61 Final Frontier (1/2)

Kessiah blinked, “Uh…You sure got up from that fast.”

I nodded, “I mean yeah, of course I did. Remember, my health regen is crazy high.”

Torix tapped his chin, “It’s astonishing when seen in person, however. It’s nothing like I imagined it. The process is much more…grotesque.”

I shrugged, “Better to be disgusting and alive then beautiful and dead, right?”

Torix glanced at Althea, “I suppose.” He glanced at the cracking, dry skin on his corpse hands, “I suppose I can’t argue. I’m not necessarily the epitome of beauty either.”

He turned towards Kessiah,

“But this vixen over here tried killing you.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah right.”

Kessiah stared at the ground, scratching the back of her hair.

Torix’s eyes turned from a deep blue to a bright purple,

“Using your mythical skill against a friend who is over 1000 levels below you. How far will you sink?”

Oddly enough, Kessiah blushed, her violet skin turning purple on her cheeks. She frowned,

“Uh…I’m sorry. I channeled the spell in the heat of the moment. Once the spell’s been cast, it’s done. I can’t stop it.”

I shook out the tightness in one shoulder, “Who cares. You failed. Good job trying though. How low did my health get?”

Torix frowned, “Less than five thousand.”

Exasperation welled up, clear as day on my face, “Why are you complaining then? It’s fine. I’m more interested in how in the hell that Blood Arts stuff works. Looks pretty damn awesome.”

Torix shook his hand towards me, “Don’t. It isn’t useful for someone with arcane blood. You’re much better off putting in the time and effort it takes to master magic than using her methods. Besides for that, it’s hereditary.”

I frowned, “Well fuck. That sucks. Can I get an explanation on how it works?”

Kessiah propped her weight onto one leg, “I trade a bit of my blood for the blood of Baldowah, an Old One. He’s kind of like a god of war or something like that.” Kessiah frowned, “The ichor dried up fast though since my body can’t sustain it. It’s a last resort.”

I raised both my fists into the air, “I managed to get out the last resort. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Kessiah grinned, “Yeah, you can’t handle more than one hit though.”

I grinned back, “Yeah, one hit now. Wait till later.” I glanced at her arms, seeing bruises on them along with a few fresh cuts, “Besides, it doesn’t look like you came out unscathed either.”

Her shoulders flopped, “I don’t have health regen like you. It takes me a while to recover from the fights.”

I cupped my chin, “Alright, so my takeaway is that you’re actually a burst fighter. An assassin of sorts. If we fought for real, you’d use that technique right away. If that was the case, I’d be overwhelmed in seconds. If I can just last long enough for it to end, then I’ll win. Is that right?”

Torix grinned, “Excellent analysis. Indeed, that is quite correct. Good luck sustaining through the onslaught Kessiah leaves in her wake. She can do in seconds what takes other warriors minutes.”

Kessiah pointed at me, “Yeah, but I’m going to need to get a skill like that Boundless Storm you got. It makes fighting you up close so hard.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Really? You could just smash me with that mythical skill though.”

Kessiah bit her lip, “Yeah, but the fact you can beat me in any way already…It’s humbling.”

Torix raised a hand, “I concur. Having already bested Kessiah without her unleashing her true potential. That by itself is impressive. You’ve come quite far. After you’ve settled down, come back towards my study for tutelage.”

I clapped my hands, “Sure thing. Just have to carve out these runes first.”

Althea walked up. She pressed together one finger from each hand, glancing at me,

“Would you mind carving a few plates from your armor?”

I raised an eyebrow, “What for?”

“I was hoping to make a rifle out of them. Maybe the runes would help me with my rifle. I uh, I don’t know. Just trying to get a little boost is all. You know, close the distance.”

I grinned, “Sounds like good practice. I can show you how to carve them later if you’d like.”

A slight grin traced her lips, “That uh…sounds great.”

She stepped back before Torix opened a portal beside him. He walked into it while saying,

“Remember to stop by and visit after you’re done with your runes.”

I gave him a tiny salute with a hand, “You got it.”

We dispersed, ready for a bit of relaxation after the mission. Whenever we reached back to the camp, more people sat about then before. Without the need to close off the quarantine area, the workload had decreased. More and more lazy bums just sat around beside other lazy bums, chatting away. It struck me as foreign, like a dog walking on its hind feet.

They were so close to giant monsters that were clamping their teeth at their throats. How they didn’t feel anxious about it was absurd. Most of them barely reached level 100, meaning even a single zombie kill would make a huge difference. Like, a fifty level plus kind of difference.

Didn’t seem to bother them though. It reminded me of soldiers before a war. Instead of practicing their aim or working on their physical fitness, they just sat around playing cards. Since I’d been going hard nonstop for months, it looked weird.

As I passed by, I was an oddity to them as well. Whispers of awe, fear, and admiration floated around me in disparate bursts. After my speech a week ago, I curried quite a bit of favor. Combine that with my new fancy-shmancy title, and I was an outright inspiration.

Taking advantage of my new status symbol, I trotted up to the center of the camp. Work benches lined up in a giant square, kind of like a public square for ingenuity. The social pressure was supposed to help with productivity or something. Hard to slack off with prying eyes after all.

Using that, I surged my ascendant mana before lifting a hand with a sharpened spike coming out of my palm. For a second, there was a surge of fear. When I slammed my fist into my thigh, that fear dissolved into confusion.

Grabbing the puncture wound, I tore out a piece of my armor before setting out on my carving. The result was always better after a practice carve or two anyways. Making a few new pieces for Althea’s rifle would be perfect.

After working on the runes for so long, I could add in more than one single meaning to the inscription. I would make out the runes with multiple meanings. Of course, making two half-baked messages was far weaker than a single strong one, so this was difficult. I found a way around it though using a double entendre. In other words, a set of words with more than one right explanation.

Just like with normal words, the runes carried multiple meanings. If I layered these meanings together, I could generate multiple effects without diminishing their effects. A quick example in English would be like this: new obesity study looks for larger test group. It could mean a larger number of participants in a study. It could also mean the participants aren’t fat enough.

Making these in a different, almost transcendent language was difficult though. If the meanings didn’t at least synergize or align with each other, they would disrupt the flow of mana. Since this was my first time making Althea’s inscriptions, I figured trying something a wee bit less ambitious was ideal.

I stuck with making the plates help with her ammo consumption. Althea’s lack of infinite bolts seemed to be her primary problem in combat now. Even adding just a few more bolts in combat would make a huge difference.

With that in mind, I connected my thumb, index, and middle finger into a single, sharp horn. This form gave me superior control when carving. It was tidbit I picked up after watching Torix use mana to scorch out his runes. My ascendant mana hummed with a violent power as well, my control of them being superior to what it once was. I could handle even delicate tasks with it burning in the background.

With these new innovations, I carved out the rune that represented waste, misuse, and carelessness. The word dived deep into the meaning, bringing out all the pain that comes with being carefree. The consequences, the regret, even the semblance of loss, those emotions all surged from the rune. The neatness and precision of my carving had improved with practice and my levels, causing the change in potency.

Combine that with the extra strength, dexterity, and perception, and I was a certified carving machine. As I carved with care and intent, several other guards began working nearby. It seemed my own will to work gave them the heart to work on their own tasks as well. That was good. We would need them versus Yawm, in one way or another.

Keeping myself focused, I carved out the rune that represented what cannot be. It represented not even the oblivion after death, but the oblivion after you are forgotten. When a king’s legacy is forgotten, that is when he truly dies. This rune captured the essence of our menial, meaningless existence. It was a nihilists dream.

Shifting midway through, I combined the rune with another, even greater rune. This new rune cherished the meaning of our existence. It gave purpose and life to that which was once useless and dead. The rune empowered the things we gave value, holding them near and dear like the life of a loved one.

After finishing the letter, I encircled the passage with the rune for unity. Written in much smaller lettering, the rune barely spanned a fifth the length of the other three inscriptions. At the end of the letter, I extended the last line of the last letter. It was like a fancy signature. This encircled the entire passage in a wire thin line, granting a portion of the runes meaning to the other letters.

Doing this prevented the letter from interfering with the current passage, but passed on a part of its power. After handling this, I envisioned Althea’s rifle. My memory came to me, clear as crystal and glass. Using it as a reference, I bended the plate into the side panel of Althea’s rifle.

With my thumb, I pressed out holes at the ends of the plate. This gave Althea useful hooks to keep the shield and runes attached to her plate. Before I finished, I placed my hand on the plate, surging my ascendant mana into the plate. The torrent poured into the greedy rune, letting it charge until it was completely saturated with the might of mana.

I opened the jagged mouth of my armor before removing the armor on my thumb. I biting down on it, opening a wound. I wiped a smear of the blood around the rune before it discharged. My blood leaked into the hungry metal, not to be absorbed, but to make it alive. This allowed it to hold onto the mana, kind of like the wax that seals a letter.

When Althea needed to use the rune, she just had to connect her mana and guide the plate for her use. With this combination of engravings, she should save around 1/3rd of her bolts. At least I hoped she would. This was my first time trying this out after all.

With that finished, I set the plate beside me before placing my left forearm against the table. Of course I reinforced the shitty, rickety, just pathetic wood of the table with a telekinetic field. It was like I was setting my own arm on my back, though a bit heavier. Odd, but very effective.

Speaking of which, that reminded me of another odd sensation. Ever since unlocking the level 100 dexterity perk, I didn’t have a dominant hand. The difference that produced was larger than I thought it would be. For instance, try brushing your teeth with your non- dominant hand. You’ll be jabbing the shit out of your mouth. If I tried doing it with my right hand though, I could do it with ease.

Writing, eating, all of that wasn’t strange or unnatural for my right hand anymore. Tasks that were difficult and arduous before became simple. This was a perfect example. Trying to write with my right hand was hard as hell before. carving the runes was far more difficult. Without that handicapping me now though, I tapped my chin, brainstorming for a bit.

It didn’t take too long before I thought up a few interesting combinations. I decided on my favorite one before beginning my carve. The passage was more intricate than Althea’s blending several characters into one. With an elegant touch and an eye for detail, I zoned into the project, relishing in each detail.

From the curves of the lines to the angle of the arches in the letters, I carved with precision. A minute or two later, and the rune looked wrong. It wasn’t right, too perfect and too contrived. When I fought, I fought with a cool anger. I kept composed, calm, and cruel. While the rune was calm, it lacked the fury and fire of battle.

I quit carving for a moment and urged my armor to heal the markings. What I needed was more. More pain, hatred, rage, and more fervor. The message I carved was about an icy wrath, a malice and molten rage tempered by an intent to harm. The rune when carved with such precision was like a cinder. I needed no cinder.

I needed fire.

I brought forth memories of my father. I bathed in my hatred of his malignance. No. That wasn’t enough. I dug deeper. From the abyss of my mind, I brought forth a bleaker, blacker hatred. The hatred I had of the powerless child that did nothing but cried. It surged with a wild wrath, like starving wolf having his meal stolen.

That child wept pointless tears, tears that would do him no good. Scars and bruises and hurt, that little child hid within his own torment. He could have told his teachers. He could have taken a knife to his father’s throat. He didn’t. He sat there and withstood the abuse. Not like an unsung hero, but like a quiet coward.

That rage and hatred, I wielded it. The boy forged in fires of his own self-loathing. Tempered by that fire, that child grew into a man made of metal. Haunted by the powerlessness of his past, he fought for his future. He fought to never be so powerless again.

Relentless, unyielding, and uncompromising, that hatred burned scars deep into him. They were no weakness. They became his greatest strength. Using that strength, a strength born out of humiliation and agony, a monster was born.

And so, I surged with the ascendant mana within, letting me carve through the armor in a fit of the very emotions that made me strongest. It drove me forward. It let me ignore my own suffering, turning the pain to power. Like a ichor of a dark god, I let the ferocity consume me as I etched in the runes.

But at the core of my being, I remained calm. I kept composed. That rage gave great strength, but it would steal my mind if I allowed it. I would never allow it. I crushed the anger, beating it into submission. I turned the untamed into the tamed. I bound the unbounded.

With chains of my own choosing, I shackled that inner turmoil. I turned it from something wild, something malicious, something that could not be controlled, into the most stable part of my being. Like the eye at the center of a boundless storm, I decided where my path of carnage would carry me. I decided what I left in my wake, for I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.

I carved the new runes onto my arms, my legs, my palms. In the spur of the moment, I carved two more runes. One a across my back, going off feel and using my extreme flexibility. The other across my chest.

Once I finished, I forgot to maintain my telekinetic field on the table. It snapped, flopping me face first into the ground beneath me. Since so many people walked here, there wasn’t any grass anymore. That meant a face full of mud.

It squeezed in between my helmet before I pushed myself up, lunging off one knee. I pulled back my helmet, shaking my head to sling the mud away. Even odder than the fall, sweat poured down my dirty face. Without even noticing it, I was literally steaming. I didn’t even notice, but without my runes, channeling my ascendant mana caused this.

That’s probably why the surge of emotion during the carving process was so intense. Reigning all that in made for some interesting results though. I glanced at the runes on my arms and legs. They were jagged, rough, like serrated teeth. This wasn’t the result of sloppy craftsmanship though. This was entirely intentional.

It was like the rough strokes of a calligraphist. In all the chaos, there was a certain kind of order. Menacing and powerful, like the hulking frame of a monster. No, this was a thing that ate monsters. It was me.

Glancing at my notifications, I saw another element that worked in my favor.

Breakthrough! Carving into Oblivion(lvl 72)--->(lvl90) Breakthrough maximum level reached.

I didn’t even see the notification when I was carving. My guess, I was too in the zone.

Now I was out of that trance, I was eager to test the new runes out. First though, I reached behind me and felt the rune on my back. It didn’t feel like I could do something like that. The rough metal grated against my armored fingertips, just like the etchings on my arms. Thinking about it, I must have looked like a freak as I did it.

Glancing around, I one hundred percent did. Several steel legion guards still stared at me, wondering what the fuck had possessed me. Considering the guards still looked at me like I was inhuman, I must have really given them something to see during the process. The ominous red mana ebbing off me mustn’t have helped either.

I shrugged, knowing I couldn’t really do much about it. Picking up Althea’s plate, I walked off towards her tent. There was no point in dwelling on how weird they thought I looked. Or, well, how weird I actually did look.

Without wasting any time, I passed through the camp, ignoring the whispers around me. A minute later, I walked up towards Althea’s tent. I gave it slight tap, but she didn’t answer. I gave another tap. After a groggy groan, Althea walked outside.

In a tanktop and shorts, I could see her blue gray skin, almost like dull silver. Her purple hair still looked crazy, but silky and flowing, unlike dyed hair. I never paid much attention to what Althea or Kessiah looked like, mainly because I knew I was only 17. Or 18, I didn’t know what normal day it was now. I was almost certainly 18 now.

Anyways, that meant I could lose my shit if I was around a sexy girl. I’d already seen Althea naked, but the circumstances prevented it from sinking in. Wearing casual clothes, Althea looked good. I mean really good. That could have easily have been the hormones talking though. Either that or my preference for a sort of messy hairstyle in girls.

That’s how Althea’s hair was at this point. She had just woken up, looking tired. When she saw me, she raised an eyebrow,

“What is it?”

I handed her the plate, “Here it is. It might save you some ammo when you fight. I didn’t know what else to give you, considering your bolts already pierce.”

She frowned, taking he plate and inspecting it. She lifted it overhead, turning it as she tried deciphering how it was supposed to be used. I noticed.

“Turn your arm into the biotic rifle thingy.”

She nodded, altering her arm into the interlocking plates of bone that composed her rifle. From her other arm, a spine of bone fell out before she cocked the rifle, letting out a hiss of steam. Putting the bolt into the chamber, she pointed it at the ground,