Chapter 300. The Shattering (Patreon)

My shoulders scream from the strain of controlling the wings. With Red out of range, I have no idea how many missiles are left. All I have are my reflexes and the arrowhead hovering over the impact point–where Red and I will meet, if we’re still alive.

Seconds pass with no new missiles. Is it over?

You’re too low for those missiles to reach, Maria thinks. But you have a new problem. You’re going extremely fast because of my wings, far faster than if you were in freefall. You need to slow down.

You’ve had the past minute to brainstorm ideas, I say, any suggestions to keep me alive?

You could try circling the globe, she says. If you circle it a few times to bleed your velocity, you’d be better off.

I’m too low to do that, I point out, my gut lurching. That would only work higher above the planet’s surface… and within range of the guided missiles.

Between us, silence lingers. It’s just me and the plummet, the endless black around and behind me and the blue and green splendor of a prosperous world in front. The fall is beautiful and terrible. I’m relieved this isn’t real, but I want it to be. I want to fall among the stars. The void of Eternity doesn’t work like this–planes aren’t planets. They’re not massive spheres orbiting impossibly bright and powerful stars. In Eternity, the grandeur of celestial bodies is entirely absent.

Eternity is a place where anything is possible… except the stars and planets. The planes pretend and the coils of light imitate, but fail to capture, the sublime sight before me now.

This is a sight that people die for.

As the pressure on me increases, the gray suit and the air bubble around my head stiffen. The suit heats up, but slowly, even though the speed at which I’m traveling and the ever-increasing resistance of the atmosphere must be extraordinarily punishing. The face bubble presses flat against my head like an inch-thick skin tight mask, turning slightly opaque. By some miracle it withstands the forces of my descent even better than the suit.

It's not an artifact, I realize. It’s just a really good suit.

Regular hands may have fabricated it, but it must be Beginning-designed to withstand these insane conditions, Maria posits. It won’t save you from the fall.

I know.

We leave the reality of the situation unspoken. We both understand what’s going to happen.

This is Red’s trial. He needs to defeat Bresnir. My death is only an inconvenience.

I adjust my wings to keep myself stable as I break through a layer of phantom-like clouds. Cool, blue sky comes next. Red sparks around me, the suit practically on fire. I crash through another layer of clouds that looks like snowy ice floes.

I only continue to accelerate.

I cry out as the air resistance wrenches my wings. They’re the only part of me uncovered by the suit. They aren’t organic when transformed, and they’re protected by Maria’s fire, but the air resistance tears them from my back.

The wings come free. If I couldn’t control my practice to numb the pain and seal the new wounds, the agony might overwhelm my senses, but I hold on.

Without the wings, my flight is significantly less stable. I follow Maria’s hurried instructions to adjust my arms and legs. I somehow stay on target.

The final clouds slip behind me. I see everything below with stark clarity as I plunge downward like an inexorable comet.

The impact module points to a school building. There’s no time to process that as my body falls, less than a hundred meters from the ground.

This is the end, I think.

I hit the school too fast to process. I don’t feel anything.

I wake up a moment later, the transition from unconsciousness seamless. Red wakes up next to me, his jaw clenched.

“You beat it on your own,” I say. “Well done.”

“Do you know how many people your descent killed?” Red asks. He leans back in his chair, clearly exhausted.

“A thousand?”

“Over fifty thousand, roughly guessing,” he corrects. “You wiped out that entire town.”

I obviously hadn’t been trying to, unlike Ari. “What about you?”

“Millions,” he replies. “I was able to divest the energy of my descent into a single, final blast. It stopped my harrowing descent, sparing me, but the blast…”

A memory pokes at my mind; I hesitantly let it in, Red’s previous thought ominous enough to give me pause.

In the memory, I experience the descent from his point of view. Ascendant energy manifests all over his body like coiled lightning. As he approaches the ground, he uses his Regret to get the timing just right, the energy flowing to his hand and illuminating it in harsh blue. Right before he hits the ground, he stretches the hand ever so slightly in front…

And the world breaks. Red flips back and up, high into the air from the released energy. He’s barely able to remain conscious from the sudden force and backward acceleration, but the suit and his reinforcing ascendant energy keep him going.

The ground ripples and cracks, radiating out from the impact zone as far as Red can see. The world shudders as Red hurdles through the air. The cracks deepen and the earth sighs and collapses in on itself, heaving and churning. The devastation is as total as it is swift.

Red feels the deaths of all near him with his Remorse. He hears their unprotected final thoughts. For most, the impact was so quick that they died without understanding why. But others, and especially those further away, had time enough to see the destruction carving a path across the land and wiping their lives from existence.

“Maybe it isn’t a good idea to have space missiles to shoot down ascendants,” I think. “That’s what your world has, right?”

“There’s a shield; it’s different. An ascendant must break through it to descend. It slows them down, rather than forcing them to speed up.”

I sigh. “What I saw in your memories–is that the last thing that happened?”

“Yes. I killed Bresnir with my descent. Seems like she stuck close to the site of her ascension this time.”

“Like the first round,” I say. “She wasn’t that far from the city in her bunker. If your descent shattered the earth in a wide enough radius to kill millions, it must have collapsed around her.”

How much energy did you put into your fist? Maria asks. It sounds like you hit the earth harder than most bombs.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I’ve never hit anything that hard before.” He shakes his hand. “My wrist feels sore just thinking about it.”

We head over to the observation platform. This time, many more observers are present, including those from the black faction. As Red and I approach, the observers turn our way. Holiday steps away from a conversation to greet us.

“First to finish,” he says, grinning. “A Regret and Remorse practitioner pulling off a descent on the first attempt is impressive.”

Red gazes stoically at Holiday. “Thank you.”

Holiday gestures to the table of food and beverages. The table is as full as ever even though many observers are partaking.

As Red heads for the coffee, Lucinda mentally grabs my attention from across the platform. “Ancient Black, we have received an answer from Achemiss.”

I force my heart to keep an even rhythm. If Achemiss doesn’t agree to see me, everything will become more complicated, to say the least. I can’t let a hint of anxiety or over-interest show on my face–or through my body language.

Achemiss’s relationship to the black faction is one of convenience. Achemiss creates powerful artifacts, and the black faction protects him from outside interests who would seek them. In the recording, I lied that my dagger could bind artifacts to its bearer. If true, the dagger would allow Achemiss to bind his artifacts to himself, theoretically preventing others from ever using them–and reducing the importance of the black faction’s protection.

In the recording, I told Achemiss a very specific instruction. If he was interested in meeting in person to test the effects of the Blade of Revelation, he was to say a code word– “deal-breaker.” That gave him the freedom to express only lukewarm interest or even outwardly reject my solicitation, deceiving the black faction, who might have a conflict of interest in making sure my dagger never reached Achemiss’s hands.

It’s all rather far-fetched, but the plan is what my Beginning suggested would be most effective.

I walk over to Lucinda. She’s facing the edge, her hands clasped behind her back.

She turns her head slightly, her hair half obscuring her cheek. “Achemiss is interested–”

Yes! Maria cheers. Wait.

My gut roils.

“–but the black faction must send representatives to escort you to and from a predetermined location where you will be able to have live communication with Achemiss. They will also stand by to escort you back. Meeting Achemiss in person is a deal-breaker, so this is the best we can do.”

Y’jeni, finally! I mentally exclaim, relief coming over me. He’s willing to meet me in person under the noses of the black faction. It’s perfect.

“Those terms are unsatisfactory,” I tell Lucinda, “but I suppose they’ll do. As soon as your cohort departs the competition, I will follow you to the black faction for escort.”

“So soon? I believe we previously said that we would discuss a reasonable time frame–”

I cut her off. “You may have guessed already, but I’ve spent most of my time at the edge of Eternity. It’s inconvenient to arrange an escort for a later date, especially since the rate of time fluctuates between planes.”

She inclines her head to the side. “I am not sure Achemiss will be able to talk so soon, but we can take you with us when we return to Starbreak,” she says, referring to the black faction’s equivalent of Voidkeep. “You may have no intentions of joining the black faction, but I think you’ll find our accommodations satisfactory.” She grins. “Unlike some factions, we know how to treat our guests.”

While I wish Lucinda had agreed outright to my demand, following her back to the black faction seems like the best path forward.

I smile. “Then it’s settled.”

I turn away and wander over to the refreshments table, radiating self-assurance. In actuality, I feel out of place. At this point of the competition, no one aside from Holiday and Lucinda is interested in approaching the imperious Ancient Black. All who sought to exchange pleasantries with me already have, and they have no reason to further involve themselves with me.

An ancient like Ash wouldn’t feel awkward at the distance. Ash would probably revel in it, perhaps even summoning a cushion and lounging on it while ignoring everyone unless they specifically addressed him.

Stop waffling and walk to the edge of the viewing platform, Maria suggests. You can think while enjoying the view.

I take her advice and busy myself with considering ways to survive another descent. The Discardia scenarios have been building on one another, so my affinity finds it highly likely we’ll be forced to land on Bresnir’s planet again.

Simply put, humans aren’t meant to survive freefalling from outer space–even with fancy suits and artifacts–without a good method of slowing down. Slowing down is fairly simple in concept–you need to increase your air resistance. A wide surface area, like that of a parachute, does this in an effective and safe manner. Off-track hoverglosses fly under self-generated power that can be throttled through a set of controls. Unfortunately, they aren’t a good reference point.

Perhaps I can take inspiration from my constructs. A bone wyrm’s flight focus is key to its ability to fly. Without one, I need to control the construct’s bones directly to keep it airborne, or simply let the construct hover close to the ground.

But what does the flight focus do that’s so important–and effective? I consider my past memories of the wyrm’s flight, but the memories aren’t enough to get a good sense.

“Red, since we have time until the next group is ready, I’m going to leave for a few minutes. I need to test something for the next round.”

“Don’t take too long,” Red cautions. “We almost missed the cut for the last round.” He doesn’t outwardly acknowledge our mental conversation. Along with a few other ascendants, he listens as a woman from the Hall of Ascension details a harrowing descent. His eyes are owlish, his posture unassuming.

I step off the observation platform, my eyes fixed on the mountains. “I just need a few minutes.”