Machine Mage: An Isekai LitRPG, page 53
Bole seemed like he wanted to argue there, but he did the smart thing instead and chose to remain silent before he could be told to shut up. He simply slapped me on the shoulder and gave me a wink from the side of his face Sissa couldn’t see.
Samila was my final stop.
“Hey,” I said lamely.
“Hi,” she replied. The scales on her upper cheeks were dark but still brilliant-blue next to the gold of her eyes, though they were slightly puffy and red. “So, this is it.”
There was a lot I wanted to say. So much.
But I had a promise to keep.
I reached out, wrapped my arm around her waist and kissed her once more. This time, she’d been waiting for it. She leaned back, letting me support her weight, melting into my arms as our lips pressed together and the world spun around us. Her body fit perfectly against mine, strong and light and intensely inviting. It went on like that for a while.
Someone in the group cleared their throat.
I was the one to break off first. I pulled back sadly but not before planting another, smaller kiss on her top lip.
Once we were apart, Samila’s eyes fluttered open, and she let out a contented sigh.
“Whoa,” she remarked for the second time. She glanced over at her sister. “You’ve got to try this. Seriously,” she called, slightly breathless still.
Sissa turned away, suddenly finding the blackened horizon incredibly interesting. “No. No, I will not be doing that.”
“I’ll try it!” Geddon boomed from way over by Trix.
“I’m kidding, obviously!” Samila teased before quirking an eyebrow. “Mostly.”
I laughed, pulling her close again, this time into a hug. She laid her head against my chest, and I cradled her there.
“You taught me what it was like to want again, Ryan. I’d forgotten for a long time, but now—I want things. I want more. I’m not just the Second.”
“I’m going to remember you, Sam,” I whispered to her. “I’ll remember you forever.”
We stayed there for a while, just being together, our friends all around us. No one interrupted.
When I finally pulled away, it felt like ripping myself in two, like I was leaving part of myself with her, and it was a ragged wound that would never fully heal.
Somehow I was content with that, despite how much it hurt. I was about to do what was right for her. For all of them.
Jassin nodded to me as I approached him, the dead dragon and the holographic woman waiting beyond.
“Goodbye again, Ryan. I’ll be watching,” was all he said, smiling warmly as he ushered me on toward my final moments in this world.
Then I was on my own, each step taking me farther into the belly of the beast.
“Nali,” I said, back inside the dragon’s corpse, my voice cracking under the weight of what I wanted to say, “I want to make a deal.”
Nali’s black eyes narrowed slightly. Her lips pursed into thin lines. “There is no exchange to be made. The Scourge does not have your others.” She was obviously suspicious of me—or the Scourge was. She was right to be, though, considering our history.
“Yes, you do,” I said. “You have this place, and with it, you have them.”
“Then die and cast yourself into the black, Ryan Kotes,” Nali said.
“No,” I answered.
“There is no exchange.”
“Nali, I’m leaving this place. I’m leaving and never coming back. I’m the one you really want, not them.”
Nali was silent at that. I couldn’t tell if she was thinking or just waiting for me to continue, so I just did.
“Right now the Scourge is getting a steady flow of power from my insertion point. When I leave, that source of power is going to be cut off. There’s a good chance you’ll just wither away, impotently attempting to end this world over and over again until you’re just a memory.”
“Unlikely,” Nali argued. “The amount of Scourge currently in this universe is vast, having accumulated over more than a thousand years. It will destroy all you have touched. It will—”
“Or …” I interrupted with a raised finger. “Have you considered where I’m returning to?”
Nali frowned thoughtfully. “You are returning to your home universe.”
“Right. “
“Explain,” she demanded.
I spread my arms invitingly. “Come with me.”
Nali blinked, froze for a moment.
I dangled the bait a bit more in front of her. “My home universe, where there’s billions of humans just like me. Come with me, and you can inflict yourself on all of us. Supposedly we’re the ones who deserve it, right?”
Nali seemed almost taken aback. “This is … out of character for you. You preserve the lives of others. Why are you doing this?”
“I want you to spare these people,” I said. “Ralqir. Spare them for a while. Maybe come back little by little when more Animators take their tutorial. But for now, come with me. We’ll go back together and leave the people I love in peace.”
“It is possible to do as you say … It will likely mean your death,” Nali considered slowly. “The Scourge does not trust your word.”
“Does that matter compared to the opportunity I’m offering? Please, spare them and come with me to the place where your true enemy lives. But—” I added before Nali could open her mouth again to accept. “—Nali comes too. She’s got to have some kind of anchor that keeps her consciousness alive. Bring it to me. Then we’ll all go together.”
Deception is now Level 8.
Deception is now Level 9.
The eternal evil bent on my species’ destruction contemplated my proposal for a full minute.
I and the world around me waited.
“We will have our exchange, Defiler,” Nali finally said. Then she turned and began to climb the broken concrete remnants of her building, no time wasted, no more hesitation.
I took a big, courage-gathering breath, then followed her, clutching the brightsteel in my hand and keeping it close. I resisted the urge to look back at the people I was leaving.
The burbling tar slid away, keeping its distance from me and my relic, slurping as it retracted into the ground. When we reached the apex of the ring overlooking the bubbling lake of Scourge stuff, the smell was nearly enough to make me faint, but I held out. I only had to hold out for a little longer.
Waiting for me just at the edge of the pool was a fist-sized ball of white glass of a curiously familiar nature, though the color was different from those the Dark Lord used.
“This is what you ask for, Defiler. Take it and enter the pit. The Scourge will do as agreed.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “All of it?”
“All.” Nali gestured to the white ball.
I bent down to pick it up. My good hand was still encased in the remains of my melted gauntlet, so I had to use my prosthetic to grab it and press it to the flesh of my upper arm. Another flex of will, a slight twisting of the mana to get the Ability to work the desired way, and it was gone. Unlike the Dark Lord’s memory bauble, this one went right into my Storage Space, perhaps because it was willing to.
Nali’s projection winked out.
I stared down into the black, shuddering at how it seemed to be inviting me in. My insurance policy ground against the bones of my hand, and little licks of flame sputtered over the surface of the visible steel.
I am Ryan Kotes.
The surface of the pooled Scourge reached out to me as I took my first step forward.
When it touched my skin, I was taken aback at how warm it was. Warm as I was.
I am Ryan Kotes. Nothing in this multiverse is like me.
It was so sudden, so fast, I didn’t even see it move. It exploded from its pool and stabbed me with a hundred different proboscises that pierced my skin and wrapped around my bones, and then I was violently pulled under.
Reflexively, I tried to struggle, but there was nothing to struggle against. My hand that still clasped my brightsteel lashed out, tried to strike at what had me, but I was no longer in control. The black either shrank away or I was pulled to the side so that I was never able to make contact. Meanwhile, the horrific, rot-tainted tar entered my nose, forced its way into my mouth, my ears, my eyes …
I was sinking. Fast. The pressure grew exponentially. Down, down, lower, and lower into Hell.
The Scourge rushed into me, penetrated my insides, ripped its way into the place where my mana lived, and filled it until it ruptured.
There was no light that could penetrate down here, and it was growing even dimmer. At some point, I felt the Scourge there—the magnitude of it. Not just its physical presence. It was everywhere. Not just inside of me but everywhere. It was me. I was it. We were in the pit, the soil, the rotting corpses on the pyres, the roots of the trees, the people. We were pooled in caverns deep in the crust of the planet where nothing had ever ventured or lived.
But now no longer.
We pulled, pulled ourselves inward, into this vessel, this husk of organic matter and magic circuitry that called itself “human.” We would become an instrument of destruction unlike any its kind had ever seen. We would burst into the vessel’s universe and reap entire worlds, spreading, silencing one by one until all was still and the curse of humanity was finally obliterated.
No. I …
My thoughts were fuzzy, fleeting, but I still had the frozen pond at my center. From it, I derived courage.
I am Ryan Kotes. Nothing in this multiverse can take that from me.
But then, despite my bold words, I was swept away.
You have been awarded * Experience points.
Level Up!
You are now Level 25!
You have been awarded * Experience points.
Level Up!
You are now Level 49!
You have been awarded * Experience points.
Level Up!
You are now Level 82!
You have been awarded * Experience points.
Level Up!
You are now Level 150!
You have been awarded * Experience points.
Level Up!
You are now Level 221!
You have been awarded * Experience points.
Level Up!
You are now Level 700!
You have been awarded * Experience points.
You are now level 1077#%^&&#$##)(*@$!
Return to point of integration? Y/N
Y
Initiating travel to point of integration. Stand by …
Quest Update: ???
??? (Continued): Become worthy.
Epilogue
Dad
Proxis 3: Now
Myron Kotes’s fingers flexed on the sweat-slick hilt of his sword as he prepared himself for another attack. A chill wind whipped past his face, carrying stinging particles of silica, airborne seeds, and tiny stars of ice from the upper atmosphere that hadn’t had the chance to melt yet. Meanwhile, overhead, the sun was shining brilliantly past Proxis 2 to give his part of this rock he called home a taste of early spring. His clothes were filthy, stained, and torn in places from a combination of the elements and repeated training accidents.
Even so, he still insisted on using real steel.
Mr. White, the Colonial Exotic who he’d been living with for the better part of winter, watched him carefully, calmly, with unblinking eyes. His posture was relaxed, almost comically so, just like his swordsmanship, choosing to let his point droop lazily down, nearly dragging the tip of the blade in the gravel, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. His training garb fit him loosely like Myron’s, but White’s was pristine, as if it had never been worn.
That didn’t fool Myron, though. He had yet to land a hit on White, despite their months of training together. The man was fast and strong. What’s more, he was an intelligent fighter. He never countered Myron’s attacks the same way twice, and he always took the match in less than ten moves. He was a live wire in the ring and just as dangerous.
Myron came on with a two-handed thrust, his leading foot nearly hooking White’s ankle, but the Exotic’s body whipped to the side like a snake, and then his sword was between them and knocking Myron’s aside just enough for the point to brush by White’s left sleeve. Instead of retreating and trying to catch White on the return slash, however, Myron stepped further into his charge, his elbow rising in a strike meant for the bridge of the Exotic’s nose.
But White wasn’t there. He’d dropped low, letting his knees buckle until he was well under his elbow, as well as bringing his sword across Myron’s body in a slash that would have disemboweled him if White hadn’t been holding back. Then, quick as a flash, White was back on his feet and set for another round.
Two moves. The Colony man wasn’t feeling generous today.
It was a short exchange, but Myron was already breathing hard. They’d been at this for an hour already, and his opponent never tired. In fact, Myron felt like he had a good grasp on the man’s facial tics after so long together, and judging by them, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
He thought about going for another round, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Maybe he’d get his opportunity tomorrow. Myron let his body relax and gave White a tired salute to signal the end of the training.
“You might have had me with that last gambit, Mr. Kotes, if not for our little disparity,” White droned, sheathing his own sword.
Myron made a rude sound and reached for the squeeze bottle he kept just outside their makeshift ring. The “disparity” White was referring to came from supernaturally enhanced muscles and centuries of training that Myron didn’t have.
“I am not being patronizing. It is an interesting style your people have developed—a completely separate branch of swordsmanship from the mainstream due to your self-imposed isolation, and it has been a pleasure to experience it,” White offered.
Myron grunted, reaching up to wipe at his goggles to get the worst of the streaks off. Maybe he was acting like a sore loser. The man was paying him and the clan a compliment, and he couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge it.
It would come off a lot more genuine if he didn’t beat me like a rug every damned time.
White’s face was neutral, but now he held Myron’s camp chair in his right hand. The Exotic knew Myron would be back on watch after this, and this was his way of being supportive.
Sighing, Myron tossed White the squeeze bottle, which he deftly caught. He didn’t take a drink, though. He never did.
“I think the pleasure has been all yours,” Myron said, gesturing to the cuts and sweat stains on his fencing attire. “I haven’t even gotten a good look at your ‘mainstream’ techniques. Been too busy landing on my ass.”
“Funny, I thought you’d been adjusting to them the entire time,” White countered.
Myron took the camp chair from the Exotic and flipped it open, setting it down at the edge of the ring where he could keep a good line of sight on the spot where Ryan had been taken. According to White, he’d turn up here once he was done with his tutorial. Myron still held out hope that was the case.
White handed him back the squeeze bottle and turned to head to his portable hab. “I am due to check in with CRF. I will come join you as soon as—”
It happened suddenly. There was a change in the wind, a slight deviation in the current that could be felt on your skin, the way your hair folds in just such a way. When you’re walking into the wind without your goggles, tears in your eyes, sand blasting you in the face, no idea which way is home except forward, and then you feel it—something solid, somewhere up ahead, the way the wind whips over it and curls as it tries to go the way it should. Outers folk called it a “stone sense,” when you sense something big out there without having to see it.
Myron felt that stone sense right before—
BOOM!
An explosion knocked him flat, sending him tumbling. He felt his sword clattering out of his numb fingers. His breath left him, and his eyes rolled back into his head briefly before he wrenched himself back to full consciousness.
When he came to, the campsite was flattened. The fighting ring of stones was gone, the habs were torn open and in the process of tumbling off the edge of the ridge, the porta-lights bent and smashed, and Mr. White was facing off against something dark and terrible. Myron was doing his best to just breathe, his diaphragm kick-starting his respiratory process again after the explosion, but that thing … It triggered something deep within him, a primal sense that he was in the presence of something that shouldn’t be.
A dark figure—some combination of black, segmented metal and sickly flesh—turned its head from side to side slowly, its many eyes working independently, devouring its surroundings with a hundred malevolent glares. Its bulging muscles rippled and distorted, their dark veins squirming under nearly translucent skin that changed shape constantly, seemingly not able to decide on which form to take. In its hand, it held a miniature sun, an incandescent ball of pale fire that stretched the shadow of the monster for miles and miles behind it.
White was standing before it, clutching his arm, which was bent at a strange angle. His fencing tunic was ripped to expose his chest, which was already black with deep bruises. The two figures blurred and came together in an exchange of blows Myron caught the vaguest of impressions of, so fast, his eyes literally could not follow them. When they parted once more, White seemed to be standing strangely, unable to support his weight on one of his ankles.
The monster flexed its metal arm in front of its face, the only part of it that seemed to be of proper proportion. It seemed curious. Perplexed.
“Run, Mr. Kotes!” White shouted, taking the time to meet his eyes. There was fear there and something else. Sadness. Pity. “Go for help! It’s a demon!”
Myron’s heart thundered in his chest.
A demon? What did that even mean? Where had it come from? How was this real?
The two came together again. The ground quaked under their feet, and thunderous impacts of flesh-on-flesh sent shock waves through Myron’s body. When they parted again, White was encircled by a spinning ring of glowing green runes, his good hand out to the side and inscribing more in midair, only to have them drift down to join the others as the ring widened and widened.
