Time-Smith - Chapter 10: The Limits of Flesh - Part 1 (Patreon)

The thing about time travel is that it involves not just moving through time, but also through space, both physical and metaphysical. When one is flung through time, they are not simply moving from one moment to the next, but also traversing the vast, interconnected web of causality that links past, present, and future.

And then, just as suddenly as your journey begins, it's over. The world around you blurring and shifting, a fever-dream of colours blending together, sometimes beautifully. You’re standing in a new time, a new place, your stomach lurching and your head spinning. It takes a moment to orient yourself, to remember where and when you are, while the past blurs into focus around you.

Basically, Evan thought as the colours of history continued to shift into focus, The thing about time travel is that apparently it's never a smooth ride.

He had felt the familiar flow of mana coursing through his veins as he hurtled towards the past, and tried to focus on the feeling of mana to gain a better understanding of how the skill worked. [Postcognition] had been pushed to the brink by his enhanced physiology. There was a sensation of being compressed and stretched like a rubber band filling his senses; the mana was extending from the core in his brain, through his body and into his surroundings, connecting to something just beyond his perception. He could almost feel something reaching back out to him past that point, when he suddenly lost track of the sensation. He had observed his mana completely leaving him as his body adjusted to the temporal shift, moving towards that strange point past his perception, only to immediately return as his feet touched the ground. Something to look into next time, he noted.

As he emerged from the temporal shift, he found himself in a vast, empty landscape, the sky above him strangely stained with a deep shade of purple. He could hear thunder crackling in the distance. It was time to explore his [Flesh Smith] skill.

[Flesh Smith] allowed him to use the violent mana of his skill's core to infuse his cells—the very essence of his being—and alter them, changing his body in any way he wished. It controlled and sculpted his cells with magic, altering his form. He could become a powerful titan, and gain incredibly incredible strength, speed, and toughness that surpassed human limits. But he could only do any of this if he understood what he was doing, and unfortunately, Evan had no understanding of the human body and no means of learning without resorting to committing heinous crimes and experimenting on others in the real world. Without understanding the intricacies of the human body, the risks loomed large. And without knowing exactly what he was doing, the changes either wouldn't work, or could go horribly wrong. But now, he had [Postcognition], and the Echo of time travel it provided. He was ready to unravel the mysteries of his skill, forge his own destiny, and forge a new body.

"Okay, Evan, focus," he muttered to himself, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "This is it. Time to experiment."

Since childhood, he had slowly learned to improve his body, bit by bit, piece by piece, with his first skill, [Flesh Smith], for over 10 years. The skill allowed him to alter his flesh, in any way he understood. Unfortunately, Evan understood nothing about the inner workings of his form, outside of what he could piece together over 10 years of careful experimentation with the skill. He had however, managed to improve himself, incrementally, every time a little stronger, a little faster, a little better; just a little bit. It had been a long process of trial and error, and had helped him survive his trips to the forest. For a youth, the experience of being stronger than most adults he encountered and all of his skill-less peers, was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, he had experienced a certain confidence and security that came with knowing he could physically overpower any threat, so long as they didn’t have a dangerous Skill or two. On the other hand, he was constantly underestimated; nobody expected a child, or now, a youth, to be able to throw them through the roof. He may have been young, but he had the strength of a man three times his size, and the endurance of twenty of the same, he could run for days, if he wanted to.

Still, he didn't have another 10 years to spend, testing his body and skill’s limits safely. Not anymore. He closed his eyes and tried something new, something very different to the slow, incremental, gradual shifting of his muscles and bones he had been used to. He focused on the sensation of his skin, the texture, the temperature, the way it moved and flexed. Then, he willed it to change, to become something different. At first, nothing happened, but then he felt a subtle shift, a tingling sensation that spread through his body. When he opened his eyes and looked at his finger, he saw that it had grown much longer, the skin stretched taut and shiny.

"Whoa," he said, flexing his finger and marvelling at the strange sensation. "This is insane." What If he could learn to control the direction of major changes in real time? The gears of his mind began to turn at an inkling of the possibilities.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the magic pulse through him. With a thought, he focused on his left arm, and his first skill, [Flesh Smith], concentrated on the molecules and cells within it. He pictured the change he wanted to make, and felt the magic flow through him, reshaping his flesh.

There was a sudden jolt of pain, and Evan hissed through gritted teeth as his arm twisted and contorted into a grotesque shape. But he didn’t stop, didn’t let the pain slow him down. He continued to push, focusing his mind and willpower until finally, the transformation was complete.

Evan inspected his handiwork, marvelling at the intricate web of scars and muscles that now made up his left arm. It was stronger, more durable, and more flexible than ever before. And it looked cool as hell.

In his modest opinion, it was a work of art, a masterful attempt of his skill that had taken all of his concentration, willpower, and raw mana to create. The scars crisscrossed the surface of his skin like a spider's web, tracing out the intricate network of muscles and tendons beneath. The muscles themselves were larger and more defined than ever before, bulging beneath the skin with every movement. Each tendon was clearly visible, standing out like steel cables against the taut, rippling flesh. Observing, he felt as if his arm had been sculpted from marble, each new curve and contour perfectly defined and accentuated.

And all of this was just on the surface. Beneath the skin, there were layers upon layers of complexity, each one contributing to the whole. Within, It was like a living work of art, a cellular masterpiece of flesh and bone, and magic.

Still studying the arm, twisting and turning at different angles, he couldn’t believe its flexibility, the way it moved and contorted like a snake. He could bend it in ways he never thought possible, the joints twisting and turning like the gears of a clock. It curled in on itself before lashing out in a whip-like motion, a cracking sound of air where he had pulled back in surprise. It was like he had a second spine running down his arm, granting him a level of dexterity he never thought possible.

"It's like having a snake for an arm. Wait, no, scratch that, that's creepy." He shook his head, trying to clear the mental image. "But seriously, this is something else. I wonder if I can customise it further. Maybe add some flames or lightning bolts?" Having no idea how to even achieve something like that, he continued to study his new arm.

It was truly impressive, and yet, the skin was mottled and discoloured in places, as if burned or charred by some unknown force. And some sections of muscle seemed alien and warped. He peered at the mottled and discoloured patches on his skin. "Well, that's not quite what I had in mind," he muttered, realising that he had perhaps gone a bit too far in his magical experimentation. The fingers were slightly elongated, each one tipped with a razor-sharp claw that glinted in the low sunlight. He would have to attempt this again, he wasn't sure if using mana undirected would achieve the same result twice. Still, it was a sight to behold.

Okay, Evan, let's assess the damage here. We've got some burns and charring, but hey, no pain, no gain, right? The fingers are looking a little...claw-y. Like, monster-levels of claw-y. Useful for combat, but how would I explain this away? The church had registered his skills on his testing day, he could claim it was a curse, from an artifact, but no doubt they would want to ‘borrow’ this artefact for study.

The only thing holy about the clergy of the All Knowing Twins, He thought, clicking his tongue in dismay, is the gaping hole in their moral compass.

As he inspected his arm further, paying closer attention to the sections of twisted muscle and skin, he felt a twinge of apprehension. What if he couldn't control this new limb? What if it turned on him, like some kind of twisted ruin-dwelling monster? He pushed the thought away, focusing on the positive aspects of his creation.

Okay, Evan, get it together. This arm is amazing, and you're amazing for creating it. You've got this under control. He took a deep breath, feeling the magic pulse through his veins like a jolt of electricity. Now let's go show this bad boy off.

He felt a raging river of magic pulse through his body; he hadn’t deactivated his skill yet, despite having long learned how to make the changes it made permanent. Evan flexed his fingers experimentally, It was not just the appearance that impressed him. It was the feel of it, the way it moved and responded to his will. Almost before he thought it, his arm snapped to position, leaving a puff of air and sound in its wake. He could sense the potential of this new limb.

I feel like I could crush a boulder with this thing, he mused. If he was back in Lady Sariel's grand office, he may not have won, he thought, anger beginning to simmer, but he could've at least fought back with this thing. He was certain of it. She may be one of the most powerful in the city, but if the tales of the wider world he had heard, and strange glimpses of the past he could still remember were true, there were things out there that could make the Lady and her retainers look like children. And yet they had still destroyed him with their literal hands tied behind their backs. Quelling the rage boiling up inside, he continued. That wouldn't help here.

How could he use his skill, the ability to permanently change himself with mana, to compete with people he couldn't even touch? What could he do?

Okay, Evan, let's think about this. You've got [Flesh Smith]’ing and [Teleportation] on your side, but you're still a mere man facing off against probability warping madmen and ancient monsters. What can you do to up your game? Well, you've already got a powerful arm, so why not take it further? What if you could turn your whole body into a weapon?

He paused, flexing, admiring the tapestry of sinew and muscle under intricate patterns of scars etched into his flesh. As if his flesh had been woven together with strands of steel.

What else could he do? He could have skin as tough as dragon scales, and cords of muscles like mythril cables. He could run faster than the wind, and jump higher than a flying wyvern.

Sigh

But how would I even go about doing that? I've already pushed myself to the limit with this arm, and I had no idea what I was doing. Where would I even start?

"How the hell do I even begin to understand this thing?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

He looked down at his left arm, studying it closely, still in awe of the intricate web of scars and muscles that now made it up. "I still need to figure out how to make my changes more precise," he muttered to himself. It was a thing of beauty, imperfect, but still a powerful working of magic that he had crafted with his own hands. He ran his fingers along the spiderweb of scars crisscrossing the surface, tracing out the intricate network of muscles and tendons beneath. To him, It was a living sculpture, a statue in honour of of his rebellion against his own defeat, one that moved and flexed with every motion.

And yet, as he examined it, he couldn't resist feeling frustrated. How could he repeat this? He had no knowledge of human anatomy, no understanding of how his own body worked, and yet he had just altered it permanently in ways that he had never thought possible. It was a stroke of luck, a happy accident. But luck could only take him so far. He needed to learn more about his own body if he wanted to reach his full potential. He realised that he had no idea what he was doing.

He chuckled to himself as he began to focus on his other arm. Well, I guess I'll just have to be my own anatomy teacher, he thought, grinning. Trial and error, Evan. Trial and error.

He once again tapped into the feeling of power, the mana coursing through his veins in sharp electric currents from his first core, his first skill. As the mana spread throughout his body, it expanded the scar above his heart and the core of mana within. As he focused, the sounds and light of the world around him began to fade, and he entered an almost trance-like state, his entire being existing among his cells, studying them, trying to figure out their purpose. As the trance deepened, he felt his senses sharpening, becoming hyper-aware of every fibre of his being. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins, the beating of his heart, and the rhythm of his breath. He could even sense tiny living things inside of him, a part of his being, twirling in unreadable sequences and codes that seemed to record something. He was in tune with his body in a way he had never been before, not just a section, or an organ. His whole being. But he still had no idea what he was doing, or what all of this meant, so he flooded everything with his mana; every muscle and tendon, every joint and bone, every cell, down to the tiny twirling strands. He began to fill his mana with intent, willing it to change, begging it to change his arm.

He screamed out in anguish as his right arm began to twist and contort, the skin turning mottled and discoloured in places, as if filled with more flesh than it could ever possibly hold, and scorched and charred by some unknown force. It was as if some unseen entity had taken hold of his limb, pulling and stretching it in ways that defied the laws of nature. The transformation went horribly awry, and his arm split into long strands, several eyes forming in a cluster that swivelled to stare at him. Some eyes cried, others gazed in curiosity, and some rose in mirth, all of them fixated on him with an intensity that was unnerving. Yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

And it wasn't just the physical changes that were the problem, it seemed. He could feel something else, something deeper, a voice ringing out from beneath the surface. It was like a whisper, that said many things in an instant, a roaring wave of meaning that asked him one question.

"KIN?"

The voice grew louder and louder in his head, curious and urgent, demanding an answer. It was as if he had awakened some slumbering beast, and now it was ravenous for knowledge. In a panic, he cut off his connection to his skill, but the presence remained, growing each second until he felt the weight of it all around him, with the sand rippling in some places and being pressed flat in others around him.

And then, suddenly, it disappeared. The voice vanished as quickly as it had come. Leaving him alone and bewildered in the ruins of his own body.