novelnext Chapter 135: Book 2: The Shape of a Soul
Chapter 135: Book 2: The Shape of a Soul
Chapter 135: Book 2: The Shape of a Soul
Rhoran snarled, slamming his fist into his desk. "Someone tell me how a human is moving two layers in a single shift!"
"Seems Gheraa was telling the truth about your temper." Lhore didn't seem particularly bothered by the situation. She leaned back in her chair, observing the events on the screen in front of her with a mixture of interest and detachment. "Careful. You're starting to sound like one of our Trialgoers."
Rhoran growled, but didn't dare contradict her. "Double layer shifts are theoretical," he said instead, getting up and pacing around his desk. "They shouldn't be possible. You need the second layer to get the third. Otherwise the shift rejects you."
"Then he'll just die, won't he?" Lhore shrugged. "That's hardly a problem."
"I don't want him to die." Rhoran glared up at the screen. "He needs to suffer."
"Sadism is not one of your more endearing traits," Lhore noted.
"It's not sadism." Rhoran narrowed his eyes at the screen. A small part of him found some satisfaction in the way Ethan was struggling, but a much larger part of him hated that the human had even been able to pull this off. How many years had it taken him just to get to his third layer? "I don't enjoy his suffering. I just think he deserves it."
"You seemed to quite enjoy his reaction to your raid."
"Gheraa ruined it." Rhoran scowled. "I can't believe he managed to get a skill to Ethan under yourwa—"
He couldn't breathe.
Rhoran's eyes widened. He clawed at his throat in a panicked, desperate desire for air, collapsing to his knees. He needed air. Why wasn't there any air?!
Lhore sighed. "You should be careful what you imply," she said, her words reproachful. The sudden impulse disappeared, and Rhoran remembered abruptly that he didn't need to breathe. His Firmament darkened in embarassed irritation. "I almost wish I'd promoted Gheraa instead of you. He had a far more interesting reaction to that effect."
"He was a traitor," Rhoran muttered, rubbing his throat. He glared up at the screen again. "...Whatever. The human's going to die. I'm going to get my lunch break."
"Hmm." Lhore glanced toward him. "Very well. I suppose I should join you."
They left the monitoring room. On the screen behind them, Ethan collapsed to his knees. The readings on the Interface screen nearby fluctuated, flickered, and then a small message appeared, just for a fraction of a second, before it was subsumed by something foreign.
[ WARNING: MULTIPLE PHASE ANOMALIES DETECTED. ]
—
I need to survive.
It's the primary thought ringing in my head. Dying here doesn't just mean my own death—it means the end of Isthanok and likely of the Great Cities as a whole, along with most life on the continent. It means leaving Earth and my fellow Trialgoers to fend for themselves.
It means Gheraa's death means nothing.
But it doesn't feel like there's anything I can do. My power is collapsing in on itself—using it only accelerates the process. Trying to use Firmament Control for this feels like trying to control the ocean's waves with just my hands. It's a futile, pointless effort.
That isn't going to stop me from trying.
Barrier. Second Wind.
But it has never embodied a will like mine. It has never embodied a will strong enough that it developed its own. With me, Second Wind understood what it meant to be alive.
Then it, too, dies. I grasp at it before it can, try to feed it with the Aspect of Regrowth, but the Inspiration slips through and fails to find purchase.
The skill falls apart, and I'm left a little more empty, but a little bit stronger.
The other skills don't need calling. They act on their own, reacting to what's happening, to what I suppose is their home falling apart around them. Triplestep and Flashstep thank me for letting them see more of the world. Crystallized Strength claims it had a good time punching things that 'deserved to be punched'. Compounded Mind tells me my brain is fascinating.
Not all my skills respond. The others know they're needed, that they still have work to do. But the ones that do, they just... sacrifice themselves for me, reinforcing my core, using themselves to give the third layer the answer it so desperately wants.
I've used my skills to become the kind of person it expects me to be, and even if those memories aren't in the second layer of my Firmament, they are in my skills.
Define your truth, the third layer demands again, and this time, I sense something different. It's no longer trying to kill me. Whatever its requirements are, I've passed, and while the cost was heavy.
I'm alive. I'm stronger.
I understand what a truth is.
The first two layers require an understanding of the self. They define the trajectory of your growth. The third requires an understanding of the world around you, and of how your presence within that world alters it.
My truth is that of Change.
Just like that, the strain on me disappears. The phase-shift stabilizes. The entirety of the Intermediary seems to pulse, reacting to the sudden presence of a third-layer Trialgoer within it. The ground trembles and cracks as my core fights off the force of the Firmament pressing down on it.
I barely feel it. Instead, I turn my gaze to the Interface.
[ For performing a phase-shift within a treacherous out-of-phase environment, you have been granted 100 Firmament credits. ]
[ Mastery of Phaseslip has improved. ]
"Ethan?" Ahkelios's voice is quiet. He looks at me, worried, and I'm struck by a sudden relief that he's alive—that Temporal Link wasn't one of the skills that sacrificed itself to help me live and grow. I bend down and give him a hug, and he squeaks, surprised.
"I have an idea," I say, standing back up and letting him climb onto my shoulders. New power and new knowledge brims within me.
There's no way to destroy that raid boss without still incurring a massive amount of damage across all of Isthanok. It's a clever choice: as far as the Integrators are concerned, I never had a way to win.
So I'll just have to make my own.
"Come on," I tell him. I glance back toward the Intermediary just before I leave, my gaze softening just slightly. Gheraa's Firmament is still there, staining it with the color of his death, but I can feel something from it. Something that feels almost like pride. "And... thank you, Gheraa."
I don't say it out loud, but this won't be my last time visiting the Intermediary. Gheraa's death weighs on me, but I have suspicions about it—suspicions that have only grown now that I know what the third phase-shift involves and what it feels like. He is dead, but... maybe he won't have to stay that way.
For now, though, I have a city to save.