“Shit—I knew this was another of Hakana’s schemes, sending me here.” Meguru Yoha tutted, scuffing the ground with his toe. “This messed-up landscape is definitely Yamashita’s doing. You’d think Hakana got the whole damn squad in on this, and didn’t even think of telling me.” He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled up into the sky—voice amplified by Chaos Theory. “Where are the rest of you hiding? Come out from the Hatcave, Hatman, I did your job for you. Harigane’s done for, and I got the blade!”
No response.
“Damn waste of my time. Was this because I called him boring earlier?” He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Consequences, I guess. What a spiteful son of a bitch.” He studied the Ascension Blade, still trapped in its frame. “Gotta hand it to the kid, though. This is pretty damn clever. Even if we did get our hands on it, doesn’t mean shit.” Part of him really wanted to smash the damn thing just to test a theory. If the kid hadn’t been bluffing, however, he really didn’t fancy the boss’ wrath.
Aiko knelt over Rin’s unconscious body. Tears dragged mascara down the corners of her eyes, as she shook the boy by the shoulders. Meguru saw this and laughed. “Don’t bother; the kid’s done for. He’ll be crippled for the rest of his life if he’s lucky.”
“Why did you have to go that far?” Aiko screamed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You deranged diva. What the hell are you playing at?” Meguru’s lip curled. “Want me to break both of your arms too?”
Aiko shrank back, mortified.
“What a pain. Guess I gotta do everything ‘round this joint.” Meguru stuck both hands in his pockets and ambled over. Moving her aside with his foot, he bent down and hoisted Rin over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. It was a fair walk back to the office, but he’d already secured the boss’ trophy. The Ascension Blade in its current state may have been useless, but if he took Harigane back to Nowhere and got Sakazuki to work her magic, then surely the boss could get his way in the end.
“What are you doing?” Aiko cried. “Give him back!”
“I’m outta here. Got a whole bunch of nothing to be getting back to.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “You sure you don’t wanna come back with me, babe? There’s probably a movie on somewhere, or we could go pachinko later—”
“Kill yourself.”
“Have it your way.” Meguru laughed. “Enjoy sitting there, or whatever. I’m sure someone will give a shit eventually. Later.”
With that, he strolled off at a whistle. The boss’ plan had better be interesting for all of this. He’d have to bully HR later for a pay rise for all the extra effort he’d been putting in lately. Look at him, such an exemplary employee! With Harigane still lolling over his shoulder, Meguru held the Ascension Blade up to the light and marveled at the design. It was different to the boss’, but still: all that effort just for a knife? This was all so silly, he couldn’t help but laugh.
A chilling voice cut him off. “You seem to have forgotten whose body you’re manhandling. Allow me to remind you the price for such insolence.”
A square frame cut straight through Meguru’s wrist. The hand holding the Ascension Blade flew off; the frame clattered to the ground. A jet of blood spurted from the stump, and Meguru yelled. Clamped his other hand tight around the wrist, the crackle of psychic energy along his skin cast an eerie purple glow. The bleeding quickly stemmed to a gentle trickle, staining his shirt sleeve with red.
“Man, that fucking hurt.” Meguru grinned through the pain, brandishing his newly amputated limb. “What the hell was that, Harigane?”
It wasn’t Harigane anymore. Rin’s body hadn’t changed, but contrary to the boy’s usual slouch, this figure stood taller; a far more regal posture, far more menacing. Both broken arms still hung limp by his sides. At last, the Architect glared up at Meguru, face contorted in hatred. “You diminished the consequence of your injury to near-zero in order to reduce loss of blood.” He raised both his broken arms, and tutted. “How irritating.” He surrounded both limbs in cuboid frames, and captured.
> Framework: Reconstruction
>
> 枠組：再建 Wakugumi: Saiken
Glass splintered with a crash. Both frames broke apart into thousands of small cubes. The small cubes reorganised themselves in mid-air, before rebuilding his arms completely. Once assembled, the lines of the cubes around the flesh faded, leaving the arms as good as new.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.” Meguru laughed, grinning despite himself. “What the hell kind of technique is that?”
“Good.” The Architect ignored him, examining his reconstructed limbs. “This body accommodates me better now. The boy’s done well to cultivate my power.” He clenched his fist, and felt the familiar strain on the skin. “Alas, it remains imperfect, but I never expected much. I will manage from this point forward.”
“The boss didn’t tell me about this.” Meguru folded his arms. “So, Harigane gets a deus ex machina to possess his body whenever he gets close to dying, does he? That’s awfully clichéd. Who the hell are you?”
“An enemy.”
The Architect’s glare ran a flash of permafrost, and Meguru’s blood ran a little colder. What was this feeling? He’d only ever seen one other with such an aura.
“The boy’s foes are of little consequence to me. This power struggle over my Ascension Blade is futile, and I treat it as such.” The Architect walked over to the frame containing the fragment and stowed it away. “Normally, this would be a blessing for you. I have no time to waste dicing up the inconsequential.”
Meguru grinned. “That’s ironic.”
“For you, however, I will make an exception.”
A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Meguru’s face, eyes widening. “What? You’re mad just because I beat the kid up a little, is that it? Now he’s gone and croaked, you’re gonna serve me up seventeen ways to Saturday? Jeez, they need to fire whoever's writing this shit. I’ve seen way too many shows to be surprised by this old song and dance. Trust me, you’re not that guy, pal.”
“Hold your tongue, charlatan, before I sever it; release your ears, lest I carve you a pair anew. Your petty conflict means naught to me. Yet, for a braggart who claims such serendipity, it was a great deal of misfortune that you ended up facing me here.” Psychic energy crackled in the sky around the Architect, and the hair on Meguru’s skin stood on end. “I despise you not for who you are, for the sands abrade the names of fools. Rather, I despise you for what you are, Blessèd.”
Meguru shifted into a lazy combat stance. “Fuck me if I’m gonna ask what that means...”
“The phenomena that govern see humanity as their playthings. The very beings that give them life, they toss around like dolls as they alone see fit.” He pointed a daggered finger at Meguru. “You have done nothing to earn your power. It was given, bestowed upon you by a self-proclaimed deity who lives only to expand his own influence over the world. You are a toy; your very existence, a joke. Every second you draw breath disgusts me. You are the exact antithesis of the world I strive to create.”
“What’s with all this philosophy? You’re killing me here, grandpa.” Meguru sighed. “Seems you and Harigane are the same type of pretentious. A damn shame. Then again—” his exasperation warped into a grin— “it wouldn’t hurt to kill another bird with the same stone.” He didn’t have stones in his pocket, so he took out another coin.
“I shall make an example out of you; atomise you, such that the birds will no longer have crumbs upon which to feed.” The Architect raised his hands, partially splayed the fingers, and overlaid them until he stared through at Meguru through the grid. Psychic energy electrified the Architect’s skin.
> Lattice
>
> 欞 Renji
Myriad blades surged forth in a relentless torrent, carving a bloodied grid pattern into Meguru’s front with every slash. The Architect grinned, and renewed his assault. The blades cut true, and lashes of blood flew out in all directions. The grid divided itself into smaller sections still, until the divisions were so small, the cut lines were indistinguishable.
Lattice is unique among Framework’s techniques; it cuts by a different mechanism. Normally, the rejection boundary between a frame’s vertices is what cleaves through anything in its path. However, though this cut is absolutely guaranteed and cannot be guarded against, it is slow, and leaves a critical opening. Lattice better resembles a traditional blade. By interlacing his fingers, the Architect creates a mesh. This mesh then projects perpendicular cleaving slashes, over and over, until his target has been segmented into perfectly even cubes. It has less damage potential than a traditional cut, but over a prolonged time makes up for it tenfold both in speed and range: anything the Architect pictures through his fingers becomes a target for the slashes.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The Architect maintained his barrage for full fifteen seconds, then lowered his hands. He could no longer see three feet in front of him. The air hung thick with a red mist: blood vaporised from the velocity of his blades. Whoever that man had once been, there was likely nothing left of him now. The
Architect turned, and a grin carved itself across his face just like the grooves his stray slashes left in the ground.
“Do you see this, Inka?” He shouted up at the sky. “Your reckless mockery of the human race will soon be at an end. Your flesh pawn was first; you will be next.”
“You’re really telling me that’s it?”
The Architect looked over his shoulder. The mist had cleared. Standing where he had been all along, Meguru Yoha had been drenched in his own blood. His suit lay in tatters; and thick crimson oozed all the way down his front. The man wiped his eyes clean of the red, and split a wide grin. “I lived, bitch.” Licking blood off shredded lips, Meguru grimaced and spat it back out. “Eurgh, always wondered whether vampires were onto something. Definitely not, that’s vile.”
“How dare you still stand.”
“Surprised, are you?”
“Annoyingly, no.” The Architect frowned. “I should have known you’d manipulate the consequence of my slashes to only deal surface level damage at best. However, I did not expect you capable of tampering with the effects of my Lattice to such a degree.”
“Still, that really stings. Why’d you have to drag me through the shredder like that? I’ve seen what the kid can do; you already did away with my right hand. Surely, it’s far simpler just to cut off my head.”
“I have also seen what the boy can do. Do not mistake his fledgling prowess as Framework’s standard.” The Architect shook his head. “I do not wish to simply kill you. I wish to humiliate you, and your patron by proxy.”
“And I thought I was cruel.”
“This has nothing to do with you.” The Architect stared up into the sky, at the scales of bronze he so despised. “I intend not just to end your life, but to completely obliterate you in spite of all your myriad gifts. I don’t expect you to understand.” His glare at Meguru seethed white-hot. “Now kneel, and we shall see just how many layers of your skin I can peel away.”
Meguru kept his legs dead straight. He’d rather die standing—he wasn’t planning on dying, either. “Those knives were painful; I don’t like pain, see?” The slicing barrage had made him drop his coin. He bent and reached for it. “Ain’t gonna let you use that technique again.”
He made some hand-signs beforehand, deliberate interlacing. I wonder if it’ll still work once I crushed his fingers.
Reaching slowly, deliberately, for the coin with his one remaining hand, Meguru dislodged the coin he’d placed behind his ear during the Architect’s monologue with a shake of his head. The man straightened up, lining up the shot with his finger. The coin broke the sound barrier, piercing the space between them with a magnified bang.
The Architect deflected it without an effortless backhand, an intricately crafted crashguard shattering on impact. “Sleight of hand? Even with a Ninth’s blessing, the best you can manage is knavery.”
“For real?” Meguru chuckled. “Thought I got you good. Oh well.”
“The chance to prove your worth has elapsed and, worse still, you’ve left me disappointed. I will crush you here. Pray you will leave behind a greater legacy in this world than an imprint of that jester’s grimace in the stonework.”
The Architect sampled a section of nearby rock into a frame. He shaped and engorged it into a thirty foot pillar. The obelisk teetered on its end, then toppled forward.
“Sticks and stones, huh?” The lazy man grinned and wiped away more blood. He let the pillar fall. The stone smashed on impact, and Meguru remained standing. The bleeding from earlier had begun to subside. The consequence of blunt force trauma was easy to shrug off. It wasn’t over yet. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He turned to see five more pillars positioned at different angles, all certain to flatten him.
The Architect, meanwhile, had swiftly taken mid-air vantage some way away. “Be grateful, for this tombstone shall be the first of many. You may be able to survive the consequence of impact, but how about the lasting pressure of being buried alive?”
The final pillar shattered over Meguru’s head, splintering down the middle and spilling yet more fragments of rock over the torn up ground. Meguru, who hadn’t been bothered to move for the past however long, finally removed hand and stump from his pockets and checked his watch (he wasn’t wearing one), brushing the stone and dust off his shoulders. A shadow abruptly descended over the area. One hundred feet in the air, a gigantic pyramid took shape. Made out of the same dark stone that surrounded them, the surface of every segment was polished and engraved with symbols, the rows of concentric brick brickwork bearing cautionary tales against the impending demise of ignorance.
Meguru looked up, eyes widened, and he grinned. “That looks bad.”
The pyramid didn’t wait for him; the stone crushed him completely. The impact sent a quake through the broken island, and the ground dropped several metres in the chaotic sea of psychic energy. A gale of displaced air around the base of the pyramid kicked up the dust and particulate into a storm, crackling with the static charges all around. The Architect observed his creation, lip curling down, and descended from the sky on a sequence of transparent platforms. One annoyance dealt with, countless others to follow. The time would soon come, for the true test of humanity’s ingenuity. That would be truly thrilling. He took stock of the Distortion. There was no order yet, but this rift would make as good foundation as any: an anchor rooted in the dimensional divide.
“Fountains of ichor spring forth, the southern sky cloudpiercer.” The Architect executed a complicated hand movement. “Take this form against your will, and weep.” The outline of a segmented, totem-like hexagonal pillar appeared in the centre of the distortion, brilliant white lines cutting through the darkened ether. “Egregious acts, cowardly miser, shield and scorn: perforate the barrier to man’s heart, ye righteous!” The pillar gained greater definition, grew larger, and began to spin. The segments on the column alternated in their rotation, and increased in speed until the entire structure was a blur. The Architect clenched his fist. “Be burned in blue, Cornerstone Acrux!”
The pillar was actualised in carved, blackened stone. The toll of the colossal bell cleared the heavens, and the midday sun shone down through the translucent dimensional membrane. Everything was rendered still. The pillar, now a mighty monument, stretched up into the sky. Beyond a point, it faded away from distance alone. A spectral membrane surrounded the area and stopped the distortion from spreading, stabilising the rift in its current state. The Architect, breathing heavy, lowered his hands at last.
The distortion had been stabilised. He had kept his word to the boy before sealing him away. Nevertheless, this tower was only one of four. These foundations would stand the test of time, his declaration of humanity’s impending, newest and truest golden age.
A sudden crash stole away his attention. Behind him, a mighty crack splintered several gigantic fault lines in the western wall of the stone pyramid. With another rumble, the pyramid collapsed all at once. Out of the rubble, Meguru Yoha emerged none the worse for wear. His first reaction? A confused glance up at the clear sky. “Someone finally turned on the lights! Crazy.”
The Architect folded his arms, frowning. “I should have long since cut off your head.”
“Can you believe it?” Meguru cried. “It took me three tries to knock that sucker down! I mean—” he hammered on his chest, clearing his throat free of dust— “There’s never been anything before that’s withstood my Disaster Strike even twice before! And here I thought Yamashita’s anti-quake tech made things difficult. You weren’t kidding about the shrimp, he couldn’t fry rice even half this good! Why couldn’t I have fought you from the start?”
Maybe this is what Hakana had meant all along. No, he wouldn’t give the hatman any satisfaction.
The Architect was starting to wish he hadn’t sealed the boy away now. Moreover, the expenditure of psychic energy from constructing Acrux had left him temporarily drained. What’s more, he was still in the process of acclimatising to his new body. His psychic energy output and reserves had been lowered considerably, as the physical bounds didn’t yet conform to the contours of his soul. He needed time.
Meguru had sensed the lull in the Architect’s flow like a wasp to soda, and hovered ever closer. Blood still dripped off him like water from a fresh shower, yet still he swayed in his approach, that lackadaisical swagger. “Hang on—I’ll tell you what.” He stopped a little distance away, and raised a hand. “Since you gave me all that prep time with whatever the hell it was you were saying earlier—don’t ask me, I wasn’t listening—I’ll give you ‘till the count of five. Deal?”
The Architect didn’t grace him with a response. Meguru extended all five fingers, and started folding them down one by one like he were explaining the concept to a toddler.
“Five—”
He dashed the Architect immediately. Meguru loved lying. The rush of air caught up a moment later, followed by the small crater the man’s magnified sprint had left in the ground. Meguru struck out with a two-finger poke—another Disaster Strike—but the Architect’s parry was frame perfect. Meguru followed with a series of quick yet lazy jabs. Parried. A slap to the face. Parried. This exchange continued at length, neither side losing ground. The cacophony of smashing frames filled the air with ethereal glass fragments.
All Meguru’s moves came out so quick and hit like a truck, but the movements themselves lacked intensity. This wasn’t just a result of his laissez-faire attitude to life, but one of Chaos Theory’s only drawbacks. For while the ability could tamper with and violate universal laws of causality, one thing it had to abide by was Newton’s third law of motion. By amplifying the consequence of his physical strikes, Meguru Yoha subjects his own body to that same force as well. If he amplified the consequence of a full-strength punch, he could easily take his own arm off in the process. Psychic reinforcement mitigates this up to a point. Beyond that, however, the feedback from the amplified blow outweighs the effective damage it deals to an opponent. You only need so much power to injure someone, after all. As such, Meguru Yoha’s “Lazy-Bone Style” was born, and with it came the perfect balance.
The Architect snapped his fingers and constructed an wall, a warped and interlocking outline. He shoved it back, forcing Meguru in its wake. With distance on his side, the Architect’s hands wove an intricate and frenzied dance, carving myriad cubes from a distance around the man’s head. Meguru grinned, immersed in transcendent flow. The man ducked and weaved between the furious assault, evading certain death by the smallest of margins with the moves of a seasoned dancer. Each deadly cube snapped into being with a crack like gunshot, and faded immediately. The Architect could keep this up all day if he needed to; simple cubes, even at a distance, were no difficulty for him. Sooner or later, Meguru would tire himself out. Despite his blessèd status, he was ultimately human. Humans made mistakes. That mistake would be his last.
Meguru Yoha had long since lost himself in the soul of the dance. Not a single thought entered his head. He only moved in synchronicity with the world around him, and the vectors of consequence all strayed his path. While the Architect was vying for his blood, he was having the time of his life.
Amid the chaos, a set of golden sliding doors burst open only metres away! The Architect and Meguru paused. A new distinct psychic signature had entered play.
“Everybody freeze!”