I know this will shock you to your very core, but I've experienced some hangovers in my time.
As I'm sure we're all people of the world here, so I'm confident you know what I'm talking about here. Pounding headache, sickness and a bone-deep agony that is just screaming for a bacon sandwich.
I'm happy to report that a Pill of Agonising Death has an after-effect that is absolutely nothing like that. It was several million orders of magnitude worse.
I lay on the ground, unable to open my eyes in case the movement ripped open my face. Even breathing was torture; I could hear my ribs creak at each inhalation. Like, full-on, right on the edge of splitting if there was a hair more extension. The beating of my heart was a hammer blow to my temple, to the extent I was sure my brain must be exposed to the elements.
Ah, you are back with us, my dear.
I didn't have the energy to as much as think about telling Merlin where to go.
No, do not try to do anything yet. If my calculations are correct—and of course they are—you are still in the middle of an epic detox, and too much excitement could well be detrimental to your well-being.
'Tell me something I don't know, you patronising twat', I didn't quite manage to say.
I do not like to put pressure on you while you are in this state - I well remember my first time trying to increase my own resistances. Of course, I was up and about almost immediately afterwards, but we cannot all be me, can we? - but this is a very good opportunity we should not miss.
I tried to wiggle my toes and nearly passed out again. I was really not in a very good way here. I was, particularly, not going to be open to any of the Big M's bullshit right now.
You will remember, my dear, that the very first time you exhausted all of your Qi, it gave you an opportunity to add to your techniques?
I struggled to remember what I had for breakfast, so I just gurgled a generic response. My throat felt like a thousand pixies were scraping it clear with sheets of sandpaper.
It occurs to me that now might be the perfect moment to consolidate an early Water Qi technique of my own invention. You've thus far shown little ability with the medium, but in a state of complete mental and physical exhaustion, this is likely to be a good condition in which to have a good chance to flex those muscles, as it were.
"Can't . . . go . . . to . . . school . . . today . . . daddy. Dying."
Ha, you and your wit, my dear. Trust me, you will be recovering your faculties in short order. So, there's a reasonably short window here. Once you're channels fill up again, the opportunity will be lost until the next time you find yourself at death's door.
Of course, you do seem to end up somewhat broken after most encounters with . . . well, pretty much everyone, so this isn't quite the 'one and done' it would be for most cultivators. However, being a . . . a Harry is all about taking your opportunities.
So far, my experience as a Harry did not feel all that much better than that of a Ron. However, it was beyond me to make that point right now.
No, no. There's no need to thank me. I understand how grateful you are, my dear. I see it as my role in life to smooth out your deficiencies. So, what we are going to focus on is developing a little something called
I didn't disagree with him on this one, I just didn't see how I could possibly do anything right now. I know I'm not shy with the hyperbole, but I am genuinely dying. The very idea of doing any cultivation right now made me heave.
So, first thing first. You do not visualise your Qi as water, so we will need to develop a slightly different approach. For me, it was quite simple - of course, most things were, but that makes no mind - I just dropped the temperature, solidified my Qi and projected that outside my body in the form of a shield.
Yeah, I'm going to get right on that. I risked flicking an eye open, but the sun beating down was so bright I felt like it'd bore a hole straight through my soul.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
So, the Big M was carrying on regardless, we need to come up with a similar concept for paint. Is there a particular painting you feel instinctively secure behind?
I very nearly ignored him. I absolutely was not on board with furthering my cultivator education right now. But then, something about his words stirred a pleasant memory.
There was a card that Zizzie had sent me for one birthday or another with the words 'Look familiar?' written on the inside. The image was Friedrich's 'Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog'. You'll know it if you saw it. It's the Victorian-looking bloke stood on top of a mountain staring off into the distance at the landscape. There's mist all around him, but he's just stood, facing away from the viewer, hand nonchalantly resting on his walking stick. It's the absolute embodiment of 'I don't need anyone' and, as she'd always done, my sister had hit the nail on the head completely.
On the inside of the envelope, she wrote, 'I hope you find somewhere to feel free,' with a couple of kisses and her latest phone number.
I'd never called, but I'd held on to the card. I don't know what it was about the anonymous figure standing defiantly out over the mountains. But I felt I'd found a kindred spirit. I knew exactly where that card was in my flat. Or, at least, where it would be in fifteen hundred years. This time thing was weird.
Ah, fuck me, the Big M was still talking, I can see something appearing in your core. Well done, my dear, I wasn't sure you were listening.
Oh, do fuck off, you sanctimonious wanker.
Annoyingly, though, he was right. I could feel the mist forming around me, with the smell of pine trees and the crisp snap of the mountain air. The pathetic droplets that were left of my Qi were slowly moving over the pages of my Artist's Studio, replicating the image.
I dropped into the studio proper, sad to realise I felt no better here than I did in the real world - with the added embuggerance that I wasn't recovering. I'd still need to feel shit for just as long outside, so this was - essentially - just torturing myself for no reason.
With an act of insane courage and resilience, I picked up a brush and helped my Qi make the picture. I'd painted versions of the Wanderer a million times, swapping the standing figure for all manner of things. I'd even sold quite a few: there was a surprisingly buoyant market for Victorian dudes up a mountain with a few additions. Oddest was a six-by-four feet canvass of a bloke's ex blowing the guy, which seemed to give the purchaser inordinate pleasure.
If you want to pay me cash for some artistic revenge porn, I'm absolutely not here to judge. At least not out loud.
So, even in my shambolic state, it wasn't that tricky to quickly knock off a pretty decent version. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't my best work, but considering I was somehow retching and hiccuping simultaneously, I felt I'd done a pretty solid job.
Well done, my dear. Thus, we have your Qi in a format that you feel offers you protection. What you need to do now is project it out in front of you. Imagine it like a shield.
Sure, and after that, I'll dance the Can-can whilst singing the opening aria of Aida whilst I do it.
I'm sensing some hesitancy, my dear. I should note there's a little bit of time sensitivity here. You must manifest this technique while absolutely at rock bottom to circumvent the usual consolidation period. You could always take another pill if that would help?
Fuck me, no.
I grabbed hold of the painting with two clawed hands - I couldn't imagine ever being able to stretch them out again - and tried to force it out of my studio.
Of course, nothing happened.
Come on, one last big push! The membrane between the real world and your studio is about as thin as it is ever going to be. You need to do this now, my dear. You do not want to know how difficult it will be to do this once your defences start to rebuild.
I gave a few more half-hearted pushes. The picture could not have been more than a few feet square, but it was too heavy for my overloaded muscles, and the distance between the external and internal world was simply too big.
I shook my head - which made me dryheave some more - and went to put the picture down. Then I felt the ghostly brush of Merlin's hands on my mind.
My dear, I am sorry to push you, but you do not have the luxury of giving up here.
I tried to speak, but my teeth were itching too much. I feared they'd sprout wings and fly away if I opened my mouth. There's just the chance I was hallucinating with pain now.
If what I anticipate is going to happen occurs, then you are going to need a decent shield spell. If not for you, then certainly for Arthur. I know you've been able to empty your channels in the past to block attacks, but you've got to be able to both defend and fight if we're going to complete this quest.
My vision was clouding over. The pain was simply too overwhelming. I tried to wrench my hands free from Merlin's control but, if anything, his grip increased.
This is your chance. You learn to do this now—when it will be relatively easy—or there will be months, if not years, of trying to breach the barrier. You are not lacking in resilience, my dear. Push this picture into the real world and secure the technique.
I kept my eyes closed and pushed everything I had into my hands, lifting my arms—feeling the muscles in both biceps rip—and with a scream, forced the Wanderer outside and into the real world.
As it went through, I followed it back into reality, seeing a blurry message appear before my eyes.
I was passing out again - I seemed to be becoming some sort of Bronte minor character -but not before the words
Well done, my dear. I think it would be best for you to rest now. From what I can tell, tomorrow will be a very busy day.