Chapter 345. Experiment Start (Patreon)

Ian and Euryphel walked down one of the hallways in the kernel, the innermost area of the palace. Both could sense the presence of people nearby using their powers, so they knew which way to walk to avoid the smattering of guards and staff in the vicinity.

Now you can call for me whenever you want, Euryphel thought, grinning slyly at the necromancer.

Ian exhaled a chuckle. As if that were necessary. Your wind elementalism pervades the entire palace–you could always speak to me whenever you wished.

That’s why I specifically said that you can call for me whenever you want, Euryphel ribbed. My mind can’t be everywhere at once–I’m not a Beginning practitioner. If you say something, there’s no guarantee I’ll notice and respond. With this quantum channel, you can speak to me directly, anytime, and know that I’ll hear you.

Unless you’re asleep, Ian pointed out. I don’t think quantum channeling is so powerful that I can force my way into your dreams.

Euryphel laughed, a bit louder than was normal.

“Was it that funny?” Ian asked, speaking out loud. Euryphel kept his voice contained to the area around them using his wind elementalism, preventing anyone nearby from listening.

Euryphel sobered his expression. “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re back.”

“I don’t miss quantum channeling,” Ian stated. “It’s so robotic. All emotion is stripped away, leaving only raw thoughts. I’d rather just talk.”

Euryphel hummed. “That’s why most people don’t use it if they can avoid it.”

“Where are we going, by the way?” Ian asked. Euryphel could travel anywhere in the palace through the doors. Walking was a deliberate choice.

“Nowhere,” Euryphel scoffed, “just stretching our legs. Even I’m not good enough to disguise you sufficiently. I can hide your rainbow eyes and obscure distinguishing facial features, but there’s no foolproof way to hide the fact that you have three affinities.”

Ian could muddle his own vital signature, but the real concern was that an adversary–within a Regret scenario–would attack Ian, forcing him to use his affinities. That would be enough to reveal his vital signature to any powerful Life or Death practitioner. Moreover, depending on the attack’s power, he might be forced to reveal his ascendant energy.

Was it perhaps excessively cautious to keep Ian on lockdown because of this possible situation? Yes. The risk was small, but the potential impact of an adversary seeing Euryphel in cahoots with a tri-affinity ascendant was too big to ignore. And Euryphel knew that people were watching him, and by extension, everyone around him–especially when he was in the seat of his power, Ichormai.

An adversary might not realize the tri-affinity practitioner was Ian, or even an ascendant. Just the fact that someone with three affinities existed would be shocking. And the fact that such an individual was seen with Euryphel would cause unneeded political complications.

As it was, the Selejo Imperial Federation’s existence threatened the East. If Ian hadn’t emerged as a half-step ascendant, Euryphel thought it likely that the eastern powers would have taken a more aggressive stance in the war, intervening behind the scenes to prevent the formation of a new, unified Ho’ostar peninsula. Instead, they had sat back, complacent knowing that the man who had single-handedly changed the status quo would disappear.

Several eastern powerhouses were in the Darkseers, but that didn’t mean their countries were friends. Even if Eury contacted his eastern compatriots to reassure them that he didn’t have a powerful practitioner on payroll, that wouldn’t be enough to assuage the clamoring cries of hawkish politicians. Not that Euryphel could blame them–he really did have a powerful tri-affinity ascendant on his side. Ian had a far greater purpose than propelling the Selejo Imperial Federation to new heights, but Euryphel didn’t doubt that Ian would defend the Federation if asked.

It was all such a mess. There was a coal of bitter rage in Euryphel, a coal that had existed within him ever since the death of his father, serving as the core of a conflagration of miserable, masochistic determination.

The conflagration had died with his victory and ascension to lead the SPU. The war with Selejo hadn’t been enough to fully reignite it; Euryphel inwardly hoped that nothing ever would.

But even if the dark pit of hateful passion was relatively dormant, it still smoldered and sizzled. Usually, his self-hatred fed the ember, but more and more the selfish shortsightedness of the outside world invoked his greatest ire.

Euryphel was trying to save the world! Literally! Not because he had any grand aspirations of being a hero, but because he knew he was one of the only people who could. He just happened to be aware of the delicate situation around the Infinity Loop, happened to have the power, influence, and connections to stop disaster from befalling them.

“What are you thinking about?” Ian asked.

Euryphel realized that he’d stopped in front of a tall, old portrait of one of his forefathers. There was a strong resemblance–pale, straight hair tied in a queue, fine facial features, and dark blue robes with gold trim. His ancestor’s jaw was squarer, his brow more defined. Whether the man really looked like this or the artist had taken liberties, Euryphel didn’t know.

“I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed,” Eury replied honestly.

Ian sighed and rolled his head. “Yeah.”

“At least we have a path forward.”

“Potentially.” Ian looked at him through narrowed eyes, slivers of rainbow iridescence. “We’ll see.”

Euryphel continued walking. “You know, I used to think it ludicrous, reading the histories of the giants that carved new states, kingdoms, and empires.”

Ian gave him a quizzical look. “Why?”

The former prince smirked. “Many were so young. Younger than both of us. Practically children, closer to Zilverna’s age. And through a sea of blood, they built nations that stood the test of time–at least some of them did.” He turned his gaze on another portrait of an ancestor. This one was even older, the paint faded and cracking. “I’ve pieced a new country together and already it feels like it’s crumbling.”

“Nation building is never clean,” Ian said.

“I never said it was,” Euryphel murmured. “I doubt it was easier for those distant, brutal figures. History has just smoothed over the bumps and ridges. I just… appreciate it more, now. To do what I’m doing now while barely an adult. I feel almost inadequate by comparison.”

“They didn’t have to worry about the greater burden of the world’s ruin,” Ian added with a sage smile. “Besides, not all of them were so young.” He tapped his head. “I estimate 60% were over the age of 25. Very few people are powerful enough before then to lead conquests.”

Euryphel returned his smile. “Fair enough.” He was acutely aware of Ian’s presence next to him, Ian’s shoulder a few inches from his own as they both stared at the aged portrait. “I think we’ve stretched our legs enough. Are you ready to get started on the experiment?”

“Ready,” Ian said slowly, “who is ever really ready for the things we intend to do? I supposed I’m as ready as I can be.”

Ian’s comment was a poignant conclusion to their conversation. Who was ever really ready? Readiness came through experience and repetition. The most important moments in life were decision nodes where fate and destiny gathered. A choice was made, a path forged. What was readiness when you walked into the unknown?

Ian squeezed Euryphel’s shoulder. “You’re thinking so hard, you’re practically giving me a headache. Let’s go.”

—

Ian was unsurprised when Euryphel led him back into the clean, almost clinical former dungeon beneath the palace.

Is it a former dungeon, or an active one? Ian wondered as he stepped into one of the interrogation rooms. Sitting in a stiff, unpadded chair was a woman with gray, scraggly hair cut short and thickly muscled arms. She wore a scowl that hid what might’ve been naturally beautiful features–an aquiline nose and long eyelashes framing expressive green eyes. Her skin was weathered and tan, especially on her hands, which were heavily calloused.

Ian froze her as he entered the room, divesting her of all bodily autonomy. She only breathed because he willed it. Vitality still pumped through her body, marking her as a Sun practitioner and probably a fire elementalist. A straightforward affinity. It would be unnecessarily cruel to take a Beginning or Regret practitioner as a subject.

Ian wore a mask because he didn’t want to be recognized­–didn’t want his subjects to know who was experimenting on them. His Beginning suggested that it would amplify their fear and confusion. He could use his Remorse to suppress such reactions, but finesse wasn’t his strong suit.

The mask was simple–a black medical mask that covered his nose and mouth. He left his upper face uncovered, but Euryphel had used his special eye mud to make his eyes appear plain brown rather than rainbow-y.

Ian could see his reflection in the opaque, glassy walls of the interrogation room, made from military grade gloss plastic, the same kind used in the construction of off-road hoverglosses. He almost looked like… well, his old self. Dark brown, curling hair, brown eyes, pale skin. He hadn’t aged at all since ascending. He might as well be looking at a yearbook photo from his senior year at Academia Hector.

Y’jeni, all the people I went to school with, like Xavier… they’re still in their senior year.

Ian turned his focus back to the immobilized woman. Her expression was frozen, but her eyes conveyed her quiet fear.

“Hello,” Ian said, speaking directly into her mind. “I am developing a technique that may be deadly. I am not a cruel man. I will do everything in my power to keep you alive. The best way to increase your chance of surviving is to not resist me, no matter what. I assure you, your resistance will fail–you’ll only hurt yourself.”

He didn’t ask if she understood–he could sense her fear and resignation. Ian didn’t know what the woman had done to warrant her presence before him. Probably something terrible. He trusted Euryphel to give him someone whose death wouldn’t haunt his conscience.

He could have found out. Euryphel had given him the woman’s file. Ian preferred to know nothing at all. It was easier to do terrible things to those whom you pretended weren’t people. Euryphel had argued that knowing what she had done might make it easier. Eury never said it outright–it wasn’t something that could be said in good conscience–but he’d implied that the woman deserved what was coming.

Ian understood Euryphel’s point but he disdained that rhetoric. He refused to give himself a reason not to feel the gravity of his actions. He wouldn’t feel guilty for what he needed to do, but he would treat his subject with respect.

She was a living, breathing person. He sensed her frantic vitality and her anxious, cold mind. And to him, she was a blank slate. An unknown.

Besides, whether he wanted to or not, Ian had a suspicion that he’d learn more about the woman than he wanted as he manipulated her soul.

Suddenly, thoughts bubbled to the surface of her mind. You can be sure that I’ll fight with everything I have.

Ian resisted the urge to facepalm. “So be it.” He walked over to her so that he stood directly behind her, his chest against her back.

You’re warm, firm. Young. Naïve. I don’t know what experiment you’re trying, but you won’t break me.

Ian ignored her. He slit her shirt with a shard of sharpened bone, revealing her back. It was covered in horrific, healed scars. Not like those caused by a whip, but it looked like someone had flayed her decades ago.

No wonder she wasn’t flinching in the face of his potentially deadly experiment. She thought herself tough.

Ian wondered if she’d reconsider her bravado when he got started.

He placed his hands on her, the left on her back, the other just below her sternum.

Handsy, aren’t we?

Ian ignored her insinuation, completely unfazed. He didn’t feel an ounce of attraction to her aged body, nothing like he felt for Maria.

With both his hands in position over the nucleus of the woman’s being, the first tendril of his ethereal body entered her body. She didn’t feel it–how could she when she didn’t have any sense of her ethereal body?

He carefully severed the tendrils anchoring the soul to the woman’s vessels. He made the cuts as clean as possible since he intended to re-secure them if everything went according to plan. He wasn’t trying to extract the woman’s soul–just hijack it.

When the last anchoring tendril fell limp, the woman did something unexpected.

She screamed.