Gauntlette Chapter 1 (Patreon)

** So, reworked things a little with this story and I'm excited to get stuck in.

First off though, I'm putting Trouble and Ryn on hiatus, as I'm starting to think of writing those stories as a chore, and I really don't want to end up hating them like I did with pellan. The stress of having them hanging over my head was stifling the enjoyment I get from writing.

So, I'm going to be focusing on this story, Digital Galaxies and Anamoor, as those are the stories that get me excited to write. Sorry about that, I really tried with this latest burst of Ryn but... god my mind was just rebelling on that last one.

As for this story, I've changed some things around and I'm bringing in my wonderful girlfriend to help me. The plot of this story is as much from her mind as it is from mine, and I think you'll see her influences. Also I'm not sorry for the pun. GLHF. Vale o7 **

Mages are a dying breed these days, along with the magic that they used to wield. I’d use the term we, but I’m not really a mage, my grandparents ended that when they had my mother. Too dangerous to teach her how to use the magic that ran through her veins, the hunters would find her. The same was said for me, so yeah… I have magic in my blood, but it's as useless as the smashed testicles that dangle between my legs.

I have no idea why I did it, why I ruined them. I was thirteen at the time, puberty just starting to show. One night, I was staring at the peach fuzz on my lip and I just… I broke down. I have no idea how to describe the depths of mental anguish I went through that night, but it ended with self harm. A metal pole to the place that would cause the most blissful, blinding, numbing pain.

I never told anyone what I did that night they found me out in the park, rain soaked, crying and shivering. They never thought to check between my legs, there wasn’t any blood, and I was too ashamed to speak of it.

Three years later and the ramifications of that act had made themselves known. I was still short as can be, no more facial hair and a voice as high as any songbird’s. I was teased for it, bullied by my peers at school, but I never really gave a shit about their words. Nothing they could say would come close to the self hate that festered inside.

Unfortunately, life wasn’t content to let me wallow in contented misery, it was set to throw me even further. Without the testosterone that should have been coursing through me, changing me into a man, my body suffered. Fragile, was the word, and the longer I held my tongue, the further the damage went.

That wasn’t to say that people hadn’t noticed my lack of manly features, I’d heard the worried questions my mother asked of my father. He didn’t seem to care though, the problem would go away if he just ignored it long enough. Better for me, I guess. I’d figure my own way out.

“Itias! What are you doing down there!” my mother’s voice called from above, followed by the basement door creaking open.

Fast as possible, I hid the ancient pair of gauntlets I’d been holding back behind some old junk. Just before she came into sight, I pulled out one of my old toys from a box and pretended to be doing… uh, I don’t know.

The old wooden stairs protested loudly as mum made her way down, stopping once she was within sight.

“Why on earth are you looking at that old stuff?” she questioned, giving me a suspicious look.

“Just looking at my old stuff,” I mumbled, turning my gaze to the cold stone floor.

Her sigh was loud enough that it should have stirred dust off the shelves. “Come on up and help me prepare dinner— no, clean yourself up first, it’s disgusting down here.”

“Yes mum,” I grumbled, nevertheless pushing off the stool. My feet hit the grind with a light whump, and I padded quietly over to the bottom of the stairs with the weight of another night’s defeat burdening my slim shoulders.

When I’d said that my mother and I hadn’t been taught how to use magic, I was only technically telling the truth.

See, when the witch hunters had begun to burn their prey, they weren’t doing it for just any reason. They were poisoning the magic of the world, sealing nodes within the vast network of leylines that had once encompassed the globe.

As the magic of the world had dwindled, the mages of old had turned to devices like those gauntlets. Forged from raw power, they had used their new tools in an attempt to stop the demise of magic.

They failed obviously, the witch hunters had the backing of Christendom, which they had infiltrated and twisted for their cause.

With magic dead, mages could no longer wield magic with any degree of potency, save for a select few ancient and powerful relics. Relics like the pair of gauntlets I’d found in my grandfather's attic, a week after he’d died.

It had been a simple thing to smuggle them back home, along with the books that told of their function. Less simple to teach myself how to use them, but life was like that. My boring, middle class life.

Following mom through our obscenely mediocre suburban house, I resolved to go back down after dinner, when my parents were in bed and watching netflix. They wouldn’t hear me if I didn’t drop things so loud or blow something up.

“More protests downtown,” Dad commented when we entered the combined kitchen and living area.

“As there should be,” mom frowned, giving both him and the TV a glare. I really hoped they didn’t get into another argument over the protests, it always got so awkward.

To my dismay, dad turned the volume up, blasting the opinions of moronic talking heads throughout the room. Great, apparently they were actually rioters down there. You could tell by the neatly stacked piles of bricks at every street corner. That’s sarcasm, by the way... god, people like my dad were so fucking stupid.

“They’re just hurting their cause with their violence,” dad said with a deceptively neutral tone.

Mom just rolled her eyes and began to give orders. Chop the carrots, no, not that thin. Not that wide either, now peel the potatoes. Blah blah blah. I didn’t mind doing chores, but being constantly nitpicked while I did them was another matter.

As we got dinner ready, then ate it, I kept an eye on the TV. The black lives matter protests were getting more and more brutal now, far right militia whack jobs arriving to stir the pot, police working with them. It was a fucking mess, and that wasn’t even taking into account the pandemic. To make matters worse, I knew my friends were there somewhere, fighting for what was right. I’d tried to join them, but I wasn’t allowed to go. Dad said so.

Thankfully, for my sanity’s sake, mom and dad smoothed things over during dinner, getting back to their loving couple routine like there weren’t any cracks showing. That’s what they did, brushed conflict under the rug where it could go rancid out of sight. Did I sound bitter? Probably, but whatever. I had a right to be, I was a “moody teenager” after all.

I kept an eye on the television as I worked, anxiety rising along with the tensions that were only a mile and a half away. The protestors had set up in a park opposite the city courthouse, but now found themselves surrounded by police and militia on all sides, unable to leave. Night was falling too… really not good.

Wait… I’d just seen a flash of fiery orange hair. Was that Eva? Yeah, I’d definitely seen my friend there. Crap, crap… extra not good. Don’t freak out, she’ll be fine, it will all be fine. This is America, we’re not some third world dictatorship… right?

Mom and dad interrupted my freaking out with their calls of goodnight, and I glanced up from the TV to give them a half hearted wave. Watching them leave sparked a crazy idea, something way, way out there. A way I could maybe… possibly help…

Did I dare, though? Of course I did! Now was not the time to doubt myself, I could help, really and truly. All I needed to do was move. So I did, silently as I could for the basement door.

Down I went, rushing right for a chest in the back, hidden behind a row of shelving. The heavy wooden lid of the chest squealed alarmingly when I lifted it, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the distant sounds of a TV show playing from up the stairs. My parents had begun their nightly ritual, or as they liked to call it, “us time”.

Pushing aside the boxes of old junk, I pulled the items I was looking for out of the box. My most prized possessions… that pair of chunky metal gauntlets, almost too heavy for my weak arms to hold up.

One was marginally larger than the other, but they were very obviously a pair. Crafted of a dull grey metal, their ancient makers had shaped them in an old style, celtic I think, but sort of bulky. Knots and whorls spun across the hard, brutalist planes that made up their surface, with smaller interlocking plates in the place of leather or mail, where flexibility was required.

I allowed myself a rare smile as I thought back to that day, the day I’d accidentally gotten them to work. Bored out of my mind as I helped empty out my grandparents' now useless house, I’d tried them on… and something miraculous had happened. Raw energy had sparked within, and I had felt the dormant power within me shiver and come to life...

Without putting them on, I grabbed them and rushed upstairs to my room. I’d need a disguise, but also loose clothing so I could move freely. First was my purple billowy pants, I didn’t know what they were called, but I loved them. I never got the chance to wear them though, they looked really girly, I’d probably get laughed at by everyone within a thousand miles.

On went a pair of black tank tops, two to keep my torso warm in the chill night air, but also to allow for the gauntlets, which went up almost to my shoulders. Finally, I grabbed a simple black mask that we were required to wear because of covid, plus my stone grey mages’ cloak. Yeah, I know… mage in a mages cloak, but I wanted to keep my head covered with the big hood it had. Blame halloween.

That done, it was time to leave the house. I raced for the back door, making sure to leave it unlocked as I left, then stopped in the backyard. Time for the moment of truth.

The gauntlets were obviously too big for me, the first and biggest one coming halfway up my right arm, like thigh highs but for arms and made of metal. I had no hope of bending my arm in there, but it didn’t matter, that wouldn’t be a problem in a moment.

Kneeling down, I placed the second, smaller gauntlet up on its fist and slid my left arm into it. The thing came up to within a few inches from my shoulder. Two massive metal arms on my tiny ones, I probably looked ridiculous.

Only for a moment though, because the exact instant my left hand settled in, they began to change, the fingers shrinking to allow better movement, elbow joint moving on its own. It was like they were suddenly made of melted wax that was then formed and changed by some unseen hand.

The amount of material that made up their bulk remained the same however, making my forearm and hands seem massive and chunky in a way that actually looked pretty damned cool. Adding to that cool factor, and also to the reason I’d specifically worn purple, was the way the celtic knots and runes began to glow with a subtle and eerie dark purple light. Colour coordination!

Giving them an experimental flex, I smiled when they moved with gentle ease, as though they were made of nothing more than cloth. Time to move… without breaking my leg this time.

Deep breath… crouch… visualise which function I want the gauntlets to perform, make the proper gestures… and launch.