Technomagica 37. The Ocean of Everything (Patreon)

The violet fire around me faded away, washed away by the currents of the Astral Ocean. It was cold… so very very cold. I was dead.

Giovashi killed me. Or perhaps, simply banished my soul from my body. I momentarily wondered how exactly my body would function without me, tried to activate and Infoscope and failed.

Diatomic megastructures, imprints of people and other things rose all around me, everything and nothing passing me by as I sank into darkness.

A wispy, washed out shape of the Fox pub was visible far above me made from hollow walls. I guessed that the pub must have had enough magic in it to imprint into the Astral as a distinctive structure.

I felt broken, alone, falling, had no energy nor mana to fight, move or float away. Whatever the violet fire did, it burned away all of my energy, sapping my life away, leaving me doomed and forgotten.

I sank deeper and deeper into the abyss, unable to even move my threads, until I fell through the hollow shape of a man with a broken neck.

There was warmth, a remnant of a person here, an imprint of someone who died centuries ago.

I knew that I was dying, fading away. I sucked, devoured the person’s remnants into myself, reigniting my spark.

Memories of another life flooded into my head along with the silver-green aurora that I’ve consumed.

. . .

Klint Klondike Tricameron was an Arcanix, a “Anima Artifactus Nex” as the Archmage Academics called them.

When the Alanian Academia of Magic had discovered a way to divide and bind souls to objects he was one of many who chose to split and bind his soul to magitek artefacts. In this manner, day by day, he was slowly turning himself into a living golem.

The magitek tools were incredibly expensive, but Klint was dedicated to the cause of becoming immortal. He borrowed money wherever he could and did the worst sorts of jobs to pay his ever-growing debts. He punished other debtors that refused to pay their bills on time, breaking their fingers. He killed Seditionists wherever they arose. He hunted down criminals, stole research papers from Academics and threatened citizens across Tricameron, all for whomever was willing to pay up the most.

The jobs were practically pouring in as the Citadel became divided between the Animancy Academics and the idiots who wanted nothing to do with shattering their immortal souls "because the gods were against such vile acts" or some other similar nonsense.

Killing Seditionists was fun and easy, they were weak, feeble minded and stood in his way to Immortality.

Klint was able to do his job without remorse because long ago he had learned to abstract himself away from stressful situations, constantly thinking of himself in third person. This essential, core skill allowed him to effortlessly split his personality amidst all of the magitek bound to him. It also allowed him to endure the multitude of painful surgeries that slowly replaced his bones and organs with magitek tools.

Immortality was a price worth paying, Klint told himself as his magisteel fingers crushed the head of a screaming man, splattering the room in blood. The Arcanix let the dead man fall and cast a cleaning spell on himself to clear the blood off.

In a few minutes, Klint stepped out of the Academic's tower onto the street of Tricameron, his long, black, magisteel-plate covered leather coat billowing behind him, metal bits clinking together as he moved.

Directed by the final words of the Seditionist-supporting Academic, Klint took a skyship out of Tricameron Citadel to one of the nearby mountain towns called Skyisle.

As he sat on the skyship heading to the Skyisle Hex-Beacon Tower, Klint considered why some Academics were against Immortality or why anyone in their right mind would think that it was a bad idea to retrieve a valued family member from the Astral Ocean.

Klint’s own grandfather, Keps Klondike Tricameron, was now living in a necklace that Klint wore beneath his coat. Whenever Klint ran into a problem that he could not resolve himself he consulted his grandfather’s ghost. The old, witty Archmage was full of wisdom and jokes that made Klint laugh out loud, making the other few skyship passengers glance at him.

Entering Skyisle was a simple procedure. Klint simply showed his hunter’s license to the gate golem and walked to the Sentinel's office located at the top of the Beacon Tower to get the approval for the kills.

“So... Whom are you hunting today, Arcanix?” Cazligor Alan Skyisle, the highborn Sentinel of town, yawned from behind his ostentatious desk, his magitek spoon stirring his coffee for him.

“Seditionists,” Klint replied.

“In my town? Really?” Sentinel Cazligor raised an eyebrow. “The damn zealots are appearing everywhere these days... like roaches.”

Klint nodded.

The stirring spoon unfolded into a metal spider and scattered across the table, depositing itself into a drawer.

The Sentinel picked up his coffee and took a sip. “What's your evidence?”

“I’ve interrogated a Seditionist Academic in Tricameron. He exposed a cell in your town,” the Arcanix hunter replied briskly. “They call themselves worshippers of Ishira. They’re planning to blow this tower up sky high with you in it. They’ve been stockpiling armaments beneath the Fox and the Fiddle pub.”

“Damnation,” Cazligor rubbed his temples. “Fine, you have my permission to terminate them all. Purge this infestation from Skyisle before it spreads any further.”

Klint handed the Sentinel his license and Cazligor signed it with his soul-signature, approving the kills and paying the fees listed.

The hunter went down the metal stairwell and entered Skyisle.

Evening drew near as the sun started to set. The peaceful, picturesque little town was deceitfully calm, hiding tension and deadly danger beneath the elaborately carved stonework houses and well-trimmed pink Ambrosia gardens and arboretums.

[Ah Skyisle,] grandfather Keps mentally commented from the necklace as Klint walked down the orange cobblestone path across the forest. [I remember coming here in 6849! I’ve gotten very drunk at the Fox and had lots of fun with a local girl under the stars. Can’t recall her name for the life of me though. Got shipped to fight the Basque the next day. Forty seven confirmed kills in a week!]

“Got any advice for taking down the Seditionists?” Klint asked.

[Walk through the front, send a wide pulse then start firing,] Keps replied. [Don’t even bother asking questions. Execute anyone with an angel hanging over them. The pub is big and wide open. The shots will go straight through the wooden booths. Drop the banger down the stairwell, it’ll deal with anyone downstairs. A pity if some of the wine down there will go to waste, but it’s important that you get all of them faster than they can blink.]

“Got it,” the hunter nodded.

In a few more minutes he stood in front of the pub. A wooden sign with the carved picture of a Fox playing a fiddle swung back and forth in the wind coming from the mountains.

Klint switched the armacus on his right hand to the [Piercer] and the one in his left hand to [Identify]. His foot slammed the round front door of the pub wide open.

His magitek body activated, drawing power from the crystal core in his chest allowing him to move faster than even the most skilled human. He started firing as soon as the Identify pulse returned with the results. There were seven barmaids in the pub with angels on their shoulders.

The things looked like grotesque violet mushrooms. Klint felt no remorse for the Seditionists he killed. They had chosen this, sold their soul to Astral constructs for power.

The piercer went straight through their heads. The other patrons screamed in slow motion, moving away from him.

Klint’s left arm chucked the bomb down the stairwell. In exactly six seconds it detonated. Klint rushed down the stairwell, metal boots thumping on the rough stone.

He sent another [Identify] pulse ahead of himself in case anyone remained un-concussed.

A purple-haired girl with six angels on her leapt at him in the confined space of the hallway, determination painted on her exceptionally alluring face.

A mana sword manifested from Klint’s right armacus, going right through the girl, cutting the Seditionist in half. The deadly spell hexagrams forming in her hand popped as her soul left her body, dragged into heaven by her angels.

Klint winced just for an instance. He didn’t enjoy killing someone so young and beautiful.

The young idiot had chosen her fate, had picked the wrong side in the game. Her beauty didn’t even fade in death, she must have invested a ton of her points into Charisma and Vitality. Klint stepped over the corpse, drawing his eyes away from her perfect face with considerable effort.

There were others in the catacombs. He moved through the smoke like a shadow of death, cutting through the cultists with his shimmering sword.

All of them were female, beautifully alluring, perfect in every way. It was a shame to kill them.

[Abstract yourself!] His grandfather chided. [They’re Charisma maxers! Don’t look at their faces! Don’t let them speak to you!]

“I’m trying,” Klint growled. He noticed that his magisteel hands were trembling ever so slightly.

A song began to resonate through the smoke. It was divine, perfect.

[Don’t listen to it!] The ghost of the old Archmage shouted. [Turn off your ears!]

Klint disabled his ears. He had to fight himself not to turn his hearing back on. He wanted to hear more of this absolutely captivating chorus sang by the angels themselves.

[Damn sirens,] his grandfather commented. [Focus. Kill them all. Quickly now, before they can regroup!]

Klint rushed through the catacombs. Twenty girls stood around a black obelisk. He froze, unable to move, unable to swing his mana sword.

A girl stepped forward. She was perfect in every way, divine, indescribably beautiful.

[Shut down your eyes! Don’t look at her, idiot!] The mental voice of Keps yelled from somewhere distantly.

“I am the chosen Avatar of Ishira,” The perfect being said. Klint was somehow able to hear her even though he had no ears to speak of. His very soul trembled in her presence.

“I knew that you would come, my love.” The Goddess spoke.

Klint slashed at the woman with the last of his resistance. The perfect girl leapt back, one of her eyes gone. The scar and the blood pouring from her eye didn't make her any less perfect.

The girls around her started falling. Klint saw that their souls were binding themselves to the Avatar of Ishira. The girl's Charisma magnified tenfold then a hundrefold.

Klint wept, fell to his knees. He saw perfection made manifest and he was in love.

"W-what's your name, goddess?" He uttered.

"I am Giovashi Incandictia Skyisle," the girl spoke.

"I... love you," Klint confessed as his soul caught fire.

"Break your neck for me, show me that you love me," Giovashi said.

Klint could not disobey the order of his Goddess. He would do anything to please this perfect girl. He loved her. He loved her more than himself. More than anything in the world. His own magisteel hands grabbed at his head and twisted it to the side, further than it could turn.

The one place that he had failed to replace, his spine, shattered.

Klint fell, unable to move. He dimly realized that he failed, that his debts would not be repaid. None of it really mattered because he's seen her - the perfect being, a divinity made manifest.

“You’ve lost. Tricameron will burn to ashes and in a thousand years time not a single soul will remember your Empire,” The Goddess smiled and glanced at one of her priestesses. "End him!"

One of her exquisite priestesses stepped forward towards Klint and gracefully pointed an armacus at his head. A rune of Destruction manifested there.

“Goodbye, my love.” The Goddess spoke and Klint knew no more.

I choked, unable to clear the image of the perfect girl from my vision. She was there, nailed into the core of my memories. The Avatar of Ishira. The perfect being. The one I loved and will love forevermore.

Abstract. Abstract from it all! She’s not real! She’s just an illusion, an idea of utter perfection draped over a human!

Chernobyl. Aralsk. Semipalatinsk. The Tzar Bomba. I drowned the face of my one true love with memories of human-made hellfire from USSR.

I tried to focus on my own memories. My name is Vladislav Alexandrovich Kerenski! I died in 1992 by destroying the Aralsk-7 virology lab! I had a new life as Dante in Skyisle. I had to get back, had to find Leemy... had to survive!

I was never Klint Klondike, I wasn't really there when the Hunter Klint died from the hands of the Ishira worshippers.

Abstracting perfection didn’t work that well.

The beautiful, consummate visage of young Giovashi refused to leave my memory.

I flailed all of my emerald appendages, desperately trying to claw the perfect being out of my mind.

Damn it all! Get out of my head, Giovashi!

Damn you to hell!