D.G. - Chapter 266 - A TWO-SIDED MYSTERY

Jiran's full-body, aura resistant suit did little to protect him from the intense desert heat. The sweltering environment pressed against the cloth, warming his skin to the point he was immediately sweating. The material was thin enough he could see through the full face mask with only a little distortion. Still, he felt incredibly blind with his aura trapped inside his body. It was better than instantly being discovered by someone beyond his ability to handle. 

While his mana alone quested for threats along the framework, he created a chilling ball of aspected aura inside his torso. A few minutes of exploration yielded no clues about the Meersvants he'd left alive. Their supplies were still in the pyramid's basement and there were no tracks leading away from the structure. It was possible they flew away together, but he'd left the tier eight captain without enough mana to make it far. Survival in the desert's unusual heat was no easy task even with full mana.

Another possibility: they were killed. No signs of a struggle though. Did they try to make it back to that cave with the communication pond? No time to solve random mysteries. Get the ship, get out.

After the reminder of his mission, Jiran wrapped his thin suit in a layer of distorting elemental light. He flew low over the sands, rapidly approaching where he buried the vessel. It was challenging to fly with his aura only able to grip the framework inside his body, but not impossible. He doubted so little of the framework would be able to hold up his weight next tier, maybe even as soon as his growth was maxed this tier.

Arriving above the ruins, Jiran found the sands undisturbed and sighed. The fear that the Meersvants reclaimed the ship and used it to leave had been gnawing at his subconscious. He dove in headfirst, burrowing deeper by shifting the grains out of his way with brute force.

The cavern was just as he left it, save the air now polluted by cloying smoke. The majestic, if slightly damaged ship, was still propped on its side. Externally, it was pristine as ever. The seeker's last ditch attempt to blow the vessel up had damaged a decent section of its internal formations, leaving Jiran questioning his chances of ever getting it to fly again.

For the moment, that question wasn't important. The mana storage inside was still full to bursting and the many intact formations had the potential to revolutionize his and the empire's understanding of what was possible.

Jiran ducked into the only open hatch on her hull. He flew down familiar hallways, now dark as the mana powering the lights had ceased to flow. He planned to start at the bridge and work his way backward through the ship to its mana storage but paused before leaving the large room. In the dark, the glint of shining jewels was significantly more pronounced than the last time he'd been there.

He already knew what he was looking at before nearing to investigate, the sight cause for celebration. Embedded within each of the two dozen controlling formations on the bridge, were hundreds of masterium in varying sizes. They seamlessly slotted into the smooth walls and panels, and were clearly designed to give lower tier Meersvants the capacity to control the ship which ran on mana of much higher Concentration.

They were set in obvious patterns, similar to the way vibrations of specific frequencies formed natural shapes. Each grouping of gems was so precisely arranged that Jiran hesitated in procuring any. Jiran leaned closer, transfixed by the intricacy of it. He noticed that even the hundreds of facets inside each crystal were aligned to match their neighboring masterium.

These formations are so elaborate even from the outside. I feel like a neanderthal looking at a circuit board. If I take even one of these carelessly, how much damage would it cause? 

Deciding it wasn't worth it, Jiran left the bridge. Without his aura to guide him, following the shattered mana tube through the ship's bowels was tricky, but not impossible. The impressions he received from whatever his mana touched simply couldn't compare to aura. One was akin to grasping with fingers in the dark, the other looking with wide eyes at mid-day. To make matters more challenging, much of the hull was impervious to his questing as it was made from mana of a higher Concentration.

Thirty minutes later, he found the nearest wall that he could push his mana through. Just beyond it was a rent in the piping that led directly into the fuel tank. Knowing how difficult a task he was about to undertake, he used Elemental Castigation to warm the metal then poked a finger-sized hole in it. Now, his mana had unfettered access to the prize.

Diving into his soul-space, Jiran flooded the sigil for Enthralling Touch with as much mana as its many weaving channels could hold. His skill dove into the mana tank, struggling fiercely to commandeer even a single drop of mana. It took a full three minutes, and his brain was sizzling from the mental effort, but the success was worth it. That one drop contained more total mana than everything he had stored in Armament. 

With painstaking precision, he pulled apart the drop, reducing its Concentration to what he could easily control. The boundaries of Armament expanded massively and his Remalonian instincts both rejoiced, and demanded more. There was no need to deny himself with such a feast arrayed before him. Thirty minutes of gorging later, Jiran blinked to check his progress.

Armament: 26 (Current Storage - 12.3 > 141.7)

Well, this confirms each point of storage is equivalent to my total manapool. There's enough mana inside Armament to to turn the entire empire into ashes. 

Armament's internal storage was now larger than he could stretch his aura in any one direction. Yet he had barely begun to dip into the ship's reserves. After taking eleven drops, he estimated there were around three litres left.

Why put so much mana in one place? I can't imagine they're that reckless. Either they have ways to gather huge sums of mana, so this isn't much to them, or they have ways to track it down so it's never actually lost. Not sure which one I want to be the right answer…

Jiran left the ship and sealed the door behind him with Mana Transcendence.  He took up position near its bow, then paused as a frustrating thought occurred to him.

I've never experimented with moving the holes Armament makes after they've been opened. They're always perfectly still. If I can't get them to move, I'll have to lift the ship with my aura and stuff it inside. I'll have to take off the suit, becoming a literal beacon to anyone looking for me with aura.

Experimentally, he opened a tiny hole in space with Armament and tried to move the hole itself. It refused, being as stationary as a hole in space ought to be, which in its own way made no sense.

Oh, c’mon! The planet is spinning, which means the hole is moving, so why can't I move it a little more?! Is it positionally relative?

Jiran cancelled the skill. He tried again, this time picturing the skill moving away from him on its own right from the get-go. That failed, but he wasn’t ready to give up. Closing his eyes, he envisioned Madra’s rotation and the hole leading to Armament moving slightly out of alignment so that it would remain still while everything else moved away from it.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted to the sight of Armament’s access point drifting away from him. Well, technically, he was drifting away from it but that wasn't the point. The message populating across the inside of his eyelids was.

Armament: +4

Pumping a fist in victory, Jiran banished the hole and made another, this one large enough to spill out a river of mana. He kept his energies contained inside while the dark portal scooped up a huge heaping of dirt along with the Meersvant ship.

No. She’s mine now.

Jiran’s final concern was that changing his physical location would somehow leave the ship behind. If Armament wasn’t creating a separate pocket dimension tied to him, but was instead accessing an underlayer of reality, then the ship would remain right where it was. This solution was simpler than the issue of moving portals; he simply commanded the huge quantity of mana within Armament to grasp hold of the ship and not let go.

Prize secure, Jiran bent his knees in preparation to jump but froze still when a slender female Meersvant suddenly appeared less than twenty meters away. Fresh sweat sprouted from his skin when she casually turned in full circle to look around, the movement a blur that he couldn’t possibly track. He didn’t dare move a muscle, or even breathe. He calmed the movements of his mana, pulling his obfuscating layer of elemental light as close to the material of his suit as possible.

He didn’t know if high tier Meersvants could see mana, or had some way to feel his Gaze of Pediamus; she hadn’t spotted him yet, so his safest bet was to do neither. He waited for what felt like hours, holding his body perfectly still with the help of his aura braced against the framework inside him. His eyes were locked on her, not that it did him much good with how fast she was.

The other Meersvants he’d seen were completely bald, lacking even eyebrows, while she had long hair just as white as her skin and armor. Not only the hair set her apart; she had brightly glowing crimson eyes and armor that exuded a sense of toughness equaled only by its intricate design.

She made several rapid popping noises with her lips, clearly not speaking since his translator made no attempt to decipher her. As quickly as she came, she was gone. Jiran refused to breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t move a millimeter for long minutes, ears straining for any sound in the dark tunnel.

Never ever ever going to doubt my paranoia after this. She’s at least tenth tier. Must have felt the ship vanishing. Her aura range is probably insane. If she sensed the ship moving, then she’ll definitely spot me trying to burrow my way through the sand. I suppose the only important question at this point is: how long do I wait here wondering if she’s still watching?

Meanwhile

- Headquarters of the Found Navy -

“Rasrakin! You kneel before The Council of Wishers to answer for your crimes thus: Failure to confirm the appearance of another catastrophe. Failure to protect your charge—the most glorious Esirpretne, constructed by Tortanna herself. For these high crimes of desertion and dereliction… we sentence you to forced extraction.”

Rasrakin bore his sentence with as much dignity as was possible when being told your very core would be ruthlessly torn free of its host.

“We ask that you delay your judgement, wishers,” a new voice appeared in the vast chamber and none dared smack their lips in shocked outrage. Complete silence fell upon the sacred hearing. To interrupt the council was done so rarely that the oldest scribes would need long hours to find the last recorded entry of it occurring.

Recovering with a start, the council herald spoke softly into his voice amplifier, and his words filled the chambers, “The council recognizes Alotaierre, Mistress of Slayers.”

The high councilor who had been in the process of sentencing the traitor sneered at the new arrival, “This is not your Hall of a Thousand Sins to do as you will, Alotaierre.”

The high councilor to her right leaned forward. The man was so old and dusty as to be a tome left in the sunslight for generations, yet his voice still held strength, and more importantly, respect, “Let them speak, Shamaih.” The final high councilor in attendance popped his mouth in concurrence.

Shamaih smacked scornfully, though he did lift a finger, relinquishing the position of speaker.

“Thank you, wise wishers. We merely come to bring additional facts, not to sway your judgements. We have confirmed the coming of a second catastrophe. The Watchless Temple was destroyed from the inside before the arrival of Rasrakin. The banished sentenced there were not capable of such a feat. There is more. We personally located the sight of a one-sided battle where the Esirpretne lost. She was taken from that place, toward the temple where my sister found Rasrakin.”

While the witnesses in the chamber might not understand all the implications, the three councilors certainly did. While it was widely known that Tortanna constructed the new flagship of the seekers, only a handful knew she had also filled it to the brim with her own mana. There were none among the Meersvants who could disable such a vessel: none other than her.

Sensing there was more, the old councilor clicked his tongue, “Go on.”

“It is our conjecture that this is not the second coming of the catastrophe, but an entirely new one. Its actions are nothing like the last.”

”Impertinence! Not one true-joined drew breath at the time of the last catastrophe’s coming, yet you claim to know their differences?”

Alotaierre waited for the lifted finger that gave her permission to continue, “Yet it is truth. The histories are clear. The catastrophe came with arrogance, destroying all who gazed upon its feet to the point there is not one record of its appearance. While this catastrophe has left a similar dearth of observance, it does so through trickery and stealth. Rasrakin must have seen it, yet remembers nothing, and still lives.”

Alotaierre took a deep breath, relaying the most vital information with gravity suffusing her tone, “It is our belief that this new catastrophe is still among us.” A round of terrified pops and smacks resounded from the witnesses. 

Alotaierre spoke over them, not wishing to wait for another round of consent that may never come, “We sensed movement deep beneath the sands of the temple. When we arrived at the source, we discovered an ancient cavern created by our forebears. The Esirpretne had been there moments ago, yet only traces of its scent remained. It hides from us, leaving no traces, even in our memories. That is all we have, wise wishers. May you guide us to prosperity and greatness. For if ever we needed your wisdom, it is now.”