ME Cuartas
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Chapter 268 - Jurassic Valley (XXV)
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 00:00:05 +0000 UTC“I heard you got yourself a nickname already,” Imani says with a smile as he hands me the arm bracers. “Chital, the Fang-born.”
“Yeah… well… a bit unlucky lately… or should I say lucky?” I slide the conductive coil around my arm and test it with my waves. It responds smoothly.
“What’s your kill count so far?”
“Twenty-two. Still haven’t run into a three-tailed yet,” I sigh, sitting down on a rock. My waves move subtly through the armor, mapping its behavior against my nodes. The conductivity is impressive—better than my new swords, even. Should be around 3.1 in Houston units. “You know, I always wondered—how do you make conductive metal into something this durable without making it stupidly heavy or compromising the actual conductivity?”
Imani grins, apparently pleased by the question. “Well, we don’t work with pure metals, for one. Raw conductivity’s nice on paper, but it destabilizes too quickly under real wave pressure. So we layer it.”
“Layer it?” I raise an eyebrow.
He nods and crouches down, tapping the inner edge of the bracer. “We start with a flexible lattice of high-response conductive strands—woven like muscle fibers, not cast like plates. That’s what carries your wave signals efficiently. Then we embed that inside a shell of what the Ajnal call kaaltuun—resistant alloy mixed with mineral dust and hardened with heat-pulsing cycles. Not as conductive on its own, but incredibly stable.”
“So the outer shell protects the core, but doesn’t block the signal?”
“Yes. The key is resonance matching. The outer layer doesn’t need to conduct—it just needs to not fight your wave harmonics. That way, your EM pulses can flow through without bouncing around or scattering.”
“Smart,” I say. “Seems like you’re fitting into the job pretty fast. What do you need for the next promotion?”
Imani stands, his towering frame still something I haven’t fully stopped noticing—familiar by now, but no less impressive.
“I need to become a Lord of Sparks and forge my own unique armor. Only then can I be considered an official smith of the Ajnal.”
“Hmmm… is that just a hierarchy thing, or is there an actual reason someone needs to reach that stage to qualify?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Imani admits, his gaze drifting off in thought. “But I do understand why you need to be a Stone Jaguar just to be an apprentice. Layering and shaping the metal requires strong, precise bursts—physical and electromagnetic. Without active nodes, you can’t even begin. Everything our mentor teaches is built on that—timing, pressure, method. Knowledge passed down and refined over generations.”
“Sounds… deep.” I smirk slightly. “So, going by that, I guess whatever turns someone into a Lord of Sparks is also what lets them reach the next level in weapon and armor crafting. Maybe it’s tied to that EM field they always have around them.”
Imani nods. “Maybe.”
I stare at my new armor after getting a feel of it with my waves for a while.
Smooth, matte plates shaped with geometric precision. The chest piece is fitted like a lamellar harness, each segment aligned to support core movement and pressure distribution. Narrow conductive rings are embedded at the shoulders, sternum, and lower back—key acceleration points for EM burst support.
The arm bracers are clean cylinders, segmented near the elbow and wrist, with ring structures at each joint to amplify wave flow and absorb kinetic stress. The boots are heavy-soled but flexible, built with layered grip ridges and reinforced around the ankle and heel with circular induction loops.
Everything is arranged with purpose—rings at every stress point, channels aligned to node convergence paths. A functional piece of Ajnal design.
“Looks good,” I say as I move in it, syncing my waves with each motion. “Shame the elbows are a bit exposed. Same with the neck. But it should be fine. Still… it does look a bit different from the designs I’ve seen so far among the Ajnal. Is it your own?”
“Kind of,” Imani says with a smile. “Not entirely mine, though. The Ajnal have an extensive catalogue—generations of smiths have added to it, each with their own adaptations. I just picked a model with more body coverage and modified it to resemble something closer to what we used in the previous stage.”
“I see… well, thanks. I mean… thanks a lot. I like it. Did you make a similar one for yourself? What about Arjun?”
“Not yet. Just yours,” he says, grinning. “I will need much more material for mine, and I wanted to make sure I got the tuning right before wasting anything.”
“So mine was the test run. Great.”
Imani chuckles. “Worked out, didn’t it?”
“And Arjun?”
“He said the armor could wait. Lately he’s been more interested in—well, speaking of him…”
I turn as footsteps crunch behind us.
Arjun nods when he sees me, then shifts his focus to Imani.
Imani nods when he sees Arjun. “You got it ready?”
“Well, that’s what I said, didn’t I?” Imani grins and walks over to the rack.
He picks up a long, matte-black weapon—about a meter and a half in length, with a flat, rectangular profile and beveled edges. The surface is smooth, broken only by a line of faint seamwork along the top spine and narrow ridges running the length of the casing.
The grip sits flush with the body, wrapped in a thin mesh that glints slightly under the light. Thirteen metal rings are embedded in perfect sequence along the upper spine—symmetrical, framed into recessed grooves.
Imani hands it to Arjun with care.
“Thirteen-coil array, triple-layer induction spine,” he says. “Each ring fires in sequence—your wave input only. No external charge needed.”
He taps a recessed slot near the rear. “Solid-core projectiles go here. High-conductivity alloy. The waveform builds through the grip, travels the spine, compresses forward—pure linear acceleration. No combustion. No trigger.”
Arjun takes it slowly, fingers tracing the embedded rings along the upper spine.
He nods once. “Spacing looks good. You went with fixed intervals?”
“I had to,” Imani replies. “The variable spacing caused field overlap once the coils crossed threshold heat. Simulation worked fine, but in real builds, the outer rings lost sync fast.”
Arjun’s grip tightens. A slow pulse flows through the mesh. The rings light one by one, soft blue flaring down the spine.
“You re-routed harmonics through the inner band?” he asks.
“Nested loop,” Imani confirms. “Reinforced through the spine layers. Way better stability than the scattered routing from the last version.”
Arjun lifts the weapon, resting it across his shoulder. “Heavier than I expected.”
“It had to be,” Imani says. “Lighter frames scattered the field. Feedback was too unstable. This anchors the wave channel from the grip forward. Clean pulse, no dispersion.”
Arjun runs his hand over the casing. “Damping layer?”
“I compressed it—3.6 thickness,” Imani says. “Thinner and it buckles under backflow. Thicker and it softens the return curve.”
Arjun nods again, slowly. “So... what’s the gain?”
“If we assume same projectile mass and equal wave strength, it should release about 3.2 times faster than the old circular acceleration method.”
“And with the new alloys?”
“If you sync properly—at peak conductivity?” Imani smiles faintly. “Could get past 4. Maybe more.”
Arjun lets the rifle rest again. The coils dim. His fingers stay on the grip a moment longer.
“You think it’ll hold?”
“It’ll hold,” Imani says. “But I need stress data. Theory’s one thing. Combat rhythm’s another.”
I blink, staring at both of them. I don’t even know when they had time to work this all out.
“You two actually built… an EM-based rifle?”
Imani exhales, calm. “We did.”
Arjun’s expression doesn’t change much—but there’s pride in his voice when he speaks.
“Yeah. We did.”
Ayu’s head twisted to the side.
A bullet from behind pierced where it had been.
Her body leaned forward, muscles coiling.
The ground cracked beneath her bare feet.
She blurred forward.
Mid-motion, she twisted low and rotated her waist, delivering a knee strike straight into the Xok’al whose blow missed entirely.
BOOM!!
The air cracked from the force of the impact as the creature was sent tumbling across the ground, rocks and dirt lifting in its path.
Before the dust settled, Ayu appeared behind another.
She sliced the back of its neck with her bone kukri before it could react.
And vanished again.
She dodged every strike, every projectile. Her body moved before her enemies could complete their actions.
She was faster than them. Stronger. Better in every physical sense.
Their waves had no effect on her—she wore no conductive gear, no metal weapons. They had no edge.
And so… she killed them all.
Blood painted the soil. It dripped from the tips of her kukris.
She closed her eyes.
She felt the wind. The smell of dust. The faint vibrations in the earth and the blades of grass beneath her feet. She let her mostly bare skin—exposed but for a few strips of hide armor—absorb everything. Every pore listening.
The voice of the world.
Her senses spread outward.
Wide. Then wider. And wider still.
She steadied her breath.
In. Out.
No tension. No weight in her limbs.
Her heartbeat slowed, her muscles loosened, and the heat of movement faded beneath the cool of stillness.
Seconds passed in silence.
She opened her eyes.
No expression crossed her face.
She walked.
Bare feet pressed into broken soil as she moved through the quiet. Past severed limbs. Past shattered corpses. Past still-spilling wounds. The kukris in her hands hung low now, angled toward the earth.
One by one, she stopped before each corpse.
And absorbed their orbs.
Stage 1 – 10.687%
After the last one, she paused.
Completely still.
Her eyes narrowed. Her nose picked the scent.
Movement.
Her senses, already heightened by Overdrive, pivoted toward the disturbance. A faint shift in air pressure. The tremble of a vibration that didn’t belong.
Then—calm.
She rose slowly. Straightened her spine.
And gave a small, respectful bow in the direction of the man approaching.
His footsteps made no sound. The grass barely bent beneath them. His bare feet touched the earth—not as something heavy, but as something in tune, aligned with the natural rhythm beneath the surface. He didn’t disturb the ground—he moved with it, hidden inside its breath.
His face was calm. Eyes closed. A faint smile rested on his lips.
His long hair, streaked with grey and black, fell to the middle of his back—tied loosely at the base, swaying gently as he walked.
He felt human. Almost.
Wide, fur-covered ears rose from his head, and a tail extended behind him. Fangs—barely visible—rested behind the subtle curve of his mouth.
He could’ve passed for a man.
A striking one.
Sharp jawline. Smooth skin, marked only by time in the ways that deepened his presence. His features were refined, symmetrical. There was no arrogance in his expression, no pretense in his posture. And yet…
He held weight.
Magnetic, effortless, undeniable. A natural gravity that pulled the world’s attention without asking for it.
A man with many titles.
The White Wolf of the West.
Speaker of the Wild Silence.
First Fang of the Skybound Path.
Son of the Winter Moon.
The elders called him many names.
But for her, he was simply—
“Master.”
His smile deepened.
“You kill well,” he said, stopping a few paces in front of her. “But still too loud.”
Ayu said nothing.
“You listen more now,” he added. “That’s good. But not enough.”
He looked past her, toward the corpses behind.
“You hear the wind. Feel the soil. Smell the blood. But you’re not inside it yet.”
A pause.
“You move before you know you’ve moved. That’s rare. A gift.”
He paused.
“But nature doesn’t move to strike. It moves to be.”
A breath.
“You fight like lightning. Fast, clean. But the storm doesn’t chase victory. It just rolls through.”
She stayed silent, watching him.
He gestured lightly to her bloodstained arms. “Still fighting like a body.”
His eyes narrowed, faintly. “Not yet a spirit.”
Ayu lowered her head slightly. Not in shame—but in thought.
He continued. “You hold back the flame now. That’s better than rage. But holding back is not the same as letting go.”
He stomped lightly on the ground, and a single pebble rose, landing softly in his palm.
“This—” he held it out, “—doesn’t try to fall. It just falls.”
He let it drop. The stone touched the earth without a sound landing in the exact same spot.
“That’s the rhythm.”
She looked down. Her toes were still tense. Ankles coiled, ready.
“You stand ready,” he said. “Even now. After the fight.”
His gaze met hers.
“You still don’t trust the silence.”
Ayu didn’t argue.
“I know,” she said quietly.
He nodded once. “Good. Knowing is the first crack.”
He stepped past her, slow and silent. Then, without turning back—
“When you move without knowing why, and the earth follows, and the air clears for you—then, you’ll be ready.”
And then he walked on, and the world swallowed his steps.
Ayu’s gaze dropped.
Her master was a bit strange and liked to speak in cryptic words… but she was starting to understand him—perhaps just a little. What she couldn’t deny was that her master was strong… very strong.
She took a deep breath.
She had asked him about Alonso and the others, but there was still no news.
Had they been sent to a different stage?
Was this challenge individual, like the early white rooms?
She let her mind wander for a few seconds, then emptied it.
For now, all she could do was grow stronger, advance… move toward clearing this stage. That would eventually lead her back to them—back to him.
And she would.
Together with the beastman, she would advance. Fight back the Xok’al. Push through the Ajnal. And if the Azcoyatl didn’t mind their business—fight them too.
And after the world was conquered…
Surely, the stage would end.
Right?
