Chapter Five
The dream was nice. Siurad was back in his apartment. The air conditioner was humming, a fresh pepperoni pizza was steaming on the desk, and he was one click away from the platinum trophy in Cassalia.
Then, the air conditioner broke. Or rather, it turned into a blizzard.
Siurad shivered in his sleep, curling tight under the thin, scratchy wool blanket of the Boar’s Den. The temperature in the room plummeted. His breath puffed out in white clouds. Frost began to creep across the wooden headboard.
Then came the touch.
It wasn't a hand. It was thin, spindly, and cold. It brushed against his cheek. It skittered across his upper lip. It tickled the tip of his nose with the distinct, hairy precision of an arachnid leg.
Siurad’s eyes snapped open.
"SPIDER!"
He flailed, slapping himself in the face with a frantic, uncoordinated hand. He scrambled backward, tangling his legs in the sheets, and fell off the bed with a loud THUMP.
"Shadow Spike it!" Siurad screamed at the empty air, scrambling for a weapon that wasn't there. "Obi! Kill it! It's on my face!"
The room was silent. There was no spider.
There was only a single, thin tendril of shadow hovering in the air where his head had been. It gave a little wiggle, almost a wave, before dissolving back into the ring.
'...INCORRECT,' Obi’s voice pulsed, cool and amused. '...IT IS NOT AN ARACHNID. IT IS DAWN.'
Siurad sat on the freezing floor, clutching his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the frost on the bedpost. He looked at the Ring.
"You..." Siurad wheezed. "You made a shadow thing... just to scare me?"
'...FEAR IS A STIMULANT,' Obi lectured. '...ADRENALINE IS EFFICIENT. YOU ARE AWAKE. THE METHOD WAS SUCCESSFUL.'
"I hate you," Siurad groaned, rubbing his bruised elbow. "I hate you so much. I could have had a heart attack. Then where would you be? Stuck on a corpse in a Motel 6."
'...THEN I WOULD FIND A VESSEL WHO DOES NOT SCREAM AT DUST,' Obi retorted. '...GET UP. THE SUN HAS NOT RISEN. WE HAVE ONE HOUR BEFORE YOUR SHIFT.'
Siurad dragged himself up. The room was freezing, Obi’s presence pressed close.
"It's too early," Siurad complained, reaching for his boots. He winced as he pulled them on; his toes were still tender from yesterday. "And it's freezing. Can't we just do mental drills? Visualization?"
'...THE BODY MUST LEARN,' Obi commanded. '...LYSANDER CALCULATED THAT MUSCLE MEMORY DEGRADES WITHOUT REPETITION. MOVE.'
"Fine," Siurad muttered, grabbing his hoodie. "But if I see a real spider, you're killing it. No arguments about mana efficiency."
'...IF IT IS LARGE ENOUGH TO POSE A THREAT, I WILL CONSIDER IT.'
"Great. Thanks."
Siurad opened the door and stepped out into the dark, misty morning of Pine Haven, grumbling about sadistic jewelry the entire way.
The walk to the clearing was quiet in a way that felt unnatural.
Usually, the dawn chorus of Pine Haven involved birds, wind, and the distant barking of dogs. But around Siurad, the world was mute. The mist didn't drift; it hung suspended, terrified to move. The cold radiating from the Ring created a buffer zone of silence that followed them through the wet grass behind the stables.
They reached a small, enclosed paddock surrounded by rotting fence posts. The ground was a slurry of mud and straw.
"Eerie," Siurad muttered, his breath pluming in the chill.
'…THE WORLD IS LISTENING,' Obi corrected, the ring pulsing a faint violet. '...IT RECOGNIZES THE AUTHORITY. NOW STAND STILL.'
Siurad stood in the center of the mud. He felt ridiculous a grown man in a too small shirt fighting hypothermia in a horse paddock, waiting for a magic lesson from jewelry.
'...LESSON ONE,' Obi droned. '...WHAT IS YOURS, AND WHAT IS MINE.' '...YOU HAVE MANA. EVERY MEAT SACK IN THIS WORLD DOES. IT IS BLOOD'S QUIETER COUSIN, A BIOLOGICAL TRICKLE. ON ITS OWN IT COULD WARM A CUP OF TEA. IT IS NOT POWER. IT IS WIRING.'
"So….mana bar," Siurad said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Resource management. Got it."
'...IF THAT CRUDE LITTLE PICTURE LETS YOUR MIND HOLD STILL, KEEP IT. THE HEDGE WIZARDS BELIEVE THE WIRE IS THE MAGIC. THEY SPEND THEIR LIVES SHAPING IT. THEY ARE CHILDREN PROUD OF A PUDDLE.'
'...YOU WILL NOT SHAPE YOUR MANA INTO ANYTHING. YOU WILL PUSH IT, DOWN YOUR ARM, INTO THE RING, AND USE IT AS THE ROAD THE VOID WILL TRAVEL. THAT IS ALL IT IS. THE ROAD.'
"And you're the traffic," Siurad muttered.
'...I AM THE VOID.' The Ring pulsed harder; a wave of heavy, dark pressure rolled over Siurad.
'...I AM NOT A POOL YOU DIP FROM. YOUR MANA IS THE THREAD THAT REACHES ME. I AM WHAT COMES BACK DOWN IT.'
'...PUSH TOO HARD AND THE THREAD BURNS. THE WIRE MELTS. YOU BECOME ASH. I AM THE VALVE.'
"Don't redline the engine," Siurad summarized, sweating despite the cold. "Got it. You hold the throttle."
'...NOW. OPEN THE VOID, MAKE REALITY BEND TO YOUR WHIM, USE THE SHADOWS,' Obi commanded.
“Open the void and make what exactly?”
'...YOUR WILL,' Obi lectured. '...THE SHADOW IS YOUR TRAINING WHEEL, USE IT TO SHAPE REALITY, THE VOID….YOU WILL OPEN IT, AND INFORM REALITY THAT SOMETHING SOLID IS THERE NOW. REALITY IS SLOW TO ARGUE.'
Siurad reached out with his mind. Like reaching his arm into a deep lake.
"It's... strange," Siurad grunted.
'...HARDER. YOU ARE ASKING. ONE DOES NOT ASK THE UNIVERSE FOR PERMISSION. ONE INFORMS IT.'
'...THESE LAWS ARE MERE SUGGESTIONS TO US.'
Siurad bore down. He poured his innate mana into the Ring, letting Obi be the valve, the commanding frequency.
The temperature dropped.
The shadow rippled. Then, with a sound like tearing canvas, it coalesced into shape. It didn't form a cool spike or a sleek blade. It formed a jagged, lumpy blob of black ice that looked vaguely like a mutated potato.
It hovered for a second, vibrating, then fell into the mud with a wet thud.
'...UGLY,' Obi judged instantly. '...BUT TANGIBLE. A PASSING GRADE FOR A TODDLER.'
"It worked," Siurad breathed, staring at the black lump. It was slowly evaporating back into smoke. "I made matter. I made a rock."
'...YOU MADE A LUMP,' Obi corrected. '...XARA COULD UNMAKE ARMIES. BUT WE ARE LIMITED BY YOUR INEFFICIENCY.'
'...NEXT, MOVEMENT. THE VOID STEP.'
Obi didn't wait for Siurad to recover from his potato triumph.
'...YOU THINK OF MOVEMENT AS A LINE FROM ONE PLACE TO ANOTHER. DISCARD THAT. THERE IS NO LINE. YOU WILL OPEN HERE, AND DECLINE TO EXIST FOR THE DISTANCE BETWEEN. THEN YOU WILL OPEN THERE.'
"Like a wormhole?"
'...LIKE A STITCH,' Obi said. '...FIND A SHADOW, IT WILL ACT AS YOUR GUARD RAIL FOR NOW. TETHER TO IT. PULL.'
Siurad looked at a large oak tree about ten feet away. Its shadow stretched toward him across the paddock.
Ten feet. Easy.
He focused on the tree's shadow. He felt the connection, a thin, cold line snapping into place between his mind and the darkness.
"Tether secured," Siurad whispered.
'...PULL.'
Siurad yanked.
The world inverted.
For a microsecond, there was no light. No sound. No gravity. He felt like he was being squeezed through a drinking straw made of ice water. His stomach dropped out of his body. His inner ear screamed that he was falling up, down, and sideways simultaneously.
POP.
Sound returned with a thunderclap.
Siurad slammed into the bark of the oak tree, face first. He scrambled for purchase, his knees hitting the dirt.
He was ten feet away from where he started.
"I did it," he gasped, spinning around, euphoria rising. "I—"
His stomach caught up with him.
Siurad doubled over and violently threw up into the bushes.
"Oh god," he groaned, wiping his mouth. The world was spinning. The trees looked like they were breathing. "Why... why does it feel like I just rode a rollercoaster?"
'...NORMAL,' Obi dismissed, sounding bored. '...THE HUMAN VESTIBULAR SYSTEM HATES NON EUCLIDEAN GEOMETRY.'
"You could have... warned me," Siurad spat, leaning weakly against the tree.
'...THE VOID HAS QUIRKS,' Obi said. '...YOU WILL ADAPT. OR YOU WILL BUY MINTS.'
'...AGAIN.'
"No," Siurad wheezed, clutching his stomach. "Not again. I need a minute."
'...TEN SECONDS,' Obi countered. '...THEN WE TRY TWENTY FEET.'
They tried twenty feet. Then thirty. Then forty.
By the time they hit fifty feet, Siurad’s stomach had settled into a permanent, low grade rebellion, but his aim was true. He could look at a patch of mud fifty feet away, step into the void, and appear right on top of it without stumbling. It was clean. It was precise.
"Fifty fucking feet," Siurad noted, panting, his hands on his knees. "Fifty feet. I can put a sword in a goblin's eye from fifty feet."
'...PUSH IT,' Obi commanded, sensing the complacency. '...EIGHTY THAT, FENCE POST.'
Siurad wiped sweat from his forehead. He focused on a rotting fence post eighty feet away near the water trough. He felt the tether. It felt... thinner. Stretched.
He pulled.
The slide through the Void was longer. Slippery. He felt himself drifting, like a car losing traction on black ice. The destination wavered in his mind.
POP.
He didn't land next to the post. He landed ten feet to the left, ankle deep in a murky puddle of rainwater.
"Drift," Siurad cursed, shaking his wet boot. "Precision drops off hard after fifty. Eighty feet is a gamble."
'...TRY ONE HUNDRED.'
"That feels like a bad idea," Siurad muttered, looking at the distance. The far wall of the paddock was a hundred feet away.
'...IS THAT FEAR?'
Siurad sighed. He found a target, a large boulder near the wall. He focused. He pulled.
This time, it wasn't just a slide, the drifting sensation remained but what accompanied it was the feeling of propulsion. It was a launch.
The Void grabbed him and screamed. There was no control. No up or down. He was a ragdoll in a hurricane. Speed he hadn't summoned threw him forward, the momentum multiplying in the vacuum.
He exited the Void not standing, but flying horizontally at terrifying speed.
He missed the boulder entirely and plowed into a hay bale with enough force to shatter the wood pallet beneath it.
CRASH.
Siurad lay in the straw, groaning, staring at the spinning sky.
"Cap... is... one hundred," he wheezed. "That was awful."
'...AT ONE HUNDRED, YOU ARE A PROJECTILE,' Obi agreed, unbothered by Siurad's pain. '...USEFUL ONLY IF YOU INTEND TO BE THE AMMUNITION. DO NOT EXCEED THIS LIMIT. EVEN WITH MY AUGMENTATION YOU MAY LIQUEFY.'
“Augmentation?” Siurad asked, confused by the admission.
'...THE VOID ENHANCES WHAT YOU ARE.'
“So the wire-fu was you?”
'...YOUR ABYSMAL MANA POOL, YOUR STRENGTH, YOUR DURABILITY. YOUR FORTITUDE ALL BENEFIT FROM MY PRESCENCE.'
Siurad stayed in the hay. It was comfortable. As he mulled over these words he came to a profound realization "I'm done. Class dismissed."
'...LESSON THREE,' Obi droned, ignoring the complaint. '...'THE MELD.'
"I'm lying in hay, Obi. I'm practically dead."
'...NO YOU ARE ALIVE AND VISIBLE. BECOME INVISIBLE. ENTER THE VOID.'
"What?"
'...THE SHADOW.'
Obi’s presence shifted in the ring, becoming colder, stiller.
'...USE THE SHADOW AS YOUR TRAINING WHEELS. DO NOT STEP THROUGH IT. SINK INTO IT. USE IT TO ENTER THE VOID.'
Siurad frowned, concentrating. He felt stealthy. He felt one with the night, despite it being morning. He held his breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and willed himself to vanish into the darkness of the barn's overhang.
"I did it," Siurad whispered, opening one eye. He looked down. He couldn't see his legs. A surge of pride swelled in his chest. "Obi, check it out. I'm gone. I am the night. I am the wind."
'...IMBECILE,' Obi’s voice was flat with disappointment. '...YOU ARE JUST PARTIALLY COVERED IN HAY. I CAN SEE YOUR ENTIRE TORSO.'
Siurad looked down again. Indeed, he had just scooted backward slightly, and a large pile of loose straw was obscuring his shins. His upper half was still very much visible, acting as a beacon of failure.
"Oh," Siurad said, brushing a stalk of wheat off his shoulder. "Right. False start. Strategy adjustment."
'...LET THE VOID DO THE WORK,' Obi corrected, sounding exhausted by his student. '...STOP BEING SOLID BECOME ABSENCE.'
Siurad rolled over into the long shadow cast by the hay bale. "Become absence. Got it."
Siurad closed his eyes. He stopped trying to move. He imagined the cold mud wasn't under him, but around him. He stopped fighting the chill of the Ring and let it in. He let himself sink into the void.
It felt like falling backward into a pool of ice water.
The world went grey. The sound of the wind muted, sounding like it was underwater.
He opened his eyes. He wasn't looking at the paddock. He was looking at a monochrome, high contrast version of it. Colors were gone, replaced by shades of obsidian and ash. He looked down at his hands. They were translucent, made of grey smoke, blending perfectly with the darkness of the hay bale.
He was in the shadow. Not traveling through it, but existing within it.
'...GOOD,' Obi whispered, his voice echoing loudly in this quiet place. '...YOU ARE HIDDEN. BUT DO NOT STAY LONG. THE VOID CONSUMES, AND UNTIL YOU LEARN TO ANCHOR YOUR MIND, YOUR WILL IS A PAPER DAM.'
Siurad felt it. The cold wasn't just physical; it was mental. He felt his name slipping away, becoming irrelevant. Why be Siurad when you could just be... nothing?
Panic flared.
He surged up, gasping, willing himself solid.
He popped back into reality with a gasp, shivering violently. The colors of the world rushed back, blindingly bright.
"Cold," he chattered, wrapping his arms around himself. "So cold."
'...A BRIEF RESPITE,' Obi said. '...BUT USEFUL. YOU WILL LEARN TO ENDURE THE STILLNESS .NOW GET UP. WE PRACTICE THE SPIKE.'
Siurad groaned but pushed himself up from the hay. His limbs felt stiff, like he’d been sleeping in a freezer.
"Okay," he said, shaking out his arms. "Spike. Projectile weapon. Ranged DPS. I can do this."
'...THE PRINCIPLE IS SIMPLE,' Obi instructed. '...YOU WILL USE THE SHADOW TO MANIFEST A SPIKE. YOU REACH THE VALVE, OPEN IT, AND INFORM THE UNIVERSE THAT A SPIKE IS NOW PRESENT. THE VOID WILL HANDLE PROPULSION.''
"Like a bullet," Siurad muttered.
'...LIKE A VERDICT,' Obi corrected. '...SHARP. ALREADY DECIDED. IF IT ARRIVES BLUNT, YOU HESITATED, AND HESITATION IS JUST A HAMMER.'
Siurad looked around for a target. He spotted a rotting fence post about thirty feet away. It was already leaning precariously. Perfect.
He raised his right hand, palm facing the target.
"Okay. Void, show me what you got."
He focused on the long shadow pooled near his feet. He used it like guard rails, Obi's words snagged in his head, inform it, so he reached for that patch of dark and simply insisted, the way you'd insist on a fact, that a spike belonged there. The shadow conformed; it agreedto his will. A black shape was suddenly there, the way a word is suddenly spoken.
It wasn't a sleek spike. It was more of a jagged, slightly curved cone. It looked like a very angry unicorn horn made of charcoal.
'...AERODYNAMICS ARE LACKING,' Obi critiqued. '...BUT IT IS SHARP. NOW…..'
Siurad grunted and thrust his arm forward, physically throwing the motion like he was casting a fireball in a VR game.
"Go!"
The spike launched.
But because Siurad used his arm muscles instead of the Void to propel it, the heavy shadow moved with the speed of a gently tossed softball. It arced slowly through the air, wobbling.
Bonk.
It hit the fence post with a dull thud, bounced off, and landed in the mud.
"Well," Siurad said, staring at the pathetic projectile. "It hit the target."
'...PATHETIC,' Obi pulsed. '...YOU THREW IT. WITH YOUR ARM. LIKE AN APE WITH A STONE. THE SPIKE DOES NOT TRAVEL FROM YOUR FORCE, VESSEL, THE INSTANT YOU OPEN. YOUR SHOULDER IS IRRELEVANT. STOP PERFORMING MAGIC AND START STATING FACTS.'
"Right. Facts. Not baseball logic."
'...TRY AGAIN.'
Siurad took a deep breath. He shook out his hand.
He formed another spike. This time, he focused on making it thinner. Sharper. He imagined it spinning.
"Okay," he whispered.
This time he didn't move his arm. He kept it steady, aiming with his palm.
He released his hold.
THWIP.
There was no recoil on his arm, but the air cracked. The spike vanished.
A split second later, the fence post exploded.
Splinters of rotten wood rained down on the mud. The top half of the post toppled over, severed cleanly. The shadow spike was embedded deep in the tree trunk behind it, vibrating with kinetic energy before dissipating into smoke.
"Whoa," Siurad breathed, eyes wide. "That... was fast."
'...BETTER,' Obi conceded. '...BUT YOU HESITATED. IN COMBAT, HESITATION IS DEATH.'
"I blew up the fence post, Obi! Give me a little credit!"
'...THE FENCE POST WAS NOT MOVING. AND IT WAS NOT TRYING TO STAB YOU.'
'...AGAIN. FIVE IN RAPID SUCCESSION.'
"Five? Damn it Obi."
'...THEN YOU WILL LEARN EFFICIENCY. FIRE.'
Siurad stumbled back onto the main road of Pine Haven just as the sun crested the treeline.
He looked like a wreck. His hoodie was covered in hay and mud. His boots were soaked. He was shivering violently from the lingering effects of the void, and he felt nauseous from the teleportation drills.
To anyone watching, he looked like he’d spent the night in a ditch after a bender.
”Obi…fuck you”.
Mana: Empty.
Stamina: Critical.
Mood: Homicidal.
'...EFFICIENT SESSION,' Obi noted cheerfully in his mind. '...WE INCREASED YOUR THROUGHPUT BY 4%.'
"I feel like death," Siurad croaked, heading towards the inn to grab his axe before his shift. "I have to chop trees all day, Obi. How am I supposed to swing an axe when I can barely lift my arms?"
'...PAIN IS DATA,' Obi replied. AND BESIDES. YOU DO NOT NEED ARMS. YOU HAVE LEVERAGE. REMEMBER ZEUS, REMEMBER THE V-CUT.'
Siurad groaned. "I hate the V-cut. I hate geometry. I hate you."
'...THE FEELING IS MUTUAL, VESSEL. NOW WALK FASTER. WE ARE LATE.'
Siurad trudged toward the lumber yard, dreading the moment Lexaris saw him looking like a swamp creature. It was going to be a long day.