Malcolm Tent
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Wish upon the Stars chapter 696
🕑 Added 2024-08-21 23:49:09 +0000 UTCNemal’s charge was even faster than the last time. I had State of Grace active, but I knew for a fact it wouldn’t be enough on its own. As usual though, techniques were the answer to my problems. Where Skills could and would let me down, techniques and my unusually developed Path were the keys to this fight, and Mephisto’s Waltz traveled far more quickly than would normally be possible for someone my rank.
Combined with State of Grace, the space eating explosive power of the Waltz was at its best, and I was still using Afterburner on top of that, giving me some serious speed as I circled the mechanical monster I was fighting.
While the original armor had been blocky and dense, the repairs had shifted the suit from something like a giant robot to something more…alien. The metal was warped and twisted, almost biological in some ways, and too alien to process in others. Strange angles and shapes that weren’t shapes marked the intersection of flesh and device, and as I watched, the more fleshlike metal sections actually expanded slowly, consuming Nemal.
This Domain was unusual, at least compared to the others I’d seen. Different Domains followed different stories, and from what I could tell, this was a Domain of repair and improvement. Rather than give direct combat power, it was designed to reinforce the user.
And it was…reinforcing him every second he stood still, grasping arms of mechanical artifice shooting from the ground when his advance paused. He couldn’t see me exactly, but he could sense me somewhat. Imprecise as it was, it was damned dangerous. He kept getting faster and stronger, and while there had to be a limit, the Domain was constantly moving the needle.
It took five minutes before I found my opening. At the end of a lunge he’d tried to make a surprise, he spun with just the wrong timing, and the Cosmic Collapse was loosed.
This time I didn’t bother with the back. I hit the one original part of his body. I detonated the attack right in his fucking face. The scream made it worse. Some of the corrosion went into his mouth, down his throat, and he choked on his own melting palate as he clawed at his face. Falling to a knee, he slammed his head into the ground, the arms rising to try to fix the damage.
I started hitting him. Nothing huge or powerful, but lots of small corrosive taps as I blurred around him, dodging attacks. The black flame acid combination of these two forms was still deadly, even without charge time, it was just slower.
Of course, he had a counter to it. His Domain repaired the damage as it spread, so it was a back and forth. Damage versus repair. Finally though, he realized what I already knew. I could keep doing this, keep stacking the attacks, and there was only so long he could maintain this Domain for.
Domains were powerful and versatile abilities, but they were also exhausting to the soul. Domain seeds like this one provided a powerful environment that boosted the Path, allowing for techniques beyond what that person’s Fantasy would allow.
Nemal’s Path was one of self repair and evolution, similar to Benny’s in some ways. But he couldn’t use it forever, and these powerful self repair techniques had to be straining him already. Aside from the limitations it put on future advancement, that strain was one of the reasons smart people with long term goals didn’t create Domains early.
Much like Skills, a Domain needed to be suitable to you in order to minimize the strain. People like Bethy, who shared a racial trait with a genius who had consumed thousands of powerful Ascendants, were the lucky few. This guy definitely didn’t warrant personal attention from his god, and the Domain couldn’t be a good fit for him.
With the timer counting down, all he could do was to rush me, try his best to attack me. His fists blurred out, cracking the air and shaking the building as his sharp, jerky combat style covered as much ground as possible with as few openings as he could make.
It was a brutal, efficient style, obsessed with economy of motion to an absurd degree. It was like looking at an abstract painting of someone fighting. Strange poses and positions that somehow left him protected as he tried to sweep the whole Domain to take me apart, to break me before he lost this battle of attrition.
After about two minutes, I lost my ability to avoid completely. He attacked me in such wide swaths with such strange movements there was no way to dodge.
Luckily for me, that wasn’t what these forms were about. I wasn’t even sure that Mornax could tank this flurry of blows, but taking them on directly wasn’t the name of the game. While Mephistopheles was my brute force form, Belial was not, and the two in combination gave me far more options than either did alone.
My powerful, amplified blows combined with Belial’s mastery of leverage and deflection were my redoubt from the steel storm of burning writhing limbs. Each blow knocked off course by explosions of black flames as I ate up ground, shifting and moving as I dodged and wove together a dance of deflection and misdirection.
I’d spent so much time since I got here running and hiding. Holed up waiting for my chance to strike, preparing to make my move…and what had it gotten me?
Valk might be dead, Cicero might be with him. Callie was stuck in space as Travis, who had murdered our friend and broken my wife’s heart, ran amok on my home planet, hurting and terrorizing MY people to his heart’s content. And I was supposed to…what? Slip away again? Wait for reinforcements so I could run?
I couldn’t stand it. Wouldn’t allow it. This was my HOME. MY planet. These fucking heathen psychopaths couldn’t just come here and push me around. The angrier I got, the more it fed into the black flames of hatred raging through me. The more the form seemed to resonate with me. I WAS Mephistopheles. Destruction made manifest.
Not just that. I was Belial. The deceiver, the lord or lies. I was never where he expected me, never did what I was supposed to. He was stronger than me, faster than me, more durable than me. Nemal was my better in every conceivable way.
I didn’t give a fuck. Combat wasn’t math. This wasn’t some video game where I subtracted his damage output from my health points. This was my city. My planet. My world. He was just visiting, but he’d made a mistake coming here. You don’t chase the devil into hell. Not if you want to keep you free will.
The more we danced, the more he fell into my Waltz, the more I could see the strings. He was like a puppet, jerking to and fro exactly as I wanted him to. My staff landed hard at ket point of his body whenever he moved, the corrosion leaking into him even more deeply, absorbing into his metallic body like water into a sponge.
Arms tried to repair, to counteract, but he couldn’t sit still long enough. I felt…like a calamity. Like a force of nature. And suddenly, it clicked. I realized what had changed, what was different. All my techniques were single form moves. Some of them weren’t form dependants, and I could shove two kinds of energy into them, like the cosmic collapse.
But I didn’t have any DUAL form techniques. Not really. Not like this. The image was missing. Every single technique was a story. A legend of its own. And the stories of Belial and Mephistopheles weren’t compatible with each other.
Except. They were. Because much like me and Benny, or me and Callie, they shared a connection. A root. A home. I felt the Waltz bridge the gap in a strange way, the dance the last little ingredient to wrap my head around what was necessary to bring all this power and emotion and intent into one crystallized concept.
“First Circle of Hell.” I hissed in rage. “Limbo.”
The hell of the undecided. The pit of desolation where dwell the uncertain and confused. Misdirection to shape perception, power to enforce the viewpoint. Even the Moonlight Night around us, the overlay, and the Eye of Revelation that shaped my understanding were part of it.
He sense the change, and I could almost see his mounting horror as it affected him. “Stop.” Grated the invader. “Please!” His jerky alien martial art had been disrupted, his movements were growing stranger, small shifts in stance and posture, limbs jerked slightly out of line by pulses of black flame. In my Eye of Revelation a dozen spots appeared, ranging from green to dark angry red. I recognized them for what they were. Weaknesses to be exploited.
My staff smashed into the reddest spots, channeling torrents of corrosion and dark flame into the body. The arms flailed, trying to fix him, but his body shifted out of the way unwillingly. Limbo wasn’t just about finding weaknesses, it was about MAKING them. I wasn’t killing the invader, he was killing himself on my staff, step by step.
Limbs began to buckle and weaken, screams echoing through the fog as I slowly dissected my enemy, an alien sense of glee pervading my mind as the hatred and destruction mixed with the deception and manipulation into a dangerous cocktail of sadistic cheer at the thought of the fear and pain I was inflicting.
I was so lost in the sensation that I almost missed the alarm through the bond. Almost. My wife’s fear and pleading struck me like a hammer blow, and I stopped on a dime. My staff was a split second from another strike, and as I regained my clarity, I realized that there was no more repairing going on.
Nemal was curled on the ground, twisted and broken, the Domain shattered. He wasn’t screaming anymore, just whimpering. I let the fog break, washing it away as I stowed my staff in my ring.
That had been…awful. Like concentrated recursion pumping right into my brain. I’d done something wrong, something I shouldn’t have done. There was no other explanation for that mental state. What exactly WAS Limbo? It wasn’t a technique, not really. I’d thought it was, but something about it felt…different.
It hurt. My soul was in pain, not like the regular kind of pain from overstraining it either. I felt like I’d violated some kind of rule of the universe. Like I’d done something unnatural. Tried to flex a muscle I didn’t have to lift something too heavy for me.
A hand landed on my shoulder, and I spun to attack, but froze when I saw who it was. Benny was behind me, face worried. I fell forward, and he grabbed me, hoisting me over his shoulder. He grimaced down at Nemal, then with a short, brutal motion, stomped down on the whimpering man’s neck.
The body went limp, pain ceasing, and I let out a sigh of relief. I should have just cut my forms, but I wasn’t sure that would have been enough. Death was kinder.
Benny carried me to the security door, pounding on it roughly. An intercom came alive, and talking ensued, but I wasn’t processing. I was in my head, with Callie’s presence wrapped tight around me, whispering in my mind that everything was going to be ok.
My vision started to go fuzzy after that, and it was a welcome relief. My part was done, now the evacuation would take us back to the fortress, and I could have Callie ask my mom what the actual fuck had just happened to me. Because I was terrified if I didn’t find out, it would happen again, and I wasn’t sure even my wife would be able to pull me back from the pit of horrible sadism I’d just been submerged in. The worries melted away as I blacked out completely. I’d have to deal with that problem when I woke up. For now, I had earned a rest.
Comments
Malcolm Tent
Because he isn't. He's taking inspiration from demonic mythology, but he's building his own legend. People perceive his forms as being their own things based on how he uses them. A pretty decent chunk of the renown he gets is also from wishes. Not to mention demons in the Ars Goetia aren't all inherently malicious. And devils are an extant species that exists and interacts regularly with most of Ascendant culture, so they don't have a lot of the hangups on the subject. Regardless, A-rank is mainly aimed at repurposing renown and reworking your legend to be as good a fit as possible before creating your Saga. While gods ARE heavily bound by their natures, those natures are mostly of their own making. No one who gets steamrolled by recursion makes it to godhood. TLDR: by the time he gets that far it won't be an issue.
Droosh
It seems OOC that he is choosing to craft his legend, path, name, etc even basing his forms and techniques on evil. Why is he choosing to do this when he knows recursion will strive to make him into this. Hell, even Zeke told him to build his legend and path on what he wants to eventually become. And he learned that God's eventually have to let go and become their legends fully. If he admires his mom and wife as exceptional for being rare ascendants with empathy, he would be completely rebranding himself into a heroic or angelic figure before he gets locked in. Literally should change all his names to the mythical opposite. LOL Hopefully he explains this and it's not just idiocy.
CringeWorthyStudios
Did he just tap into his own Saga/Chronicle or Domain like… three ranks ahead of schedule? That was kinda terrifying. Thanks for the chapter!
JacksAreWild
At some point it seems inevitable that the devil faction will have to scout him, as hard as he is leaning into that for his legend and with his dad being the wish devil
Malcolm Tent
Ironically he kind of did the opposite of that. I'll explain next chapter, but he did what he always does and skipped a bunch of steps only this time it backfired lmao.
thaughton2
What the flippity fuck did he just tap into? Literally the mythos of demons buried in the collective psyche? Maybe the myth of Solomon, and he embodied the idea of capturing and channeling demons?
