The Machine God
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[TLD] Chapter 6 - Choices
🕑 Added 2025-10-18 12:13:12 +0000 UTCChapter 6
Choices
The forest thickened around them as they moved away from the volcano. Trees blocked more of the sunlight filtering through the canopy above. The air had cooled considerably, though Azratheon barely noticed. Temperature meant little to him.
She shifted on his shoulder, adjusting her grip on his neck. The rings clinked softly where she’d slipped them onto her fingers, all except one that she held clutched in her other hand.
“It’s called the System,” she said. “Everyone has it. Anyone with even a trace of Qi, which is... most people.”
Azratheon glanced up at her from the corner of his eye but kept walking. His strides were long and steady now. The hybrid form was becoming more familiar with each step.
“Everyone?” He considered that. Knowledge of it was missing from his memories. Even fragmented, surely something so widespread would be hinted at. The only conclusion that made sense was that it hadn’t existed before.
“Yes. But...” She looked down at her hands. At the rings. “It’s only really useful for cultivators. It tracks progress and records techniques. If you’re lucky, it guides advancement and gives quests. For people like me, it just... exists. Shows you an empty list of things you don’t have.”
Azratheon processed this as he stepped over a fallen log. The System had offered him rewards. Tracked his breakthroughs. Guided his choices. It was useful.
“You can cultivate now,” he said.
She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t have a method. Or a teacher. Or—”
“You have manuals.” He gestured with one hand toward the rings on her fingers, the movement causing her to grab tighter at his shoulder to stay balanced. “In the storage ring. Pick one.”
She stared down at her hands. At the rings. Her mouth opened slightly.
“I can just... choose?”
“They’re yours.”
Silence fell between them again. But this time it was different. Heavy. He could feel the tension in her grip. Hear the change in her breathing.
She was realizing something. Understanding what had just shifted in her life.
Azratheon continued walking, letting her process. The forest stretched endlessly ahead. Behind them, the volcano’s glow faded as trees blocked it from view.
After several minutes, she spoke again. Her voice was quieter. Uncertain.
“There are so many. How do I know which one to pick?”
“Does it matter?”
“I...” She hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a choice before. What if I pick the wrong one?”
He thought about that. About always being told what to do. What to be. Never choosing anything for yourself.
“Then pick the one that interests you most,” he said simply. “If it doesn’t work, pick another.”
She made a small sound. Almost a laugh, but not quite. “Is it really that simple?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
She fell silent after that, her grip on his shoulder relaxing slightly as she turned inward. Thinking. Processing. Making a choice that had never been hers to make before.
Azratheon let her think. He had his own matters to consider.
Movement at the edge of his awareness drew his attention. Golden script materialized in his vision, hovering against the backdrop of forest and shadow.
Azratheon studied the options as he walked, his body moving automatically through the forest while his mind worked through the problem.
Flowing Water Blade: Foundation Forms (1-3). Flowing Water Shield. Quick Step. Qi Sensitivity.
The water techniques were useless. Wrong affinity entirely. He was born from fire and earth, not water. And the sword forms were incomplete besides. He had fragments of a far better technique buried in his inherited memories. Even if he couldn’t use them yet, they existed.
That left two choices.
Qi Sensitivity would sharpen what he already possessed. Let him read power levels more precisely. Distinguish between cultivation realms with greater accuracy. It had merit. But he could already see Qi flows when he focused. With time, he would learn to translate what he already saw into an understanding of strength. The enhancement would be useful, but not required.
Quick Step, though.
He thought of the wolf. How his body had betrayed him. How the proportions had been wrong, the timing off. How he’d stumbled and struggled while the beast moved with natural predatory grace.
This form was still clumsy. Still foreign. Even though he did not intend to remain in this form regularly, a movement technique might help. Enhanced leg strength through Qi circulation. Short bursts of speed and power.
He focused on Quick Step and made his selection.
Knowledge flooded in.
It came like water breaking through a dam. Information poured into his mind, settling into place with the certainty of learned knowledge. The technique laid itself out before him. Meridian pathways. Energy circulation patterns. Muscle groups and their precise coordination. The way Qi should flow from the dantian down through specific channels, gathering in the legs, condensing in the feet, then releasing in controlled bursts.
He could see it. Understand it. The elegant simplicity of the design. The efficiency of the energy use.
And none of it would work.
Azratheon stopped walking.
The pathways were wrong. He did not have meridians that flowed like that. Couldn’t flow like that. His Qi diffused through his entire body naturally, spreading evenly rather than gathering in a central core. The technique assumed a dantian positioned just below the navel. Dragons didn’t have one. No Primordial did.
The muscle groups were wrong too. The angles. The leverage points. Everything assumed human proportions. Human skeletal structure. Human physiology.
He had claws. A tail. Scales. Legs that bent differently and disrupted the smooth flow described in the technique. Weight distributed in ways the technique couldn’t account for.
His frown deepened.
But the principles were sound. The underlying philosophy made sense. Gather energy. Focus it. Release it explosively. The human method wouldn’t work, but perhaps...
He stood there, mind racing. Trying to see how to adapt it. How to take what was useful and reshape it to fit his form. But he didn’t even understand this body properly yet. Didn’t know its limits or its capabilities. How could he modify a technique for a form he’d barely learned to walk in?
Frustrating.
Above him, she shifted on his shoulder. She’d noticed he’d stopped.
Azratheon pushed the problem aside for now. Started walking again. His stride was stiffer than before, distracted. The technique knowledge sat in his mind like a puzzle with pieces that didn’t quite fit together.
He’d figure it out. Eventually. But not today.
“Master?”
Her voice was soft. Uncertain. He didn’t respond, too focused on the technique’s structure. If he could just understand how the energy flow worked in principle, maybe he could—
“Master?”
Louder this time. Close to his ear.
The word cut through his concentration like a blade. Azratheon stopped walking and looked up at her.
“You called me that again.”
She froze. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened, then closed. The hand gripping his shoulder tightened.
“I...” She looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
Silence stretched between them. She stared at her hands. At the rings on her fingers. Her breathing had changed. Faster. Shallower.
“I have to,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“I do.” Her voice cracked slightly. She looked up at him, met his eyes for just a moment before looking away again. “I’ll show you.”
She leaned forward on his shoulder, twisting her body awkwardly. One hand released its grip on his neck and moved to her hair, gathering it and pulling it forward over one shoulder. The other hand stayed pressed against him for balance.
“Here,” she said quietly.
Azratheon turned his head, craning his neck to see. The angle was awkward. She was behind him, above him, twisted to expose the back of her neck.
Just above where her shoulder blades would begin was a mark. Dark ink formed interlocking patterns. Lines that wove together in ways that reminded him of the enchanted ring. Circles within circles. Symbols he half-recognized. The whole thing was perhaps the size of his palm, centered on her spine.
The ink looked faded. Like it had been left in the sun too long.
He stared at it. The patterns drew his eye. Made him want to trace them and understand their purpose.
“It’s my slave brand,” she said. Her voice was flat now. Factual. Like she was describing the weather. “It bound me to my master. Made me obey. When he died, it faded. But it’s still there.”
She paused. Took a breath.
“Anyone can claim it now. They just need to touch it and pour their Qi into it and it activates again. The compulsion comes back. I’d have to obey. Have to call them Master. Have to...” She trailed off.
Azratheon studied the mark more carefully. The patterns weren’t random. They had structure. Purpose. Flow lines for energy. Binding points. Trigger mechanisms built into the design.
Enchantment worked into living flesh.
Fascinating.
“You could claim it,” she said quietly. “I can’t stop you.”
He could hear the resignation in her voice. The acceptance. She’d already decided this was inevitable. That it was just a matter of when.
He kept studying the mark. Tracing the patterns with his eyes. Seeing how they connected.
She was waiting. He could feel the tension in her body. The way she held herself perfectly still except for the slight tremor in her breathing.
“I’m not going to claim it,” he said.
She went absolutely still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment.
“What?”
“I’m not going to claim it. Why not burn or cut it off?” Azratheon asked. It was the practical solution. “Remove the mark, let it heal. You have pills now.”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t work. The mark... it goes deeper than skin. Into where Qi flows. People have tried. The brand just comes back as you heal. And...” Her voice dropped. “It hurts if you try to tamper with it. So much pain some slaves died from it before the mark even finished regrowing.”
Azratheon considered that. An enchantment designed to resist removal.
More interesting.
“Then I’ll learn how to break it,” he said. “Properly.”
“But...” She released her hair. Let it fall back to cover the mark. Settled back onto his shoulder. Her grip was different now. Still holding on, but the desperate tension had eased. “No one’s ever...”
“Then I’ll be the first. Just keep it hidden until then.”
She didn’t respond for a long moment. Just sat there. He could feel something had changed in the way she held herself. The fear was still there, but something else had joined it.
Hope, maybe.
When she finally spoke, her voice came soft and thick. Like she was fighting to keep it steady.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just started walking again.
The forest stretched ahead. Behind them, the volcano had disappeared entirely behind the trees. They’d come far enough. The brand’s patterns lingered in his mind. Not just surface enchantment. Layers. Deeper structures he couldn’t see yet.
Two puzzles now. The technique that didn’t fit his body. A brand that resisted breaking.
He’d solve them both. Eventually.
But first, the village. Get her somewhere safe. Then he could think properly.
“You said it was a day’s walk to the village. Is that a day for you or for the hunters?”
She made a sound. Almost a laugh, but softer. “For the hunters. I had to walk fast to keep up. Sometimes jog.”
He considered that. She was small. Stunted deliberately. Even before her burned feet, she would have struggled to match their pace. The hunters were tall. Some as tall as he was now, others shorter.
A day’s walk for the hunters would be about the same for him in this form.
In his true form, though? Hours. Not a day.
And he wanted to be in that form. This one still felt wrong. Useful for some things. Uncomfortable for others. His true body was stronger. Faster. More stable. More natural.
He also needed to know he could shift back. The transformation had happened once, in the chaos after the hunt. But he was yet to test whether he could change back. His status information said it was an innate ability. Surely that meant he could.
“I’m going to change forms,” he said.
She tensed on his shoulder. “To... your other form?”
“Yes. It’s faster.”
A pause. Then, quietly: “Will it hurt?”
“I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought about that. The first transformation had been painful. “Probably.”
He felt her grip tighten slightly, then relax. “Okay.”
Azratheon stopped walking and crouched down, letting her slide off his shoulder. She landed unsteadily, catching herself with one hand against a tree. Tested her weight on her feet. Winced but stayed standing.
She stepped back. Watched him. Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t look away.
He straightened. Stood in the small clearing they’d reached. Trees surrounded them on all sides, but there was enough space.
Now he just had to figure out how to do it.
Azratheon closed his eyes. Focused inward the way he did when accessing the System. Willed the change to happen. Pictured his true form. Concentrated.
Nothing.
He tried again. Harder this time. Pushing at something that wouldn’t move.
Still nothing.
His frown deepened. This wasn’t working. He was approaching it wrong.
He opened his eyes. Looked down at his clawed hands. At the scales along his arms. This body wasn’t his real form. It was just... something he could do. A shape he could take.
He wasn’t trying to become a dragon.
He already was one.
The hybrid form was the lie. He just had to stop maintaining it.
Azratheon stopped trying to force anything. Just... let go.
His body responded immediately.
Pain lanced through him as bones cracked and reformed. His limbs stretched, lengthened. Scales spread and grew across his skin. His neck extended. Tail burst out properly. Wings unfurled from his back with a snap of membrane.
He gritted his teeth but didn’t cry out. The pain was sharp but brief. Manageable.
And then it was done.
Relief flooded through him like warmth returning to cold flesh. This was right. This was natural. This was home.
Azratheon shook himself, a full-body motion that rippled from nose to tail. Flexed his claws. Tested his weight on all four limbs. Stretched his wings carefully. They were still wrong, the membranes ragged, as though cannibalized to keep other parts whole. Still hurt when he moved them.
His body was still weak. Malnourished. He could feel his ribs too easily beneath the scales. His muscles weren’t as full as they should be.
But it was his body. His real one.
He settled into the ground, tail curling around his haunches. Looked at her.
She stood pressed against the tree, her eyes locked on him.
A dragon.
His voice came out deeper now. Rougher. With an edge like distant thunder.
“Climb up.”
