131 Weaving Threads (2/2)
Based on that, I opened my obelisk and scanned through Torix’s library. I entered the key words endurance, perseverance, and tenacity. Dozens of novels, biographies, and anthologies appeared. I scanned through them, opening the first book I found interesting. The book was titled, Worlds of Eldritch: Tales of a Fringe Walker.
The title was pretty self explanatory. Even then, the book was harrowing. It broke down three different worlds that a Fringe Walker went to. Each one outdid the last, until the last one. On that world, Flocks of eldritch flew so dense that they cast darkness below them. The land was fire and the air was acid. Those are quotes by the way.
He lived on that foreign, unlivable world for over five years. Being abandoned by a key comrade sucks like that I suppose. During that time, he struggled finding food and learning how to not die. It was basically a survival story ramped up to an eleven out of ten.
Even though it was about 600 pages long, I finished it in three hours. As I laid it down, I was blown away by how quickly I understood it. With how high my intelligence was, it made sense. This was the first time I noticed such a drastic shift from having that intelligence though.
After finishing that novel, I moved on and read a few more. After about twelve hours and five more books later, I was ready to give a new rendition of the cipher form. Before I gave it a shot, I thought about what I read.
My head was crammed with stories of life and death. There was a biography about a young girl who lived in a galactic slum all her life. She escaped and became a monstrous bounty hunter. One book was an anthology of victims of genocide. The most compelling story detailed something else.
It was a story about a man who carried a keycard that would save his world for over 9,000 years. It showed the vast loneliness, the maddening quiet, and the numbness of time. He never rested.
Over and over, he faced machines, androids, and hostile life. There wasn’t even an ounce of hope for his situation. 9,000 years later and the guy won. It was inspiring, but I didn’t learn a damn thing about endurance. Instead of taking that approach, I tried out my own.
I opened my grimoire and sat down with my legs crossed. As I did, I kept my ears covered with my armor. It blocked out the sound near me, blurring my picture of my surroundings. It blocked out the swimming of the jellyfish, the shifting currents, and the pacing of footsteps.
I closed my eyes, honing in my focus. In the roar of silence, I sliced into the charcoal colored page, visualizing my mark. As I wrote, I kept my hand steady and stable. I paced my breathing, keeping it slow and shallow, like a sniper. I eliminated all other thoughts, putting myself in the moment.
Like that, I etched out the framework of my new rune. I didn’t add extra detail. There was no need to. Instead, I eliminated lines, took out excess pieces, and simplified the design. As I did, my translation didn’t lessen the impact of the original rune. It refined it.
Without excess, the original meaning of my rune came across more clearly. I purified the meaning, like filtering water over and over. With each change, the rune’s meaning popped ever clearer. With each shift, the subtlety of the inscription was gone. It was like pulling the body bag off a corpse. You couldn’t see what laid beneath until you did.
Hours passed like that. I took my time. There was no rush. Messages appeared in the sides of my vision, but I pushed them aside. Everything was this rune. It was like shifting a gear. I pushed all other distractions out. I aligned my thoughts into a single thing. This rune, right now.
With that intense concentration, I neared the finishing touches of the rune. As I neared the completion of it, the rune sapped energy from me. My mana generation offered up an ocean for it, yet it wanted even more. It dipped into my health. A warmth spread up my arm from the channeling mana.
It was the opposite of the icy sensation I got from taking out dungeon cores. Energy wasn’t infecting me. It was being taken away. After several hours of this, the rune finalized. Brimming with an explosive excitement, I raised a hand, creating a single copy of the rune.
The vibrant, glowing letters floated in the air, landing on my left forearm. The new rune overwrote the old one, devouring it. Once it finalized, I channeled mana into the next one. Hours later, the marking sparked to life, drifting off the blackened page. The engraving landed onto my right arm, engulfing the previous rune.
The new, glowing mark sizzled as it engraved itself onto my armored wrist. I sighed with relief, the task at hand finished. I funneled my mana back into the runes, their work beginning once more. I squeezed my hands, satisfied with my work before I opened my status.
Althea Tolstoy(Time: Undefined) - I really, really don’t like the messages I’m seeing, but I get it. I do. You’re doing what it takes to make it happen, just like you always do. I miss you too, and I guess messages will have to do for now. :s
Hurry up though, because I have a surprise for you when you get back. :)
I promise I’ll make it worth your while. ;p
I grinned at the message. I loved having something to look forward to once this was all over. It reminded me why I couldn’t stop preparing myself. I had something to lose, and I’d be damned if Yawm, Schema, or anyone was going to take what I had away from me.
That inspiration fueled me as I stood up. I shook my head, wiping away my mental fatigue. I walked out of my room, intent on going back outside to train with the beetles. As I walked past Yawm’s room, he stepped out. I turned around, finding him looking at me with one hand holding his door open,
“Daniel, are you going to fight the eldritch here again?”
I nodded. Yawm raised a hand, “I have a different idea of what you could do with your time, if you’d like to listen to my suggestion.”
I shrugged, “Sure, I’m game.”
Yawm waved me into his room, “Then come and sit. You may enjoy what you have to hear.”
We walked into his study, the rows of books lining numerous windows. The giant eye of a leviathan glanced inside, its iris glowing blood red. A school of squirming fish followed behind it, nibbling at a chunk of meat in its mouth. I sat down on a frozen chair, Yawm’s hulking form facing me.
The entire time, I kept my unique skill, Mass Manipulation constant. Maybe Yawm could make a mistake about me being shorter. I doubt he’d accept seeing me change size, however.
Yawm raised his hands unperturbed, “I’ve given your exercise a great deal of thought. In all honesty, I’d rather you not decimate the populations of eldritch I fostered here. It took effort to get them here, and it will require effort to do so again.”
I sighed, “Damn, I expected this honestly. I figured me doing something like that was out of line.”
Yawm shook his head, “In fact, it wasn’t. I more so than anyone understands why you fight as an outlet. The slaughter is healing. The violence is calming. Warriors such as you and I are most at home in carnage. That is why I offer you suggestion.”
I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms, “Well what did you have in mind?”
Yawm raised a hand, “We go hunting for pieces of the cipher.”