Chapter 319. Playing the Game (Patreon)

Mirror Scale Sindragos

I stand with rapt attention on the rim of the stad. While I’m jealous that Lucinda and Harka get the chance to truly fight with an ancient, observing such a fight is nearly as valuable.

Thin plates of ice float around the periphery of the gorge, providing visuals from all directions. I have a number dispersed randomly throughout the area, primed to capture interesting angles as the ascendants fight.

As the arbitrator, it’s my duty to kick things off. That means it’s my job to be as diplomatic as possible to a man who dislikes me for my endless supervision.

Black is a character I would rather not be on the bad side of. He looks at problems like they’re insects–small, interesting, at times beautiful, and ultimately inconsequential.

Live long enough as an ascendant and you’ll become confident in your capabilities and comfortable in the path you’ve carved for yourself. When affinity reaches its asymptote, the way forward lies in ingenuity–using one’s affinity in new ways–and crafting artifacts. Ascendant energy is a catalyst that enables both.

But with enough time, ideas run dry, and artifacts pile up and attract cobwebs. Most of us have no great enemy, even if we construct feuds and conflicts to stave off boredom. Sometimes the conflicts are even real, like the ideological schism between the black and white factions.

We comfort ourselves by saying, “if I really needed to, and with all the time in the world, I could think of something new and brilliant.” Just knowing and believing in our potential is balm enough for our undying, fatigued souls.

Very few of us find the passion to prove such potential, and fewer still see such passion through to the end, multiplying possibilities by awakening new affinities and becoming ancients.

What I expected of Ancient Black was someone with an old, possibly broken mind–someone obsessed with the pursuit of power. Someone with no time to wait around an affinity sieve like Starbreak, or alternatively, someone obsessed with the fortress’s uniqueness, seeing it as an opportunity for tempering.

Instead, Black sees everything like all is new and magnificent, as though he hasn’t seen a million wonderful sights over his grand lifespan. That alone wouldn’t be too remarkable–plenty of ascendants retain a sagely air of curiosity and wonderment. They move through the world as though empty, eternally unmoved and pleasantly delighted by the vicissitudes of existence.

But looking at him… I see a man who is still learning. Someone who isn’t even plundering the infinite planes for a spark of inspiration. He doesn’t need to. Inspiration is all around him. An ember that should be dimmed by millennia is instead a furious inferno.

“Do you really think he’ll beat us?” Lucinda mentally asks me. “We have suicide implants and several defensive artifacts. Even if he manages to lock up my body with his decemancy, I can kill myself at the speed of thought, and I’m controlling Harka’s implant as well. In short, if my mind remains uncompromised, he’ll lose the challenge.”

My lip curls. “Well, Black has a moment to act, at least.” Lucinda and Harka have a 200-millisecond reaction impediment imposed upon them, to offset the fact that they’re actively anticipating an attack, where Achemiss won’t be. During that period, the two ascendants will be forced to rely only on automatic shielding and offensive artifacts. Notable among them is the suicide implant, which will mean game over for Black if allowed to activate–a process that takes approximately half a second.

The most straightforward strategy for the duo would be to activate the suicide implant as soon as the 200-millisecond reaction impediment passes. Black therefore has a bit less than a second to break through their shields and incapacitate them.

It sounds impossible, which is what makes this challenge all the more interesting to spectate.

With my little pre-challenge chat with Lucinda out of the way, I address Ancient Black. “Thank you for joining us for a demonstration of prowess,” I say, though he doesn’t acknowledge my words. His gaze is unfocused, like he’s looking at something that isn’t visible to the rest of us.

Like I haven’t seen that expression a thousand times over the past few days. Black has a knack for tuning out the world when he feels like it.

Lucinda clears her throat and Black’s head snaps up. “It’s time,” she declares. “You can start whenever you wish. Our role is to react.”

“Okay.” His head moves to the left, his eyes panning over the walls of the gorge before falling back on Lucinda and Harka. His demeanor suddenly changes, as though he’s shedding an old jacket for a new suit.

“It’s time I show you the artifact I mentioned on our calls,” he says, his voice languid, assured. Oily darkness swirls around his body, giving him an oppressive appearance. He holds up a hand; within it is a piece of the black rock. “Are you familiar with this material?”

Lucinda frowns. The question is a bit silly, considering that the entire plane is made of the very same mineral. “Of course. It’s from Starbreak.” She pauses, likely considering how Achemiss would respond. “Bold of you to steal a piece, though I can’t say I’m surprised. Ancients are generally afforded more leeway than the rest of us.”

Black chuckles. “Perhaps that’s for good reason.”

Suddenly, his prismatic eyes flare with a subtle, violet light.

Lucinda flinches and Harka’s hand goes to her hip, but both realize that Black hasn’t made any aggressive moves–yet.

I’m not sure why Black is bothering with this conversation. Either he has the ability to incapacitate them or he doesn’t. Lucinda and Harka aren’t amateurs; they won’t be thrown off kilter by conversation.

Maybe Black just likes mind games.

“I’ve managed to imbue this black rock with a special effect,” Black says, holding it out.

“I don’t see signs of your practice on it,” Harka says. “It looks like any other rock from Starbreak.”

“Try feeling it instead,” he prompts, waving the shard.

Even though she knows it’s a trap, Harka grudgingly holds out her hand and grabs the thin, slate-like, kite-shaped shard. She rubs it between her fingers, then frowns. “You–”

Phantasmic rocks enclose around the two women in an instant. My ice mirrors catch their manifestation from multiple viewpoints. They’re grayish and shimmer in the light, giving them an illusory appearance, but they’re still solid enough to push Lucinda and Harka together.

The summoned rocks shouldn’t be able to touch Lucinda or Harka without the defensive artifacts rebuffing them. In particular, the chains linking the duo comprise a Dark artifact that should destroy anything it touches, aside from those bound by its links.

The black rock touches the chains as it pushes the women together, but the chains may as well be useless. A series of offensive measures trigger as well, these acting beyond the stone prison.

A hand of spiraling fire reaches for Black just as a noose of shadows descends upon his head. The lake that forms the bottom of the stad shoots abruptly upward, like a geyser. The water is a torrential serpent that swallows Black from the bottom, utterly inescapable given such close proximity.

Black covers himself in black, sinewy fibers, even his orifices. He’ll suffocate if he stays like this for long, but that won’t matter–he has at most a second to finish the challenge.

I barely comprehend what happens next. Spectral rocks burrow into the mouth of both women, choking them. If that was Black’s only strategy, he’d lose–Lucinda can activate the suicide implant to escape.

But suddenly, Lucinda appears incapacitated, her eyes lifeless, her mouth agape in a rictus of agony.

The most complete victory would mean incapacitating both of them, but just Lucinda is enough. Harka stands down and watches Black with cold eyes as he approaches them. While Lucinda is unable to function, Black must rifle through her storage artifacts to steal a designated target artifact or simply steal the storage artifacts.

The challenge is easier said than done. Lucinda is a Dark practitioner, but Harka’s control of Death allows her to bolster Lucinda’s recovery capabilities. She’s forced to severely limit her skills to what she would have access to if unconscious, but Harka has several contingencies prepared.

First, the storage artifacts on Lucinda literally sink through her skin into her body in the moments after she becomes catatonic, making them impossible to access or easily remove. Black will need to cut into her body to access them, a feat that would normally be trivial for a Death practitioner… except for the pulses of Dark energy that radiate out from Lucinda at frequent, irregular intervals. It’s one of Achemiss’s techniques—he combines Dark pulses with his Death affinity to make it difficult to physically attack his flesh. The pulses selectively leave his own body unharmed while erasing anything unrecognized. His mastery is such that his body produces the pulses even when unconscious.

If Harka were actually unconscious, I don’t think she’d be able to mix her practice with Lucinda’s to seamlessly emulate the effect. There are limits to how well the two can emulate the practice of another. The path to mastery is forged alone; everyone at the peak has their own unique ways of using affinity, their own breakthroughs. Skill helps to blur differences but isn’t a panacea.

Even while Lucinda, and by extension Harka, are incapacitated, the automated artifact onslaught continues unabated, raining ferocious tribulation on Ancient Black. To most spectators without water elementalism, Black’s form is completely obscured by the water serpent, light scintillating furiously off its turbid, liquid scales.

I, of course, see everything clearly. The summoned noose has tightened around Black’s neck, straining an inch from his skin, as though repelled by the man’s will alone. One of his arms is torn off, but the only trace of it are bright, sanguine seams crossing over the oily sinews that cover his body, like rifts on an active volcano. The intensity and glow of the red isn’t natural–it’s the product of mixing blood with the bright pinkish-violet hue of Death affinity.

It's funny how Death manifests in both ways–oily, heavy dark and bright, gaseous neon. Perhaps it represents the duality of death itself–the body, rotting and material; the soul, invisible and clean, almost like drops of water. Without a Death affinity, I don’t have soul sight, but most ascendants who are interested can see what souls look like through the memories of Death practitioners.

The water serpent constricts, crushing Black’s body. It’s incredible that he remains unbowed, though I see the strain in his limbs, the tremors of instability in his chest and shoulders. And the noose–it’s even closer, its edge kissing his neck.

It’s not meant to kill him, though­–what would be the point? The noose is a metaphysical attack, striking at both the mind and soul. Black has a fledgling Remorse affinity to counteract its effects, and he’s a necromancer. To the uninformed, the artifact may seem poorly matched against him. In reality, it’s a restraining weapon explicitly created for use against Death practitioners.

We’d even planned to use it against Achemiss.

In Eternity, artifacts that have methods of affecting the soul are extremely rare and hard to counter. Even a necromancer has limited ways of manipulating their own soul and causing a soul direct damage is nearly impossible. After all, if it were possible to snuff out souls, even with rare artifacts, Eternity might be a very different place.

The attack of the noose is supposed to induce a sort of soul lethargy, an instability that inhibits active necromancy.

I wish I could see Black’s expression under the inky darkness of his armor. Is he feeling the pressure?

The next barrage of artifacts activates in response to the continued unconsciousness of Lucinda. A black saber manifests beside her and slashes at the air, sending out black crescents of disintegrating Dark energy. It leeches ascendant energy from Lucinda, allowing for nearly 75% of the strength to manifest relative to its puissance if she were empowering it directly.

Lucinda’s body suddenly splits apart into countless pieces.

It’s as though there’s no resistance at all, even though I know Harka is making Lucinda’s flesh partially resistant, and the pulses of Dark energy threaten to destroy any encroaching matter.

As though blooming, pale skin and pink, fleshy petals pull back. At the same time, her body elongates, bones breaking and flesh stretching. The head separates from the chest, the neck pulls in two, cleanly, as though the action is so easy and natural as to be reversible. The chest segments several times over, stringy vessels hanging like cables between the partitions, connective tissues pruned to let them drape freely. The same process expands over her entire body in a recursive manner, breaking her into tinier and tinier pieces.

The dark pulses don’t originate from one specific part of Lucinda’s body, but with her in literal pieces, they appear feebler, enervated.

Just as a pulse of darkness fizzles out, an eel of bone adhered with blood, thin as a ribbon, slips into Lucinda and weaves itself through her body. When it exits, several storage artifacts are within its length. I sense them through the liquid in the blood.

The eel escapes just in time to avoid another weakened pulse, losing only a handspan’s length off the blood-woven bone at its rear.

At the same time, a new object appears in Black’s only remaining hand.

A return beacon.

His thoughts crackle like static across my mental defenses; I let them through on reflex.

“I have the void storages and a method of escape,” Black thinks. “It’s over.”

Kill them, and it will be. The defensive artifacts are programmed to halt if Lucinda and Harka die.

Lucinda’s death is instantaneous, the last connecting passageways shuttling blood and oxygen to her head break apart and hang limp. The watery serpent breaks apart, freeing Black to move.

Harka faces her death with an unwilling expression. Black’s brow furrows.

Harka should be using her full practice of Death to defend against the attack. It’s technically dishonest, but I’m glad she’s doing it. By pitting her power against his, she’ll gain greater insights into the strength of Black’s practice of Death affinity.

Besides, the ending at this point is inevitable. Whether Harka defends herself is irrelevant.

The space between Black and Harka vanishes. The black sinews covering his face pull back, revealing his face. His eyes are vacant, but his brow remains furrowed, as though he’s dreaming about something unpleasant with his eyes open.

He places a finger upon Harka’s forehead.

The bombardment of artifacts stops. The noose sloughs off his neck, falling limp to the water, where it floats. The black sword trembles, then floats down like a dried leaf, rocking back and forth until it reaches the water’s surface and sinks down.

He looks up at me, at the others standing at the rim of the stad. His eyes regain a sharpness, a clarity. They no longer burn violet.

“I’ve played your game,” he says, his voice low. Flickering, shadowy specters dance around him, merging into the pitch black of his clothes. “Now take me to Achemiss.”