377 - After the Tribulation [Sturmblitz]

While Zel sipped from her cup, a Thundergod took the scroll in its jaws and brought it over to her side of the table. She considered how long it would have taken her to obtain such a technique under different circumstances — from an optimistic perspective, she could expect to find it within the last elder’s Eternal Vault, the same place she had obtained the Walking Way of the Despot of Self. It would just be a matter of rebuilding the Fog Gate, something she planned to do when the Krishorn Caravan next came around. She stowed the scroll away for now, meeting Kanbu’s gaze. She decided to address things straightforwardly.

“Between what you did for Victor and this, I’m sure there’s something you’d like in return. What is it? Dragon meat? A Dragonheart Bolus?” Zel asked.

“Two things. You guessed one correctly — dragon meat. The limiting factor is my inability to draw out my full strength, not the absence of that strength. As I said, I’m rusty. As for my second request, I will not hold anything against you should you not deliver: I want to be there. When you go down into the Ziggurat. In my memories of it, there’s this… Hole. This gnawing abyss in the middle, like something’s been ripped out. It’s the same for all of us fourteen, but only I and the Woodsman seem to care. You are going down there, I know it. The curiosity won’t let you have peace until you do. Your predecessor was the same, before he sealed himself in.”

“You read me like an open book,” Zel admitted. She glanced at Victor. “After this endeavor, I wager he’ll be able to complete the artifact we need to embark on an excursion.”

“I look forward to it,” Kanbu said, raising his cup.

By the Dead Ones, that tea was so incredibly bitter. Zel could swear the old man took some impish pleasure in watching her drink this paragon of acquired tastes.

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After moving Victor back to the sect, Zel left him to rest and notified Makhus that he would need to be examined. While she waited, she went over the Leyline-riding Scroll, and found it to be insufferably straightforward. The fundamental theory was simple, to the point it bordered on “just do it, dumbass”. The problem, inevitably, came from actually trying to do it. It was tantamount to a manual on how to draw a hawk instructing one to “begin with some circles in the vague shape of the bird, then draw the feathers, the beak, eyes, and talons”. Several poems and seemingly unrelated snippets of prose were scattered throughout, including diagrams that varied from the wing motion of birds in flight to abstract geometric functions. In short, it was the most insufferable type of scripture: The type that required the practitioner to independently undergo enlightenment, and only provided some nudges in the right direction.

Soon enough, she was able to take a break from this inscrutable thing when Makhus came calling. She brought Victor to the alchemist’s personal laboratory and awakened him with a dose of concentrated Tengri’s Tears so that he could dismiss Daywolf. After an examination, Makhus readily confirmed Zel’s gut feeling.

“Severe physical and spiritual exhaustion, borderline starvation, but otherwise fine. Skin… Abnormally smooth. The Antediluvian Gem’s presence in his heart isn’t causing any visible issues, but I’m not familiar enough to make a judgment. I would consult Koschei if possible on the matter.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. While I’m here, how is the True Dragonheart Bolus looking?”

With a pained expression, Makhus raised his hand, pressing his thumb and index fingers together.

“This close to being finished,” Makhus seethed.

“Your fingers are touching,” Zel observed flatly.

“And yet the Bolus isn’t finished,” he said, grinding his teeth. “You see, we missed something. It needs the intended user’s blood to finish. So we’re stuck trying to keep it stable until Strolvath gets here.”

“Well, I’d love to help, but I can only leave you to it,” she shrugged. This was not a matter for her to get involved in.

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Victor would intermittently wake up, consume a great deal of food and water, and then fall asleep again. Even now, more bone plates kept growing, eventually covering 30% of his body, and about as much of his face, including a a small horned crown just below his hairline. During this period, he consistently gave off reddish steam that smelt of blood and swirled about him, bound together by revenant aura. The water therein condensed and rained back down with the pinkish appearance of liquid Vitae, but did not stain anything, instead immediately evaporating to rejoin the scarlet cloud. Wherever it fell upon Victor, the growth of his new bone plates accelerated. Combined with the fact he looked better and acted more wakeful each time he came-to, she felt no need to raise an alarm over this. While her protegé slept, Zelsys continued her struggle to comprehend the Leyline-riding Scripture. In her frustration, she began feeling the gnawing urge to go kill something that could put up more of a fight than the Wildfire Kite. She half-considered just going to Arches and challenging Red right then and there.

Eventually, he awoke again, and with a great inhalation as if he’d just surfaced from a long dive, he drew the cloud of aura back into himself. Instead of groaning for food, he looked himself over before ascertaining his surroundings. He seemed especially concerned about his heart, holding two fingers to his jugular for some time as he squinted in concentration.

Finally, when he ascertained what Zelsys already knew, the redhead looked up at her. A grimace twisted his face, tears welled up in his eyes, and he lurched towards her. After some time, when he finally pulled away, the tears were gone, and the expression he wore was one of resolution.

“Finally, finally…” he said, turning towards the shrine of Bishamonten. “Finally I can finish it.”

He raised his hands, conjuring motes of bonefire in his palms. Zel felt an aura similar to Kanbu’s ignite within him, and in moments, his bonefire changed. It became denser, flowing in a manner entirely unlike mundane fire, and its blackness took on a deep-green tinge, nearly overtaking the white.

“Catch,” Zel said, tossing the dragonhide scroll at him. One of Daywolf’s constituent centipede-servitors burst into flame, leaping up to catch the scroll. Victor extinguished his bonefire and took the scroll in hand, unfurling it. He laughed at himself when he realized its contents.

“Oh. Oh, right. I got ahead of myself,” he said.

“Come back to the surface before the day is out, understood? And don’t do anything serious until your foundation has stabilized, it’s supposed to take a few days.”

“Yes, of course.”