Wake of the Ravager

“What?” Force grunted, scowling.

“You wound a god,” Calvin said, pointing at Force, who sported several burns, a split brow and a bleeding nose. “And people start thinking maybe they aren’t as powerful as they say. If one man can do it, why not another?”

Force’s eyes narrowed.

“If you pursue me, I’ll drag this fight down into the streets, and people will see that you bleed. They might even see you lose,” Calvin said, raising his brows. “That wouldn’t go over well, would it?”

Force scowled at him for a moment, seemingly considering his offer. Calvin felt another gaze on the back of his head, full of grim intent. From it’s rising angle, Calvin could tell the person viewing him was most likely a flyer.

The gaze wasn’t friendly, harboring the cold determination he might feel in someone killing for business or status, leading him to think it was a Diocese. A zealot would feel angrier.

Two legends is too much!

Calvin played it off like he wasn’t aware of the man rising up behind him, continuing to press Force.

“Bring me Carem and give him to me, and I won’t tear the veil away from the eyes of you people,” Calvin said.

Force, for all his lack of tact, did a damn good job of keeping his eyes on Calvin, never once letting his gaze wander to the person behind Calvin’s back.

There was the spike in emotion as the person behind him made the decision to kill.

Calvin whipped around, hand extended. This time he had the sense to narrow his eyes against the light.

Iroh Special

38/47 Bent remaining.

This time, with his senses heightened, and eyes narrowed against the glare, Calvin was somewhat able to make out what happened. The cloud of sensitive Bent exploded out in front of him, and when the first tracer of lightning struck it, the shield swallowed the bolt up, drawing the lighting forcibly out of the caster, before collapsing down on the compressed ball of electricity.

An instant later, the thunder exploded against Calvin’s ears, but this time he closed his eyes, sparing his vision.

When Calvin opened his eyes again, there was a tiny figure tumbling backward through the air, impacting against the glass ceiling on top of the palace.

Calvin felt three new gazes full of murderous intent moments before a wasp flew past his ear too fast to see. A fraction of a second later, there was a loud cracking sound, like someone had snapped an arm-thick tree branch.

That’s not a wasp, it’s a bullet! The railguns I was telling you about.

Calvin snapped his head toward the new gazes and saw two more men in midair lowering their weapons toward him, while the first one pulled the iron tube up, fumbling with his belt for something.

Shit. Calvin had never seen the weapon before, but if Elliot was concerned about it, Calvin had to take it as a credible threat.

Calvin didn’t have time for fine control, as the other two were lowering their weapons toward him.

Trait Doctoring.

36/47 Bent remaining.

Calvin selected everything around and including the three flying men, copying the magnetism and conductivity of air onto it, rendering it inert.

The Bent inside the men bucked and kicked like a living thing as Calvin’s Trait Doctoring fought against it, trying to assert control over their bodies. The men who had been flying so unnaturally smoothly until a moment ago began to wobble in place, flailing around like someone teetering on the edge of falling.

Looks like their flight is magnetic in nature, Elliot mused at the sight.

Your Ability failed to exceed the target’s Stability.

Trait Doctoring has reached –

The voice in Calvin’s head was cut off by a brutal punch to the side of the face as Force re-entered the fight, dropping the lightning attacks in favor of a more direct confrontation. After all, the man knew Calvin wasn’t as physically strong.

Only weighing thirty pounds, Calvin was catapulted away from the sucker punch, the right side of his face suffering a pulsing ach in time to the beat of his heart.

Karen punches harder, Calvin thought, spitting out the blood collecting in his gums.

He didn’t have time to keep thinking as Force followed him, staying up close and personal to prevent Calvin from getting any breathing room, harrying him through the sky.

Punch, punch, kick.

Calvin took two to the gut and a kick to the neck before he was able to get his bearings, but when he finally figured out what was going on, there was a fist less than an inch away from his nose.

Calvin used the Bent whorls granted by Beli ma to shove the old man’s attack to the side. The old Diocese’s muscled arm flew past his face, wind whistling through his hair as it flew over his shoulder. Calvin, feeling particularly spiteful, took a bite out of it.

With Interest triggered, and the counter-attack boosting Ability allowed Calvin’s teeth to slice through the old man’s arm like butter.

“Gah!” Force grunted and reflexively pushed Calvin away from him. Which was exactly where he wanted to be.

Calvin spat out god-king.

Genosian Language has reached level 11!

Really!?

Calvin didn’t have time to dwell on the idiosyncrasies. He shot a Trait Doctoring at the grizzled Legend, aiming to make him non-Magnetic and interrupt his flight.

Open the Warp Tank, Calvin directed his System, flooding his Body with the remaining Warp. Until the Warp ran out, Calvin was going to be a savant. If this isn’t an emergency, what is?

Trait Doctoring.

35/47 Bent remaining.

Your Ability failed to exceed the target’s Stability.

Trait Doctoring has reached level 20!

11/34 Warp Remaining

Calvin mentally shoved aside the rest of the messages, eying the flailing old man.

While the forces of the two Abilities were at war with each other, Calvin launched himself forward, aiming a punch at the man’s midsection.

Force caught the blow easily despite his lack of balance, shoving his hand into Calvin’s face.

A high pitched noise pierced through Calvin’s skull, turning his vision white and overwhelming him with nausea. Force’s hand grabbed Calvin’s hair and the high pitched noise redoubled, the pain making it difficult to even think.

Calving reflexively tried to knock the man’s hand away from his skull, but when his arms were above his head, Force took the opportunity to drive a haymaker into Calvin’s ribcage.

Ow.

Calvin coughed, vision white, mind reeling, lungs seizing up.

When in doubt, kick ‘em in the nutsack.

Calvin’s leg lashed out, a knife made of Abyssal Steel jutting out of his sole.

“Fuck!”

The ringing in his head stopped as Force threw him away again.

Calvin’s vision cleared, and he spotted the man clutching a gash along his side. The extra length of the blade due to Beli Ma must have caught him off guard.

Next time why don’t you have the knife come out of your scalp?

Calvin blinked the last of the white out of his vision, glancing at the Diocese’s right hand. The bracer he was wearing had a round addendum on the back of his hand, similar to the one Trade had used to seal letters.

Didn’t know it was a torture device, too. Calvin thought before pressing the advantage.

Trait Doctoring.

Calvin made his fist as hard as the Abyssal steel in his belt, then Shifted thousands of pounds of mass into it from the floor of the palace.

34/47 Bent remaining.

Force saw it coming, and put his palm out again with a cocky grin, aiming to catch Calvin’s strike while he tried to balance himself. There was some kind of invisible barrier between the two of them that sapped the force out of Calvin’s strike.

It didn’t do much.

There was a satisfying crunch as Calvin’s fist carried the man’s palms into his ribcage, then shattered both, sending the Legend tumbling into the distance, his body scintillating with lighting.

Calvin shifted the mass out of his fist again so he didn’t go tumbling along with the Diocese, pulling it back to his chest in a defensive position and sweeping his gaze over the four remaining men.

Dimly, Calvin realized his hand was numb.

Calvin looked down and tried to open his hand, finding it locked into the fist he’d just delivered to the Diocese.

Calvin dismissed Trait doctoring on his hand, returning it to normal hardness. Sensation rushed back into his fist. He unclenched and shook it, studying the Diocese surrounding him as his hand gave an alarming tingle.

Yeah, I don’t think using Trait Doctoring on your body is healthy.

Noted. I was considering making myself immune to Lightning.

Don’t do that. Your body has a very delicate balance of electricity in it. A tiny bit too much or too little and you’re dead.

I had an inkling that might be the case.

“What about the rest of you?” Calvin asked, turning back to the rest of the Diocese.

The one he’d returned the lighting to was approaching, his hair and clothes ravaged by the lighting but functionally unharmed. The other three were discarding their useless weapons and approaching with grim expressions.

Calvin could feel apprehension in their gaze for the first time since he’d started.

He was riding the razor’s edge here. If he had missed one of the lighting returns or the first Diocese with a railgun hadn’t missed, Calvin would be dead or dying right now.

“Is killing me worth proving your fallibility to the masses?” Calvin asked, cocking his head to the side, affecting ease. They don’t have to know they almost killed me three times.

Playboy has reached level 14! 70% Correction!

10/34 Bent remaining.

“Your words betray your origin, foreigner,” A fat Diocese said, attracting Calvin’s attention. He’d never met that particular one, so he had no idea whether he was Cleansing, Pleasure, Bounty, Edict or Sweat.

He did seem a little sweaty.

“We are not gods, merely their vessels. We can be replaced.”

“Potato, Potahto,” Calvin said, waving it off. “We both know you keep tomes detailing the physics of Magnetism and electricity, and you sit on it, pretending its of divine origin so the rabble will listen to you. The secret of creating lightning got out of your hands a long time ago and you’re paranoid the secret of harnessing it will slip out of your hands too. First its motors to make mills and carriages to make life convenient for everyone, but then people start experimenting with magnetic fields and before you know it, everyone can fly. You become normal. Nothing.”

The men stiffened, and Calvin could tell he’d guessed right.

“Give me a reason not to kill you.” one of the Diocese spoke, his jowels trembling with rage. Calvin noted that Trade was particularly quiet. It was possible that seniority was by age, and Trade was one of the lowest positions, discouraged from voicing his opinion.

“Because,” Calvin said with a grin. “Those secrets aren’t only in my head,” he said, tapping his skull. “They’re written down, sitting in a nice big stack, waiting to be disbursed at first light tomorrow morning, unless I stop it. You think I came here without a plan?”

He hadn’t.

In reality, one of Calvin’s greatest foibles was a dearth of planning.  Since he was able to solve most problems without forethought or by following a guide, he’d become rather poor at approaching things systematically throughout his childhood.

But they didn’t need to know that, either.

The Diocese eye’s narrowed, and Calvin could feel the emotions in his gaze, caution, suspicion and anger at war with each other.

The Diocese pulled out a peculiar curved blade, looking a bit like an L with a hole in the center braided with copper. He pointed it at Calvin.

Calvin’s heart leapt in his chest as he focused all his attention on the old man’s gaze, ready to defend himself should the man choose to attack.

“Seditious writing such as that could set off a civil war, resulting in the deaths of thousands. Tens of thousands.” He said, pointing directly at Calvin. “Are you the kind of man who would lead those people to their deaths if we let you go?”

Calvin glanced down at the city beneath him, with people crawling back and forth like ants, gawking up at the people flinging lighting at each other. Calvin wanted steady trade, not to cannibalize another country.

“No.” Calvin said. “I have no desire to see this country destabilized.”

Conquering Juntai or forcing it into civil war ran counter to his end goal of creating a legacy that could back him up. He wanted a strong alliance with Juntai, not a puppet that would die with him, nor a neighbor in complete turmoil.

“You have my word that I will not distribute them, should I return alive and well.”

“How can we trust this,” Another Diocese asked, this one was stocky with greying hair, without as much fat as the others. He pointed at Calvin. “We don’t even know who or what he is.”

“True,” the Diocese with the knife said, eyeing Calvin. “Show us your true form and we’ll know you can be trusted.”

Calvin considered it a moment.

Couldn’t get much worse.

One of the guys.

Calvin dismissed the spell, his bones compressing, follicles tingling as his hari straightened and lightened, skin shrinking down around his smaller form.

The diocese’s eyes widened, including Trade.

“Edict, we should remove this foreigner from existence.” One of the Diocese said, glaring daggers at Calvin. It wasn’t hard to guess where that guy stood on the ‘trust’ scale.

“Our neighbor to the East.The foreigner…with the train,” Edict said, his knife lowering a bit as he studied Calvin’s face. “That explains a lot. It would be unusual to find two people who’ve unraveled the deeper mysteries of lightning, after all.”

Edict rubbed his chin, and Calvin could feel the man’s thoughts slowly turning darker and more clinical as he surveyed Calvin, leaning toward violence.

“We were set to have a meeting about how to deal with the man who stole our divine knowledge when he created the train this evening, but I think now would be a good time.”

“I think he’s trustworthy.” Trade jumped in for the first time, attracting everyone’s attention.

“Oh?” Edict asked.

“By all accounts, he attributed the inspiration for the engine to divine intervention. I believe that demonstrates a certain willingness to work with us.”

The Diocese glanced around at each other thoughtfully, and they seemed to come to an unspoken accord.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” He returned his attention to Calvin. “I will pen for you a scroll containing instructions in how to present your knowledge of the Divine. Follow them exactly, and we will continue to have an accord.”

“And Carem Sageva?”

“Carem is ours. He is a citizen of Juntai and the murderer of some thirty others. Our right to punish him supersedes your own.”

Edict raised a brow. “Unless you’d rather try to cut your way through us?”

Well, this outing was a waste of time. Calvin thought, gritting his teeth.

Welcome to politics, Nadia said in the back of his mind.

“No, I think this has gone far enough.” Calvin said, relaxing his shoulder. The Diocese similarly relaxed their grips on their weapons. There was no guarantee that he could beat all of them.

***Carem***

Carem was surprised and pleased to know that not only did his mutation work with one hand, but that Genosians were close enough to human for him to be able to absorb their memories.

The sensation of pleasure crept up his free arm as the heavily tattooed warrior shuddered underneath his ministrations.

“Alright, that’s enough,” His captor said, smacking Carem upside the arm with a club, knocking him away before he could finish implanting himself into the Genosian, leaving little more than a shuddering mass of flesh rather than a copy of his ego.

They never let him finish.

Damn you, he thought, directing his ire at the guard.

“I need longer than that,” he said, scowling at the drooling moron as he unfolded the Bent form that allowed him to read the man’s emotions.

“That’s all the time you get. Diocese’s orders. Now, why is the Seeker tribe pushing into the northern range so aggressively?”

“I-“

The club came down and struck him across the mouth.

“Why?”

The club came down, splitting his scalp.

“Why are they – ”

The club hit him in the shoulder, sending a spike of pain through his arm and chest.

“Coming into the northern range?”

Another strike.

“Something bad, okay!?” Carem shouted through the pain as he curled into a ball on the floor, his scalp tickling as blood flowed through his hair and onto the ground. “Something is pushing them out of their home!”

The guard gave him one last hit with the club then stood up, panting with exertion.

“Excellent work.” He said with a nod. “I’ll report it to the Diocese now.”

The guard left the room, and a couple seconds later, another guard took his place.

Carem’s heart sank when he realized that this was another new guard. He’d gotten a different guard every eight hours for the past two weeks.

The constant march of new faces made it impossible to twist one of them around his fingers like he’d been planning.

I’ll kill every last one of you bastards, anehua se habaeh kuahe.

Carem grimaced, holding his hand over his scalp wound and setting about the task of picking through the foreign memories and discarding them to maintain his identity.

He touched upon a memory and stopped in mid-wince as he came across knowledge of several Genosian spells.

Interesting.

Macronomicon