I let the world melt around me as I magically retreat inward. August and Autumn's opposite but aligned complaints are chalk in the rain. Ember's quiet, self-soothing purring is simply white noise. I allow myself to exist in my own body. My own impossible body, with a scarred and still heart. Steel intrudes into the ecosystem, but flesh has grown around and attached to it, and mana flows between the two seamlessly. There are ugly, invasive tumors littered throughout my body, collecting and bursting with mana. I feel light headed as the mana I search with interacts with them. They haven’t been as bad, since the enchanted limbs were attached. The various new piercings are helping as well. But all of these simply prevent the negative effects of the cancer. They keep it from growing and keep me alive.
None of them, on their own, actually remove the tumors. The arena’s nexus healing and my own efforts are the only thing that does that. But, magical as they are, they are stubborn. They aren’t what I am here for, however. They are the primary obstacle to today's goal, but they are now under control enough that I don’t have to spend my time on them. I hardly even feel like dried out fish skin draped over a clothes line now, which means I can begin changing my body again. I am also just about as conspicuous as can be already, so more obvious changes aren’t as dangerous as they once were. I just need to decide on what I need to change. What I need to do is kill sages. Divine magic makes that tough, but I know how to fight that. Poison and venom. It’s how I have killed most users of divine magic so far.
Job one is improving on that. Or rather, creating more expedient delivery methods for said poisons. As much as I like biting people, who doesn’t, it’s a bit of an unruly way to fight. More of an ambush predator behavior. What I’d really like is projectiles. Any would work really, but poisonous projectiles would be ideal. Unfortunately, I am not a goddess of creation. I can’t create new genetic designs from scratch. I am also not Sarafyna, so I can’t just kind of soup into whatever shape I need. Every change I make, I have to base off of something I studied directly in my past life, or something I can send mana into and study now. This limits me in a few ways. For one, my memory is not flawless and genetic makeup is complex. I can only model changes after a general understanding I remember, and I have to adapt it to my human DNA. I can also only make changes that actually exist. Or at least, changes which are close to something real with some adjustments.
My blood and sweat is like this. I can change the activating proteins and the method of storing venom. But I didn’t invent either the sweat nor the poison in my blood. Evolution, asshole that it is, did not produce a whole lot of organic projectiles. They are limited in quantity, hard to replace quickly, and just unlikely to persist through natural selection. Conditions for them are rare, and not consistent. X-Men apparently got this aspect of evolution wrong, despite its otherwise flawless science. It’s pretty fucked up, if you ask me. This has narrowed me down to two options. Spitting venom, and venomous claws. Something like a spitting cobra or a platypus. Or a scorpion, maybe. I can probably grow claws from my surviving hand that carries my own special venom. Not exactly like any of these animals but using all of them as a basis.
Both have drawbacks. The claws are an upgrade from the fangs, which were an upgrade from the blood delivery. I can more reliably use them in combat, especially combat I don’t initiate. I can also dip my axe and the claws of my right glove in venom, but that will only work so many times in a row and I have to be planning to use it. I am currently trying not to kill most people I am fighting so that’s a no go. It remains only a minor upgrade, however. It is also the more obvious of the two. I have a couple more personal complaints as well, but they aren’t a priority.
Then there is spitting venom. Something I considered way back when I was creating my fangs. At the time, I rejected it for a couple reasons. It’s simply not effective enough, against a divine mage, when it is only skin contact. I needed the poison in their veins somehow. Even my touch activated poison required ingestion first. If I want more than that, I need to spit not just venom, but acid. Something corrosive. On one hand, this would be even more effective at using up a sage's nexus energy. On the other hand, producing, storing, and spitting straight venomous acid requires a good number of secondary changes to be safe. Otherwise I’ll just end up killing myself. It will also take a lot longer, and it won’t extend my range all that much. I can hock a loogie with the best of them, but you can only organically propel liquid so far.
All of this in mind, I decide to start with claws. Sorry, Sara. I’ll see if I can make them retractable, at least. I can add spitting venom later, which will at least be another flawed tool on my belt. Claws are the easier change in the shortest time. I’m an old hat at this by now, and my mana courses through my body, making little alterations at my command. It’s too slow. I need to be ready to kill the next sage I fight and that could happen any day. The way I’ve been doing things isn’t going to cut it. For what must be the millionth time, I curse that Sara’s magic doesn’t work on me for some reason. I mean it works, she can heal me, but she has consistently failed to help with my alterations. Divine magic is kind of a finicky little shit. Like most of its users, I guess. Every one I’ve met excepting Sarafyna who is of course a perfect, sexy angel who can do no wrong. In any case, it doesn’t work for me, which means pure mana is my only shot.
It doesn’t help that not all of my limbs are organic anymore. I pulse mana through my body, but whenever they pass through the steel limbs I have to change its nature so I don’t fuck with them while modifying the rest. It slows me down, at first. Then I remember my fight with Turner. I remember how quickly the spell materialized, shocking even me. The way my right arm accumulated mana like a hard drive, constantly moving back and forth between my tumors and the enchanted steel. Every pass carried more power, and it happened so quickly. Bouncing back and forth more times than I could count in a second and creating the spell I’d visualized with much greater power and speed than I’d intended. That had been an external spell, rather than internal work, but I wonder.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
As soon as the thought even occurs to me, I start cycling my mana back and forth between the tumors and the artificial limbs again. Again it accelerates, moving through my body far faster than usual. Well. This is probably a shitty idea. As the mana circulates, I start picturing the changes I want in my left arm. It only feels a little like I fired thousands of needles through my blood veins which all exploded from my flesh as soon as they reached my forearm. Only a little agonizing beyond belief. Christ, I need to figure out a better way to test this shit. The ‘I’m just gonna send it’ method is not serving me well.
I do manage to keep my mouth shut and hold the scream in. As far as Ember knows, I am still just meditating. And as far as I know, I am peeling my one remaining arm off one fiber at a time. My entire body flexes, tensing up and exhausting me with each rapid wave of mana through my body. But I push through, because it is working. I can feel it working, in real time. The keratin forms inside my fingertips, sharp, thick, and hollow. It grows and merges with my nails and skin, making them sharper and sturdier. New oval glands begin to build in my forearm, storage for the venom I intend to fill the claws with. It feels like eternity, tearing apart and rebuilding my body. The mana moves to my tumors, to my piercings and limbs, and to my tumors again. Two obstacles. Two losses. The enchantment used to stop mana from gathering in my cancer is now making me stronger. Faster.
I am already halfway done with my new claws. Almost ready to start producing venom in them. This much progress should have taken weeks. Maybe months. But I have gotten to this point in . . . how long has it been? A hand lands on my shoulder, startling me and forcing me back to the conscious world. Autumn and Ember are both staring at me and I am taking in deep, desperate breaths like I’ve just finished a marathon.
“What’s happening, why are you sweating so much? Are you alright?” Autumn asks. I realize she’s right. My clothes are soaked through with sweat. My hair is matted to my face and head. My tattoos are rough with the line work elevating itself from my skin like it does when I am sick.
“Are you ever getting up? Don’t you have more matches today? Or are you taking a day off already?” Ember asks. I look at both of them in confusion, failing to process the morning light shining through the window and across their faces. A moment later, my face pales. I feel like I spent the night on a medieval torture rack. All of my muscles are sore and overworked, and I’m exhausted. I don’t need much sleep these days. More since entering a land with no grief I didn’t bring with me, but still not much. Any sleep at all is usually enough to avoid this level of exhaustion. And it is morning. I have been up all night. The entire night, forcing my body to take on a new design. I look at my left hand as sweat runs down the black and purple tattoos covering the arm. My nails are thick. Sharper. With a thought, no more complex than the signal to wiggle a finger, the points recede, leaving the tips of my fingers more round. The claws themselves still extend further to the side than my nails used to, leaving them rougher and less human than they had been the night before.
All night. Fuck. I need to hurry. “How long until the match?” I ask, urgency settling on me like sunbeams.
“Not long. If you leave now you’ll barely have time to make it,” Autumn answers.
“Shit, no time to change or get any rest,” I lament. Historically going into battle while exhausted hasn’t been my wisest move. But I’ve got more mana and have slept more recently than when I failed to save Henry as a kid. But thinking of that fails to reassure me that things will be fine, as thinking of Henry never does. Still. I have no choice. If I want my deal with Markus to hold up, I need to make it to all my fights.
“Maybe the stench will stop people from attacking you,” Ember prods.
“If the sound of your voice doesn’t work for you, the smell of my clothes won’t work for me,” I quip. “I need to go. Thanks for waking me up, Autumn.”
“Wait,” Autumn stops me, grabbing my sore arm and causing me to wince. This is not lost on her, and the pain is clear on my face. “Wait, what's wrong, why did that hurt?” I give her a pained smile.
“Last night I made some choices. Decisions, if you will. I’m paying the price for them a little, that’s all,” I answer. Her face sours.
“You didn’t . . .” she trails off, more concern than irritation in her voice. I pick up on the implied question and shake my head.
“Not that kind of decision,” I reassure. I hold my hand up for her, extending my half finished claws a little. “Just working on some new weapons. Did more than I should have too quickly.” Her eyes flick to my hand, grimacing a little, but she nods.
“Alright, “ she responds with relief, the edge returning to her voice a moment later. “Lily. Fight like people are counting on you today, alright?” I freeze at this, feeling more vulnerable than I’d like, and her eyes dig into me with claws of their own. Finally, I give her a small nod.
“Alright, Autumn. I’ll try,” I promise quietly. Then I speak more loudly to indicate I am addressing the entire room. I feel uncomfortable with Autumn’s serious tone and want to diffuse a little tension. A jab from Ember will do that. “Wish me luck. Pray for me as usual, Ember,” I tease. The cat woman rolls her eyes.
“I told you, we don’t have anyone to pray to where I’m from,” she dismisses.
“I remember. But it’s your love and concern that counts, right? Your prayers will reach me,” I retort.
“Oh fuck off,” Ember groans, looking away from me out the window.
“Right. Well, I wouldn't want to spoil such warm words by staying until they grow stale,” I agree, then rush out the door. Maybe if I’m quick enough I can stop by the infirmary and handle the aching and fatigue a bit.
What do you think will be better in the long run?
