Kanin Fyre: Chapter 27 - Eight Limbs Are Better Than One

It takes longer than I would have liked to speak with Fyre about Shirasil’s visit. Aquenno seems to suspect something happened between us, as he watches us more closely than he had the previous day. 

I feel a bit torn about keeping Shirasil’s visit from him. On the one hand, Blair isn’t an ally I’d like to lose. But I doubt she’d be on board with my plan to free the imprisoned Travelers. Remaining free is one thing, but breaking into Heaven is something else. Until I can figure out exactly where she stands, being careful around Aquenno is the safest course of action. 

That morning, Aquenno shadows us as Fyre continues her tour of her city. She shows us the impressively extensive bathhouse, the sprawling pavilions she’d built for Ollie so he’d have places to land and lounge without worrying about damaging anything, and the docks at the base of the city, designed for airships and still part way through construction. We even run into Sandro again, and while his cloak flutters nervously around him, all remnants leave each other alone. It isn’t until after lunch, when Mirzayael is showing us her training grounds where a handful of guards are currently running drills, that I have an idea. 

“How about a sparring match?” I suggest. Ink perks up. “It would be nice to get some practice in with people and fighting styles I’m unfamiliar with.” 

Mirzayael smiles, but the look is far more predatory than friendly. “A wonderful suggestion.” 

Zyneth glances at me with no small amount of skepticism. “Are you sure?”

I shrug. “Why not? It will let Ink blow off some steam. Besides,” I say, gesturing to Aquenno to get his attention. “You want evidence that I won’t lose control of Ink, right?”

Aquenno gives me a considering look. “It is not for me to decide if you are a threat or not; my lord is the only one who can make that call.” 

Oh, come on, I know he can’t resist the opportunity to gain some insight on what Ink and I can do. 

“But,” he says, and I inwardly grin, “it would be useful to report any findings back to Lord Blair.”

“Great,” I say, unbuttoning my jacket. “Then who’s up first?” As I remove my jacket and fold it up, I use it to obscure my chest as I Sculpt the glass around my core. 

Mirzayael steps forward. “I would be interested in assessing your capabilities as well.” 

Figures. I’m sure my presence here makes her wary, and she’d like to see for herself how much of a threat I pose—even if we’re all on the same side. I’m not really bothered by that; Zyneth probably feels a similar caution toward Fyre and her remnant. 

It does somewhat throw a small wrench into my plans, but I can adapt. Plus, Ink is excited to spar with someone like Mirzayael. I think it’s frustrated at being overwhelmed so thoroughly by Yedzaquib, and wants to learn how it can better combat arachnoids. They have so many legs; it respects that.

“Works for me. Here,” I say, passing my jacket over to Fyre. “Mind holding this for the match? Don’t want anything to get damaged.” I kick my boots and pants off as well, but don’t put any of them in my Inventory. I couldn’t even if I wanted to; I’ve hidden my core inside my coat. 

“Of course,” Fyre says, accepting the bundle. I can feel her hand pass over the hard bump in my jacket. She pauses, then adjusts the bundle, using the opportunity to slip a hand between the layers of my jacket. She catches on fast. 

[You have been subjected to Psionic Touch,] Echo says. 

“Good idea,” Fyre says into my mind. “I could also bring Mirzayael into this conversation, though that might be a bit distracting while you spar.”

Ink ruffles with irritation at finding Fyre back inside our head. It doesn’t like the idea of someone else being here while its attention needs to be external. 

“I was sort of hoping I would be against someone who wouldn’t require my full attention,” I joke. “We can chat after the match. Maybe I can get Zyneth to spar with someone instead. It should be enough of a distraction for Aquenno.”

“We have time,” Fyre agrees. 

“Anything I should know?” Mirzayael asks as we both step out into a sparring ring marked in the center of the barracks. “I do not wish to accidentally kill you.”

I tap my chest—or, my body does—which has sealed back over to obscure my missing core. “As long as you don’t shatter my core, I’ll be fine. Anything else is fair game; feel free to use as much force as you like.” It will be good to test the Durability spells I designed with Caesius.

“Likewise, you do not need to hold back against me.” Mirzayael grins, drawing her spear from where it had been strapped across her back. Its metal glints in the sunlight. “I’m starting to like you.” 

And she’s starting to scare me. But Ink also feels eager; it sees her as a worthy opponent. 

“What’s the win condition?” I ask. 

Mirzayael points her spear tip toward the large stone ring carved into the ground around us. “First to set foot outside the ring loses.” 

Hah, she doesn’t know what she’s dealing with. We could be a real dick and just spend the whole time floating. “If a limb passes over the ring, does that count? Or do you have to touch the ground?”

Mirzayael considers for a moment. “Let’s say touch the ground. I am unsure if I should classify your glass and void as weapons or limbs, so for fairness, anything belonging to either of us counts. If you knock my spear outside the ring and it strikes the ground, that will also count.”

“Works for me,” I say. “Ready?”

Ink hovers over my mind, practically trembling with excitement. Hold on a second, I tell it. I’ve got a plan I want to try first. 

It’s kind of an asshole plan, and Ink is reluctant to accept, because it still wants the chance to fight her. 

You will, I assure it. Because I’m pretty damn sure she’s going to ask for a rematch.

“Go!” Mirzayael says, dashing forward. 

Ink doesn’t have any more time to argue. It reluctantly complies with what I have in mind. Our void splits in half, one snapping into the air before us like a shadowy shield, while the other shoots off to the side. Mirzayael manages to pivot around our barrier of void with impressive dexterity, but our void is pretty dexterous, too. Still mid-dodge, we launch the sheet of void at her, wrapping around her body even as she attempts to slash through it with her spear.

[Displace activated. Mana cost: 512]

Mirzayael falls out the other side of the void, landing on her feet and already whipping back around to face me.

Except, she’s outside the ring. 

Zyneth burst into a full-bellied laugh, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. 

Mirzayael scowls. “That was underhanded.”

“Hey, I was just following your rules,” I say. Ink ripples with amusement. It can see the appeal in this strategy after all. 

Fyre also chuckles in my head. “Uh oh, now you’ve really done it.” 

“Rematch,” Mirzayael demands, much to Ink’s delight. 

“Sure,” I say with a casual shrug that I’m certain just bothers her even more. Despite my nonchalance, that trick won’t work twice, since it came at the cost of almost all of our mana. 

Still worth it.

Mirzayael repositions herself at the opposite end of the ring, a dangerous look in her eyes. 

Alright, I tell Ink. It’s all yours.

“Ready?” Mirzayael calls. 

Ink wraps around my mind, and we sink into a lower stance, void and glass shifting over our body for faster mobility. 

“Go!” 

Once more, Mirzayael dashes forward. Before she gets halfway, however, she launches her spear at us. We jerk to our side and it flies harmlessly past—then Mirzayael gestures, and the spear snaps back toward us from behind. Luckily, we have sight turned on in all our glass, so we see the move coming. We summon our ball of Chained glass from our Inventory, appearing behind us just as the spear crashes into it. Her weapon clatters to the ground, and we move to knock it outside the ring—but with another gesture, the spear comes shooting back toward Mirzayael, passing beneath our body and nearly sweeping our legs out from under us. We stumble slightly to regain our posture as a flicker of light catches in the air; spider silk. That’s how she’s maneuvering her weapon.

We try to cut the line with a piece of glass, but it’s out of our reach before we have a chance. Mirzayael catches the spear and rushes us once more. 

Breaking the Chains in our ball of glass, we send dozens of pieces forward to attack and slow Mirzayael as we skirt out of her range. We send more pieces above the circle to get a better view of the arena, and begin to Chain new pieces of glass into limbs. We don’t have a lot of mana left, so we'll use it now to create the most powerful and adaptable form possible. 

Mirzayael slashes her spear at the daggers of glass, deflecting them in every direction. A few strike the ground, but none of them break. It’s a significant improvement from before. We continue to circle around the ring, but it only takes seconds for her to catch up. 

She jabs her spear toward our body, and we catch it with a limb, using void to secure our grip. She jerks her weapon back toward herself with more force than we expected, and we go stumbling forward as well. We’re in the midst of releasing her spear when she lunges forward and grabs our closest limb. Before we have a chance to unChain it from our body, she pivots to the side, yanking hard on our limb, and manages to lift us from the ground. This is no small feat, considering glass weighs about twice as much as people do. We manage to wrap a limb around her hand as she spins, throwing us out over the edge of the ring. We stop focusing on Mirzayael and turn our entire attention to our glass and void, seizing it in a tense grip. We come to a stop, still gripping Mirzayael’s wrist, our body hovering four feet above the ground.

Mirzayael laughs. “You’re full of all sorts of tricks, aren’t you?” 

We don’t answer, instead yanking on her arm, and throwing ourself forward, flipping over Mirzayael’s head. When we feel her grip on our limb slacken, we also let go, using the opportunity to whip it out of her grasp. We land on the opposite side of the ring, settling into a readied stance once more.

“Are you mocking me?” Mirzayael asks, though her tone indicates she’s more amused than insulted. 

We aren’t sure what she’s talking about.

Zyneth responds in our stead, however. “No,” he says, sounding amused himself. “Ink just prefers more limbs.”

Of course we do. It’s much more useful.

Mirzayael is giving us more trouble than we expected. Of course, she’s bigger than us, and a higher level, but we thought we’d still be able to push her out of the ring. On the last dregs of our mana, and unable to beat her in a show of strength, we consider our next best strategy. Tripping her up is probably the way to go, although that’s easier said than done when your enemy has eight legs. No, wait—seven. One of them appears to have been severed just above the knee. Still, making her lose her footing will be tough. 

“Fun,” Mirzayael says, actually sounding like she means it. “That’s the second time I’ve underestimated you. Let’s get serious, shall we?”

Wait, was she not already—

Mirzayael moves in a blur. We dash to the side, and she bares down on us, stabbing a leg toward one of our limbs. It skips off our glass without cracking it, and we weave between her legs, slipping under her belly to escape. As we go, we grab each of her legs with a limb of void and pull them with us, attempting to pull her to the ground. We succeed in dislodging three legs and making her stumble, but it’s not enough to destabilize her. We let go even as she spins around, stabbing after us with any leg that comes within reach. 

We attack her from behind, sending dozens of glass peppering her back and head. We try to hit with the blunt sides, but we don’t have time to be careful. Mirzayael flinches from the blow, swatting away more with her spear, but instead of hissing in pain, she laughs. 

She’s starting to worry us. 

Mirzayael becomes a blur of movement. She attacks and we retreat, trying to counterattack, attempting to trip her up and distract her from behind, but it only slows her down, and the more hits we do manage to land, the more excited she seems to become. 

Our best strategy is to wear her down. We might run out of mana, but we will never tire, while Mirzayael will eventually grow exhausted and slip up. But that sort of victory is not satisfying. 

We crave complete triumph. It’s time to be more direct. 

As we continue to dodge Mirzayael’s relentless attacks, we cluster glass behind her and activate Lightbeam as a skill. It can’t do damage—it’s little more than a glorified laser pointer—but it also doesn’t cost mana. As soon as the glass is positioned correctly, we swing it around to point it at her face. 

Mirzayael flinches in surprise, instinctively closing an eye and raising a hand. We leap at her at the same moment, wrapping around her torso and seizing every arm and leg we can manage to get a limb around. Mirzayael cries out in surprise and stumbles, her front legs giving out as we pull up on them. We squeeze one limb around her torso, and snake another around her neck. Mirzayael thrashes to dislodge us, but we’re impossible to reach—especially with her arms bound up in our grasp. 

A thrilled elation crackles through us. We’ve subdued our prey. She is at our mercy. All it would take is to squeeze her neck—stab a blade of glass into her torso—

Despite her reduced mobility, Mirzayael shifts her grip on her spear and snaps it down over her shoulder. She isn’t able to get any power from the movement, but the flat side of her speartip still annoyingly smacks against our head. However, when she flicks her wrist forward again, pulling the spear away, our head disorientingly goes with it. 

We have only a second to comprehend that our glass prism is somehow stuck to her spear before she smacks it against the ground. 

[2 points of Bludgeoning damage sustained.]

It cracks, but doesn’t shatter. 

It’s also outside the sparring ring. 

“You lose,” Mirzayael says.

We growl, briefly overcome with frustration so acute, we want to show Mirzayael what we’re really capable of. The rules of this match mean nothing. Lose? Hah. If we wanted to, we could wrench her arms from her sockets—

“Kanin,” Fyre thinks, alarmed. 

It’s like cold water being doused over our mind. Our grasp on Mirzayael goes slack, and we slip off her back. Mirzayael shakes herself off as we recall all our glass in an alarmed haze. 

“Good fight,” Mirzayael says, unaware of the moment of danger she’d been in. “I’d like another match some day.” She picks up her spear, and pulls my prism head from a wad of spider-silk that’s stuck to her weapon. Several strands still cling to the glass. Gross. 

“Yeah,” I say, feigning a more casual tone than I feel. Ink stews in annoyance as it slinks to the back of my mind. It should have won that. “Thanks for indulging me.” 

I can still feel Fyre’s faint concern in the back of my head, but she’s not alarmed like she was earlier. 

“Sorry,” I think, a bit ashamed. “It wouldn’t have actually gone that far.” Probably. But there’s enough doubt for me to be alarmed, too. I got wrapped up in the fight—wrapped up in Ink’s mind. I need to be more careful to not get swept up in its emotions in moments of high tension like that. 

“It’s good to see you’re able to pull it back from the brink, at least,” Fyre thinks in a weak attempt to sound supportive. 

I drag my body back over to Zyneth, sitting at his side in a distinctly nonhuman form. 

He looks down at me with faint amusement. “Do you plan to walk around like that all day?”

“Oh, shut up,” I grumble. “I’m out of mana. I’ll fix it all when I’ve regained some.” 

“Well, you know what they say about two heads,” he teases. 

“Zyneth, please.”

“I suppose the same might also go for arms,” he continues, his smile broadening now that he can see he’s getting under my skin. Or, void, I guess. “Eight limbs are better than four? Or, wait, would tentacles be a better descriptor?”

I shove him with one such ‘tentacle,’ and he laughs. Despite his teasing, I do feel a bit better. Actually, it’s probably because of it. 

“I’m out of the fight for a bit,” I announce to everyone. “Someone else go while I fix this body.” 

Weirdly, Mirzayael looks the most relaxed since the first time I saw her. Not a wrinkle on her forehead to be frowned. “Fix?” she repeats. “This form seems far more useful than your previous. It was surprisingly difficult to combat.”

Ink is abruptly over its irritation with Mirzayael, smugly puffing itself up at her praise. It told me this is a better form.

I don’t want to hear it, I tell Ink. I can distantly feel Fyre’s amusement over this mental exchange. 

“Yeah, great for fights, not so great for greeting children without them running screaming to their parents.” I pop one of the limbs off as I regain enough mana to unChain it.

Fyre chuckles. “I don’t know, I think Ollie would think it’s very cool.”

“Who next?” Mirzayael asks, glancing around our group. Her eyes alight on Aquenno. “I hope it’s not beneath you to spar with a mortal.”

She probably wants to see where she stands against a champion. He’s not terribly higher level than she is, so honestly, I’m pretty curious, too. 

“Mirzayael,” Fyre cautions, probably recognizing that picking a fight with a champion whose god is kind of on our side isn’t the best move.

But Aquenno shakes his head. “I have no interest in sparing you. I am here to observe.”

“I, however, would like to accept your invitation,” Zyneth says. 

Mirzayael grins, another wicked, predatory smile. “Oh, yes. I’d love to see what the prince is capable of.”

A dark look flashes in Zyneth’s eyes as he steps forward. “I’d prefer if you’d address me by name.”

“Of course.” Mirzayael steps back with an exaggerated sweep of her hand so Zyneth can join her in the ring. “My mistake.”

Fyre exchanges a worried look with me. “You don’t think they’re going to go too far, do you?”

“You two take it easy, now,” she also calls aloud. 

“Not to worry,” Mirzayael says. “It will be a quick match.”

Zyneth smiles tightly, loosening his knives in his sheaths. “I’m in complete agreement.” 

Ink also watches the two settle into combat stances. “No,” I think. “I’m pretty sure ‘taking it too far’ is exactly what they intend.”