senses crashed back into Ferra in a wave, sending the new Hand of Vexell stumbling. The next thing to occur was a glowing nova breaking out around him, illuminating the entire cavern. Infernals all around stumbled back, screeching in pain or blasting into ash from the intensity.
An external connection forced its way into his soul, a tendril of divine energy and intent so thick that the connection alone was wider than his own internal store was. The sea of energy the tendril connected to, Vexell himself in part or in whole, hovered above Ferra inside his mindscape. This conceptual, mental representation of the divinity of the God of Bards was so immense that the act of looking was enough to metaphorically burn Ferra’s eyes out.
The connection flexed once, twice, and Ferra writhed in anguish as his own well of power was stuffed with external energy far past bursting. It poured over the embankments as his well shattered, the energy washing through him in waves. Divine scourged his body and mind from bottom to top. Impurities were purged, his whole body burning to ash and being reconstructed better, according to Vexell’s will.
The various minor bloodline abilities he had as a member of the Menstappen family were identified by the power. It would flick a metaphorical tongue at each one, tasting them, typically followed by that ability being burned out of him in waves of agony.
There was one notable exception. His luck ability was instead subsumed by the light, twisted, widened, strengthened. It tasted like stories and triumph, now, though Ferra’s pain blasted mind did not have the presence of mind to make that observation.
The last change the power made was to bundle itself back together behind the walls he’d constructed around his internal well, leaving the rest of his sorely abused body to rest. The light was denser in his mind’s eye, now, and the interior of the well felt both wider and deeper than before. It probably wasn’t a reasonable comparison, however, as the power no longer felt like his.
Vexell had burned out his innate well and replaced it with his own power.
Even as the light faded from the cavern and Ferra fell to the ground, limp, the connection to the being above remained. Thinner, but inviolable. There was no hiding. Ferra could feel faint amusement from his new patron through the link, as well as a final message.
And just to keep things entertaining, no, you’re not allowed to tell anyone what just happened here. No spilling the beans, as it were. I look forward to seeing whatever terrible excuse you invent; I’ll be watching, of course. Toodles!
The last thing Ferra felt as his consciousness flickered out was the distinct impression of fingers wiggling in a cheeky farewell through the mental link.
-----
There was no slow awakening process, no Ferra waking for moments before falling back unconscious repeatedly. Not that he could remember, at least. One moment he was in the void, dreaming of nothing and unaware of the fact. The next he was fully conscious, jumping up and preparing to fight the infernals that swarmed around them.
He cracked his head on the ceiling of the room, and suffered a full body spasm when trying to pull on his- Vexell’s, now- magic to create a protective barrier. The individual sleeping in a chair by the door awoke with a start. She shouted, leaping forward to catch him as he toppled from the bed.
“Ferra! Calm down, you’re safe!”
He struggled to breathe for a moment as her catch jolted the air out of him and his body continued to jitter and shake. Divine coursed through his body, flickering and sparking muscles in a way that such energy simply wasn’t supposed to.
Ferra wrestled the energy back down, packing it into his core as Mel laid him back on the bed. Only now did he realize that his entire body was on fire, like sunburn but running through every limb from the skin down to the bone.
After a moment, with his energy now under control, Ferra managed a wheezed question. “Mel? What?”
“We’re all okay. Something… happened. Light filled the cavern, then the portal closed. We’re on an airship riding back home, right now. Everyone lived.”
He coughed, and another wave of mind shattering pain coursed through him as his control slipped and his whole body convulsed. The Hand clenched his teeth through the pain to the point of literally shattering them, but the errant divine energy coursing through his body instantly generated a new set.
With great effort he leaned to the side, spitting a mouthful of blood and tooth shards.
Mel jumped back, avoiding the spray. “Gods!”
“Get.” He fought back another cough. “Avalanche.”
She left in a hurry, and moments later Ferra heard a quite unwelcome voice.
It would seem you woke too early, my dear paladin. Your new body hasn’t fully acclimated with your modified soul yet. Oh dear, I hope that doesn’t hurt too much. I would highly recommend something to numb the pain.
It’s a shame that the energy coursing through you would instantly purge any kind of numbing agent. Oh dear oh dear, what to do, what to do!
“Do you have.” He narrowly avoided biting his tongue. “Anything. Useful. To say?”
Oh no, of course not. You’re not nearly in enough favor such that I would hand out secrets regarding the creation of a Hand. Just avoid anything, magic or otherwise, that would interface or interfere with your soul or body. Having the process disrupted at this stage would be quite... unpleasant.
He had a hard time picturing what could possibly be more unpleasant than the full body pain party he was currently experiencing, but the advice did sound genuine.
Or maybe Vexell just enjoyed fucking with him.
Before a minute had passed Avalanche floated inside, followed by Mel. The stoneborn’s expressions were as difficult to read as ever, but Ferra was certain he saw grave concern on their face. Concern that only grew deeper as they peered at Ferra’s body.
“…you should be dead. Ferra, what happened to you? Your body seems partially divine now, but not crystallized as would be expected normally.”
“Can’t. Say.” Another wave of pain wracked his body.
“I-” The stoneborn started helplessly, before pausing. “I don’t even know where to begin with what is happening to you.”
“Put me under. Please. It will stop. Eventually. On its own.”
Avalanche tried, for several hours, to find a particular solution or combination of solutions. Unfortunately, they had nothing. Any physical solutions would be healed away by the divine suffusing Ferra’s body, and anything magical caused the pain to grow even worse.
Eventually they did find something, at least. An arcane device, mounted at the nape of his neck. It deadened the pain somewhat by guiding the divine flowing through Ferra, and sufficiently gently such that it didn’t make things worse.
He lay there for hours, conscious and immobile, trying not to drown in the cage of suffering that was his body. The pain faded slowly, the divine flowing through him settling more into grooves in his body, like a second set of veins. The spasms slowly shrank in intensity and occurrence, his soul rejecting the changes less and less.
The team spent significant portions of time with him, typically just talking about something they found interesting. He did his best to listen, to ignore the pain, anything that would make the time pass faster.
Ferra learned quite a bit of trivia about his friends, and a fair amount of the theory behind fae magic. Not that he really understood it, but a distraction was a distraction. Vexell visited too, each one way conversation entirely unenlightening. The god was absolutely laughing at his misery.
On the dawn of the seventh day after the events of the hell breach, Ferra stood. He was still in pain, but the bone-deep sunburn feeling had faded to the itching of new skin, and the spasms had almost entirely ceased. The experience had been unspeakably painful even with the dampener, but pain was just pain. He wouldn’t let it break him, and in time the memory would fade. Hopefully.
Seeing as speaking no longer carried a significant risk of biting his own tongue, Ferra finally joined the team for breakfast. This did, however, mark him as recovered to the others. They wouldn’t just accept him waving away their questions, now that there was no fear of him shattering like glass if pressed.
Thankfully, Ferra was fairly certain that Nine was not present on the airship. He’d checked the amulet constantly, and it’d never registered any shadow magic, nor had he ever seen a flash of green. The best conclusion Ferra had was that the green eyes in the elevator had been Vexell messing with him just because the asshole could.
Luckily, having four days with nothing to do but think had given him time to create some halfway decent excuses. Things were made both easier and harder by the clear lack of Nine on board the ship. Unfortunately Ferra’s brain spun when trying to consider who might guess what when given which information, and he still wasn’t entirely sure what would be safe to say without implying he was now an involuntary Hand.
He’d also learned that Vexell’s command was non negotiable. When he considered telling the team, his throat constricted and the Hand found himself unable to speak. The same applied to implied methods of telling people anything. If he considered writing something down, Ferra found his hand unable to move.
It was impossible to separate the act of writing it down from the consideration that someone might ‘accidentally’ find it and read the note. As Ferra had no real reason to write down what had occurred, he found himself simply unable.
Even whispering to himself when the room was empty was impossible; the risk of being overheard still existed, and as Ferra was aware of that he found himself unable to speak.
Trying to learn any form of mental separation or trick to get around the apparent geas was also impossible. If he tried to read a book about such techniques, Ferra found himself struck with temporary blindness.
There really did seem to be no way around it, and Ferra had spent no small amount of time considering the matter. At least it didn’t prevent him from thinking about it? Small mercies.
Vexell had violated him and his agency in many ways, at this point. Ferra found what little appreciation he had for the gods had very quickly dried up entirely in this last week. Vexell had all but directly stated that both his body and soul had been modified, and the Hand was trying to not worry too much about the existential implications of such a claim.
Was he still himself? Ferra had no idea.
He was jostled to the side by a crewmember squeezing past him. Ferra sighed, realizing that he was just procrastinating at this point. He followed the sailor in, making his way through the small mess hall to where the Nova Fists were eating.
Ferra waved to them as he approached, and was met with a round of smiles. Avalanche rumbled, pleased. “Ferra. It is good to see you up and moving.”
They shifted to the side, pulling a chair out for him with telekinesis. Grek waved, hailing the solitary server for the ship to bring a meal over.
Ferra sat in the proffered chair, wincing as he did so. “Hey, guys! I think last night was the end of the worst of it. I’m still sore, but it’s more like mild workout pain instead of every limb being on fire.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Mirana gave a small nod, pleased. “I don’t suppose you might tell us what caused all that, finally?”
He began to speak, but then paused as food dropped in front of him. Ferra waved a hand in thanks to the server, passing him a couple marks.
Ferra turned back to the group, but was interrupted suddenly. The only warning he had was Vexell’s chuckle in his ears, and the amulet around his neck flashing once, blindingly bright.
The shadows of the room expanded to overtake everything. Ferra lashed out in a panic as he toppled backward, spraying beams of light toward the ceiling. They didn’t even make it halfway before being swallowed by the aggressive darkness.
Moments later the shadows retreated of their own volition, revealing Nine standing on the table before Ferra. The doors to the room were closed, barred with pulsing green and shadowed tendrils.
Everyone in the room save the Nova Fists were frozen mid action, a real life scene turned into a sculpture of itself.
The team had reacted quickly to the apparent assault, leaping to their feet and drawing weapons. Grek was swinging his blade over his shoulder as he spoke. “Ferra, what-”
Nine shot the orc a baleful glare. A whining sound filled the air, quickly rising in pitch until it passed beyond Ferra’s range of hearing. There was the sound of glass or crystal shattering, upon which Grek immediately froze mid swing like the rest of the room.
Mel leapt forward, fist aflame. Nine stepped forward into her attack, deflecting the punch with a forearm while grabbing her forehead with his other hand.
Ferra cried out, too slow to save her. “Nine, no!”
Crystal cracked again as Nine tore a circlet out of her hair, something Ferra hadn’t ever noticed her wearing before. The centerpiece gemstone of the circlet was shattered down the middle, and dull. As soon as he ripped it off she, too, froze.
Avalanche fired their beam, heedless of potential collateral damage. Nine stepped to the sideways, contemptuously smacking the beam, deflecting it with the back of his hand. It slammed into a wall, scorching the wood. Nine’s hand flicked forward and a knife shattered Avalanche’s central focusing array, piercing straight through all his shielding and sending the stoneborn tumbling backward as their levitation failed.
They struggled to get up, but another whine filled the air, quickly ramping up beyond hearing like before. A gem in his chest shattered, and the artificer froze like the rest.
Mirana lashed out with a menacing curse towards Nine’s torso, while conjuring shadowy tendrils beneath his feet with the other hand. The monster swung a hand, ripping the shadow energy away from her and swallowing the curse with it in a single motion.
The shadow whipped forward, settling around her neck like knives ready to stab. She froze mid motion, as tiny drops of blood began to bead on her neck.
This had all taken three seconds, Nine’s every motion smoothly flowing into the next like the entire fight had been predestined. Ferra had been unable to do anything but watch, his body thrown back into chaos and agony by all the fae energy swirling around the room.
They had, it would seem, flown close enough to Joseph’s Haven for the Hand of the Emperor to shadow jump. Nine turned back to his ward, approaching quickly. The only sign the fight had strained him was the back of his right hand smoking from when he’d deflected Avalanche’s attack.
“Who are you and what have you done with Ferra?”
Fae energy seized his limbs, Nine intending to lift the doppelganger up to eye level. It fizzled against his skin, however, Ferra’s new body slurping the energy up on contact automatically.
Nine frowned, stopping out of arm’s reach.
“What are you?”
Ferra coughed into his fist and rolled onto the side. Oh, hmm. He was fairly sure that coughing up blood wasn’t supposed to happen. “I’m still. Me.”
Nine’s eyes flashed green. “Truth. Real, or believed? My mark burned off a week ago, I had to use the orc as a focus. What did they do to you?”
He wheezed a hacking, coughing laugh. If only Nine would bother! “Maybe. You’d trust them more. If you actually bothered. To treat them as people.”
“False. They are irrelevant to my objective.”
Rage flashed through him. He wanted Nine to hurt, regardless of how inadvisable it was. Ferra turned back to his jailor, wiping the blood from his lips with a hand. “Did it hurt? When they ripped your compassion out and replaced it with loyalty.”
Nine’s eyes flashed. There was a cracking sound, and suddenly Ferra was flying into a wall. His world flashed black and white as his skull slammed against the planks, then again against the floor.
Nine had… kicked him?
Ferra had only been out for a moment, but Nine was already standing before him again, leaning down with a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “What are you. Doppelganger? Shapeshifter? Some species of soul eater? Taking you apart for study should prove enlightening.”
Ferra’s next cough was no more painful than the rest; the divine surging through him had already healed the shattered rib cage. “I’m still. Just me.”
Nine cocked his head to the side. “Such a thorough self delusion. An interesting defense mechanism, in a body stealer.”
The anger was slowly being overtaken by fear. The man wasn’t joking. Ferra spoke again, quickly, fighting through the pain. “I formed a contract! It altered my body.”
Nine paused in his muttering as spells settled around Ferra’s body, somehow resisting absorption. “A contract? With what creature?”
Ferra shook his head partially, frozen halfway as Nine’s magic began to grip him more tightly. Mirana was still conscious and watching, unfortunately. “I can’t tell you. Part of the contract.”
The monster before him just sighed, the first sign Ferra had that his warden maintained any veneer of humanity. “A convenient excuse. The true answer will be interesting, when ripped from your corpse.”
None of that, now.
Ferra felt his connection to Vexell thicken and strengthen as the god reached out. He touched something around Nine, caressing it with strands of divinity. Neither visually or through his sense of magic could Ferra feel whatever Vexell was working with, but after three heartbeats the divinity retreated.
Moments later the spells wreathing Ferra retreated, spooling back into the Hand of the Emperor gave an unfocused blink. “As I was saying, you’ll need to allow me to accompany you on all future missions. I will create an amulet that will allow me to ride along without disrupting star transportation.”
Ferra gave an equally nonplussed blink. “I… see.”
“I apologize for the suddenness of my arrival. If you’ll return to your seat, so I can reset the scene?”
“Yeah.” The once cleric painfully made his way back to the table the Fists were at. As he walked Nine flitted around the room, resetting things and making it like the fight had never happened. The scorch mark on the wall was healed, his teammates moved back to their seats.
Nine went from person to person, touching his forehead to theirs and wiping their memory of the events. Mirana, he forced to sleep, dismissing the shadow necklace as he did so before putting her in her seat.
Ferra’s mind, addled by pain and whatever else was going on inside his head, still made the connection in time. He could not allow Nine to scan Mel’s mind.
Nine still seemed unfocused, for all that he went about his tasks with his usual efficiency. Out of ideas and out of time, Ferra simply spoke as nonchalantly as he could while sitting. “You got her already.”
Nine paused, leaning back. “Oh, so I did.” His voice sounded confused and lost, the only time Ferra had ever heard any real emotion from the man.
Without a farewell, apology, or any other acknowledgement, Nine vanished, taking the magic freezing the room with him. While most of the room continued eating like nothing had happened, such was very much not the case at Ferra’s table.
Mel’s fist cracked the table as it slammed down. She paused, hair aflame, looking around wildly. Grek seemed lost, and Mirana was eyeing something in the air with grave concern.
Avalanche was no longer floating, of course. He froze, overcome with fear, noting the shattered gem centerpiece of his magical equipment. “What-”
Grek snapped to wakefulness, feeling at his chestplate. “My mental ward has shattered.”
Mirana’s eyes focused on the table. “A fae user bypassed my charms. Puppet protocol.”
Mel unclenched her fists, though she was still breathing hard. “Memory editing unlikely. Personality altering is not. I think I may be familiar with the entity.”
Ferra raised a warning eyebrow at her. “Everyone should be fine. The force in question isn’t trusted, but its motivations and limitations are known. Personality altering isn’t on the table.”
Mirana sighed, sounding resigned. “Presume everyone is compromised? Ferra might be okay, with the amount of divine packed in him.”
Grek rumbled in agreement. “Is there a strike team nearby?”
Mirana nodded. “I’ve already summoned them. Avalanche…”
They sighed. “The backlash overloaded all of my equipment. A clear design flaw. I will need to rebuild my casting enhancer to have sufficient range with Message.”
Ferra absently ate a bite of his largely forgotten breakfast. “Has this happened befo-”
Mirana shushed him with a gesture. “No speaking. Assume keywords or activation phrases. We sit here until the strike team arrives and can clear us.”
They sat in silence. As the adrenaline and pain faded from his body, Ferra found the anger creeping back in. Anger at Nine, for attacking, for being unsubtle, for being there at all. Anger at Vexell, for being the cause of Nine attacking in the first place. First when making him a Hand without consent, and again when forbidding him from speaking about it to others.
Anger at the whole damn world, for treating him like a powerless plaything.
It had been naïve, perhaps, to believe that his past wouldn’t follow him into his future. To dare to think he could have a relatively normal life, go adventuring, meet interesting people and see interesting things.
The Fists didn’t deserve all this, either, and he was angry at himself for dragging them into his problems. They clearly had a past history with mind magic, as illegal as it may be, and he’d brought an immoral memory editor near them, voluntarily and with full knowledge of the potential consequences.
Maybe it would have been for the best, if he’d opted for… removal, rather than banishment.
Such thoughts were interrupted when a group of four soldiers teleported into the dining area with a flash of blue light. They moved quickly to isolate the Fists, conjuring barriers around each and separating them from the others as well as the rest of the room.
He continued to sit there as instructed, watching as the fae practitioner from the team moved in a circle around the table. A full blooded elf, surprisingly; Ferra knew the Empire had less than cordial relations with the elven groves.
It only took him a few minutes with each of Ferra’s team members, a short dialogue and a nod before moving to the next. Ferra couldn’t hear the conversations, smothered under as many varied barriers as he was.
He himself was last, as the elf stepped through the barriers.
“I’m going to scan your mind now. No specific memories, but general structure. Normally consent would be required but as this is a case of suspected personality altering, I need to confirm you haven’t been given orders to refuse an examination. Apologies in advance.”
The restrictions upon Ferra tightened, panels of arcane manifesting around his individual limbs and locking him down entirely. The elf stepped forward, and he tried to suppress the instinctual unease he felt.
The creature was too tall, too lithe. He moved so smoothly that Ferra’s eyes felt like they were skipping forward in time. Before Ferra’s panic could grow too great, the elf had already stepped back from him, with a puzzled look.
“You are.” He cocked his head. “Divine? What? I couldn’t even get in.”
The elf waved at the barriers, speaking to his team. “Too much divine interference for a scan. Presume not compromised, someone strong enough to break his mind would be able to hide from me anyways.”
They looked concerned, but not enough to break the façade of professionalism that all soldiers are trained in. They spoke more with the others, and Ferra was interviewed; as no mental contamination had been sensed, the strike team quickly excused themselves.
“If you do find anything concrete to report, certainly file one. The Emperor takes accusations of mind alteration very seriously.” The arcane caster gave a friendly wave before teleporting away with the rest of the team.
Ferra couldn’t help but stew in the bitter irony of a Hand of the Emperor being the cause of this incident. The rest of the meal was rather subdued. The captain of the ship came by shortly after, placated after being reassured that the strike team was gone and nothing bad had happened.
They seemed… scared. It was an odd expression to see on the friends Ferra had come to know so well. Not just unease like during the encounter with the wyrm, but genuine, all encompassing fear.
“Once we get Avalanche to their room, I need to spend the rest of the day building defenses around Mel and Grek. There’s no enchanting workshop here, so Avalanche is basically entirely disabled, he can't even recreate his own equipment or their wards. Tomorrow we’re getting an explanation out of you, yeah?” Mirana’s eyes were hard, not angry, but the warmth that had previously been in them was gone.
Ferra just nodded helplessly. “There are things I’m not allowed to say, but I’ll try.”
The admission didn’t soften her eyes one whit, and Ferra found his stomach twisting into knots as he returned to his room. This is what he’d been trying to avoid! He’d wanted to tell them, would have if he hadn’t been so scared. Should have, even before he was fully recovered, before Nine showed up.
Though maybe telling them beforehand just would have caused Nine to kill them all and Ferra himself after the fight. After he would have moved to erase their memories and seen the knowledge stored within.
Very unsure of himself, angry at the world, scared and hesitant like those dark childhood days of hunger and fear; Ferra found himself entirely unable to sleep as he tossed and turned on his bed, unwanted and untrusted.
Perhaps this was just what he deserved. He was a bastard, after all.