II-25 Volatile

Much has been lost about the time of the Post-Integration, when the system first arrived, when the moon first shattered, when the world was altered and expanded, when the Great One first fell. During this time, humanity stood on the cusp of technological glory. Despite all the confines, despite the lack of mana and magic, humanity still managed to trespass the barriers of their world, reaching for the stars, even building there.

Alas, today, communications with those far-flung worlds are gone, and even the outpost on the crimson planet of Ares has been silent for thousands of years. However, there was another change during this era, a great change that swept across the world as new races arrived on Integrated Earth through gateways or by the system’s own hand.

But a change happened to the very people in the world, as humans gained mana—and the automata, once pseudo-intelligent but ultimately non-conscious machines made to assist man in their daily tasks or for general labor, awoke fully to consciousness. It was in the time of the integration that the automata began to think, began to believe, began to dream, though some of them were still bound to their old ways. With each generation, they became more and more like humans, more and more like all the other races.

Yet not all of them transformed the same way. For in the Legacy Empire still hidden deep in Forbidden Africa, there came those bearing old-world technologies, those untouched by the system and mana thanks to protective shells constructed by means few truly comprehend. 

They exited their hidden empire protected from the system, clad in specialized automata that also served as their armor. These automata were called the warskins—chassis empowered by mana. But not only chassis of war; they were also automata unto themselves, war machines meant to protect the people within, fighting in tandem with their users.

Most well-known among these chassis were the Penitent Legion, defectors from the Legacy Empire who sided with New Albion during the Siege of Great London. It was not known what made them betray their own people, for the Penitent will not say. 

Some among their number even still remain, though scattered across the world. If you are fortunate enough in your life, you may encounter one of these chassis, now bearing the title of Penitent and nothing more.

Many of them are sundered, broken across their soul and crippled of their once prodigious skills for their betrayal. But in their electric minds run memories long and deep, and their shells endure, made of alloy from a time of glory past—near unbreakable even in this modern age of magic and wonder. And perhaps, if you prove worthy enough, oh Pathbearer, you might even be chosen by one of these penitents…

-The Penitent Chassis: Automata or Armor

II-25

Volatile

Before Animancy, there was Necromancy. Valor reminded himself of this as he bore the weight of another skull using his dagger, preparing to implant a final piece upon the construct he was creating.

A large creature lined with jutting limbs and countless skulls hovered in the air before him, oozing with necromantic power. An eerie green energy spewed out into the world as if a miasma, distorting the edges of reality and corroding the fabric of existence itself.

As Valor installed the final skull into the construct, it came alive, rumbling and growling with energy, and it was done. This was the cage he made for the Animancy Core, its Necromancy a counter-power to the Antimancy. Should the core be found and the construct be deployed, the power that Vicar Sullain wished to summon will be denied for good.

But still, the construct needed to reach the core first. And that was far harder than just creating this cage.

Of all the magical skills one could gain, Necromancy started at Adept. You could not even touch it before reaching such a rank in another skill. And then, you could not reach Animancy until you were well into Hero and possessed a deep mastery of Necromancy. Such things were connected to each other, as Necromancy was the ruin of the world—the loss and the destruction of what was. Animancy, then, is all that is, all that could be, all that might be. 

For one to understand the totality, they first must understand the lack. 

That was how Valor learned, anyway, from his countless masters before him, and from his many experiences in battle or in focused study.

As the construct, the Graven Cage, rose into the air, Valor bowed his head and gave thanks to the Great One for infusing him with understanding and power. “Death need not be death,” Valor proclaimed. “And the end need not be the end.”

This ritual chamber of the Hallowed Depths came aglow, walls lined with skills, with bones, all ritualistically carved and marked as consecrated martyrs. These were those who dedicated themselves, dedicated their bodies and remains, to Weave in case of a great crisis. They allowed themselves to be raised, offering their lingering essence, what remained of their skills, their minds, and their vitality, when a glorious service was required. Such as right now.

And so it was with care and dedication that Valor drew upon the martyrs of those long past, drew upon those who went off to face death, the final enemy, and made use of what they bestowed upon him.

“I thank you the most of all,” Valor said, greeting each skull, each limb that he imparted upon this construct, “for what you do, for what you grant, is a chance to spare others from that fell touch, that final end. I thank thee, for that is all I can offer.”

Behind him, the Black Mass supporting him echoed his prayers. The two Necromancer Weaveresses led their Acolytes as they infused the last of their spells into the construct. Valor finished and turned. Weaveress Silent Spinner and Beetles-Needs-Pets both bowed, offering him that sanctified salute, and he did his best with only a hand clutching a dagger.

“I thank you, Weaveresses,” he said. “Your assistance has been paramount. With me diminished, I fear I could have never done this ritual on my own, and constructed what was needed to create the Graven Cage.”

“Do not speak low of yourself, Great Valor,” Silent Spinner replied. “It is only with your knowledge and your guidance that we could have done this. We are merely the hands, you are the mind, you are the tongue. We are all united against death.”

“All against death,” Valor echoed, as the room reverberated with that solemn vow.

Just then, a series of voices echoed down the far end of the room, where two massive doorways remained open, letting air pass, lit only by countless glistening crystals lodged along the walls. Valor heard the voices, and he laughed. One was high with outrage. The other was lower, grumbling, and mocking. 

So, his prodigal disciples had returned, and alive. Very good.

“Exalted Weaveresses,” Valor said, “Pardon me. I must talk to my disciples. They have come just in time, just in time to view a potential solution to one of our great problems. Again, I thank you, and I will mention you and your Acolytes by name when next I speak to the Composer.”

“We thank you, great Valor, and should you have the need, and should you have the knowledge, we would like to make this trade once more,” the Weaveresses replied in unison.

“The world is dead. The world is alive,” Valor replied. At this point, Shiv, Adam, and a few others Valor didn’t recognize entered the room.

As the Legendary Pathbearer prepared to greet his disciples, he paused. Was Shiv bigger than he was before? Yes, he was. And there was a faint field about him, a tremoring of animated force. Hmm. Gravitic Dominion? No. Gravitic Wrestler—yes, I’ve seen that once. From the Grapplers who guard the Shattered Caucasus. So the boy has continued his metamorphosis through death….

Valor noticed something else. A lingering wound wasn’t of his physical body, but leaked as an eerie, festering miasma out from Shiv’s arm. He had a Necromantic wound—one that was still spewing with the wither. That kind of pain should have broken most… But this was Shiv. Pain is a thing of negotiation for him. 

Still. I must learn what he received this blow. Valor approached.

“So we both agree,” Shiv said, sneering at Adam. “I would have won if you bothered telling me the directions as to where we were going before you started the race.”

“No, you wouldn’t have won because you kept smashing into things. This was a race to reach a destination, not a race to smash through several buildings. And what was that? What was you throwing the goblin at me over and over again?” Adam insisted.

“I still feel sick,” a goblin Pathbearer groaned as she clutched her stomach.

Shiv snorted. “Oh, now it’s a race. You didn’t say it was a race when you shoved me in the face with a frost arrow.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t harm you, and how would it? I don’t think it would harm you even as a Pathless, considering how thick your skull is,” Adam said.

Valor cleared his throat. “Disciples, it gladdens me to see both of you returned and good spirits. Though, not truly unharmed… Shiv how was your experience in the gate?”

Both his disciples looked to each other, their argument clearly unfinished.

“It was…” Shiv began.

“A mess.” Adam finished.

Shiv glared at Adam. “Look, how about I tell him about what I did?”

“Yes, how about you tell him how you caused so many civilian casualties, got into a fight with practically everyone you met, managed to get discovered by practically everyone you met, and, ultimately, escaped by kidnapping and stealing the body of a comatose Greater Demon?” Adam countered.

It took Valor a moment to fully comprehend what was being said, because some of it sounded like absurd, but, once again, he looked at Shiv and grunted with acceptance. “Thrilling escapades, then. You must tell me all. But first, something else.” Valor drifted close, examining Shiv’s armored left arm, shielded by metallic bone and a vibrating gauntlet. “How did you sustain a lingering wound?”

“Oh, this,” Shiv said. He brushed his hand, and, using his Biomancy, peeled away the armor there before he removed his gauntlet.

Valor drifted back. “Ah, a Severing Whip. You know what that is?”

“Yes, it is an instrument meant to torture, meant to inflict permanent harm,” Shiv replied.

“Well, it’s not permanent,” Shiv said. “It’s healing really fast. The bastard who left it drew the spell out of three children impaled on his chest, though. I’m still kind of creeped out by their faces being there.”

“Three children,” Valor replied. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I thought you would understand,” Shiv said. “Thought that might be a Necromancy thing.”

“No, there is no need to impale children. You just need something of the dead,” Valor said. “There’s nothing about necromancy that demands blood sacrifices and children. I fear you just faced someone who is especially demented.”

Shiv considered that for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, that seems about right too.”

“I’m sorry,” a human Pathbearer said, his jaw open as he pointed rudely at Valor, “but is that a floating skull?”

Adam winced at the man. “Yes, he is a floating skull. Now do not say any other words and simply just accept what’s happening. Please. I understand things are shocking—”

“Is he a Necrotech?” the man’s voice was practically a squeak.

Adam clenched his teeth as he tried to think of how to explain this. “He’s Valor Thann, the Great Valor Thann. He will tell you all about how great he is if you ask him. But—before either of the Slayers find a way to offend your fragile feelings, can you show me what you were working on? The thing you said that could cage the… the…”

“Is that it?” Adam asked, looking past Valor, gawking at the Graven Cage.

“Broken Moon,” the female human Pathbearer breathed. “What is that? What is that?” She pointed at the Graven Cage.

“Ah, the Graven Cage,” Valor said. “It is my means of containing the Animancy Core and potentially even neutralizing it once we reach the gate.”

“And how does it work?” Adam asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“It will wrap around the core and channel Necromancy into it. Enough Necromancy that it should neutralize the Animancy Core.”

“And it will work?” Adam pressed.

“Do you doubt me?” Valor scoffed.

Adam blinked.

The Legendary Pathbearer sighed. “Well, yes, if you know the proper spell work and make the right kind of construct, it can. Yes. I can neutralize the core entirely. Possibly. Most likely.”

“All right, so we just need to get that large bloody mass of skulls and limbs inside the gate as well,” Adam muttered. “Not going to be easy.”

“Maybe not that hard,” Shiv said. “The Jealousy is dead, Trapdoor might be able to help us hide this, and Heather knows how to pass through the gateway. I think we can do it.”

Valor found himself draw to Shiv’s lingering wound again. “Shiv, remain still. I wish to see if I can to extract the withering from you.”

He shaped a spell in the air using his stone dagger, and an eerie green energy built around him, Necromantic miasma burning the fabric of existence. But Shiv reacted with sudden violence. He dashed away so fast a slight shockwave cracked the ground where he stood and shook the entire chamber, knocking a few skulls out of place. Shiv cursed and grabbed them before they could fall, but he still avoided Valor.

“Yeah, maybe don’t touch me with any Necromancy at all,” Shiv said, gathering skulls against him. “When the Gate Lord struck me with that Necromancy whip, it detonated.”

“Detonated?” Valor asked, he drifted close but dismissed the spell. “Elaborate.”

“It hit me, it blew apart my arm, and then the largest explosion I’ve ever been in swept out from me, lit the bodies of everyone around us on fire, it even burned the Gate Lord, and he was a Heroic Pathbearer. It was like some kind… soul fire or something. And so, uh, even if I don’t know what Necromancy does, but it doesn’t like me, and it goes off like a bomb when it touches me.”

Valor leaned back as he felt curiosity overtake him. “I must examine you in detail.”

He called out to the Weaveresses, who were now watching the scene, entranced and interested. “Weaveresses, I need your help. I need you to prepare The Withercage. We have… a volatile subject I wish to examine.”

“What is a Withercage?” Shiv asked nervously.

***

A Withercage was, in fact, a necromantic cage meant to seal away volatile materials, subjects, or contain volatile rituals.

Volatile rituals like the one that was about to happen to Shiv.

The cage was made from a series of upraised arms, all skeletal, ending in hands performing various gestures. They were also connected by spell patterns shaped from that eerie, miasmic glow Shiv came to understand was Necromantic mana. Thus, Shiv didn't want to be anywhere near the cage, and so he stayed close to the middle.

The entire space was only about 20 meters in diameter and was lodged so far underground that it took nearly an hour to get down here. And so the Legendary Pathbearer and his new Master-Tier disciple found themselves here, about to explore the latter’s unique nature.

“You said he used the three children as effigies?” Valor asked, circling around Shiv, tracing spells in the air. 

Shiv couldn’t sense Necromancy or its connected mana field, but he could feel something withering nearby. He stayed perfectly still, unwilling to touch any of that foul substance. “Yeah, three. Their faces are still there in the scar.”

Valor hummed. “A wither imprint. It is a rare thing, but sometimes, when the feedback is so great, it lingers on a structure. Or an individual.” Valor’s spells lingered for a moment longer before they faded entirely.

Shiv remained perfectly still. He wasn’t moving anywhere until the Legendary Path Bearer told him he was safe to do so.

“Do you know the greatest danger and the largest reason why so many fear Necromancy?” Valor asked.

“Not fully sure, but it might be something to do with the raising of the dead and the corrosion of life.”

“Ah, but it is not the raising of the dead. It is the use of death as power, to infuse new will into constructs, to inflict harm beyond the physical or mental, or even to compromise a soul itself. Necromancy is about loss, manipulating the echoing remnants that linger after a loss. The Severing Whip that struck you. Do you know what it would do to most people?”

“Thump them pretty bad, maybe rot them from the inside?” Shiv replied.

“If it were only so kind.” Valor chuckled.

“So kind,” Shiv replied, his eyes widening.

“So kind,” echoed Adam from outside the Withercage.

“Indeed. When someone is struck by a necromantic attack, the first thing they feel is usually the decaying and decomposition of their flesh, or the immediate rusting and embrittling of their armor. Beyond that, though, comes the Skill Damage.”

“Skill Damage?” Shiv muttered, his pupils dilating.

Valor continued. “You clearly took none. However, you are scarred. If Adam was hit by this instead without having any Magical Resistance… Then, perhaps, he will not be just short of an arm. He will be short of a Bow Proficiency Skill.”

And suddenly, the young lord was backing further and further away from the Withercage. The other Pathbearers fled with him.

Valor jabbed Shiv with the stone dagger as the cage flared with magic. “This is because Necromancy is powered by the antithesis of life, the antithesis of vitality—a counter-concept  called the Withering. It does not possess anything of a mind, but it does collect echoes of memory. And it does not have a soul, for the soul is for the living, for the soul needs someone to give something meaning. It, instead, is connected to the Necromancer, serving as something of a conduit, an effigy of power. And ultimately, that is why Necromancy has no mana field.”

Shiv’s eyes widened. “No mana field?”

“No. For it does not deal in something that expands across the world. Death is the world. The world lives. The world dies. And constant loss suffuses everything in between. As one’s Necromancy grows stronger, you are more and more capable of using the ambient loss in the world. More and more capable of drawing deeper into what used to be. This can be from corpses, can be from ruins, can even be from a memory. Necromancy seeks an effigy. But this entire world is an effigy.” Valor paused. “You are fighting a rank amateur in the art, Shiv. Be happy of your fortune.”

For a beat, Shiv just stared at Valor. He recalled his fight with the Gate Lord. How powerful Confriga’s punches were….

“He was a Heroic Pathbearer,” Shiv said.

Valor was nonchalant. “Ah, yes, a Hero—very impressive. Full of potential. But whatever he was a Hero in, it was not Necromancy. If he was even a Master of Necromancy, I suspect the gate would not exist, he would be dust, and neither would you.”

“What?” Adam whispered from afar.

“What?” Shiv repeated.

“Indeed, I suspect that the reaction his Necromantic attack had with you is the result of your unique soul composition,” Valor hummed as he circled around Shiv. The flames within Valor’s skull flickered, and Shiv recognized this as an Analyze Skill being used. “Do you know that Analyze is very close to Necromancy? It peers into the soul. It catches a glimpse at the lower skill thresholds, but after evolution, you can see more of a person, see their full status even, upon the point you’ve reached Master. In fact, Analyze is one of the few ways one can gain Necromancy skill after reaching the Adept.”

“It is?” Shiv asked.

“Yes,” Valor replied. “However, I fear that you should never learn Necromancy. You should avoid it at all costs, at least until you learn how to control your own vitality.”

Shiv paused, stunned. “What happens if I do learn Necromancy.”

“You may very well explode. Violently. 

“Even more violently than when he hit me with a whip?”

 “Much more. He struck you with a very, very unfocused, very poor spell. It was meant to torture, not destroy. Three effigies from mere children—not even Pathbearers… and so vulgarly constructed at that.”

Valor started laughing, and it was not the laugh of warmth. It was not the laugh of a kindly grandfather. It was the laugh of a man recounting how many people he brutally killed, using a specific method. A method in which he was very, very versed. “If I had hit you with a Necromantic working, even as I am now, especially as I am now, there would be nothing left of you, or me, or anyone. Not even a good portion of Weave might remain.”

And now, Adam was pressed against the wall, so far from the Withercage, that there was practically nowhere he could go. Nowhere, other than running back upstairs.

“So,” Shiv said, “when it comes to Necromancy, I am pretty much a walking bomb.”

“That is the simplistic way of understanding it,” Valor answered. “A more accurate description is likely: you are the antithesis of Necromancy as a whole. Antithesis to the withering. Necromancy deals in loss, but you don’t die. You do not stay dead. Not even your mind stays broken. Right now you have five Master-Tier Skills, yes?”

Shiv nodded. “Yeah, Gravitic Wrestler, Woundeater, Momentum Core, Adamantine Adaption, and The Chef Unwavering.”

“The what?” Valor asked, confused about the last one. The skull had been nodding throughout the other skills. “The Chef Unwavering?”

“I got that by fusing an Orcish Skill I got. With my cooking. Uh, long story, but an Orc fell in love with me.”

Valor winced. “Oh, well, you now have an eternal enemy. It is a… thing that happen. I suffered the same five hundred years ago. I believe I’m at reincarnation 91291239. Orcs are… determined. But wait—you said Cooking?”

“Yes, I have Master-Tier Cooking now.”

Valor just stared at him for one moment. He then looked away from Shiv and spoke to Adam. “Adam, how is the cooking?”

The Young Lord had to yell to be heard. “Very, very annoyingly good. I hate him for it.”

Valor expression turned to one of absolute despair.

“Uh, don’t worry, Valor,” Shiv winced, trying to placate the sulking skull. “We’ll find another fragment of you as soon as we can.”

“I hope so,” Valor replied. “I—I feel like I’m here just to be tortured sometimes. I yearn to taste…” He swallowed his pain before it became a sob. “Regardless, there is a tremendous amount of mana in you, attuned and unattuned. If you use Necromancy on yourself, or someone impacts you with Necromancy, I suspect… I suspect that the detonation will be somewhat cataclysmic.” Valor considered before he spoke again. “Perhaps powerful enough to unmake a good portion of the Abyss. Or a continent.”

Shiv tried to imagine an explosion that size. He couldn’t. 

Valor coughed. “We should avoid using any Necromancy on you while you are here. In fact, you really should have informed me before you arrived here. Being here is extremely dangerous for you. And me. And everyone in this entire dimension. Maybe even for the Composer.”

Shiv struggled to keep his legs from shaking. “Shit…”

“Aptly put. We should leave as soon as possible. Before that, however… Damn my curiosity, but I wish to do an experiment.”

“What kind of experiment?” Shiv said.

“Just a slight magical experiment. It’ll be a little bit painful, but it shouldn’t do too much damage.” The skull paused, freezing in the air. “You trust me, do you not?”

Shiv nodded slowly, though he really wasn’t sure how he felt. “Yeah, I do.”

“Very good. Let us see why your soul is the way it is…”

And so, Shiv stood still as Valor dipped the tip of his dagger in bright green energy and ever so lightly tapped Shiv on a finger. “Hmm. This is inter—”

The resulting explosion launched Valor against the cage and caused the Withercage to rattle and crack. The bone bars folded inwards. Shiv snarled out in pain as his finger throbbed like the tip was on fire.

Then, a moment later, the pain was gone, but the insides of the cage was on fire and Valor was half-embedded in the wall next to Adam. The Young Lord gawked at his near-death experience, while Shiv looked at his hand. It looked fine, but…

“Valor,” Shiv breathed, “I no longer trust you.”

“That’s okay,” Valor said, wheezing as he pulled himself out of the crumbling wall. Heather, Siggy, and Tran could be heard fleeing upstairs.“I do not think I trust myself anymore, either. That was horrible. Let us get you out from this place before the Weave turns into a wasteland.”

***

Everyone departed the Hallowed Depths after that. Everyone. All the necromancers working inside, the maintenance staff, even those working on the outside. That entire building was to be scrubbed clean of anything left behind by Shiv. And until they were absolutely certain, lockdown would remain in place.

As they walked the undercity of Weave, crossing by weavers that held out baskets, begging for shards, Valor continued talking to Shiv, explaining what he learned from that brief moment of contact. “Your soul is integrated. I suspected this before. I would dare was even sure of it, but I was not fully aware of its true composition, its mixed nature.”

“Mixed nature,” Shiv said.

Beside them, Adam was listening intently, his eyes narrowing. This had to deal with him as well, considering it was the ritual that likely made Shiv the way he was.

“Death. Your mind, your vitality, your soul, they are practically merged together. That’s why I assumed you can casually resurrect by merely draining someone of their vitality, but I was wrong. At least, I was not as correct as I could have been. Your mind is attached, but there is a layer into it, a threshold that separates it from your soul and your vitality, that is not the same for your vitality and your soul. Those two are completely melting into each other, or practically merged as one. Whatever the substance that was born of them, it is neither and both. It is something I have never seen before.”

“So, is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Adam asked.

“It is… it is a unique thing.” Valor paused and stared at Shiv. “Shiv, do you have a Unique Skill?”

Shiv didn’t say anything for a moment. Adam’s stare turned to a disbelieving glare, and Shiv gave an awkward shrug. “Well, technically, I… I also have a Legendary Skill.”

The young lord let out a roar. “Godsdammit!” He walked over and punched a wall. He struck the wall so hard that the blow sent a shockwave, sending shards of stone everywhere. The begging weavers immediately started fleeing up the walls, clambering away from the raging Adept. “Damn it! Damn your system!” Adam looked up to the looming city above. “You’re mocking me! Is this what you’re doing? Is this what you’re doing? I finally become a Hero! And he’s technically been a Legend this entire time! A Unique! What is wrong with you? Why do you hate me?”

Everyone watched Adam have his breakdown for a moment before Valor clicked his jaw worriedly. “Sometimes I worry about how your very nature traumatizes him.”

“Yeah, me too,” Shiv said, watching Adam wail in anguish. “But I also find it pretty funny.”

Valor huffed. “I will tell you now, Shiv, that you are one of three people in the world I know who has Unique Skill.”

“And what are they like?”

“Well, one is the greatest idiot I’ve ever met,” Valor answered. Shiv didn’t know what to say about that.  “Another is the single most terrifying woman I have ever met. And the third one is my son.” And on the topic of the mysterious Udraal Thann, Valor said no more. “Regardless, each of them possess something no one else does, and it has changed their nature so much that the way they live in the world, the way they gain other skills, is entirely changed as well.”

“Yeah, well, my Unique skill also came with a Unique feat. That’s part of the reason why I level so fast. It’s because I gain levels practically every time I die, to make up for the reasons why I die.”

Adam was slamming his head against the wall. Tran stepped forward, trying to get him to stop.

“Maybe you don’t talk about this out loud,” Valor muttered, watching Adam suffer.

“No, I think we should,” Shiv insisted. “I think everyone should know about this right now. It’s important to know. Especially for Adam.”

“I will kill you, Shiv,” Adam cried. “I will kill you.”

The young lord slid down against the wall, his legs shaking. His knees hit the ground with a vicious thud. Tran and Heather knelt beside him.

“It’s okay,” Tran said. “It’s okay, he’s on our side. It’s… it’s…”

“He’s a monster.” Adam whimpered. “He’s a goddamned monster.”

Valor looked away from the mind-broken Young Lord and continued. “But ultimately, your vitality and your soul are practically the same thing. And that is why you do not die. Because there is no dissipation, there is no separation upon loss and death. You remain together. You probably merely enter a state of drastic instability in which your soul starts burning your vitality to remain in existence. Because you lack a vessel to root you in the world. And after absorbing enough vitality and going over capacity, you use that excess energy to automatically rebuild your last remembered self before death.”

Shiv blinked. “Is that why doesn’t my non-bound equipment doesn’t get rebuilt with me?”

“No. That is because equipment technically have souls of their own and cannot be so easily reconstructed. That is my theory, anyway.”

“Equipment have souls?” Shiv muttered.

“Actually, this is a good lesson right now. What Tier is your bone armor, the one you are wearing right now?” 

Shiv blinked. “Uh, it doesn’t have a Tier, but if we’re going by my Adamantine Adaption—”

“It does not have a Tier is the right answer. It is not awakened. There is no mana in your armor, so it cannot bear enchantments. That’s why your bone armor is not true equipment. It is simply a wearable, to an extent.”

“Wait, then why don’t I respawn naked?” Shiv asked.

Valor paused. “I have no idea. Perhaps the system cares about your modesty.”

A weird though rushed through Shiv mind, imagining Uva to be the system all this time. He ignored as much as he could. “Well, my armor still blocks attacks pretty good,” Shiv muttered.

“Yes, that is true. But what separates true equipment from something that is dead and merely usable is the ability to be enchanted, is the ability for it to be reforged and to grow stronger, potentially even becoming a true living intelligence.”

Shiv stared at Valor. “Equipment can become intelligent?”

“Yes. Just like any creature can, eventually life can find its way into an object. A soul is what is mainly needed. That is the reason automata have become alive as well, have become conscious.”

“Huh,” Shiv muttered. “Then, a dagger can become self-aware too?”

“Yes. How do you think I maintained my existence?” The Deathless slowly nodded. When Shiv first found Valor, the legendary Pathbearer was little more than a dagger that could talk to people. Now he was but more—a skull and arm holding a dagger. “And while we are on this topic, I believe it is essential that you find yourself properly equipped, especially with this new weakness discovered.”

“What is your Magical Resistance, Shiv?”

“Uh, none,” Shiv replied. 

“You do not have the skill?” Valor sounded surprised.

“Yeah,” Shiv muttered. “I, uh, like magic too much.”

“You didn’t get it even as your mind was torn in half?”

“Well, yeah, I was kind of pissed off that my Psychomancer wasn’t stronger, but, you know, I didn’t hate magic. I want more magic.”

Valor let out a sigh. “You, uh, I see you’re too well-adjusted. If there was only a way to increase some hate inside of you.”

“Oh, I got another Feat from fusing that Orcish Skill. It lets me use my rage to supercharge some of my skills, and then it uses up my anger afterward. It’s pretty good and even keeps me always mellow.”

“And it makes me so angry.” Adam was on the verge of sobbing. Tran and Heather were patting him on the back. Siggy just looked on, lost.

“How did you survive that encounter with the Greater Demon, then?” Valor asked.

“Oh, I got this,” Shiv said, holding up his Magebreaker Gauntlet. “Uh, that, uh, turncoat gave it to me. And also, the mask. Both of those things helped to keep me standing and sane during the fight.”

“Ah, very useful. Wait, is that Inertium?” Valor leaned closer. “Ah, it is. I haven’t seen this in approximately a four hundredyears.”

“Four hundred?” Shiv breathed.

“Yes, it’s been a while since I ventured to the outer dimensions. Most are quite taken with magic, but some learn to truly fear mana and loathe the system.”

Shiv nodded. “I can’t get Magical Resistance with the gauntlet because—”

“Because it is also technically a magical skill and will trigger the gauntlet’s response.” Valor already knew. Shiv didn’t know why he was surprised. The Legendary Pathbearer had been alive for longer than Shiv had, well, for longer than anything. 

Valor was practically the oldest person Shiv knew. Wait, how old was the Composer?

“Regardless, we can work with this. We simply need to find a proper set of armor for you first. You can even fuse your bone armor as additional plating on the outside after.” Valor continued. “After that, we’re going to give you an Vitality enchantment.”

“Vitality?” Shiv said, a surge of worry shot through him. “Doesn’t that make Necromancy go off like a bomb.”

“No,” Valor said. “Most vitality is merely diluted by the Withering and expended. Your unique… Vitae. Your mixture of soul and vitality is the dangerous ingredient in the current alchemy. Alas, a good Vitality Shroud will require a Master-Tier at the very least. Preferably higher than that. It is my best solution, at least for now.”

“All right,” Shiv said. “And if that enchantment dies and I get hit by a Necromancy spell…

“Then you likely explode and kill many, many people.”

“And I really, really want to get out of here now,” Tren said, staring at Shiv. “We’re still too close to the Necromancer’s pit.” His courage was practically dust. Everyone’s courage was practically dust. Even Valor’s courage was a bit unsteady.

“Alright,” Shiv breathed. “Let’s… let’s get me proper armor, so I don’t turn into a walking mana bomb. Uva’s gonna give me some new clothes too, so why not? I guess we’re doing some shopping.”

***

Shopping for armor proved to be an absolute nightmare. The first problem was availability. Shiv needed something that was at least in the Master-Tier. The most common Master-Tier armor was composed of mithril. Mithril was like glass for Shiv. He tried moving in the armor, and it practically broke off of his body in an instant.

After paying the terrified shopkeeper a hefty sum of money as apology, they moved on to sturdier materials.

“Right. Armor need to be strong. Strong enough to deal with someone who has both master tier Toughness and Physicality,” Shiv muttered.

Adam shook his head. “You are an absolute, absolute monster.”

“Hey, Adam, how attached are you to that armor?” Shiv asked.

“I will die before I give this armor to you!”

Shiv laughed.

The next concern was quality—there were quite a few sets of adamantine armor, at least ten Shiv came across. Most people couldn’t even lift the armor with how heavy they were. That wasn’t too much of an issue for Shiv. His problem was, adamantine armor was also nightmarishly hard to build and craft—and apparently how well made a piece of armor was determined its Tier.

“If it is not awakened,” Valor said, “then it is not proper armor. It will be like your bones. You cannot enchant those. And these are… poorly made.” Valor glared at the armorer—who looked like she was about to fall over dead.

“She’s supposed to be a Master Smith,” Shiv replied.

Adam scoffed. “Yes, but does every meal you make come out perfect?”

“Yes?” Shiv said. “The Chef Unwavering is about perfection.”

“Well. Most Masters aren’t as special as you. Master craftsmen spent years trying to make one masterpiece armor. It’s practically a major event every time someone makes a Heroic-Tier armor.”

Heather nodded at this. “Yes. I remember saying that every time a Heroic-Tier armor is made, a celebrity is born. The capital practically throws a rave for someone who can create something that good.”

“Wait, how did your dad get that Legendary armor?” Shiv asked, looking at Adam. “He’s a Master. You know. Like me.”

The Young Lord scowled. “My father is a remarkable man. He has been defeating and besting masters while he was still an Adept A hunter, after all, is rarely larger than their prey. But with precision and mastery, a man can bring down a giant.”

Their hunt went on for a few hours, and by the orbs in the sky above started to dim, there were still no worthy candidates. There were more adamantine, titanium, nightglass armors aplenty, all of Adept tier or below. And there were other armors, Master-Tier, but too fragile, especially for someone with Shiv’s evolutions. Most tragic of all, there was a Heroic-Tier armor—something made of Moonsteel, the same kind of metal that composed Shiv’s cooking knife. However, it had already been sold long in advance.

“Forty million shards,” Shiv said, gawking at the sale price.

“Hmm, doesn’t sound too expensive,” Adam replied.

Shiv looked at Adam. “Doesn’t sound too expensive.”

“It’s not,” Adam said. “Do you have any idea how much someone pays for good armor? Have any idea how much more they might pay for an enchantment?”

The Young Lord shook his head. “You do not?”

Shiv glared at him. “Yeah, and that’s my fault?”

“Financial literacy is a citizen’s personal civic duty,” Adam declared, clasping his arms behind his back and walking past Shiv. “It is not the state’s duty to coddle you.”

“Yeah, well, if it doesn’t come in the form of a Unique or Legendary skill, I wouldn’t know about it,” Shiv spat.

Adam started walking with increased aggression, faster and further away from Shiv. The Deathless laughed. Valor simply sighed and shook his head.

Soon after, they found themselves sitting on a bench outside the smith’s district as people came to and fro. There were Valor, Shiv, Adam, and their tag-alongs—spent a few moments in respite, considering what to do next.

“This is only one district,” Adam sighed. “We can go seek out all the others. Actually, Shiv, it might be better if you recruit your lady love for this cause. We’re practically running around like a headless chicken.”

“Yeah,” Shiv said, rubbing his face. “But I hate this. I’d rather fight the Jealousy again. Hells. Let’s go back to the apartment. I’ll make you guys dinner or something. Oh, sorry, Valor.”

“It is fine,” Valor siad, sounding not fine.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Tran mumbled with a full mouth.  He and Heather were nursing on Sticky Grub, which was effectively the weaver’s equivalent of ice cream. It was composed of juicy bugs attached to a dense cocoon web. Shiv took a bite earlier as well. 

Quite tasty and crunchy, if one didn’t mind insect.

“My old man wasn’t much of a Pathbearer,” Tran said. “But if there’s one thing I agree with him, it’s this. It’s worth waiting on good equipment. Bad equipment with terrible composition, poor quality, and a low Tier is just asking to get killed.”

“I’d be plenty happy to wait,” Shiv said, “except I’m going to be raiding a gate soon, and the bastard who runs that gate will likely probably pop me, himself, and maybe a good part of the Abyss if he hits me with the right spell.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to ask the Composer too,” Adam said, yawning slightly. “She might have a better idea on how to arm a Master-Tier Pathbearer.” Then the young lord looked at you again, did an exaggerated double take, and held out his hands. “Oh, sorry, Unique-Tier. You are Unique. We will have to find a very entirely special armor for you. Perhaps in bright pink and the finest gold filigree. We’ll call you Gilded Princess.”

“Is that what you think about, Young Lord? Me in bright pink and gilded armor? What would your fiancée say?” 

Adam’s pretend mockery died for a moment, and his expression turned to one of sourness and uncertainty. Shiv grimaced. “I… Adam… I don’t think she’s a part of this. What Oldsmith said…”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore about most things.” Adam stared off into the distance. “But I will find out.”

“We will find out,” Shiv said.

Adam eyed him a moment, and then he nodded. “Yes, I suppose we will. Me with my precision, and you with your… destructive, montrous ways.”

Shiv chuckled. “Well, what was that you said? You’re the hunter, I’m Hawk?”

“Well, you’re not really like a hawk. A hawk is quick and agile in the air, plunging and catching prey in an instant. You’re more like… you’re more like a… a rhino.”

“What’s a rhino?” Shiv asked.

“It’s an extinct animal. Supposedly it was very big, very strong, and it smashed through everything in its way, uh, until it couldn’t, and then it usually died.”

“Oh,” Shiv said. “So it’d come back stronger and smash through eventually?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m quite like a rhino either.” 

Adam laughed. “Yes, and more like a storm that won’t pass, just pounding on something over and over again, enduring until you break or someone else does. And you don’t break very often. Not truly.”

The group settled into a brief silence. Just then, a psionic wave washed over Shiv, and it carried Uva’s voice with it.

“Shiv,” Uva said. “Shiv. Can you hear me?”

Shiv blinked and sat up. “Uva? Yeah. I can hear you? Why? Are you alright? The Jealousy didn’t come back to life, did it?”

She gave a brief laugh. “No. But this does concern the Jealousy. The Psychomancers at the Elaboration and I delved a bit deeper into this creature, and we uncovered something very, very interesting. Something that concerns you and especially Adam.”

Shiv was about to tell Adam what was happening, but the Young Lord just nodded. “I’m here,” Adam said.  Shiv blinked. Uva was getting very good at using the Jealousy. “What is the matter?”

“It turns out our Greater Demon was more than just a gate guard. And working for more than one person at a time. While Confriga assumed the Jealousy was just guarding his gate, it seems that the Greater Demon already had a prior contract. With an individual from the Twilight Republic itself—a City Lord Havel Van Stormhalt.”

Shiv and Adam shared a look, and the Young Lord’s head promptly fell into his hands.

“Adam?” Uva asked with a tinge of concern to her voice. “I’m sensing great pain from you? Are you well? Shiv? What’s wrong with him?”

“Just give him a second,” Shiv said, sliding closer to pat the Young Lord on his back. “The man’s got to process some pretty nasty family bullshit—and also start plotting the murder of his to-be father-in-law.”

“System!” Adam roared up at the sky, scaring the nearby smiths.