"Can you have allergies in the Break?" Maya's mood had clearly improved, likely because of the recent news which provided a small respite from the continuous onslaught of horrors. It's natural; when so much is happening around, the mind seeks any positive news as a distraction.
"It's not a physiological allergy, but a psychological one. Just don't pay it any mind." I responded, mirroring her smile.
To be honest, I'm not sure how I've been managing. The Projection might dull the senses, and I'm no longer a young man, but such revelations could send anyone spiraling. And I did feel a surge of panic. However, Zanh Kiem's stoic acceptance of the imminent End seemed to prevent me from succumbing entirely. Besides, I didn't want to appear weak in front of those I've grown to respect; not at all. Maya continued:
"Crixus is planning a training session for all willing raigs at midnight. I'm eager to join. I hope you'll be there and perhaps offer some guidance."
"I can't make any promises," I replied, cautious because of the "Word." With how rapidly events have been unfolding, it's best not to commit. "But I'll try to be there."
"I believe Crixus is right: while investigations matter, our primary duty as Break Knights is to fend off Breakthroughs," Maya noted, with more wisdom than she might realize. "Preparation and training are key. And nighttime sessions will suit most, especially once the academic year starts. Unlike others, we recover quickly in the Projection. Sleeplessness affects our nerves more than our bodies." Sure, I remember those dark circles under your eyes. "Still, we must conserve our prana for training, which can pose challenges."
"Especially for me," Even though Spark acts as a mild generator, I've only a bit more than a third of my energy left. I spent far too long in the Break today.
"Yes, I understand," Maya replied, her voice filled with genuine concern.
"Speaking of which, do you know the fate of the old BKDW building?"
"Oh, I miss it so," Maya sighed. "It felt like a second home. They promised we'd keep it. I didn't see the need for a new place, but inspections are ongoing. Security assures us another attack is unlikely with a few more systems in place. However, the sappers remain cautious, demanding more time. They fear they might have overlooked something." Her distress was evident.
"They're unsure and need additional checks? We could easily assist the security team with that."
"How?" Maya asked, her eyes filled with hope.
I gestured with my hand and exited the Break.
"Esteemed Zanh," I addressed the leader of the Third Palm.
"Yes?" The sensum shifted his attention to Maya and me.
"I have a small request."
What had I done? Even Nein caught the tension that suddenly gripped his superior.
"Lao ban, are you okay?" The clerical investigator asked, waving his hand in front of the seemingly paralyzed boss.
How foolish of me! Here I am, in the First Angel, making a "request." Naturally, the Maker's mind would be overwhelmed, especially after my last "request" was essentially a call to the Creator himself.
"It's okay, Nein," Zanh finally responded. "What can I do for you, Master Maestro?"
"Would you inspect the BKDW building to ensure nothing dangerous was overlooked during the prior search?"
"Ah..." Zanh Kiem didn't bother to hide his relief. "I can assure you now that everything is in order, but I'll double-check tonight. If Mr. Tunk approves, Lao and Bao will then advise his team on automated security systems."
"If I approve?" Mr. Tunk, the liaison with the clerics, responded, puzzled. "I wholeheartedly support it! The Heir is deeply concerned about potential threats to the Break Knights, whom he's vowed to protect."
"Esteemed Zanh, may I speak with you privately for a moment?" I suggested.
"Certainly."
We moved away from prying ears, and I whispered, "Should I remain silent around you? I wanted things to be like 'before.'"
"It's easy for you to say," he replied, "but imagine being in my shoes! I'd rather face a dozen Dark Ones and perish than bear the knowledge I possess now."
"But you DO know, and that can't be changed."
"You don't get it," Zanh Kiem sighed.
"Then enlighten me. What am I missing?"
"You could travel to Rome, Mecca, or even join us... Command any of the Sees, and they'd heed you, especially now that the Creators have departed. The First Angel grants you such authority."
"Assuming you're correct," I responded, struggling to hide my shock, "you're overlooking one vital point."
"Which is?"
"My actions would contradict the Creator's main directive: 'Live as you lived.'"
"You see it that way?"
"Absolutely! Until the world is completely lost, I won't exploit the power Metatron offers. So, heed my primary command."
"Yes!" He responded, ready for instruction.
"Behave as if I'm wearing the standard 'Shield of the Holy See' armor, not the First Angel."
"Eh... It's easy for you to say."
"Zanh Kiem, you're the leader of the Third Palm of Retribution, a Maker! I can't believe you're not up to it!"
"Thank you, I understand the directive," the sensum responded gravely, offering a ceremonious bow.
For some reason, that bow pushed my already frayed nerves over the edge. Just yesterday, I couldn't have imagined acting as I was about to, but his repeated clownish antics had worn out my patience. Truly, it had. There he was, bowing deeply, shifting all responsibility onto me, all of it! As if he were just a simple executor, not a Maker! I couldn't hold back. My hand raised impulsively to slap him — his position was just so inviting. Naturally, being a Maker, he easily evaded my attempt. His eyes ignited with a fiery crimson as he retaliated with a swift counter. And he missed as well; I had foreseen his move before he made it, a red probability line illuminating in my vision. My fist, encased in the armor of the First Angel, hurtled toward his shoulder. The sensum deftly parried, and then his counter came. My world became a kaleidoscope of colorful lines, and I evaded the menacing red ones. Zanh Kiem's onslaught missed its mark. I unleashed a flurry of sharp blows, which he blocked. In return, he launched a barrage of strikes and sweeping moves. I dodged the red trajectories and, when possible, sidestepped the amber ones; he made contact just once, but the armor absorbed his blow effortlessly. An attempt at a cunning grab, but my arm slipped from his grasp like water.
Lines, colors, paths of possibility. The world had transformed, forever altered. The "Fan of Probabilities" had been activated. This ability was meant to remain dormant until I thwarted a Breakthrough. Yet, it seems Metatron's power allowed me to circumvent this restraint.
Recognizing that I could anticipate his strikes, the Maker shifted his attack strategy. My task grew more challenging. The red lines were fewer, but the orange multiplied.
I couldn't help but laugh.
The thrill of it all. The peril and the sheer beauty...
A barrage of strikes, thrusts, undercuts, evasions, and parries.
The velocity was maddening, making the recent bout between the twins and Rock seem like a scene from an old movie played in slow motion.
My laughter was mirrored by Zanh Kiem's.
This wasn't the kind of dance I was accustomed to. It was a wild tempest of energy, unrestrained and boundless. The might of the leader of the Third Palm against the Armor Blessed by the Creators. The agility of the seasoned sensum pitted against the near-invulnerable armor and enhancement provided by the First Angel. The Maker's prescience versus the Fan.
Suddenly, a police car was sent flying, crashing five meters away, unlucky to be at the wrong place and time. I sidestepped a looming red trajectory, and the ground where I once stood erupted. Where Zanh Kiem had struck, a five-centimeter-deep crater formed.
Through our combat, we channeled our despair, fears, and all that weighed upon us...
Sometimes, for two men to truly understand each other, they must clash. That's precisely what we were doing, albeit on a surreal level.
The Maker's Tsunami was met with the raig's Lightning. And though the raig wasn't in the Break, the duel was evenly matched. Everything around us paused, all eyes on us.
Even amidst the fray, I took in our surroundings: Maya's hands were clasped over her mouth, her eyes shining with unbridled awe; the curators looked stunned, the special forces of the clan displayed shock verging on sheer wonder. It seemed even the shapeshifters struggled to keep up, their perception too slow!
A Gifted and a Break Knight.
The world's oldest power versus the newly arisen.
Yet, it wasn't a contest but a union.
And this skirmish? It was merely a reflection of utter harmony.
A Maker and a raig.
This couldn't end. There was something we hadn't grasped, and until we did, our duel would persist, perhaps even to the world's end.
My laughter, distorted by the voice modulator, harmonized with Zanh Kiem's, crafting a melody. Simultaneously, we caught its beat, our final move culminating in a palm-to-palm clap.
Two men stood amid devastation, as if after an aerial bombardment.
Not as a Gifted and a Break Knight.
Not as a Maker and a raig.
Two men stood, palms pressed together...
Just Humans.
The two of us realized that this understanding was the bedrock, and everything else was inconsequential.
"Thank you," our lips say in unison, and we offer each other a gracious bow.
As we straighten up, applause erupts around us. The clan's special forces are particularly enthusiastic in their clapping. Evidently, our display had left quite an impression.
"Back to work?" Zanh Kiem asks with a grin.
"Absolutely," I reply, my own smile concealed beneath my visor.
We head back to the operational headquarters as if the recent confrontation never occurred.
"Lao ban," the Third Palm's investigator begins, stealing glances at me with a hint of unease.
"All is well, Nein," the Creator reassures, glancing at the gathered crowd. "Master Maestro and I have come to a complete understanding."
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"I concur," I say, feeling a genuine sense of relief, though my body aches. I suspect I've sustained numerous bruises and a few sprained ligaments. The only things keeping me upright are the lingering adrenaline and the armor's ability to numb the pain.
"That was quite enlightening," Tunk declares, bowing in gratitude, and Alir echoes his gesture. "Thank you for the demonstration, Maker and Master Maestro." The curators regard me differently now. Their expressions seem to carry a newfound respect. "We shapeshifters understand that sometimes agreements can only be forged through combat." His sincerity is palpable; there's no trace of deceit in his words.
"Forgive me. I need to enter the Break for a bit," I manage to say, struggling to keep my voice steady.
Zanh Kiem seems unaffected by the recent events, whereas my vision blurs from the pain.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!
Oh, what a relief! I was on the verge of collapsing from the pain. The Projection is such a sanctuary.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!
Suddenly, Maya is beside me.
"That was... that was..." She's at a loss for words, her hands raised in amazement. "I always knew you were impressive, but to go toe-to-toe with a Maker!"
"Not exactly toe-to-toe," I respond, shaking my head. "Without this armor, he would've taken me down as easily as flicking a switch. I wouldn’t have stood a chance."
"If..." She retorts with a smirk, referencing the famous response of the Spartans to the Macedonians.
"No, I'm being sincere. I shifted to the Break because my injuries were too much to bear."
"You walked away from that fight on your own. It was a draw," she counters with conviction. Arguing with her would be futile. She's adamant in her beliefs. I quickly assess whether I can change her mind and decide it's not worth the effort. "I have a fantastic idea..."
"Sure, whatever," I dismissively say. Despite my feelings toward her, my mind is preoccupied with other matters. "It's time to return. The Break has healed my body."
"Yes... Yes... Of course," she replies absentmindedly with a distant smile, as if lost in her thoughts.
Investigation. I always understood it to be primarily a routine affair. A slow and meticulous process, sifting through numerous clues, most leading to dead ends. Yet, occasionally, that one elusive lead might steer you right.
As I observed the actions of the police, Zanh Kiem, curators, and others, I sometimes felt superfluous. Nein, however, found a use for me. With my permission, the investigator employed me as a simple messenger, leveraging my raig speed and abilities. This arrangement was so amusing to Zanh Kiem that he retreated to headquarters, laughing until he could compose himself.
Need a research printout? It'd be in his hands in three minutes. Kael and Tora were taken aback when I swiftly took a page right from under their eyes. As for the laboratory staff? They were truly shocked. Well, I had the curators' approval, and the time was tight.
Transport the encrypted book from the broker of Sharp Knives as quickly as possible? Done. Fetch certain texts from the academic library? With Mr. Tunk's receipt in my hand, Nein received his requested items in mere minutes.
Nein was becoming increasingly ambitious with his requests. The city blurs around me, its streets melding into a dizzying rush. Knights I occasionally encounter can only watch, puzzled, as my fleeting form speeds past. Maya, murmuring to herself, had vanished; her eyes ablaze with a certain eagerness. I barely took notice.
By ten in the evening, I emerged from the Break and declared, "I'm spent. Time to recharge."
"What?" Nein looked up, momentarily perplexed. Then realization hit. "That's a shame. But I get it."
"Esteemed Zanh, may I have a word?" I ask, pulling the head of the Third Palm aside.
Once more, just the two of us stand together, isolated from the rest. But the atmosphere is different now. No tension, no misunderstanding. We're on equal footing. Both aware of the looming End. A weighty responsibility rests on our shoulders, and it's the mutual understanding between us that prevents either from buckling under the strain.
"I'm heading home. My prana's nearly depleted, and I've got a training session with the Knights tonight."
"Perhaps you should leave the investigation to us and focus on training the Knights?" he suggests.
"I'd prefer that, but it's not an option. Would you be able to do the same? And, how about we drop the formalities?"
"No problem. You have my number, Maestro. Call anytime."[1]
"Good luck to all of you."
"Go recuperate your strength, Si... Hey! That was a joke!"
"To hell with such jokes!"
"But it's funny!"
"Funny to you, not to me."
"You wanted me to act normal, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then, I don't care what you think of my jokes!" I wonder, how did someone like him gain the Powers of a Maker? It's baffling!
His genuine smile is so infectious that I can't stand it and go into the Projection.
The last thing I hear from him today is a whispered, "Have I just been rude to Metatron?!" His whisper then morphs into a suppressed chuckle, barely concealing the laughter erupting from him.
I can hardly hold back my own laughter too.
Sliding...
Home at last. Reluctantly, almost forcing myself, I remove the Angel and collapse on the bed. My prana is nearly depleted. I doubt I'll recover before midnight. That's a problem. Something needs to be done. But what?
Typically, after a full night's sleep, I restore all my energy which, given my increased capacity, lasts nearly six hours in the Projection. This calculation is under regular conditions; any activity also drains it. I was in the Projection for only four hours today, but I used Sliding so extensively that I'm exhausted. So, eight hours of sleep equates to six in the Projection. Now, I barely have two hours left. While it might suffice for a light session, I recover almost twice as fast asleep than when awake. Sleeping now isn't an option. And distressing thoughts further slow my energy recovery. What's the solution?
I sit up, sensing a faint warmth in my chest.
The Spark?
How was it said there?
"You are one with the world, and the world will support you."
I settle into the lotus position, attempting to meditate. It wasn't something I was adept at, but maybe this time would be different.
At first, it's fruitless. My thoughts are too scattered, preventing me from connecting with the Spark. However, as I relax, I become more aware of the minuscule warmth in my chest. I focus on this sensation, allowing it to envelop me. While my surroundings remain unchanged and no newfound powers emerge, I sense a subtle shift.
Energy particles are suspended all around me, almost too numerous to count. Each one is infinitesimal, a tiny fraction of my energy reserve. And they're omnipresent. I try to capture them, but to no avail. Altering my approach, I envision myself as a vortex, a gravitational center drawing these particles to me. And to my surprise, it works.
Two hours glide by swiftly, and emerging from my meditation, I find my energy reserve has recovered nearly a third.
I suit up in the armor. No need to reference any instructions – each piece instinctively fits in its rightful position. The right glove is the last to connect with a soft click.
I take a deep breath.
My thoughts become sharper and more profound, while fears and anxieties dissipate.
How wonderful.
Thank you, Metatron.
While the armor boasts impressive combat capabilities, its primary function is to support its wearer. Support – in every conceivable way. I realize that had I meditated in the First Angel for these two hours, my energy would have been fully restored. I'll bear that in mind for next time.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Ceilings, walls, stone, streets.
Sliding!
I'm running a tad late, by about five minutes, but that's trivial.
Why is Equality Square brimming with people? Furthermore, many are wielding cameras, all pointing at the roof of the BKDW building. Just curious onlookers, perhaps? Well, it doesn't concern me.
I spring up and halt, utterly dumbfounded. I'm greeted with the synchronized flourish of no less than seventy blades!
"Raaaaig!" The cry echoes from dozens of visor-clad throats.
Hold on! Why so many Knights? Not even half of this number exists in the entire capital. Over seventy raigs? Among them, I spot familiar armors of those who reflected the Pirate Breakthrough with me – they've all assembled here!
Three figures step forward: Maya, Halley, and Crixus. As he nears, the Corsican offers a profound bow, admitting, "I was wrong. I behaved foolishly. I apologize, master. You demonstrated your prowess, and I was too blinded by pride to see."
"The Break Knights from Novilter and neighboring nations have gathered at your summons, Maestro!" Halley's blade gestures expansively. "All are prepped for the first raig training session!"
I'm perplexed – I hadn't summoned anyone.
"Your orders, master!" Maya says, her smile hinting at mischief.
Aha! Now, it makes sense. It was Maya's doing. I should've paid more heed and not dismissed her so quickly... This is on me. If it's my responsibility, then I have to see it through.
"Attention!" I command, raising my hand, and a hush envelops the crowd, as if a spell's been cast. "Prana reserves aren't limitless; every moment is invaluable." A challenging, albeit necessary, thought occurs to me. Suppressing my hesitancy, I proceed, "Members of BKDW, as well as Dobrynya and Baenre, accompany me. Crixus, you're exempt. Lead the preliminary training and identify those proficient with their weapons. Understood?"
"Yes!"
"Execute!"
"Did you all hear the master? The one who stands toe-to-toe with Makers without relying on the forces of the Break!" The Corsican shouts. "Line up! Those with even and odd numbers, partner up."
How does he and apparently everyone else know about this?
"Maya," I address the girl, "we need to have a serious talk later. But that's for later... For now, those I've named – follow me!"
[1] TLN: Maestro suggests switching to a more informal mode of address, the sort used between acquaintances or friends. In the following exchange, Znah Kiem does the same.