Unbound

Chapter One Hundred and Seventy Seven – 177

Stone crunched beneath the Archon's golden foot, loose debris scattered across the warped passages deep in the earth. His step was sure and steady, the pace of a creature that did not feel fatigue nor pain, as tireless as the mountain he trod beneath. Beside him, twisted sigils filled with lightly pulsing yellow-red light illuminated the path. The same light shone off the Archon's gilded form, highlighting the aged gold of his metal armor in a way that he found quite pleasing.

An enjoyable, if minor, side effect of the power they afford, he thought, the bright red flames of his eyes gliding over the inscribed markings on the walls. He could feel the power they siphoned from the lands above even here, at the edges of his Domain. He breathed it in deep, the sound hollow as air rushed through the helmet that comprised his skull and face, down his gorget throat and into the cavernous cavalcade of etheric constructs within. The Archon had not a true Body to enjoy the thrum of stolen power, instead cursed with this false form of ancient metal armor, but his Spirit and Mind were whole enough to relish its particular flavor.

It's all power. All a step on the path. Until I've enough to end this blasted shell and my own interminable imprisonment. The Archon let the air within him rumble into a growl before his etheric condenser stole what little Mana lived within it. He swirled the potency through his forged channels, letting it tingle against his armored form before it descended into the core that howled within. I'll drain the world dry for freedom.

His sigils might only pull infinitesimal pieces of Mana from the land around them, but with enough time and power one could achieve almost anything.

He was betting on it.

For millennia, the Archon had been stranded in the dark. His Body had been useless, sundered and impaired, and his Spirit had slumbered in the deeps. Though his Mind was in pieces, something woke him though he could not recall what, and he spent the next few centuries alternating between passive catatonia and unhinged madness.

That was when the Voice in the Dark arose.

Not the unknown sensation that woke him, but a kind one, if fearful and worried. It warned him, told him secrets. Little things, things that made no sense to his piecemeal Mind; but slowly he began to form a new Mind from the dregs and stumps that remained adhered to his Spirit. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he was remade.

He woke as a construct, a metal man but somewhat in command of his own Will. More centuries passed as he relearned how to be alive, how to see, how to feel, how to hate.

The memories came slowly, but he pieced them together into a tattered tapestry. He named himself Archon, though he knew it was wrong. It was something, however, an anchor he could hold against the march of time.

A name he intended to shove down the throats of all who opposed him.

Up ahead, the corridor clearly narrowed. The twisted, warped halls, once made of leveled and planed stone perfectly and exactingly crafted, had long ago moved out of true. Earthquakes, etheric drift, even the simple erosion of time affected them all. The Geist, original builders of his prison, were true Artisans; yet even the greatest of works eventually turned to dust. The Geist themselves had gone down such a path themselves, and now they too were gone. As Lost as their wretched forebears. The Nym.

The Archon stopped with a heavy, thudding stomp. Pitted stone beneath him cracked. He barked behind himself. "Number 55118, open the way."

"Yes, Master."

An umber-colored Arcid stepped forward from the group, a construct both similar and vastly different than the Archon. Unlike other Arcids, or even the ice-imbued Reforged, Number 55118 was of middling size; perhaps a shade taller than a Human or Elf, and like in proportion to the brutish mortals. Like all his creations, the Arcid's Body was composed of overlapping metal plates made of specially treated ore and etherically charged minerals. Number 55118 raised its hand and the stone and dirt before them trembled.

"Stone Shaping," the Arcid intoned in an echoing, tinny voice.

Dusty-brown Mana swirled around its umber form, emanating from the crevices and joins between plates. From it's helmeted head, twin fires blazed brighter, amber-colored lights that stabbed out into the dark corridor. The walls and floor melted and shifted, turning to a pliable mud before spreading and compacting. The shift spread, pushing further and further before them, until it reached a stone archway that its power could not affect. Vibrant, violet sparks flew as the Skill ran against the open door-frame and was kicked back. Number 55118 grunted in pain, but did not stop. More violet sparks erupted.

"Enough," the Archon demanded. "You waste yourself needlessly. This is not a structure you can best with your paltry magics."

55118 leaned onto its knees and panted with a tinny voice. "Yes...Master. It was foolish of me to push myself in such a way. Never again shall I--"

"Silence." At the Archon's command, the air itself congealed around the umber Arcid, freezing him in place. "Still your prattling. Watch, and learn, for you will need to know this to return."

Without another word, the Archon strode past his frozen peon. The stone shaping had settled and the corridor was now smooth and relatively even, with a ceiling high enough to fit his significant bulk. Despite himself, the Archon was impressed. 55118 had come a long way since he'd first been ejected from Forge, wrong in that special way all of his greatest creations had to be. Flawed at core, those he had dubbed his Twelve had each experienced a unique reaction to the Profane Sigaldry he employed. It had produced...quirks in them, and the golden construct found them quite useful. And thanks in part to his siphon arrays, they were swiftly growing in power.

He made it to the archway without issue. It was an empty space, easily large enough to fit himself through were he capable, or even one of his larger creations. Beyond was utter darkness.

The Archon lifted his hand, covered in tiny overlapping plates to form fingers of remarkable Dexterity, yet possessed of enough Strength to crush mortal or beast. Yet despite such Strength, he could not place that hand upon the archway; he could not even step within two spans of the foul barrier. The damn curse he bore made sure of it.

"We have reached the edge of my Domain," he said, turning back toward the Arcids that followed him. "Here is where you shall return upon the completion of your Trial."

Three of the Twelve stood there, watching him with the awe of an ant looking upon a boot that had, at this time, deigned not to crush them. It would not do to have his creations think themselves too well loved.

Familiarity breeds contempt, the Voice in the Dark whispered to him. It did not speak much anymore, but it's advice was always worth heeding.

"This is as far as I can take you. This gate will expel you along the banks of the river the mortals call the Ianus. You have but to follow it to its source, and you shall find their city. When your tasks are done, return up the river and look for my sign."

Number 55389 bowed its lanky Body, the vivid green of its armor bright even in the half lit darkness. "We will not fail you. Our Trial shall be the benchmark for all who come after."

The Archon's flames flared bright, and Number 55389 flinched. "See that it does. You will not fail. Or you will never return."

Suffocating images flashed through his Mind, still frames from horrors he wished he could leave behind. Darkness everlasting, pressing upon him, eroding all that he was or could be...

The memory faded, and the Archon found the two Arcids trembling on the knees before him. Only the frozen umber-toned construct was unaffected. With an angry jut of his hand, the Archon's calamitous aura dissipated. He waved at the dark archway, this time with a snarl that shook dust from the newly shaped hall. "When you reach the city, you are to find the Wurms I've sent ahead. The magics of the mortals' Wall is powerful; clearly an artifact from before their vile time, when true knowledge walked the Continent." The Archon shook his great head in disgust. "They do not deserve to own such a thing. The land shall breath a sigh of relief at their ignoble deaths."

"It will be done, my Master," 55389 said, once again folding itself into a skeletal bow.

Pfah, he scoffed. To rely on tools such as these...if only I could step beyond these damn gates. But he could not, not until he had the key. It all depended on the damned key, the one he'd foolishly let slip from his grasp. With a crook of a finger, the air flows around 55118 disappeared, and the Arcid fell to its knees, gasping for air it no longer needed.

"Go, and do not fail me."

Felix surged through the Gauntlet, his Body relishing the activity after nearly two hours sitting still. Despite the fresh cuts and bruises littering his flesh, Felix felt a visceral joy rise up within him. He was testing himself.

Finally.

He'd been stopped just before entering the Gauntlet (the obstacle course "borrowed" from the Guild and built by Rory, a Silver Rank trainer). Cal and Harn had plenty of questions for him, though Zara hadn't seemed to be in a hurry. She had lounged in a crudely made wooden chair reading a book during much of it.

It was a debriefing, as they had said. What had happened in the Domain since Harn left, what happened in the sky with the Ravager King. Felix had already decided he was done with secrets. He gave them all, Zara included, the full story. Everything.

Right after he got Zara's binding Oath. The Naiad had offered it without question or issue, a fact that had surprised Cal and Harn, and downright unnerved Felix. The trust suggested in that small action was...staggering. The lady barely knew him. He wondered if it was some sort of Chanter magic she possessed, or a Skill. Did Sense Motive exist as a Skill in the Continent?

Writhing chains flailed at him, and Felix used Unfettered Volition to push through them. Still, he was rewarded by shallow slashes across his shoulders and forearms. The tunic had only just started properly mending itself, and already it was shredded again.

Zara, like Harn, had not reacted how he'd expected after revealing his connection to the Unending Maw on the way to the camp. Now that he also admitted to being Unbound, he'd anticipated some sort of fear or loathing or...or anything but what she'd done. She merely nodded and smiled, as if something had finally made sense to her.

"I had wondered why you were so interested in their history," she had said. Felix had scratched his neck and shrugged. Zara had laughed. "This is remarkable, Felix. I am quite glad you broke into my shop."

That had brought a grin to his face, and he'd found his misgivings about the strange Chanter fading. At least a little.

Cal, however, had reacted exactly as Felix had worried. There was a lot of yelling and accusations and being subjected to length Analyzes and informational gathering Skills. Felix didn't fight it and in fact deactivated the Amulet of Veiling he wore around his neck to prevent others from inspecting him. Despite Cal's exhausting examination (she'd even checked his teeth), the treasure hunter had been able to find nothing about him that was suspect. Nothing, that is, except his new Race.

"Primordial Nym," Cal had breathed. "What is that?"

"Something not seen for a very long time, I imagine," Zara had said. "I've not heard of it in any tome or history, and I've read much. I'll see if I can dig anything up."

"Thank you, Zara," Cal had said with a nod. "I hate being in the dark."

"Imagine how I feel," Felix had offered with a wry grin.

"Sounds strong though," Harn had grunted. "Good. Just don't go eating any of the newcomers."

Felix had let out a surprised laugh at that. Humor, from Harn. "I'll try my best."

After that it was their turn. Harn revealed how they had all escaped from the Domain. Turns out they had been cast out when the shell failed; a safety mechanism meant to disgorge sentients from the Domain in the case of failure. The only downside was that they had been scattered about, along with more than a few Revenants on their tails.

That raised a new wrinkle, at least to Felix. Since they were ousted by the same safety protocol that expelled Harn, the Revenants, according to the System, were sentients. Typically the System categorized Races and Types. Races were considered sentient and could gain Titles and take on System Quests, growing stronger as they went. Types, or monsters, were not considered sentient by the same System, unable to earn such perks and growing stronger only through violence or other, more arcane manners. Strangely, that included the Risi, a Type of Giantfolk that were at least as intelligent as a Human, had a developed culture, and even boasted a messed up religion. Why, then, did the System consider the Revenants different?

The answer, unsurprisingly, came from Zara.

"They're Manawarped Revenants," she had explained in that lecture voice she'd used on him before. "You said so yourself Felix. These creatures were once Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Orcs. All kinds. The System must still recognize that part of their pitiful existences."

"So what does that mean exactly?" Cal had asked. "Does it benefit them?"

"It means they will likely be able to gain Titles and complete System Quests, though based on their level of Intelligence I am not terribly worried about that. Regardless, I recommend excising them as soon as possible. They are a...stain on the Grand Harmony that will only spread and grew more intractable as time passes."

Felix could attest to that. The infinitesimal piece of the Maw they contained was rife with discordant power, strains of a chaotic song that was almost the antithesis of the System itself. If the Revenants gained Titles as fast as he did, then they were all in for a world of hurt. He mentioned that, but the others laughed it off.

"Were they Unbound cursed by the attention of a powerful Primordial we would do well to be worried," Zara said. "But they will be unlikely to accrue significant Titles in the short term. The long term, as I have said, is another story entirely."

That had brought up the subject he'd been waiting for. The Archon. Explaining who and what he was had been difficult, as Felix wasn't entirely sure. Neither were they, as it turned out.

"Sounds like a golem," Harn had said.

"A sentient golem? You see those a lot?" Cal asked archly. "Nah, this sounds like more Foglands fuckery. More ancient unknowns coming from the past to haunt us."

Zara had hummed a series of contemplative notes. "Little is known about the Nym, and the way this Archon reacted to you suggests a history. There is a connection there that I might delve out...yet it also means he is thousands of years old. For a construct to be running that entire time--it boggles the mind."

Zara had immediately begun rifling through a pack at her side, one Felix later learned was chock full of books. Before he could peruse them himself, Harn had grabbed his attention.

"If the plan was to destabilize the city, then this Archon's mission was successful. Haarwatch is ass up and reelin'. If I were him, now'd be the time to strike against us." Harn had pointed west, toward the Wall. "The Guilders've been sayin' the Foglands are spewin' out monsters, hordes of em. Solid bet it's him."

"Good point," Cal had said with a frown. "The Revenants seem like an after thought though, right? His real play was the giant Ravager King?"

"That's what I figure," Felix had agreed. "The Envoy said as much, and the memory I'd stolen from him indicated he was building an army to take advantage of the chaos the Ravager King would cause. The Envoy had planned for an attack from both sides of the Wall."

"Classic pincer movement," Harn had grunted. "And in a city shook by infightin' and sudden monsters. Woulda worked, too."

That's what had Felix worried. It had been a good plan, all things considered, and who knew what else was up the golden golem's sleeves. The four of them batted around ideas, but mostly it came down to protecting the people they had in camp, and trying to root out the Revenants as best they could. With their rate of population growth, the possibility of them overwhelming the city felt entirely too real.

All of which meant getting stronger was his number one priority. They'd asked only a few more questions before he'd been released to train his newly strengthened Skills, though Zara had asked that they speak in a few glasses. She wanted to get moving with Chanter training as soon as possible.

Felix refocused on the now, weaving as best he could through more of the lashing chains. Like a dozen Evie's all fighting in tandem.

He'd attempted the damn Gauntlet twice now, and had made it no farther than half way before being pummeled into the ground. The second time he'd barely made it ten feet in before the animated mannequins took out his legs. Thankfully using his Mana Skills no longer sent pain ripping through his everything, as Unfettered Volition often made the difference between evasion and a brutal wounding.

However, all was not exactly right. His Aspects kept flaring in the strangest of ways. He'd commit to an action, but a vivid heat in his chest would lead him misjudging and putting too much Strength into a jump. He'd rocket too high and have to weather the abuse of the many violent obstacles. Or he'd cast Shadow Whip, but an unsteady pulsing in his Spirit sent the spell twitching away from him, fouling his aim.

Through the chains, Felix ducked under the rolling blades, a series of spinning sabers that varied their elevations based on his speed. He'd made it past them the first time, just barely, and he thought he had the pattern down.

Duck, dive, roll, jump! Duck, dodge left, spin, hop! It was a flurry of quick decisions and pinpoint movements that he was awed to be able to accomplish. His Dexterity combined with Unfettered Volition lent Felix a precision that he'd never--

HURK!

A burning surge of blue-white flashed across his awareness and Felix felt himself fall forward. A blade, missed in his self-satisfaction, stabbed at where he had just stood. It came so close he felt the back of his tunic slice open, though his skin was untouched. He tried to recover with a series of frantic rolls, but the next couple of blades hit him square in the shoulder and lower back, sending him sprawling into the loose dirt.

A loud, but short klaxon sounded from a nearby post.

Failure. Again.

What the hell was that? He berated himself as he crawled to the sidelines and exited the Gauntlet. It had felt like his Body was making moves for him. Without him. How is that possible? I'm over level 40, I figured this'd be a cake walk.

He was wrung out and sweating far more than he'd had in recent memory. The Gauntlet was no joke, and to beat it, he had to take this seriously. Something was going on inside him. Felix dove into his core, utilizing his Fire Within to explore the strange chaos within him.

While previously his Fire Within unlocked his internal Mana control and allowed him to visualize his core. It was a step that Rory had claimed was fundamental to being able to advance, though he hadn't gone into too much detail. The culture of Haarwatch and by extension the Heirocracy was steeped in taboos when it came to sharing information. A frustration to Felix in many ways, but not one he cared to waste time on at that moment. No, he'd rather focus on the details now being unveiled by his new and improved, Journeyman Tiered Fire Within.

The first thing that stood out was the sudden clarity of his visualization. While before he could visit his core space and feel the power rolling through the myriad pathways around his Body, it had always felt somewhat dreamlike. Unreal. Now, there was a granular edge to everything, as if it was just one step removed from actual, physical reality.

Felix watched as waves of blue-white, liquid flame coursed through his looping pathways like blood through his veins. The power never stopped, circulated by the spinning ring at the center of it all. Said ring, made up of thick, undulating blue-white flames was tethered by a number of Skills. Each Skill he had Tempered provided a ribbon of shimmering light that now slowly wove around the ring like some sort of luminous maypole. As the Skills slowly revolved around his core ring, planets around a star, the ribbon tethers twisted just beneath it.

Why?

Felix watched a bit longer, but ultimately was unable to understand much else going on within him. His Fire Within had Tiered up, but the change was not so stark as he'd hoped. The Essence of Bort, after all, was all about accumulation. He'd have to practice further.

Still, it was a strange feeling, but not unfamiliar; he'd lived his entire life without knowing how his organs and circulatory system really worked, how was this any different? It wasn't that he didn't care, but he'd had enough over obsessing about everything he didn't immediately understand. He'd ask Zara after he got done with the Gauntlet.

It was a simple as that.

Having someone around that had soared to the heights of Master Tier definitely had its advantages. Not the least of which was the Chanter training he was to begin later that day. Until then, he was to use his time as he saw fit.

You could go out and help them around the camp, you know, a nagging voice inside him prodded. Guard the camp maybe, or fight off any monsters out there? That wall was looking pretty rough, too...

Felix shook his head and dismissed his guilty conscience. The best way he could help everyone was to get a handle on his abilities. He'd been scraping by the skin of his teeth for far too long. The next time he faced real threats, he wanted to be ready. And that meant training until he could kick the Gauntlet's ass.

Again.