I clapped my hands together, “Hell yeah. It’s about time.”
Torix nodded, “Indeed it is. You’ve progressed at a rapid pace given your less than ideal circumstances…Though perhaps that is an unfair assessment of your current advantages. That effervescent flow of mana and the kind of mana you wield, they enable odd forms of progression compared to standard magic wielders.”
I shrugged, “Eh, as long I’m moving forward, that’s what matters. I don’t want to waste too much time comparing myself to other people all the time.”
Torix’s eyes flared purple, “Comparisons are like any tool. They can give you an accurate measure of perspective, something that could take decades to grasp when achieved through other means. However, there are those that immerse themselves in relentless comparison. These individuals waste time and focus their efforts on expanding their egos, affirming what is effectively a void, but I digress.”
Torix created a chair made of black, writhing mana for me. As I sat down, the chair held me up in a cold, solid embrace. After a moment, I pushed myself up off the chair. Torix’s gestured to it,
“Is something the matter?”
“I wanted to try something out. One sec-” I stood up before waving the chair of mana away. I sat midair in a squat before curling my armor around my legs. After that, I created supports for my back. I leaned back into my armor chair, pressing against a telekinetic field on my back for support. At the same time, I created another wide field on the floor around me.
The result was that I looked like I was sitting on nothing in the middle of the air. The process strained my abilities somewhat, but constant practice used the will garnered from my most recent perks. Torix raised an eyebrow at the sight of it,
“What is this? Hmmm…you used your armor to lock your legs in place then leaned back into a telekinetic field…Ah, then you dispersed it around you. An interesting application.”
I grinned, “Yeah, with my willpower being as high as it is, I can keep track of more things at once now.”
Torix tapped his armrest, “But wouldn’t it be simpler to stand?”
I made little armrests with my armor, laying my arms down on them. I raised my right hand, “For sure, but let’s think of this as training. I mean think about it; one of the most important parts of having high willpower is being able to handle more stuff on my plate. Any second I neglect that advantage is one wasted, right?”
I leaned onto my hand with my head, “It’s kind of like having a brilliant mind but never using it on anything more challenging than a crossword puzzle.”
Torix cupped his chin and nodded. Sitting in thought, he pondered at the ceiling for a bit.
“I can see your point…And I happen to agree.” He raised a palm, forming an umbral chair of flowing mana for him to sit on, “Now, enough pleasantries. Let’s begin your course in gravitational magic.”
He pointed a finger, and a blackboard appeared behind him. After coughing in his throat for a bit, he spoke,
“The way you’re redistributing your weight is very similar to how gravity magic operates. The difference comes from the constituting force that’s being manipulated. You are rearranging the kinetic force of the earth’s pull, but you aren’t actually shifting gravity. You’re reacting to it.”
He pointed at the blackboard, flipping it sideways. Lines criss-crossed above the board in a checkered, blue pattern. Torix put two fingers together, a ball of metal materializing in his hand.
“Do you see this grid? This represents both time and space. It’s an enmeshed fabric, and this metal marble in my hand is a blob of mass.”
He set the metal ball onto the blackboard. Like putting a ball of osmium on a trampoline, the blackboard bent downward. Torix pointed at the depression caused by the marble,
“This depression is the influence that gravity has over both space and time. It warps it, bending it like no other energy can.”
Torix spread four fingers into the air. Four smaller metal balls appeared in-between his fingers. He rolled one towards the depression of the large ball. The ball rolled past the ball before pulling back and circling it. Like a planet orbiting another planet, the ball fell into a steady spiral around the larger ball.
Torix continued, “I’m adding in some additional force to account for friction. In the absence of it, these objects can orbit for an indeterminate amount of time. Now, whenever you manipulate gravity, you can’t manipulate the object at hand.”
Torix raised a hand, and one of the orbiting balls stopped moving.
“This isn’t gravitational manipulation. This is simply forcing something to stop with kinetic energy. Telekinesis in other words. In order to manipulate gravity, you must ignore the object and see past it. You must grasp the ineffable.”
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ball orbiting again. Gripping with his hand, an area of the blackboards collapsed downwards. The circling ball’s orbit widened until it fell into the collapsed area.
“You must interact with this field that encompasses all matter. This dimensional fabric composes our universe, and bending it requires tremendous intuition, effort, and time. Over the coming months, we will enact a three-step program that will allow you to do so.”
With a wave of his hand, the entire demonstration dissolved.
“First, you must learn to sense the field. Second, you must learn to mold the field. Third, you’ll master techniques to abuse the field.”
I clapped my hands, “I am pumped. Now, how in the hell am I going to sense the fabric of our dimension?”
Torix raised a finger, “By leaving it.”
I frowned, “Ahh man. This again.”
Torix flicked a finger, snapping my nose.
“Yes, this again. Do you remember visiting the rift?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“There was an oddness in the air. A feeling like things weren’t quite normal.”
I bit my cheek,
“I thought that had to do with leaving Schema.”
“Partly, yes, but the difference also comes from the difference in dimensions. The very laws of physics operate differently within that universe. Time, gravity, and most natural laws are different if only slightly.”
I remembered how time slowed down whenever we were inside the eldritch dimension. I grinned,
“Ahhh, so if I can get a good grip on the difference between the dimensions, that’ll let me identify this, hmm…Dimensional fabric.”
Torix raised a finger, standing from his chair, “Precisely. During the next rift closing, you and Althea will be tasked with staying there for a week. I’ll discuss this with Althea after our meeting.”
A part of me winced at that prospect. Though Althea enjoyed our last outing, I doubted her desire for an entire week of incessant slaughter,
“She’s not gonna like that. Not one bit.”
Torix waved my concern away, first with his hand then his words,
“It’s a part of her training as well, and recently, I’ve identified what it is that made her different from the other experiments for Yawm. The eldritch dimension acts as an excellent place to learn more about that dynamic.”
I leaned close.
“Really? What is it?”
Torix scoffed.
“She and I often speak of her unique constitution, and I explain my findings in detail with her. In that regard, these are her secrets, and if she wishes to unveil them to you, then she shall. However, I will not be the one to do so.”
“Oh, fair enough.”
Torix met my eye, “Now, for this next operation, I understand if you wish for greater safety during a prolonged expedition. I could have Kessiah monitor you both if you’d like.”
I cupped my chin, thinking about it for a second,
“I’ll consider it for a few days. For now, I think having Kessiah with us is a good idea. A follower could show up if we’re inside the portal, and there’d be next to no way to survive that without her help.”
Torix nodded, “I will inform her of the task then. In the meantime, I shall research the purging of these insects from their victims. You may self-study for the remainder of this week.”
I raised an eyebrow, “Really? Alright. I’ll see if I can’t come up with a regiment of my own then.”
“Then off to it, disciple. Time is of the essence, as it were.”
I stood up from my impromptu chair, grinning, “Roger."
I walked towards the door, but I stopped, turned, and asked,
“What’s the difference between your mind and your soul?”
Torix froze in place before peering at me. He steepled his fingers.
“What makes you so curious?”
I shrugged.
“I’ve just seen the two compared and used in the system. I was wondering if they were the same or different things.”
Torix nodded before turning one hand over,
“The mind is the repository of memory, experiences, and thoughts one accumulates over their lifetime. It represents a culmination of efforts, and in my opinion, it is the greatest treasure one carries alongside them at all times.”
He turned his other hand,
“The soul is an entirely different concept, albeit along parallel paths to the mind. A soul is more so the existing desires, beliefs, and traits of an individual mind. If someone’s memory is harmed, they lose a portion of their memories and ergo, their minds. However, the traits that compose them remain in the soul, unharmed and effectively inviolable.”
Torix stared at a map on his wall.
“Interestingly enough, there’s quite a range of discourse on the topic on Xanathar. Many branches of magic refuse to acknowledge the existence of the soul at all. They argue it is religious discourse infecting scientific fields, and that the concept muddies their otherwise clean studies. However, I believe the opposite. The soul helps to solidify otherwise esoteric branches of sorcery.”
Torix crossed his arms, his gaze growing distant,
“For instance, mind magic is an insidious branch of sorcery I quite enjoy. You can destroy an opponent’s memories, sense of self, and knowledge using it. I have done so on many occasions. I’ve seen my enemies stripped bare of all that once composed them, and they drooled as lifeless dullards before me.”
A primordial fear bloomed in me. It was easy to forget that the affable mage carried such sinister knowledge and the wherewithal to use it. Torix continued,
“No matter how I wiped them of all memories, parts of them returned from seemingly nothing. Their desires never changed. What they loved or hated never changed. Even stranger, their interests and boredoms remained stagnant as well. To me, if memories and genetics composed us altogether, then they should’ve regressed to their minds at birth…Yet they never did.”
I winced.
“That sounds…Evil.”
Torix turned his eyes to me, and he nodded,
“Oh, it was. However, these were criminals who thrust themselves upon children. We could argue that I may have demonstrated higher moral virtues in my handling of them, but I never ascribed to such waning moral constraints. In that regard, I chose the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, but I did so by using the worst that sentients have to offer. To that end, I did what little good I could given the darkness of the knowledge I sought.”
His eyes flared green,
“Is that evil? Hmm. It was, but it was also the lesser of two sins…To that end, you may judge me as you so choose, disciple. However, that knowledge proved instrumental. I was able to construct my phylactery using my findings from those horrific experiments. I did so despite all that purported how impossible my goals would be. That is part of the price I paid for greatness. One day, you too will be presented with a choice along the same lines.”
He set his piercing eyes my way, and they bore into me.
“Choose what you will but know that greatness is never cheaply given. Rather, it is sorely earned.”
I gulped. At times, Torix sounded ancient, and the weight of his experiences crushed into everything around him. On occasion, he pulled that venerable necromancer to the surface, and whenever he did, I struggled to reply to it. By comparison, my thoughts seemed insignificant, but I had to say my piece.
“Was the knowledge worth doing something like that?”
Torix sighed, the worn expression fraying my nerves. Torix raised a hand.
“I have lived for centuries, and throughout those years, I extended my influence across many kingdoms, empires, and clans. I have seen new generations grow old before being supplanted by their children. I have uncovered relics from eras forgotten to the march of time. Across all of those experiences, I learned that history is cyclical. It churns in a vast ring, one that endlessly repeats itself.”
Torix traced a line of dominion into a circle.
“The circle rises and falls in tandem, more akin to a pendulum than some greater cosmic fate. No progress is made from these events, and all remains stagnant. Do you know what takes this circle and-”
He pushed the circle further along,
“Actually changes the events that occur?”
I furrowed my brow.
“Greatness?”
Torix’s eyes flared yellow.
“In a sense, but it is a specific kind of greatness: the expansion of knowledge. Sentients, we have and will commit the same follies for time immemorial, but knowledge retains itself forever. It elevates us in all domains, from morality to ethics to logic to reason. Merely look at prehistory or tribalism, and you shall find a perfect example of my point. They were savages until knowledge rose them out of the primordial pits they found themselves in.”
Torix leaned forward.
“That is why I consider knowledge to be the highest of virtues. It echoes through eternity, changing the events that would otherwise self perpetuate forever. That is why I have committed evil for knowledge – in doing so, I help change history for the better.”
I frowned, his words carrying a mixed moral compass. I hoped for a clean answer, but Torix took a gray approach to his moral boundaries. As young as I was, I lacked the philosophical insights or base of research to argue my own stances. Instead, I soaked in what he had to say. I murmured,
“And who have you helped with your discoveries?”
Torix cackled.
“I immortalized my knowledge in this vessel, and I assisted many mentally ill people on Xanathar. I even gave Alfred a base of knowledge he used to create the Corrundum of Souls used in your armor’s creation.”
I peered down, another part of my armor’s legacy unveiled to me. Several emotions ran over me, and I murmured.
“I…I guess I’ll take some time to think about it.”
Torix’s eyes flared.
“The answers I found shouldn’t destroy all of your questions. Quite the opposite, in fact. Take heart in your approach. Know that by listening and searching for your own intellectual acumen, you’ve uplifted yourself from the mindless chaff around you. Rise above ignorance, disciple, and good luck with your training.”
I thanked Torix before stepping out of his lair/home. Deep in thought, I opened my status and allocated my tree points into my current path, Cosmic Soul. It was half as large as Obliterator or Genesis of Potential, but it would no doubt be powerful if I could just get the points needed for it.
The name of the tree inspired a few of my questions to Torix, though our talk answered a lot of my questions. Still, a burning curiosity and quiet fear rose in my chest. If someone’s soul could be altered, then weren’t we at the mercy of anyone who reached a certain level? Perhaps Schema altered our souls as we leveled, molding us into the perfect little soldiers he needed.
Even worse, Yawm may try molding our souls after capturing us. Those anxieties sprouted in chest before I wrestled them down. While legitimate concerns, they exceeded my current station. I just learned what the soul was. Fighting against soul manipulation or its corruption wasn’t doable at the moment.
Instead, I pulled myself back to Earth and my worldly woes. My recent breakthrough in carving gave me enough points for the first of Cosmic Soul, and it may answer my questions. With that in mind, I allocated the points.
Cosmic Soul I unlocked!
Some beings exist with nothing to their name. They wish not for progress, preferring the pits of stagnation. You aim to expand your presence. You aim to temper your soul and forge it in fire. To do so is to be remade in an image of your own making.
+25% learning speed of soul related skills.
+25% scaling of soul related skills.
+25% dominion over one’s soul.
+20% effect of soul related skills.
+10% soul resistance.
For all the hype around the name of the tree, what it did still eluded me. In fact, I didn’t know if I even had a soul related skill, so I’d have to research a few of Torix’s books to find some. While not as transparent as other trees, I held out hope that this would give dividends eventually. Otherwise, I wasted 500 treepoints on something irrelevant.
Remembering the lunch planned for tomorrow, I set out into Springfield’s corpse. I figured finding some supplies would help, mainly seasonings and canned goods since they never expired. After passing through the quarantined zone, I walked into the zombie infested wasteland.
It was an eerie place when walking through it by myself. The corpses faded long ago from the original infestation, only bones covered in ragged clothes remaining. Blooms from plants blossomed over the nutrient dense remains, and death gave way to a beautiful rebirth.
It haunted me.
This place fed on humanity to produce horrors. If anything, this demented hellscape reminded me of an invasive species infiltrating an island or continent. We thrived before, but these predators and pathogens found our home, converting us into nothing more than easy meals.
I silenced those piercing thoughts. These monsters and spores deformed us into trees and fungus that Yawm aimed to harvest. He would reap what he sowed, and Yawm would pay for his patience. By the time he escaped his world tree, we would be forces to reckon with.
But yeah, before all that, I needed some paprika and cumin.
I entered an old grocery store, finding little to eat. All the perishables rotted away long ago, alongside the majority of the store’s dogfood. The zombies smelled what was in the bags before tearing into them. Well, based on the bite marks at least. Only canned and jarred goods survived the onslaught of time and monsters.
The seasoning aisle and the canned goods remained nearly untouched. After walking back and forth for a minute, I picked up a plastic carrying cart. I placed all kinds of seasonings in the basket. Pepper, basil, oregano, dill, garlic powder, and rosemary, I took one tiny jar of them all. After filling a shopping basket to the brim with these seasonings, I moved onto the canned goods.
After that, I collected this specific brand of lemon flavoring that came in a powdered packet. I swear you couldn’t tell the difference between it and real lemon juice. Ok, maybe a little, but it substituted lemon well enough. With it, I grabbed some olive and avocado oil. The expiration dates bore the brunt of my scrutiny to ensure some measure of freshness.
After that, I grabbed a bag of white rice and salt before heading out. I would forage the rest of tomorrow’s lunch. Before I left, I placed my supplies on the ground. After snatching a shopping cart, I stored the supplies in its iron cradle. A pep in my step, I left. An abyssal sound echoed through the parking lot.
It omened pain and suffering for all. I peered around, the high pitch squeal bristling my hair and stripping my nerves bare. Peering down, I uncovered the true source: a squeaky wheel. Taking a breath, I accepted my fate. I would survive this.
As I pushed the cart, doubt crept into my mind like an insidious poison. In rapid, jittering stops, the wheel kept getting caught on the flat ground and road. The sputtering wheel torqued the entire cart in the wrong direction, and if I released it, the mockery of transportation would run around in circles while being generally disagreeable.
I paced outside the parking lot, the road creating an endless cascade of sound as the cart carried my payload. I grimaced. I could turn back and replace the cart. Ah, but would that even be worth it? I spent too long considering the prospect, further prolonging my torment. After about fifty feet of listening to a banshee squeal in wheel form, I lifted the shopping cart into the air.
The abominations they called wheels only decorated the bottom of the glorified basket. I held it there with a single arm before snapping the metal beams keeping the wheels on the bottom. I stretched the metal tube and made a sort of shopping cart backpack.
After using another shopping cart to make a top for it, I moved on. Shopping carts. Ugh.
As I traversed the city, an idea burst into my mind. A local greenhouse graced a block near my old high school. I passed by it when walking to high school. I remembered waking up at 4:30 because the six mile walk took so long. After I began boxing, I jogged the route and showered at the school.
That saved me so much time, though I often found time to walk the lush garden. It cleared my mind, and it always breathed life into me when visiting the place in winter. The surreal humidity and greenery had a way of fighting off my seasonal depression.
I missed it more than I realized as I crossed the town. I avoided zombies along the way, and I reached the expanse. My stealthy approach hid me from Yawm’s followers, and besides, zombie mush would spray all over the food ruining it.
Once I reached inside the greenhouse, the place overgrew its previous bounds. Plants of all sizes hung from the rooftops and struggled to get out of the confined space. A few plants succeeded, though their withered, fungally infected branches exemplified how foolish an idea that’d been.
Beans, greens, tomatoes, potatoes, if you named it, then it rested on the laurels of old soil beds. Daisies, tulips, wisteria, sunflowers, and ivies embroidered the verdant supplies of produce. The humidity encompassed me as I walked through a hole in the glass lining. My steps quaked the ground a bit as I selected the best and ripest fruits, vegetables, and produce.
It reminded me of better times when I stole my father’s EBT card and lived as a king. I remembered learning about cooking during those days, and I made meals after school. I let out a small laugh at that. At the time, I wanted to be a chef. I even hid my cooking from my dad to make sure he didn’t learn I had taken his food stamps.
That phase lasted a bit longer than a year. It required careful planning since any excess food would be found. I cooked, ate, and fumigated our apartment as well as I could. It wasn’t until one of my neighbours talked to my dad about my cooking that he found out. He beat me senseless, and I remember how painful breathing had been for months afterward.
My culinary dreams died there, but here, in this newfound plenty, they revived. I would put a more literal spin on being an iron chef. Besides for childish dreams, the fun of just running around and harvesting supplies fulfilled me in a way few things could. There was just something innately satisfying about looting in all its forms.
I kept it simple by collecting tomatoes, cucumbers, and fresh herbs like mint and lemongrass. After filling up my shopping cart, I ran back to the camp. I kept my steps light using my telekinesis before passing the haunting echoes of a dead city.
The vibrancy of our encampment contrasted the hellscape in all the right ways. Well, I could’ve lived without the weird stares as I walked by with a shopping cart full of food on my back. It didn’t bother me too much as I absorbed myself in the task at hand. After setting the shopping cart into my unused tent, I headed out towards the forest surrounding Springfield.
There was something deeply nostalgic about running through the trees. I played outside often when I was kid, almost always at sunset. Before my cooking phase, I avoided going home after school, usually trickling in after nine. My father often passed out by then, avoiding me another day with him.
The trees around me mirrored that fanciful feeling, and they were a familiar home for me in that sense. Once I reached the creek, I sat beside a pool of water and let my feet cool there. The sound of the creek, the sweet breeze, even the tiny fish and minnows darting in the water…It was a nice, relaxing moment.
This whole evening refreshed me.
A larger, glowing fish loomed in the water. It siphoned several of the weaker species into its maw before I stood up. A quick telekinetic punch detonated the water around us, and I stood over the corpse. Tiny minnows escaped its punctured stomach. That brought me back to the present.
Though a pleasant sensation, nostalgia carried an insidious temptation. It offered sweetened memories of the past, ones where the woes of yesterday were forgotten. The past reverie always glosses over the painful realities of a time, and it steals a person’s present glories from them. To that end, nostalgia offered comfort for stagnation. A pleasing parasite, it told charming lies to rob the current moment of its luster.
And I wouldn’t let it take from me any longer.
I stood before dashing through the forest. Using my sharp eyes and keen nose, I ran around the forest and followed a few trails. After finding a pile of deer refuse, I closed in on a few of the stray animals. I surged my ascendant mana and charged to the rumbling branches nearby.
Except, it wasn’t a deer. Standing over the twitching body of a deer, a humanoid in a lithe exoskeleton drained the blood from the poor creature. The practical setup exposed wires that connected cables to a metal overlay. A black jumpsuit sheened under the sun, reflecting a hexagonal, mana imbibed pattern.
The nanofiber mesh mirrored the material for Kessiah’s pack. The long helmet reminded me of a xenomorph from Alien, and two cameras pointed in differing directions, surveying the creature’s surroundings. Some type of thrusting jetpack attached to its back alongside folded, mechanized wings.
They unfolded whenever the mechanized humanoid turned to me. The front two digits of its hands ended in overly long fingertips. Grabbing its weapon using its other fingers, it aimed a glowing machine gun that held a green laser pointer facing my way. The surreal scene contrasted the raw nature around it, and I hesitated.
It opened fire. Blue bullets slammed into my front as a stream of blue fire exploded behind the alien, propelling it into the air. Shards of ice erupted from the wounds on my skin, and I dove to my side. It pointed my way, reloading in a swift, practice motion. It raised the barrel, aiming for me.
I landed against a telekinetic pad, and it slammed force into the barrel’s edge. Bullets streaked across the air, entire trees falling in the distance. The humanoid whirled back to the ground. Its metal steps thudded against the ground. I lowered myself while leaving a hand up. Before it could get distance, I slammed a wave of telekinetic power on top of it by pulling my arm down. Its knees buckled, but it stayed stable.
I lifted both my arms and surged my ascendant mana. The flow of energy slid into my runes like gloves over a hand, and the runes offered more power than I anticipated. After gritting my teeth, I slammed the humanoid down wielding all my strength.
Like a bird being crushed by a falling cinderblock, the alien crushed toward the ground. When it hit the forest floor, loud popping sounds echoed through the forest. I underestimated the force increase my ascendant mana gave.
Having incapacitated the creature, I walked up to it before lifting the beast by its exoskeleton. Its legs already shattered, one bone sticking out while covered in orange blood. The other foot rested in a tree, the bone pinning it in place.
I frowned, inspecting the extended head and small size of the creature. It stood five feet tall, and I dwarfed it. Its elementally imbibed rifle hadn’t exceeded a human’s rifle by much either. While effective on flesh, the icy outbursts never pierced my metal skin, and the actual bullets lacked the puncturing power to push through the metal.
In general, this creature lacked the overwhelming physicality I associated with the eldritch. I analyzed it.
Denali Scout | Level 341 – A member of the Denali of deep space, this is one of their preliminary scouting members. The Denali are a species and faction that use various methods to find newly assimilated planets under Schema’s rule. While illegal to do so, the Denali maintain their practices for a higher spiritual calling known as the chronicle. The chronicle states they must categorize all that exists before it fades to oblivion. In doing so, they achieve immortality within an endless library during their afterlife.
The chronicle also requires the species, cultures, and geography of newly integrated planets. Over time, the Denali learned that the old histories of newly integrated worlds fade to nothing as Schema’s culture erases them. The Denali aim to gain this knowledge before it is lost, and this requires them to break the agreed upon arrival time designated by Schema for newly integrated worlds.
This gives them an unknown status, making them viable eliminations for experience. The Denali infiltrate these newly integrated planets using methods that even Schema doesn’t fully understand. Once in a new world, they often wield anesthetic on their chosen prey, harvest samples, and leave after a quick wiping of the affected individual’s memory.
To fund their efforts, the Denali will sell their collected samples to species that survive the culling. This useful service helps to regenerate the lost cultures of old empires, but it also takes valuable resources from burgeoning planets. Regardless of their moral, ethical, or spiritual aims, the Denali are a part of a larger force of aliens that can enact war should that be necessary.
This member should prove no threat to you, but be aware of putting a target upon yourself should you kill this foe.
After reading the status, a wave of panic rose in my chest. Sure, this person shot me. That being said, it hadn’t actually dealt much damage, and the faction itself seemed tame. Its death would weigh on me, and peering over, it left the deer alive. I winced while sending a message to Torix.
I informed him of the situation using a quick series of thoughts. I walked over to the Denali and inspected the broken leg. A ruptured artery squirted its orange blood from the broken leg, and the missing leg bled out even more. I grimaced. The alien had minutes left to live. I set myself down before pinching the exposed artery. At the same time, I wrapped my armor around the other leg and clasped it.
I tourniqueted the wound, The rest of the other leg bled insane volumes of blood, so I pushed my armor into the crevice. I lacked all medical training, but I remembered advice to not take knives out of wounds. For that reason, I pushed my armor into the wounds, applying internal pressure.
At the time, I didn’t know this, but in effect, I staunched the bleeding. Right after, I pulsed a wave of Oppression over the creature. That sterilized its wounds. Turning around, I yelled for help. None came. I bit my lip, hoping Torix would make it in time.
Taking more initiative, I slung the alien over my shoulder and walked toward our camp. In the corner of my eye, something moved in the distance. A few more shifting motions trembled in my peripheral vision. I wasn’t alone. A green laser pointer appeared on my chest.
Then another. And another. Twelve laser pointers smothered my stomach, and the Denali surrounded me. I smiled and said,
“Guys, he shot me first. I’m staunching his wounds, but there’s only so much I can do here.”
The pointers fixated on me. I let out a relieved sigh. They hadn’t fired yet-
A muzzle flashed, and my chest thumped. As ice expanded from my torso, and I rolled my eyes. I roared,
“Stop. I’m not here to-”
They skulked out of their positions. Cloaking tech faded, exposing their alien, lithe forms. One of their members put a hand up to their fellow members. It walked over to me while raising an outstretched hand. I pulled the broken Denali downward, and they grasped their wounded member.
As they jerked him away, I pulled my armor out. The writhing metal left their wounds, and several Denali paced away. The others grouped together before cloaking tech reactivated. They faded away, and the tallest of them faced me. I pulled my helmet down and met where its eye should be.
We nodded at one another, and they left, leaving me exposed and surrounded by ice shards. I let out a breath before turning around. From the forest, some kind of metal ball fell. I jumped away before a sonic boom exploded. Birds in the distance flew away, and the leaves of trees fell. I winced as monsters rumbled in the distance.
I sent a message to Torix, cancelling his coming out here. I sighed before ascendance pumped through my veins. As the crimson tendrils of my mana streamed upward, my armor grinned. More of the energy locked into my runes, the sigils feeding on the volatile force. The deafening sound of timbering trees rushed over me. Ready and waiting for the first strike, I raised my hands.
And from the forest, they arrived.