I would never have managed the task at hand if not for Mary "baring" my Spark, which in turn heightened my sensitivity to internal energy. Clearly, her motives were self-serving - to siphon energy from me with ease - but I hoped to turn it to my advantage. Even so, manipulating the energy, which I perceived as a translucent fog through my inner eye, was quite a task. Constructing something when your only tool is the beam of your own focus is no mean feat, especially when it's uncharted territory.
Creating the second bracer took a full two minutes, as it settled on my left wrist. That was an unacceptable length of time. If this slow pace continued, Mary would complete the ritual long before I could assemble all the components of the energy replica of the First Angel. Yet, even with this realization, I persisted with my inner labor. According to the witch, her plan was to kill us one by one, not all at once. And since she vowed to kill me last, perhaps, just perhaps, I might manage to assemble a copy of Metatron before everyone dies, thereby saving at least somebody.
No, stop!
I mustn't even entertain the thought of my friends' possible demise!
I can't afford to be distracted!
Such thoughts and moods will only disperse my focus, further delaying my work with the fog of internal energy. And with every fleeting second, our chances of survival continue to dwindle.
In a bid to banish all distracting thoughts, I concentrated on my peculiar form of meditation. But working with the fog was an uphill task - it was so elusive, akin to sculpting a cloud into a desired shape using a fan.
"I envy you, Izao," Mary sighed heavily. "You created an entire comic book, and it came out beautifully, while I'm struggling to draw ritual contours." As she spoke, she fiddled with a piece of chalk, not drawing a thing, which worked in my favor. The more distracted she was, the better. "I wonder, did you view drawing your comics as work or a hobby and pleasure?" She twirled the chalk in her hands thoughtfully, then broke into a smile as if enlightened. "Hold on! You're a sensum! You probably didn't 'draw' your images in the conventional sense! Of course, you didn't! You projected the image from your mind onto the prana-sensitive paper, then digitally processed the resulting work so it resembled a regular drawing! Precisely, that's how you did it, I'm certain! You're quite the cunning one, Izao!" She expressed this with a note of respect and resumed her inscription of the ritual lines.
Her brief monologue bought me nearly half a minute. It was hardly enough though; judging from the pattern on the veranda floor, she was only a few steps away from completing the ritual. If only she was a bit more chatty! Sadly, it wasn't the case.
She'd finish her work in around three minutes, and I only had four pieces of my armor ready: two bracers and two shin guards. If at the start of the face-off with Mary, I had tried to stifle my energy leakage, now I was doing the opposite. I was trying not to touch the dark stream of energy to avoid drawing undue attention. If she were to look my way, I was certain she could quickly dissolve all my efforts before I managed to fully recreate the armor.
If I could speak, I would risk distracting the Dark One with conversation, but how can one speak when the tongue and jaw refuse to move? I could have tried to make a helmet as one of the first "parts" of the armor's replica, hoping it would return control of my speech. But I feared that it would mentally shield me from Mary, and she, upon closer inspection, might notice my attempts and dissolve the "parts" before I could assemble them.
The fact that the witch was somewhat envious of me would have normally brought a smile to my face, but not now. Currently, I was preoccupied with something entirely different. The stubborn and rebellious fog continued to resist taking on a shape resembling a part of Metatron.
What was it that she said? "You have it easy, you just project the image from your mind onto the prana-sensitive paper, and it's done." Not verbatim, but that was the gist. If only I could project now...
Wait.
What I'm doing is called the "Projection Technique." And the word "project" closely resonates with its name.
Coincidence?
From my understanding, many Gifted techniques were based on the principle of similarity...
With a forceful focus, I compressed another swirl of energy fog into a thin, pancake-like shape. It wasn't exactly paper, the result was more oval than rectangular, but it would suffice. Forming the image of a gorget, the piece of armor that protects the neck, in my mind, I transferred the image onto the foggy "pancake" using the familiar technique I had used countless times while working on the comic book.
And...
It worked!
Although it turned out to be a flat image of a gorget rather than the actual piece, it was still a significant breakthrough! Securing this unusual pattern with my consciousness, I began to "inflate" the pancake, giving it volume and, simultaneously, infusing it with energy from the Spark. In less than a minute, the energy gorget took its place, "encircling" my neck.
The method I had invented was not only nearly three times faster, but it also adhered to a comprehensible scheme that eliminated random results, unlike the first version. Now, each piece of armor took me less than a minute to create. However, there was no way to further accelerate the process. I sensed that if I increased the power supply to the "flat" image any further, the fog would simply fragment into small patches. Consequently, I had to exercise restraint, meticulously overseeing every phase of this peculiar form of meditation.
The process itself now unfolded like a rather unusual, somewhat eerie psychic pipeline. First, find a dense swirl of energy and flatten it into a pancake. Then transfer the image from your consciousness onto this pancake. Lastly, link the workpiece to your Spark, imbuing it with additional energy and granting it volume.
When Mary finished her work, I only had five parts left to create, two of which were the most intricate and crucial—the helmet and the breastplate. Rising from her task, the witch tossed the chalk into the bushes with evident relief and gazed up at the night sky.
"Just as I expected," she said in satisfaction. "Antares has taken its place." Approaching Christian, she whispered into his ear: "And it's time for you to take your place, my failed lover."
Afterwards, the Dark One hoisted the lad under his armpits and hauled him over to the recently finished drawing. Mary didn't appear particularly muscular, just tall and slender, but she lifted the relatively large Christian with ease. Perhaps her Gift endowed her with such strength, or maybe she was using some fortifying potions of her own Alchemic making.
Damn!
I shouldn't have let my mind wander. I had become distracted, and that was a blunder. Due to my lapse in concentration, the nearly completed element received an excess of energy from the Spark, "swelled up," lost its form, and "burst," dispersing in all directions as fragments of formless fog. Almost a minute of precious time was irretrievably lost.
As I sought a new whirl and crafted a "pancake" blank from it, the witch dragged Christian over to her drawing and positioned him at the center of the giant, flower-like pattern.
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"Alright!" Mary straightened up and looked at Christian lying down. "Now, we need to get you in the right position."
For a few moments, the young Dark One observed the lad sprawled in the center of the ritual pattern. Then, she leaned over him, adjusting his legs and then his arms. However, Christian's body's new position didn't satisfy her either. Rubbing her temples, the witch cursed under her breath and, reopening the toolbox, pulled out a thick notebook. After skimming through the notes, she quickly found what she needed and, turning the notebook to the correct page, she placed it on the floor of the veranda.
"Move the left hand along the second half-ring of the Southern Cross," she commented, guiding Christian's hand along one of the lines. "Place the right palm on Mimosa... good. Lay the head on Gacrux... perfect. Now stretch the legs towards Acrux... Excellent!"
As I recall, Gacrux, Acrux, and Mimosa are the brightest stars of the Southern Cross constellation. They form the visual cross in the sky. Evidently, Mary's ritual drawing had astrological roots.
"Are you comfortable?" the witch asked her unfortunate victim with a note of sympathy. "Don't worry anymore. This won't hurt a bit. Your blood will gradually flow through the lines of flowers, nourishing them with strength. I'll make sure you don't feel any pain. You'll be fully conscious, able to understand how slowly, in tandem with your blood, life is leaving your body." Her sweet smile was a stark contrast to the words she spoke.
After another careful inspection of Christian's position, the witch cross-checked her notebook. She looked up at the sky, seemingly satisfied. I assumed she would pick up the scalpel again, but instead, she produced a peculiar, clearly ancient knife from her box. The handle was made of horn, and the dark obsidian blade reminded me of the ritual sacrificial knives I once saw in the Museum of Aztec Culture in Tijuana.
Mary sat beside Christian and started explaining in detail where and how she would make the incisions. Although there was no sadistic undertone in her voice, I couldn't understand why she was narrating this. It was evident that if I didn't speed up creating an energy copy of the First Angel, Christian would die before I could finish. But I couldn't speed up my work. The process of infusing energy into the template was time-consuming, and I had no clue how to hasten it. Could I dilute the fog more, making it less energy-intensive? The problem is, any new parts created using such a "fast-track method" would likely be defective.
I was caught in a difficult decision: either continue my work meticulously, potentially sacrificing Christian but significantly increasing the chances of saving the girls, or speed up and take my chances. If luck was on my side, I might be able to save the guy, but if the weakened parts failed, Maya and Claire's lives would be at risk too. This predicament arose because Mary had no intentions of killing Christian instantly; she planned to let him bleed out from her inflicted wounds.
When the witch made the first incision on the guy's wrist with an obsidian knife, I hastened my process. Perhaps it was a boyish impulse, not a mature thought, to risk everything for a friend's life. But even if I strictly followed the original process, there was no guarantee that Metatron's replica would ensure my victory over the witch. At best, once the armor was complete, I could regain control of my body. As for accessing the Break, I feared that the other dimension would still be out of my reach. It seemed I would have to face the Dark One in a mundane fight. Given her displayed physical prowess, victory in this battle was far from certain, especially considering the knife she held.
My gaze landed on the bloody fork that Mary had used to pierce Christian's palm. She had discarded it on the table when she lifted the guy. This could be my chance! Admittedly, a fork versus a knife was a dubious choice for a duel, but it gave me a small boost of confidence.
The first "inflated" piece of Metatron's replica found its place just as the witch made the second incision. I watched helplessly as thin rivulets of blood streamed down Christian's palms and dripped onto the floor, landing precisely on the lines drawn by the Dark One. I couldn't do anything yet, as speeding up the process was impossible and until the armor was assembled, I had no control over my body.
Throughout this ordeal, Mary continuously commented on the process. Perhaps if Abel were present, he would understand her ramblings. I, however, barely grasped her words, not that I was paying much attention - my internal work demanded most of my focus.
With each passing second, each new cut, each drop of blood that stained the floor, Christian was inching closer to death, and I couldn't ignore that. Almost half of his body was etched with a network of small wounds from the razor-sharp obsidian blade, and I had yet to create two parts: the two most crucial elements - the helmet and the cuirass. Moreover, I had to place them in their respective positions simultaneously after "fabrication" to prevent the witch from noticing any changes in me.
I was crafting a cuirass when a rapid shadow caught my eye. A massive black fox with brown patches on its sides leapt out from the obscurity of the night, from the bushes near the veranda. The creature was colossal! A typical wild fox weighs no more than ten kilograms, but this beast was at least seven times as massive and proportionally larger.
The attack was so swift and unexpected that Mary didn't have time to react, especially since the fox ambushed her from behind. The beast's paw strike knocked the girl off her feet. Its enormous sharp teeth aimed for the Dark One's throat, but miraculously, she managed to jerk away, and the fangs tore into her left shoulder, ripping out a chunk of flesh.
It appeared as though another moment would pass, and the fox would effortlessly kill the witch with a single additional blow. The beast was indeed massive and terrifying, and Mary appeared like a regular girl, not a warrior capable of fending off a shapeshifter in combat transformation.
However, the beast's second swipe, delivered so quickly that it was a blur to my eyes, missed its mark. Mary spun in place like a seasoned wushu master, dodging the attack, leapt to her feet and immediately counter-attacked with her ritual blade. Her left arm hung uselessly by her side; the fox's initial attack had seemingly severed tendons and muscles.
The obsidian knife's slash was as quick as the shapeshifter's movements, but the fox effortlessly evaded the danger. It twisted, sprawled on the ground, and lunged into a fresh attack, targeting the witch's knees.
Abel de Diaz claimed that shapeshifters were no match for Dark Adepts and were merely prey for the Gifted. Perhaps, generally, this is true. But now, a starkly different scenario played out on the country house's veranda. The scene involved the top student of the sabotage course in twenty years, a shapeshifter from a clan of spies and assassins, against a young and likely inexperienced witch. The wound Mary suffered at the start of the fight seemed gravely serious.
If I could, I would have yelled, "Fight on, Ketsu!" But even though the witch's full attention was on the shapeshifter, she barely relaxed her hold on us, and my tongue refused to cooperate.
I hadn't miscalculated, though. Ketsu Sugawara had indeed tracked me on this rural trip. I'm unsure why he harbors such intense interest and hatred for Izao, but at that moment, I was thrilled to see him, albeit in the form of a giant fox.
While I focused intensely on constructing the helmet, the battle on the veranda raged on. The shapeshifter's lunge, aimed at the girl's knees, missed its mark as she nimbly sidestepped the attack with a grace akin to a ballerina. Despite the surprise of Ketsu's ambush from the shadows, Mary appeared unfazed and calm. Her left arm was nearly torn off, she was facing a shapeshifter in battle form, and yet there was no fear in her eyes, only concentration. It was as if she was not in a life-or-death struggle, but taking some sort of written test.
The back-and-forth of their attacks continued. The shapeshifter tried to both bite and swipe with his paw simultaneously, while the witch dodged and retaliated with her ritual knife. In the end, neither Ketsu's assault nor Mary's counterattack found their marks.
However...
When the witch swung her obsidian knife, I sensed that this action was merely a diversion. My raw and hyper-sensitive Spark allowed me to perceive the growth of a dark energy whip from the Dark One's aura, which delivered a powerful blow to the shapeshifter.
Ketsu clearly didn't see this attack, but some primal instinct alerted him to the impending danger. He felt it and retreated, almost escaping the blow.
Almost...
The dark whip struck the beast's left hind leg, causing it to go numb and unresponsive. A wicked smile crept onto Mary's face as another dark appendage sprouted from her aura.
The Dark Gifted's double strike should have concluded the fight, but her overconfidence in her impending victory led her to underestimate Ketsu. Instead of evading or attempting to flee, Sugawara charged forward.
The two whips of dark energy flew higher than Mary anticipated, only lightly skimming the fox's back. Her obsidian knife slashed across the beast's black-brown muzzle, but this didn't deter Ketsu. His large fangs sunk deeply into the girl's thigh.
The whips of darkness rose once more and descended on the shapeshifter's spine, but the fox only clamped down harder. The audible crunch of bone echoed out, the sound of the beast's jaws crushing bone while simultaneously tearing through the girl's flesh. The pain must have been unbearable, but not a single muscle twitched on the witch's face. Another strike of dark energy, and Ketsu Sugawara, a shapeshifter from a clan of assassins and spies, one of the best in his field, transformed into a fearsome predator, slumped onto the floor, defeated by a young, seemingly fragile girl.