Kirunax
patreon
Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2025-09-27 22:19:53 +0000 UTCChapter 30
Armsmaster
Harsh, clinical light washed over steel and composite as Colin turned the weapon slowly, searching for flaws he knew weren’t there.
He never allowed flaws. Compromises, yes, but never flaws. Every piece he built was an extension of his discipline, assembled under the same relentless focus, the same exacting eye.
To say this project had received more effort than the others would be misleading—he always gave his all.
But this one was special.
A culmination.
A breakthrough.
Nanothorn.
The idea had been with him for years—ever since he’d figured out his specialization.
To the layman, ‘miniaturization’ inevitably conjured images of nanomachines. Wasn’t that the logical end point of making things smaller?
But it was never that simple.
Miniaturization and efficiency weren’t a dual specialization, nor were they two distinct aspects; they were one and the same. Miniaturization was efficiency.
Bulky components gave way to compact replacements, sprawling systems collapsed into streamlined designs and energy demands shrank to fractions of their original cost.
His power let him turn crudeness into elegance, but it never handed him blueprints for complex molecular-scale automata.
With years of R&D, he had pushed far enough to craft molecular machines and crude nanomotors. Simple and rudimentary—good for swimming blindly, maybe for slipping inside a cell. Useless beyond that.
Worse, each had to be painstakingly assembled almost by hand. And when millions were required to achieve any function, this approach collapsed under its own weight.
Scaling up to larger systems and optimizing them down toward true nanites only added the usual problem of diminishing returns.
Colin had once run numbers on how long it would take him to reach molecular scale with this approach and the answer was decades.
He didn’t have that kind of time.
Machines that could build smaller machines? Theoretically possible—a proverbial ladder down to the molecular frontier. In practice it was a nightmare. Not just because Colin’s specialization didn’t lend itself towards self-replicating technology, but a literal nightmare waiting to happen.
Colin knew himself well enough to trust he could handle all the safety precautions such project would necessitate, but he understood why the PRT wouldn’t share that opinion. The dangers of runaway replication were explicitly demonstrated in Eagleton, and pairing it with nanites was an immediate one-way ticket to the Birdcage. If not instant kill-order.
He would never be allowed to pursue the concept seriously, and for good reason.
Yet for all his failure to create true nanites Colin could still operate at nanoscale via his tools.
So he forged a solution sideways.
A factory system, engineered to produce nanometric metamaterial particles. Unremarkable by themselves, fragile and harmless in isolation, but under the right emissions they locked into structures, slid like knives between atoms, and—properly energized—ripped the bonds that held matter together.
The brilliance wasn’t in the particles themselves, but in the system they were part of. A weaponized framework that could unmake matter.
This was what separated a rookie from a veteran Tinker: knowing your limits, then working around them until the result was achieved anyway.
Satisfied, Colin handed the weapon to Armiger, interrupting the boy’s attempt to replicate another batch of nano-forges.
He studied it, then shifted the grip to test the balance. The verdict came flat: “This feels… self-indulgent.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“It’s inefficient.”
Colin simply stared at the boy, silently demanding an explanation.
“I mean, why a halberd?” Armiger asked, voice flat. “With Nanothorn you don’t need momentum. You don’t need to swing at all. Contact alone is sufficient—the cloud will unmake whatever touches it. All a halberd does is reduce effective contact surface: the axe blade is shorter than the spear tip and physically blocks the rest of the head. The geometry is wasteful, making the axe-head unnecessary weight. From a functional standpoint this should be a spear for reach or a sword to minimize safe contact surfaces. Frankly, this thing doesn’t need a blade at all, and it only makes sense if you want me to have easier time projecting it. How considerate of you,” he drawled.
The weapon was effortlessly rotated by a lazy flick of the wrist.
“Overall, this is a huge step down from your usual design sensibilities,” Armiger finished.
From a functional and even mathematical standpoint—all valid criticism. Colin could admit that much, even if didn’t particularly like it.
But the reason for compromises was simple: the halberd was part of Armsmaster’s brand. Central and focal point of his image.
Colin had realized early in his career that, with his specialization, he would be married to a single weapon system. Endless iteration and refinement, yes—but always on the same platform.
Most Tinkers with the option favored ranged systems. Colin had considered it. But polling showed close-quarters combat resonated more strongly with the public. Unless you could deliver the overwhelming spectacle of Legend, the impossible versatility and raw power of Eidolon, or Hero’s charisma, ranged firepower blurred into the background.
Face-to-face combat on the other hand, blade against monster—that was the timeless image. The image that resonated.
That blade was usually a sword which, though iconic, posed integration problems. A halberd, by contrast, was a chassis: haft, head, butt, each a container for layered systems.
Although in the privacy of his own mind, Colin knew that he didn’t choose a melee weapon due to any PR research. That came much later, after he more thoroughly understood the link between publicity, image and legacy. No, Colin had simply lucked out in choosing combat methodology that let him stand out among other Tinkers.
So what Armiger called “inefficiency” was, in truth, a compromise to leverage Armsmaster’s image toward Colin’s goal in the most efficient way.
Not that a Ward who barely started his career could be expected to understand.
“Branding is important, brother.” Argent looked up from focusing on her mace. “Whether in business or on the battlefield, efficiency matters, but it isn’t the only metric. As a government-sponsored organization, the PRT doesn’t live or die on combat performance alone—it also heavily depends on public support. As such, Armsmaster’s halberd isn’t just a weapon but a core part of his image.”
Colin thumbed the haft’s access panel. Status LEDs strobed in sequence, then settled to green.
...On the other hand, Thinkers could be expected to understand.
Armiger was had a Thinker rating too, but by all accounts, his power lent itself more toward combat as well as material and system analysis.
That wasn’t to say the abnormal capability for highly efficient violence was the only peculiar thing with the boy’s mental faculties.
It was an interesting contrast. During the children’s visits to his lab, Colin had noticed that Argent’s power gave her a broad range of insight in a variety of subjects. Meanwhile, Armiger’s Thinker power was much more focused, making him outperform his sister in combat by a significant margin.
But at the same time, Argent had possessed combat expertise that couldn’t be explained as anything but Combat Thinker rating and Armiger, while not as forthcoming as his sister, had demonstrated occasional insight of his own.
In a way, their Thinker powers were inverted, which was the conclusion of the constantly updated tests results that Hannah kept sending Colin.
There were other similarities, such as their recently discovered aptitude for languages and overall level of maturity and discipline.
Hannah had once brought him a recording of one of their training spars. She was concerned about it being dangerous or harmful, and sought his opinion on the matter.
Colin had been glad she did.
It looked like Armiger noticed that the melee combat aspect of his sister’s power was inferior to his own, so he took it upon himself to correct that through training. If nothing else, Colin approved of the children’s good sense not to neglect training in favor of purely relying on their powers. Their discipline was also commendable, not least because the timestamp on the video pointed at a 5:30 AM training regime, mirroring his own.
The analysis suggested that Armiger had extensive expertise with CQC and cold weaponry, while Argent was merely competent. Admittedly, it made sense given her full range of powers, which made the girl primarily a flying artillery-type Blaster, albeit with a peculiar reliance on hardware. Even her monomolecular energy saw didn’t strictly require more skill than avoiding self-injury.
Colin had to correct Miller when Hannah sent him an email with the siblings’ files attached for review. Miller called it a monomolecular blade, but the sensors clearly picked up heating along the cut, pointing to friction at extreme levels. Hannah’s email had actually been requesting Colin’s opinion on cluster dynamics, but he wasn’t qualified to comment.
Feeding the recording into his combat-analysis software brought small but measurable results. Armiger favored full-on combat simulations; a sensible approach given their respective levels of competency—both far beyond basics. He also didn’t stick to a particular martial style, which made it surprisingly easy for the algorithm to extrapolate his broad and almost improvisational yet extremely competent range of movements into improved predictive accuracy.
Colin thanked Hannah and promised to keep an eye on the Wards’ training room—or at least set up automated monitoring to feed the siblings’ data into his software.
Meanwhile, Armiger was utterly unimpressed with his sister.
“PR?” he raised an eyebrow. “That’s the justification?”
She met his eyes, straightening her back, her tone shifting into a lecture.
“You underestimate its importance. Consider Vikare—”
“I have no idea who that is,” Armiger interrupted.
The girl made an exasperated noise. “Andrew Hawke. The first man to wear the title of superhero. Mostly because he was the first to contact the press and operate publicly.”
She stood up and folded her arms behind her back, voice brisk.
“I won’t talk about his power, because it wasn’t even important in the grand scheme of things. His presentation, on the other hand? Transformative. He was friendly, you see. Campy even. Harmless enough to be approached by journalists and smile for the cameras. Vikare gave parahumans human face. They shifted from being an enigmatic threat spoken about in hushed whispers behind closed doors to something comprehensible and a touch silly, instead of becoming terrifying and monstrous.”
Activating his work bench, Colin frowned. The interface was out of alignment. Rotating the emitter collar one notch fixed it; the diagnostic holo steadied.
He locked the collar with a quarter-turn. Torque felt correct; tolerances held.
“Without that foundational publicity, the U.S. government’s response to parahumans might have been similar to that of the communist bloc. Witch hunts, internment camps, registration… all avoided because a man with a potato sack over his head made people think ‘superheroes’ when they saw parahumans.”
“Tanya, I really don’t care—” Armiger tried to interrupt.
A futile attempt. Colin had already recognized the start of the emblematic Thinker monologue.
He had endured many such episodes from Thinkers. It was better to let them vent a bit before steering the conversation away from the volatile topic. Otherwise, you only risked agitating them further.
Argent usually kept herself in check and to the point, but it looked like she wasn’t immune to that compulsion. At the very least, it was refreshingly educational instead of self-congratulatory.
From years of experience, Colin knew it would take a while, so he had decided to use that time for finishing touches on the new stasis-field system. He would have muted external audio on his visor, isolating the bench feed and thermal map, but empirical evidence showed that to be a poor idea.
Armiger will need time to analyze the nanothorn anyway. It was Colin’s hope that it being a halberd would ease the replication process, but better safe than sorry.
“What makes it truly remarkable is the context,” Argent pressed on. “Vikare’s rise coincided with the worst possible company. King and his lunatics were butchering their way across the landscape. It could have defined the narrative. It nearly did. What saved the situation was timing. Vikare and those who imitated him created enough goodwill before the atrocities became common knowledge. That reservoir of positive perception insulated parahumans from collective punishment.”
Colin had never heard it framed that way, but in hindsight the girl was right. Parahumans had been quietly active for years while the government was still grappling with the realization that Scion’s arrival marked the beginning of a fundamental shift. No one imagined the Golden Man was only the first of many. The prevailing assumption was aliens—all eyes were turned skyward instead of toward their neighbors.
It was quite fortunate, then, that Vikare was the first to step into the public eye. The Nine wouldn’t reveal themselves for another three years, but many of them were already active in the shadows. Had events unfolded differently, the government’s policy toward parahumans could have been far harsher.
He dismissed the historical tangent and reopened the emitter diagnostics; gain drift was within margin.
The stasis driver hummed as he advanced the calibration routine by 0.1%; ripple in the field flattened.
Argent pointed her mace at the boy. “Vikare’s contribution was never measured in combat metrics. His weapon was image—and it, without exaggeration, set the course of history.”
“Well, now I know who to blame for the spandex circus,” Armiger rolled his eyes. “Curious how you didn’t give Chris the same lecture when he switched weapons.”
“Chris is a new Tinker, still coming into his own,” the girl objected. “Armsmaster, on the other hand, has been part of the core group of top Protectorate members for fifteen years. Through all that time he has kept the same overall look. Where other Tinkers constantly reinvent themselves, Armsmaster has been consistent with his image. Same armor. Same halberd. Same silhouette. That consistency sells.”
A slight push seated the cable spool into its cradle, causing the faint click that confirmed alignment.
“So what, the PRT will go bankrupt if he switches polearms? People will stop buying figurines? His name suggests mastery of many weapons,” he shot Colin a look. “Falsely, I might add.”
Colin didn’t dignify that with a reply. Time constraints dictated that specialized weapons were suboptimal when one optimized versatile system could achieve the same ends.
Argent gave her brother a reproachful look.
“Do you know what Vikare and Hero had in common?”
“Who?”
Colin could practically see the gears in the girl’s head coming to screeching halt. He could sympathize.
It was one thing to be unaware of less prominent, if accomplished, figures in the Protectorate like, say, Revel. Colin could even understand, if not appreciate, some teenager in California not recognizing him.
But Hero? It hadn’t even been that long since the Siberian Incident.
The very notion sounded... wrong.
The girl pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shirou, I’ve seen your report card. How the hell did you ace World Affairs?”
He shrugged. “We’ve got to pick our projects and assignments. Mr Nowak was only glad that someone chose to focus on foreign geopolitics instead of domestic capes.”
“Right... I’ll be sure to watch how you handle Modern History. Let me explain in detail then. I don’t want you embarrassing us in public.”
She took a breath, clearly gearing for a long explanation.
“This isn’t necessary—” the boy raised a hand, but was promptly ignored.
“Legend. Alexandria. Eidolon. Hero. What we know now as the Triumvirate was once simply called the Protectorate and had four members. They appeared right after Vikare’s untimely death, taking his public role as the forefront of the parahuman community. Each had constructed—deliberately or otherwise—image to serve a demographic vector. Legend provided normalization for marginalized groups, softening prejudice. Alexandria became the archetype of female empowerment. Eidolon embodied raw power and mystique. And Hero was the boy scout leader of the team. Flashy and ever advancing inventions, photogenic face and hopeful, uplifting attitude. Together, they commanded universal appeal, consolidating every fragment of goodwill their predecessor created.”
Colin couldn’t help but nod slightly to the girl’s words. The overall summary of events rang true. Although she had clearly got her data from public sources.
The analysis lacked certain details and context.
Hero and Legend had been the team’s public faces. The difference between them was that while Legend had looks and charisma, at the time he wasn’t what people remember today. Back then, he was lighthearted, more smiles and jokes than stirring speeches. It was only after Hero’s death that Legend grew into the role of inspiring leader—because someone had to fill the void.
The difference with the rest of the team was much starker.
Alexandria and Eidolon had been popular in their own rights and their role didn’t change, unlike Legend’s. That role, however, was that of the spiked gauntlet of the team.
Alexandria broke villains in public, brutal demonstrations meant to reassure the public that the law was still supreme. Eidolon did the same with spectacle—his powers crushing opposition so completely that speeches were unnecessary. He let his abilities speak for themselves, and the PR machine leaned into that image. In time, he became less a man than a symbol.
And who could blame the public for seeing him that way? Down-to-earth charm was impossible when footage existed of him casually reversing time on a collapsing skyscraper while simultaneously juggling a bridge.
Hero, though, had everything. Marketable strength. Natural charisma. Leadership qualities that let him outshine even his peers, not just in the public eye but within the organization itself.
Replacing that was nearly impossible. Alexandria and Eidolon already had reputations incompatible with the optics Hero embodied, and Legend had to both grow into leadership and contend with the ghost of a man no one could replace.
And, truthfully, neither Eidolon nor Alexandria were well-liked on a personal level.
“They operated as a strike force, putting out fires all over the country, but much like Vikare, their greatest impact was on the battlefield of public opinion. The original Protectorate team was a coordinated public relations offensive. Photoshoots, talk shows, charity galas, public speaking. People were awed, but the team had also made inroads with the U.S. government.”
Colin activated stasis test rig. Field uniformity held at 0.996. He noted a marginal hotspot near the anchor node.
All components should be operating within acceptable parameters, but he still wasn’t sure if overheating will be a problem with the new system. The field generator didn’t require dedicated cooling system after the latest optimization cycle, but it was better to make sure.
“Their collective image and willingness to come under the control reframed parahumans from liabilities to assets, from dangerous anomalies to lynchpins of societal order in an age when chaos had started to outpace government control. That strategy bore fruit. Within two years, Rebecca Costa-Brown inaugurated the Protectorate beneath the banner of the newly created PRT.”
“And I’m sure the ‘raw, transcendent capability’ had nothing to do with that.” Armiger commented sarcastically. “To hear you speak, photoshoots and talk shows are what make you a hero. It’s an old word, sister. The meaning hasn’t really changed with time, not in ways that matter. Be powerful enough, overcome great odds and the world will acknowledge you. If your feats are impressive enough,” he shrugged. “The Protectorate could have simply done their jobs.”
Colin gave the boy a side eye. Colin’s own thoughts on the topic roughly aligned with Armiger’s, but there was nuance. They boy’s view was reductive.
“This isn’t antiquity, Shirou. Feats alone are no longer enough to be viewed as a hero. In modern times, you can’t behave like the so-called heroes of old and expect people to recognize you as a positive force.” Argent threw up his hands. “Someone like Jason and his merry crew of pirates killed, raped and plundered across the Black Sea—and were celebrated for it, doubtlessly due to presenting a whitewashed version of events! You can’t do that in the Information Age. Imagine that headline: foreign invasion, regicide, abduction. Would anyone call them heroic?”
“Really? Out of all available examples you pick the Greeks, and Jason at that? I can’t help but feel that you are being dishonest, sister.”
“It’s a quintessential Greek epic with the highest concentration of heroes in it. What is dishonest about it?”
“You are thinking Iliad, Tanya. And Jason’s role in Argonautai is a cautionary tale about a man who may have had good intentions but was also self-absorbed, obsessed and shortsighted,” Armiger replied dryly. “Spitting in the eyes of your divine patron without a second thought and then being genuinely convinced that it was his wife who was forsaken by the Gods while she was being picked up by Sun God’s own chariot? That was a bit too much stupidity even for the Greeks. Jason was a controversial figure even in his own time.”
“Jason didn’t exist,” Tanya scoffed. “And I didn’t bring that up to debate mythology. My point is that many classical examples of heroism wouldn’t have survived in our age. Today, one’s actions are subject to media scrutiny and endless online debates that in no way aimed to determine the truth. If you go around committing feats without getting your side of the story out, people will invent it for you. And trust me, without the propaganda machine in your corner, you will doubtlessly end up a Devil.”
“One would think that modern heroism is about saving lives.”
Argent had none of it. “Vikare’s image and the Protectorate’s PR campaign did save a lot of lives. Acceptance and legitimacy of parahumans prevented a lot of unnecessary conflict in U.S., Canada, and Europe, and other second order effects besides. So I wouldn’t scoff at PR’s importance if I were you, brother.”
“Yes, well... Armsmaster’s ability to pose for cameras doesn’t require a halberd,” Armiger muttered.
“And that brings us to my initial question: what did Vikare and Hero have in common?”
Colin powered the stasis test rig again; a filament of blue light arced, then stabilized to a thin shell.
“They both died in action.”
Only when both children turned to look at him did Colin realize he had said that out loud. He shook his head. Argent had a talent for making people listen and using her voice to draw attention. Perhaps an aspect of her power—induced expertise in public speaking that is, not a Master effect—or maybe the girl had natural charisma that worked well with said expertise.
Colin had noticed that her presence in his lab wasn’t as... difficult as he would imagine with other Wards. Though maybe it was because the girl was well behaved, didn’t distract him with pointless chatter, and respected safety procedures.
“...Yes, thank you, Armsmaster” the girl said, surprised he had joined in on their discussion. He never did. “That is indeed the commonality between them,” she turned to her brother. “Vikare died over something as trivial as a football game—struck down by a hooligan. It made national headlines, but perversely, his death still produced some good PR. There was a twisted reassurance in seeing a cape go down so mundanely.”
Colin focused back on his work. The diagnostics confirmed thermal limits; the wire-spool housing chirped green. He annotated the thermal log: peak 41.3°C, acceptable.
“At a time when society hadn’t decided how to treat parahumans, the embarrassment of the public killing its own protector pushed the media to frame him as a martyr. His image, and what he represented, were cemented. And soon after, the Protectorate’s debut shifted attention away.”
He paused the routine. The lab fell back to the low, even thrum of cooling fans.
“Hero, on the other hand,” Argent’s tone cooled, “was torn apart by a deranged cannibalistic streaker.”
That was one way to describe what the media dubbed the end of the Silver Age.
“The footage attached to Case File 01 is striking. Eidolon holding bisected remains of his friend, Alexandria disfigured and bloody, Legend weeping on his knees, wondering if he has to bury two friends this day. Quite the heart wrencher, really,” she finished in a somewhat irreverent tone.
Since when did Wards have that level of clearance? Case Files weren’t restricted, but the footage required Protectorate-level permissions. There was nothing confidential, only that it was gruesome and not age appropriate.
Someone had bungled database access.
He flagged the permissions anomaly to Dragon with a silent ping and resumed the test.
Meanwhile, Armiger’s tone was flat, clinical, almost bored. “I am sure people had soon found themselves a new darling. Vikare first, Hero next... I’m sensing a pattern in your story. A performer dies on the stage, the body is dragged off, dumped and forgotten, the show gets a new star. Another replicable cog for the PR machine.”
Colin tightened the retaining ring by a single detent; the vibration signature smoothed out.
“On the contrary, it was a major PR catastrophe,” Argent countered. “Unlike how it was with Vikare, there was no positive spin to be found,” the girl waved her mace pointedly. “Siberian turned the Protectorate into a Triumvirate on her first strike—and nearly a Duumvirate on the second. This, with full PRT support and eight capes at their side? Days before Leviathan struck Naples? Public confidence shattered. High turnover was always a problem, but Hero’s death threatened the illusion of stability itself. It was extremely damaging.”
That was putting it lightly.
The Naples engagement was a disaster—among the lowest participation rates on record. Alexandria had recovered enough to attend, but everyone could see the Triumvirate were reeling. They were sloppy, reckless, practically throwing themselves at Leviathan. Alexandria nearly drowned and Legend amply demonstrated just how much punishment his Breaker form could take.
Perhaps it was the desperate need to redeem Hero’s death with a decisive victory. Perhaps it was grief, trauma, and exhaustion. Either way…
They hadn’t so much lost to Leviathan as abandoned the battle halfway through.
And three days later the country woke up to the news articles about the Fallen—or the Enders, as they called themselves then—celebrating the destruction of Naples, Hero’s death and coming End Times.
For a week, it felt as if the whole world had gone mad. Colin wasn’t sure if it had ever became sane again.
Armiger frowned. “And this relates to Armsmaster how? If anything, it just supports my side of the argument.”
“Stability,” the girl stressed. “Armsmaster is stable in his image. That, in turn, reinforces another point—that Armsmaster has survived all that time. Criminals, crises, Endbringers. In the chaotic world we live in, people crave stability. It allows public to forget the nature of this organization’s turnover rate and the general state of the world. It’s subtle but it reassures the public, it recruits new capes who see the Protectorate as stable option, it gives veterans hope for a retirement! All that worth more to the PRT’s mission than an extra percentage point of combat performance.”
She sat back on her seat with an air of exasperation. “So I would ask you not to be so dismissive of other people’s image.”
Armiger’s eyes narrowed.
“Tanya, are you still sulking over that PHO thing? Is this what it’s about?”
“I’m educating you about the importance of image, since you clearly slept through PR training.”
“They told us to act friendly and be relatable.”
“We were instructed to interact with civilians online in order to counteract any negative impression created by the footage! Not share stories about you giving fucking baths! Do you know how humiliating it was?! I never needed your help with that in the first place!”
“Personally, I think talking about giving you baths was an excellent way to break any blood-crazed image they had thought up.”
“By making me come across as childish!” Tanya hissed. “Any image of professionalism I had cultivated so far is ruined!”
“You contradict yourself, sister. If Armsmaster’s brand is ‘stability,’ then yours is ‘cute little magical girl.’ Simply think of it as me reinforcing your image. And,” he added, “ensuring no one thinks you’re stinky.”
Argent’s knuckles whitened around her mace. Colin could almost hear the sound of teeth grinding. His thoughts returned their profiles, to the access-restricted sections about potential cluster dynamics and emotional instability.
Personally, he just didn’t see it. The analytical software painted them as extremely composed and controlled individuals. In Colin’s opinion, that was exactly what made them so lethal in a fight. Armiger more so than the girl, but hers was a calculated anger, channeled exactly how she wanted it to. Of course, that software was geared for combat analysis first, but Colin still found it difficult to believe she was prone to violence over some embarrassment. No, if those two killed someone, there would be no ‘in the heat of passion’ verdict.
Finishing diagnostics, Colin closed the chassis.
“Anyway, thank you for the wholly unnecessary history lesson.” Armiger said dryly, ignoring his sister’s rage. “But counterpoint: none of what you’ve said justifies compromising the design of an anti-Endbringer weapon.”
Argent’s anger fizzled as she blinked in confusion and turned to Colin.
“You can tell?” he asked the boy.
Come to think about it, he had never told Armiger the name ‘nanothorn’ either.
“Was I not supposed to?” he gave Colin a skeptical look. “It’s written into the halberd’s purpose. And forget the halberd—why make it a melee weapon at all? Why not a projectile?”
Because Colin intended to fight Leviathan up close.
“It isn’t that simple,” he said instead. “Nanothorn’s effect scales with dwell time and field containment, not impact energy; a close platform guarantees both.”
That much was true, at least. It might not matter against a soft target, but Endbringers were anything but.
“Another reason: Endbringers aren’t mindless. If they recognize existential threat, they may flee from battle. I have prepared the necessary countermeasures,” Colin lifted the halberd he was working on for the boy to see, ”but they’re of limited range. And that’s only one problem if what you have in mind is sniping them from afar. Not to mention how those projectiles would have to be at the Endbringer scale. They will most likely not fit into a handheld firing solution.”
That wasn’t even accounting for mobility such a system would need in order to be an effective combat asset. A slow or stationary platform firing nanothorn rounds would simply be destroyed.
In theory, there was an option of some kind of spinal-mounted gun on top of a dragoncraft, if Colin could design something that wouldn’t be shredded on the first shot. Or compromised by the firing mechanism, because the current iteration of nanothorn system was still somewhat delicate.
But the victory wouldn’t belong solely to Colin.
No. The halberd was sufficient. Close-quarters engagement remained the optimal solution, for many reasons. It was dangerous, yes—but it was his.
“Are you able to replicate it?” Colin’s tone brooked no other questions from the boy.
“I have been able to the moment I saw it,” Armiger materialized a replica and tossed to Colin, before pointing at the larger halberd Colin had been working on. “That one however—" an identical copy appeared in the boy’s hand. A wire shot from the weapon, piercing the pristine floor of his lab.
Colin sent him an unamused glare.
Completely ignoring it, Armiger shook the weapon, making the wire wobble, before retracting it back inside. “I am not sure what these things are supposed to do, but I am unable to project all the parts around them properly.”
“It’s a containment system. I used scans from Clockblocker to replicate the effects of his power. Its function is to trap the target with time-locked wires.”
“Whatever it does, it doesn’t even read like machinery. In fact, I am not sure it’s functional. What I get from the original is the same jumbled mess as Chris’ weapons. Or at least their power source. I can analyze everything else just fine, and simply isolate the offending part from the rest of the projection, since it’s not integral to the main function. But the point stands that this is an imperfect copy.”
It was unfortunate, but a minor inconvenience, all things considered. Still, what was the unifying factor? So far, the boy hadn’t had problems replicating his tech, even if the majority required time for his touch-base analysis. Colin hadn’t been keeping in touch with Kid Win’s projects for some time now, forwarding them to the evaluation board instead. But if he remembered correctly, his gun was constructed using scans of Dauntless’ power.
Why would that be a limitation? It’s not like the tech was fundamentally different from any other, the other capes’ power simply serving as inspirational avenue for new systems.
Colin decided to put that issue in the box for now.
Replication of one iteration was irrelevant. It wouldn’t have been relevant even if Armiger had failed to replicate nanothorn.
Armiger’s true contribution to the project was time. By taking over upkeep of Colin’s primary weapon system, the boy freed countless hours. More importantly, he could replicate multiple functional copies of the miniature nano-forge, multiplying production capacity for the metamaterial.
Multiple production lines and compounding throughput gave Colin enough time to work out the issue with stasis-field system. If there was a need at all. He could simply leave the original in the lab, waiting for the next Endbringer attack. Meanwhile, the replicas would suffice for the day-to-day.
Yes, that was the superior option. Completion of the nanothorn project was a major breakthrough, but he had dedicated the majority of his lab hours for it. Between the nanothorn and the repairs to his motorcycle, a lot of projects fell to the wayside. The anti-brute tranquilizer was thankfully ready for deployment, but the lie-detector still couldn’t read anyone but Colin and Dragon reliably.
Argent kept looking at Colin. “Do you truly believe this weapon can kill Endbringers?”
“I’m certain,” Colin replied.
“I’m not,” Armiger countered. “As it is, you can maybe kill Leviathan. How are you even going to reach Behemoth past his killing field? Simurgh levitates. I don’t remember you having any flight system.”
Colin’s reply was precise. “Leviathan is next in rotation. If nanothorn succeeds, I will design contingencies for the others.”
And by then, it would be irrelevant. Whether through partnership with Dragon or coordination with other Tinkers, the truth would remain: he would be first. The man who proved Endbringers could be slain.
Legacy secured.
Comments
HeroOfTime4298
I can’t wait for the next chapter
Äsphëërä
Rule Breaker could theoretically sever the connection between the Endbringer's control of their body, but he's not Medea and most author's forget that weapon exist.
Jai Aery
I’m not sure does have something to kill one like Excalibur, but he does he have anything else and also I wonder if you’re gonna generally start to like them but because he’s him cause their relationship to be permanently damaged for a long time
