– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 220, Season of the Rising Sun, Day 28 –

  “Alright, my young student, time to get cracking.” Swen rolled his arms before pausing with a frown. “Unfortunately, not really. We have to start with the boring stuff, which means I’m going to miss my bloody workout, so you better work hard.” He yawned. “Can’t be helped. Walking in the Court without knowing how to deal with presence is simply asking to be squished by the leeches.”

  Swen sighed and continued in a grumble. “Mana be damned, we’ll have to find a way to mix this with body workouts. If I can’t get cracking properly, I don’t earn my cheat days, and the food is about the only good thing about this cursed madhouse.”

  Swen rubbed his bald head as if he was itchy and groaned. “FUCK IT. Can’t be helped. Delays. Delays. Always delaying.” He sharply exhaled and looked at Terry’s befuddled face. “Don’t mind me. It’s just. You’re not who I was expecting. You’re my first hope to make some real headway, but this is doomed to become a long-term project.”

  Terry swallowed. When a millenia-old vampire talks of ‘long-term’ projects, he couldn’t help but feel queasy in his stomach.

  Come on! Tell the Faithless Saint, you have other things planned! Tell him you’d like to see your friends and family before they’ve all turned into great-great-great-great… something grandparents.

  See your parents before their shared lifespan runs out…

  Should have thought of that before leaving your realm!

  Tell the only hero of a bygone era, you’re not ready for this. Tell the person, who spent nearly his entire life fighting for the realm while everyone he knew must have died by now. Tell that person you can’t bear the thought of not seeing your family again.

  Tell him! I’m sure that will go over well.

  “Even the fresh god arrivals take forever to learn to deal with presence,” continued Swen. He clicked his tongue and shrugged with one arm. “Most new arrivals also don’t last very long. Could be related.”

  Swen clapped his hands. “Anyway, here’s the thing. Observe.” The bald elf moved his mana intentionally slowly.

  Terry could feel the suffocating feeling return slowly.

  “It’s easier to observe than to explain,” said Swen. “This is using your mana to create presence. The principle behind using it offensively is similar to using it defensively, only the direction is different. For pressuring someone, you throw it out. For defending, you’ll have to shield yourself. We’ll try to get the basics down today. The rest is practice. Don’t beat yourself up if it takes a few years. Just listen and observe while I…”

  The Blasphemer continued his explanations, but Terry’s mind was drifting off. It wasn’t that the explanations were bad, but that this looked and felt… strangely… familiar?

  It didn’t look quite like bursting where the mana user actively took control to move mana more quickly with the goal of pressing more mana into his channels and making more available for casting and absorption by the body.

  It didn’t look quite like flaring mana, either. Mana flaring was harmless and mostly done as a way to demonstrate your mana throughput and pool as a form of intimidation or a means of directing attention.

  But still.

  It felt familiar in strange ways.

  It didn’t take long for Terry to think of his aunt Sigille.

  It only took another moment to remember the Divine Hammer when she was angry outside of battle.

  Terry recalled the time Cadence had joined their team. When Sigille had snubbed the channeler for opening her mind to otherrealm influence. When Cadence had tried to deflect the accusation to Matteo and his elemental possession…

  When the Divine Hammer had suddenly appeared so much taller than the dwarven woman had any right to be.

  That wasn’t mana flaring, was it?

  That sensation also couldn’t have been normal mana suffocation like from discharges. It definitely wasn’t like anything I’m using. Sigille didn’t have a mana bubble to drown others in her naturalized mana without a dedicated discharge.

  She also couldn’t have pulled at others’ mana from a distance. Her external mana control impairment would not have allowed anything like that.

  Even so, the Divine Hammer had managed to create a sensation eerily similar to what literal gods were using as their favored intimidation probe.

  Something to do with internal mana control then?

  But…

  “Divine hammer,” muttered Terry.

  Couldn’t be…

  Could it?

  For the first time, Terry questioned the origins of the inscription’s name. He knew divine mana as the intersection between light and metal, so the inscription’s title had always seemed a pretty literal description.

  But what if there was another layer to it?

  The divine hammer inscription was infamous for being difficult to learn, because, even among general-purpose inscriptions, its targeting stood out as strangely different.

  Different in a way that made it hard to learn for even the best mage with exquisite external mana control.

  Different in a way that made it possible to wield at range even by someone like Sigille, who had extreme problems with external mana control.

  Terry recalled his time in the Freedom’s Cooperative when he had adjusted the way he utilized the divine hammer inscription. He had found his own way for wielding it, but he was aware that his past way had been wasteful.

  Just like his days of early spellwork, Terry had subconsciously relied on his exquisite external mana control to readjust the mana after release when the real trick was to perfectly release it in the first place.

  Terry had polished his technique since then. Even though efficiency had only been one of the aspects he had to practice, he had made large strides already.

  As if a flip had been switched in his brain, Terry began wielding his own mana like he would the divine hammer inscription. His mana rushed out of his pool and forward to collide at just the location where he wanted it to.

  A barrier of colliding mana appeared around Terry’s body and the feeling of pressure was lifted.

  Swen’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What the…?”

  Mana collided onto itself right around the Blasphemer.

  “Did you just use presence on me?” Swen furrowed his brow with mouth half-agape.

  Terry exhaled a sharp breath. He was thrilled he had managed to shock a Faithless Saint. More importantly, this ‘presence’ thing was another tool for him to use.

  A tool that didn’t require a specific aspect to work.

  A tool that perfectly matched his skillset. Skills he had been practicing his entire life. From mana foundation, to his ranged disruption fields, and all the way to the divine hammer inscription.

  “How am I doing?” Terry grinned.

  “How you’re…?” Swen scrunched up his face before recomposing himself. “Not bad. It’s crude still, but we can sort that out no problem. Perhaps we can get a proper workout after all!”

  Terry’s soulsight caught a flicker in the Blasphemer’s reaction that matched a brief flicker in his expression. If it hadn’t been for the soul flicker, Terry might have missed the slight and momentary shift in Swen’s expression.

  If it had only been the soul flicker, Terry would not have been able to make anything of it. Combined, however, Terry got a distinct impression from the Faithless Saint.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Wait, there’s something you don’t like about this, what is it?” asked Terry. “Something beyond my presence use being crude.”

  “What, you’re a mind-reader, too?!” barked Swen. “Inside these chambers, it’s not forbidden, but even so, mind-readers aren’t liked around here, or anywhere really, you—”

  “No, I’m not,” interrupted Terry. “I just saw you giving me a suspicious look. I didn’t have to say anything, but I’d like to know what’s going on.”

  “What’s going on is that you claim to be a mortal from home,” growled Swen. “A mortal that has never heard about presence, but then you master it on your first try? Crude or not, that’s bullshit! That smells like parasite bullshit. I’m desperate enough to give you a chance, but don’t think I’m going to miss any red flags waving at me. I don’t know what games the parasites are playing, but I swear if you’re in any way involved in—”

  “Just stop it,” snapped Terry in an exasperated tone. He was getting a headache, but he couldn’t blame the Faithless Saint for being paranoid after spending a millenia around hostile gods. “I get it. If I was you, I’d be suspicious, too.” He sighed. “I told you about my abilities, but perhaps it makes more sense for me to show you to understand what’s going on…”

  Terry told Swen the details about his skillset again, but with a different emphasis this time. He stressed his struggle to find a suitable spell.

  His focus on mana foundational training.

  His use of disruption discharges in different variants.

  His years of stretching his reach for casting and reclaiming mana.

  His divine hammer inscription and the different ways to wield it.

  Terry also explained his background with Sigille. Explained how his famous aunt served as inspiration far beyond her particular way of wielding the inscription.

  Before Terry knew it, he was the one sounding nostalgic while talking about the Divine Hammer.

  About what she had meant to him, to Matteo, to all those the dwarf had helped and saved throughout her life.

  About Sigille’s stance on cultists and her first interaction with Cadence that reminded Terry of presence.

  About Sigille facing off against the Divine Division in Syn City and how everything had played out with Bright Willow’s faction in the Libra Outpost.

  “Sounds like a good dwarf to have around,” said Swen eventually. “Always the good ones that die first, unfortunately.”

  Terry couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. That statement was strangely self-deprecating when coming from the oldest person he had ever met.

  “Okay, Mister Presence Prodigy, I’ll let it rest,” continued Swen. “For now, at least. You have to understand that you wouldn’t be the first non-obvious cultist walking around.”

  Terry thought of Alrik’s mother, who hadn’t even had a channeling anchor to mark her as an otherrealm worshipper.

  From his talks with the Blasphemer, he also understood some of the reasons the gods sometimes encouraged unmarked mages to exist.

  The gods had their own limits for how quickly they could incorporate new members into their faith. A limit to how many new souls they could link to their own. It was another explanation for why channelers only gradually gained access to their gods’ powers.

  The gods were always wary of unmarked magic users, but sometimes they couldn’t help but rely on it. In cases like the deathblood plague, when endless mana cursed invaded from the Deep, even the Twin-Gods of Death could get desperate enough to encourage unmarked mages to improve their craft.

  “I have trouble believing someone with a face as twitchy as yours could be a spy, but I’ve been wrong before,” said Swen with a conflicted expression.

  ‘Twitchy’?

  A Faithless Saint thinks I’m a weirdo.

  Great…

  Terry could only smile wryly.

  ***

  “Alright, this is the physical exercise pit,” said Swen. “Today’s just an introduction to the pain for gain. There’s not enough time for a proper workout, but we can at least get you started on letting some of that squishy weakness leave your body.”

  Terry stared at the assortment of faith-using folks pumping iron and using all sorts of contraptions.

  “This pit is the only worthwhile place in this entire hell-hole,” said Swen with satisfaction. “Besides the Court’s arena, of course. If you have the credits, this place can shape your body into something a little less pathetic.”

  Oy!

  Terry held back his complaint. No one had ever called his body pathetic. He knew for a fact his physique would pass for a warrior with twice his years in training.

  Which, by the standards of an ancient vampire training amongst gods for a millenia might, in fact, be considered pathetic.

  Terry had to admit the prospect of fighting literal gods up close absolutely made him feel pathetically unprepared.

  I’m sure the Blasphemer has a plan…

  I’m just not sure if whatever plan he has accounts for… well, me.

  The Blasphemer probably expected an army. A next generation of Faithless Saints. Instead, he got… me.

  I’m so sorry.

  Terry swallowed and followed Swen across the area.

  “Today we’re just seeing how you hold up,” said Swen. “You know.” He smiled. “A starting point. Feel the burn until your body’s giving up and then some.” His smile turned oddly mirthless. “When the pain is getting real and you have to fucking kill that bitch!”

  Terry had never seen such a smile before, but something about it scratched at the back of his memories again.

  After a few hours of training, without a break, and with Swen progressively upping the ante and mercilessly leading him to different devices, Terry thought he knew what the Blasphemer’s expression reminded him of.

  The strange glint that had sometimes entered Sigille’s eyes during our direct instruction sessions…

  It was at this moment, Terry knew he was in for a world of pain, but he also knew the pain would be worth it. He gritted his teeth and asked for more weights.

  According to Swen, pain is just squishy weakness leaving my pathetic body, anyway.

  ***

  “Okay, I get what you’re getting at,” said Swen. “If your blood age is accurate, then your mana pool and regeneration is ridiculous.” He rubbed his chin. “There’s a device that could allow your body to age faster during training, and we could also get some mana supplements to keep you filled up, but…”

  Swen shook his head. “You’re not ready. So far, we’ve been training among my buddies. As far as faith parasites can be buddies, anyway. These dinguses are harmless, but the more interesting training areas are a different topic.”

  Swen looked Terry up and down. “You’ve picked presence mastery up rapidly, but not sure that’s enough. We should have you first handle your own defence in public for a while. If you think you can handle that, then we can give it a try.”

  “Please,” said Terry. He knew it was taking a risk, but while the strange devices created by the construction-oriented gods were literally doing wonders, he still felt lacking.

  Probably because you’re comparing yourself to gods. That seems unhealthy for anyone’s self-esteem.

  “Well, you did pick up presence mastery at a ridiculous rate, so we just have to see how you deal with the stress that comes with someone else pressuring you,” said Swen. He slapped Terry on the shoulder. “Chin up. I’m sure it will be fine. You’re my star student!” He removed his hand and shrugged. “Then again, you’re the first student I ever taught, so meh.”

  Not helping.

  “Just pay attention in the pit,” continued Swen. “I don’t want you to choke yourself because some dingus throws his presence around when we’re training.”

  ***

  Terry opened his mouth. “But—?”

  “No, my sweet summer child, I already told you, there’s nothing like that.” Swen cut him off. “I’ve literally never heard of anyone using liquid mana in their channels. God or not. Plenty of options to make mana feel as smooth as liquid, but actually liquid? Nope. Ixnay. Absolutely unheard of. Not even Day ever claimed shit like this. I don’t know where you heard such hare-brained bollocks.”

  Terry scrunched up his face. “I’m telling you, I haven’t just heard of it. I’ve experienced it!”

  “Sure, buddy,” said Swen patronizingly. “You insisting that it happened while acting as a, and I quote, ‘dungeon defender’, just makes it sound even more like bollocks if you ask me. The more you insist, the more I wonder if there are any dungeons in our home, because you begin to sound like a raving lunatic.”

  Terry sighed exasperatedly. The reverence he had held for the Faithless Saint had quickly worn off over the past two weeks.

  It could be the sheer endless barrage of swearwords and profanity incessantly leaving the Blasphemer’s mouth in public.

  It could be the physical pits and all the pain Terry had started associating with the workout-aholic vampire.

  Or it could be the endless condescension that could only come from someone more than a hundred times your own age.

  Terry reminded himself that there were no dungeons when the Blasphemer had left his realm. Reminded himself that it was probably hard for such an ancient being to believe there was anything out there that he hadn’t seen before.

  Screw this.

  Terry’s own offstandish side got the better of him. He crossed his arms while he began shaping his honeycomb sphere and pressing mana into it.

  “What are you playing at?” Swen narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

  Terry guided his mana and applied uniform pressure. He had never gotten the chance to truly perfect the process, but he had gotten good enough to only need a few tries to create what he wanted to show.

  A single drop of liquid mana floated up from the dispersing liquifying refractor.

  Terry held the Blasphemer’s gaze while he pointedly floated the drop in front of the patronizing geezer’s eyes where it wiggled tauntingly.

  “Quite the unimpressive circus trick,” scoffed Swen. “Look, I’ve never said liquifying mana was unheard of. If that’s what you’re interested in, then sure, I can point out a few things around here. However, that’s an entirely different topic than using liquid mana through your mana channels. Not my fault, you’re not expressing yourself correctly.”

  Terry’s eye twitched. He didn’t know why but he was picturing Apex when she was close to blowing a fuse.

  Nope, I won’t strangle him. I can’t strangle a Faithless Saint. No matter how much the condescending little— stop it.

  Down with you, martialist temper. Down! I’m not succumbing to martialist disease. Not here. Not now.

  Wait, not ever! If I can help it…

  Terry took a deep breath. He gave up trying to explain himself to the ancient archmage. If the Blasphemer could point him to a few more inspirations for liquifying mana in general, then that would already help.

  There was no need to insist on convincing the stubborn old bat.

  In the end, Terry already had enough on his plate as it was. The Faithless Saint’s training regime was anything but relaxed, and it came on top of whatever Terry wanted to practice himself.

  The sooner I get to an acceptable level, the sooner I can get involved in the fight.

  A corner of Terry’s mind wondered if he was looking forward to help or just to vent his frustrations on some unsuspecting faith-parasite.

  Terry didn’t care to dwell on that thought.

  ***