Chaptre 49: Jackpot

“Wait! No, no, no!” I tried to stop what I had set in motion, but the runes were already forming to name my repaired wand anew.

Jackpot

Rank: Unique

Type: Remembrance

Description: Once the favoured weapon of a soldier whose wail of doom still echoes in the depths of its core, now the first step for a fledgeling shaper. Through the ancient art of embroidery, the shaper made the wand his own. 

The wand can borrow the shaper’s magic to amplify its destructive force.

Embroidery:

Blast

Effect: All explosive properties of the wand are amplified. The wand is linked to the shaper’s legacy, allowing the shaper to overcharge it by the use of impression.

Impression

Effect: Power through sacrifice. Creation through destruction.

The small starlike motes running along its surface shimmered and shone as if on fire. I inched further away, still afraid it was going to blow me up despite already having finalized the process of repair. The wand flickered, and burst into sparks of red, blue and violet, surging into my chest. 

I could feel it settle inside, not at all like the other accolades. This accolade was more personal, more natural to me. Its return made it feel as if a lost piece of myself finally managed to fall back into place. 

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the now empty table and sighed. 

“Well. That’s that,” I whispered, and rubbed my chest. It was still warm where the sparks had entered. With each circular motion of my hand, the anxiety I felt faded while repairing the wand returned twofold and settled on my chest like an anvil. 

Defiantly, I kept on smiling—even when my breath grew laboured and rapid. I did that. 

I used my blessing for something that wasn’t making tripwires. I used my blessing to create something. I used to my blessing to create a weapon, a personalized weapon. The first step of many on the road to becoming a shaper. 

Whatever the fuck that meant.

I didn’t know to what effect the wand would work, or if I had made it worse than it had been before; nor did I care. This was a huge step forward. A huge improvement to my chance of survivability. 

Just the fact that I could create accolades would be enough for me to live comfortably until my end of days. 

I chuckled, and slicked my hair back while standing up from the stool. I threw the basement one last glance. The slumped over skeletons of once decorated officers gave a macabre meaning to deathly still. I said a silent prayer for the remains of the shock infantry captain that I so blasphemously disturbed. Not to mention robbed. 

Only the sounds of my ragged breath filled the room. It was a welcome change after suffering through a series of explosions, battles, and fights back at the theatre. 

I calmed my breath, still feeling the weight of anxiety press down on my chest, and steeled myself. I’d spent too much time here already, and I was exhausted, but there were still so many things to do before I could celebrate for real. 

First, I had to find the others. 

Second, we had to get back in one piece. 

Third, we had to find the damn relic and establish an anchor point.

All of the steps came with their own very real set of difficulties. Worst of them being that we’d have to deal with the Slitherstitch and Elana’s band of mad goons at one point or another. I could only hope that they wouldn’t show up until the latest step when we had reunited with our scattered group.

I narrowed my eyes and searched my soul for the wand. Burning sparks thrashed flittered through the air as if someone was shaving piping hot metal. It didn’t take more than a few moments before the flaming shape of the Jackpot rested in my hand. Despite its flashy appearance, the summoning didn’t drain me of any magic, which was more than welcome since I had not even a sliver to spare. The colours dimmed to reveal the arcane wand, motes of light and all.

“That’s weird,” I muttered and rubbed my chest, feeling the weight of anxiety lift. My racing heart calmed, my breath grew peaceful and focused. I glanced at Jackpot, brows furrowed in thought. 

The words, power through sacrifice, kept tugging at the back of my mind, as if wanting to be explored. Some time during the repair I felt myself go calm, much more calm than I should have been while handling a positively explosive source of old magic. If I could sacrifice memories to the old weave, then using emotion to fuel my creation could very well make sense. Maybe the memories of my mother’s name were out there, ready to reclaim, if that was the case. 

I rubbed my eyes. It was a long shot, but it was all I had.

No use thinking about it now. I’ve got no more juice for another accolade, and nothing that needs fixing. I’ll experiment later.

I used the strap to hang the wand over my shoulder and walked to the spiralling stairs. My steps were heavy and dragged against the rough texture of the stone floor. Sweat poured down my back as I climbed the stairs to the oratory. 

The hatch wasn’t as tough to move now that it had already loosened once after countless years of staying shut, but it still felt like I had to topple a cow to get out. 

It slammed against the floor with a dull bang, sending dust in every direction. I used the scarf to cover my mouth, and let it hang there. The moisture of my breath was warm, and made the fabric stick against my lips. 

I carefully stuck my head up and peeked inside the oratory. The benches stretched toward the barred up door, undisturbed. 

I heaved a sigh of relief and climbed out, unslinging the wand from my shoulder and loading one of my five remaining shells into the chamber before removing the bench i used to bar the door shut. 

It was heavy, even more so than I remembered. A gnawing hunger scratched at my whole being, I was starved of magic and I wasn’t recovering nearly as fast as I used to. 

For the first time I realized the extent of magic’s effect on me. It wasn’t that fusing with Sera made me stronger. It was just that magic enhanced every part of my being. It fuelled my muscles, made me think more clearly, more quickly. It made my senses more acute, as if adrenaline was constantly pumping through my veins.

At first, I had thought blessings made blessed more physically adept, which didn’t make a lick of sense. Magic on the other hand, made a lot of sense. It would also explain the how to people outgrowing the limits of human potential. Magic could be used to alter, to shape, blessings were only one of many ways to utilize the malleability. 

It also explained the how to Yusuf’s hopes of it curing his cancer. He’d been looking a lot worse the last few days. I hoped he was doing alright, and I wished there was something I could do to help, but I had enough on my plate as it was. 

I grit my teeth and got under the bench, using my legs to lever it away. It slammed against the floor with an echoing crash, splinters of it broke off and pelted the floor and surrounding candelabras. I cringed at the noise of it and pressed my ear to the door, listening for footsteps outside. 

I counted my breaths. 

One, two, three…

There was nothing. 

I exhaled and sharpened my eyes. The buttstock of Jackpot pressed comfortably into my shoulder. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do without it. Fighting from range seemed to be the far superior alternative in almost all cases. I couldn’t even pretend to understand why people chose to fight on the frontlines with a sword and shield. It looked cool as hell, but there was no way most of them didn’t end up like Anna.

I clicked my tongue, and rested my free hand on the door handle.

Normally the thought of Anna and her now orphaned kids would be accompanied by a twang of guilt, but I felt strangely fine. The fact was probably attributed to Jackpot being a magical stress ball, just soaking up all my anxiety. I clenched my jaw, and shoved the door open, quickly stepping out into the hallway. I cleared the left side, then whipped around to the right. I was alone.

Thank fuck. I swallowed, the warm air quickly dried the scarf from my moisture, making it slip down my lips as I began the walk back to the torture chamber. Every so often I turned, just to make sure I wasn’t being followed, always keeping the wand raised and ready to fire at a moment's notice.

I hoped the others were fine. With my anxiety alleviated I knew that my empathy had burdened me more than I’d thought. It had clouded my judgement, making me commit to rash decisions. Even back at the amphitheatre my lashing out had been wholly unnecessary. I’d been a nervous wreck. And although I had good reason, with a second soul living in my body, my humanity being shaved away bit by bit, and my body breaking down because of the sheer power of my blessing, I didn’t find it excusable. If anything I should have been more… focused. If having your life on the line wasn’t enough motivation to man the fuck up, then what was?

With only my controlled breathing and the slight drag of my tired feet as company, I quickly felt that familiar want appear. The desire to do something I shouldn’t, just to make something interesting. 

Funnily enough, even that feeling was dull and not at all as acute. I never would have thought my incredible difficulty for maintaining an interest would stem from worry.

Look at me, learning things about myself.

I focused, and gazed down the hall. The corridors never felt empty with all the runes swirling about. Descriptions layered themselves over each other, all attempting to describe what the bullet altars were, although I already knew perfectly well. 

It was odd that the insane amount of information didn’t bother me in the slightest. Kind of like when you’d worn sunglasses for a long time and started to forget the rims and the muted colours, only to be dreadfully aware of them after removing the glasses.

I stalked past the piles of ash of what had once been the last jailors hounding me. 

It didn’t take me long to reach the next pile of ash, and then the next. 

Before long the flickering red lights of the torture chamber pulsed through the cracked floor. 

I stopped and held my breath. 

Metal against stone. The scraping sound had grown eerily nostalgic to me. It was the sound of thimbles being dragged against stone. 

Jailors. 

My reserves of magic were still dreadfully low, but waiting around in the basement in hopes of recovering would ensure I have to fight them all at the same time. I gritted my teeth, and stepped forward. With my worry gone, I could see things clearly. 

Even without magic reserves, I would stand a greater chance with the element of surprise on my side. I had pulled off a miracle in the corridor, but it hadn’t come cheap. Losing my memories was far and beyond a much worse fate than losing my humanity. I wouldn’t be sacrificing more if I could help it. Without my memories I wouldn’t even be me. 

I inched closer to the towering archway. Sera’s corpse came into view, as if lit up by the natural spotlight in the roof. I could see no jailors, but as I approached the screech of thimbles dragged against stone became more apparent. 

But so did other sounds. 

Ragged breathing.

The squelching of a body writhing in a shallow pool liquid. Like a kid playing in rain water.