Messenger

“So you’re saying we located the nest?” The voice of a young man spoke, resounding in the tall chambers, pinging on the armor plates of the Guards stationed all both Doors, under every glass window, and to his left and right.

The lord sat on his comfortable seat with one leg crossed over the other, his night gown lazily draped over him like a cape. His chest half bare. The tired messenger couldn’t help but notice the young lord rub the sleep out of his eyes. Meanwhile his wife was working hard on the night shift, turning toxic powder into sugar for him to sell, his son and daughter alone in their home, huddled in a single bed, in the same room where he would later go to sleep.

“Yes, young lord. At least one of the Aimon they ‘Switched sides’ in capture has remained Loyal to its master. It has been sent over with a whole lot of others, soldiers and citizens included. We remained in communication with it until it cut off unexpectedly.”

“We believe the quarry that spread before the Aimon upon the time of our last communication to be the Draconda Nest. The entrance at the very least, tall hills like claws, and a deep pit into the earth.”

“Did we get eyes on the beasts?”

“We didn’t. But for said Aimon to be unable to share information with us, despite being at the late stages of Second Tier…”

“Said Aimon in question used to belong to Grand Commander Pete.” He decided to add. Maybe Lord Natsuki would have the heart to feel sadness for one of his most loyal men’s death.

“A shame.” The Young lord commented and took a moment of silence.

The essenger wished dearly to see the facade drop. But he uttered not a whimper, even as sweat fell into his eyes and soaked his clothes like salty rain. His heart beating into his skull, his every effort to stop his breaths from being indecent, mounting discomfort upon his hurried state.

“So we expect the Dragon to be deep in Third Tier at the very least.” Lord Natsuki commented.

The messenger released a sigh of relief as he heard the melodious voice speak up, so young, so detached.

‘I hope my fortunes remain few and my children grow independent. I would never see my children at each other’s throats for the sake of an inheritance.” He wished in his heart of hearts.

“You are dismissed. The day was long and the night is longer, go rest. Tomorrow you are to patrol to the West. A Merchant Caravan is to depart in a few days and we want the route pristine. Understood?”

“Yes, Lord.” He bowed down and left in controlled hurry. The thick gates closed behind him and he stepped outside the stone halls into the open sky. No wind caressed his sticky face and hair to dry the sweat from him. The Moon and Stars shone pink, and the sky a deep purple above him. The Town was awake, for it never slept. It couldn’t. Attacks could ;and have come; at any time. Especially during the night.

‘Leave it to Humans to know and exploit their own weaknesses to harass and defeat the enemy.’ He thought and it was that thought that would be his last.

His head left his shoulders, with a clean cut. It was plucked and taken away, as a glob of sick green material fell upon his body and diluted into his blood, turning it clear. It dug through his clothes and flesh and bones, leaving nothing behind but a puddle of clear liquid which traveled down the grooves of the path below, sliding into a gutter and disappearing from sight with a slimy slurp.

Back in the Hall a Guard returned right as he finished returning his Aimon into its tether.

“Is it done?” The Lordling asked and the guard gulped, saluted and slapped his heels together.

“None shall know. Your sister may never find out.”

“Very well.” The young son of Baron Gummie, Natsuki retreated into his chambers, a smile on his lips.

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“The Human System, categorizes the Body and Soul of a Human into Eight Attributes. These Attributes can be no more than Eight, and certainly not Less either. They are just enough to explain all the actions and abilities of a Human. They are interconnected as the Soul and Body are. Compared to Aimon, who with focused training can increase some of their attributes a lot without consequences to their balance, Humans must be mindful, to always increase their attributes relatively equally.” Hana spoke with solemnity and certainty. She had been taught this stuff form a book and been made to memorize it. An experience that Myron and every Myron on Earth knew very well.

“This may go against what I just suggested you do with your points but you must let me finish.” She predicted his question and shut it down expertly.

“To Cultivate those Attributes past the Human limit a person must Understand, and Act accordingly. The process of Investing Aether within your Attributes to exceed Human limitations is not one as simple as using skills, or moving Aether into one’s Aimon for their use. It is an active process, one that the System does not replicate easily, hence why you only ever gain one Point per level up. That doesn’t change even you if you are the semi-immortal Emperor of Jupiter.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“The Aether that enters your pool, where does it come from?” She asked like any good teacher.

“It comes from my Aimon.”

“Indeed. It floods your soul and then, do you know what happens?”

“From what I’ve seen, it truly does flood it, as you say, as if it is a gas. If the process ended there and then I would have soul bursting at the seam with clouds of Aether of all different Types from my Aimon. I don’t, and from what I’ve seen, it is absorbed into the walls that make up my soul into a almost transparent liquid with hint of blue.”

“You’ve seen it?” Hana dropped teacher-mode and asked, stumped.

“I’ll explain another time. For now go on. I’m sensing that the group wants to head to sleep.” Myron pointed at Mery nodding off, even though she had said she wanted to listen to the lesson. She snapped to attention and he chuckled waving her off.

“Right, we’re moving on.” Hana collected herself, grabbing onto Rhamon’s hand to do so.

“You’ve seen what you’ve seen, but the truth of the matter is that it is not truly absorbed. It is transformed. Transformed into Pure Aether without Type. It is only such Aether that the Human body can take. Whether this effect happens under the ministrations of the System or because of a natural interaction between Humans and Aimon it is not known. To me at least. I haven’t read a record of a time before the System, even though We all know that such a things existed.”

She decided after a yawn of her own. “To not push the envelope too much, and because this won’t be a one day process, I’ll give you a quick view of what comes next.”

“All attributes are connect, to understand one you must understand a bit of the others, and to Invest into one you must know what it will do to your body, and where it should go. You must capture the Feeling of Might, its intensity, its intricacies, theoretical and physical. Then you must also capture your Pure Aether, and mix the two like a cook at a military barracks. Mix and Mix until one is unrecognizable from the other. Your Aether must become Might, if you do it well enough, without a loss of any Aether, you will have grown a point, and the Aether will diffuse through your body. Reinforcing everything that you are. Muscles, Tendons, Bones. All the things that correspond with Might.”

Myron chewed on this lesson, taking first watch along with Rhamon, who let his dear princess rest with as much space as he could. The two of them sat in silence staring at opposite directions, their backs against the same; crackling campfire.

He checked his Status, saw that he had 30 Points of Aether, already, and raring to go. He wondered if the way forward, if he ever wanted to increase his Might, was to become the Gym Bro he was never meant to become. Maybe he just had to quiz himself on biology and the science of exercise. He decided to try a few things out to pass the time.

It turns out that nothing in this world is more boring than night-guard duty without a partner you wish to speak with. Staring into the horizon of infinite darkness, bathed in the light of the moon and warmed by the fire. Him and his thoughts alone.

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Taher looked at the blackened earth, and took a good breath of the toxic fumes. With a smile on her face she started her day. Walking out of the charred mud house she called her base of operations.

She stepped through the ruins of her home and walked past the cage where Choro’s Aimon withered slowly to death. His corpse having been made into ashes long ago and sprinkled over the dead land. His boots having been re-purposed as Taher’s.

The King Gashelle stood in attendance, watchful and silent as he stood alongside Taher’s one remaining Aimon. She ground her teeth. They’d done a number on her. Those wild bastards, that fucking Choro, and the unnamed fucker.

‘All of them. Bastards!’

She cursed but let it slide off her like slime.

“The Shipment with the Gashelle sow you are going to reproduce with is about to arrive. Are you excited? My King?”

“I am.” Was the dry and simple response, but that is why she liked him.

“Are you ready? I hear rituals of reproduction are taxing on Aimon.”

“I am a King, Loved by the World. A Special Aimon, and this is my Kingdom. I have to put in the effort if I want to make it something.” He responded and Taher was upon him, pulling down his horns and kicking him in the snout.

Blood poured down her pants from his nose.

“Woah there buddy! Your Kingdom? Are we feeling delusional? Or have I just lost my fucking mind!?” She shrieked in his ears and he knelt down, his horns still in her possession despite how easily he could use those to kill her.

The blood faded away, some Shield was spent. Nothing of import had occurred to him. His pride wasn’t wounded.

“Would you stop that?” A voice called and snapped the both of them out of it.

Taher glared at the figure that stood before her. It was a young, dressed in simple black garb, high boots, and a sword at his waist. No Aimon around him. His hair was long and tied tightly in a right above his nape.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man kicked a few scraps of coal out of the way. “I see you’ve done a fabulous job out here.”

“I said, who the fuck are you!? Don’t you have some manners stepping into another person’s property?” Taher walked up to him and jabbed his finger in the man’s chest.

{Plop} The offending appendage fell to the ground with a meaty flop. Blood pulsed with Taher’s quickening heartbeat. The Man stepped back and avoided the splattering blood.

“Wha-!” Gashelle pounced only to have his horns pulled back and a whole punched through his chest.

“AGH! AGH! My finger! You cut off my finger!” Taher pulled the little stump into her belly to stop the bleeding, the bone jabbed at her skin through her shirt, she threw up as blood kept falling out and tainting her clothes.

“You lost it all, Taher. The Duke has asked for your Seizure.”

“You can’t do that! I have come here by Imperial Right! I am owed this land!”

“Yet the only people who know of this are the First Prince, and the Duke himself. The only ones that matter.”

Taher stopped her pain forgotten. Gashelle was bound, broken, gagged, and drugged. The Other Aimon, she scanned with her head. She saw a leg there, a jaw over there.

“Huh… HahHAH!” She chuckled, tears rolling down her eyes.

“You were a Pawn, and you did your job terribly well.”

“You fucker. Don’t grandstand me.” She spat out but the man in black was already walking away, dragging her King Aimon away from her through the soot and dirt.

“Boss, can I teach her a lesson first?” The deep grating voice of an Aimon made Taher shiver.

The Man raised a brow as he turned his profile to them. “Do as you wish.” He said and Taher tried to turn around, feeling the warm exhale of the Aimon behind her.

She ate dirt, her efforts futile.

“Do you know how much destruction you have caused? How much wanton pain and death?” It growled next to her ear.

“Hypocrisy!” Taher cried spitting the charred earth from her mouth. She was shoved deeper into it. Her nose broke as the Aimon put force and twisted her head on the ground.

“As if the Empire is helping Aimon instead!” She shouted through the pain, blood falling into her mouth, her teeth left in the ground. Sticking out of the dirt.

“I can still feel bad about it, can’t I? Change will come. It’s sad that you will only be able to hear about it from the chatter of the prison guards. Well… If you live through this.”