[LSB] Chapter 114: One For Humanity

Mohinder had never been handled like this.

Perhaps he had, once—back when he was still fully organic. But that was a lifetime ago, a memory lost to time. The last time anything natural remained in his body, he had been six years old. That was when his parents, for no rhyme or reason, decided to place him in a mechanical body—the same one he inhabited now, only with some parts upgraded.

As he grew older, he couldn’t help but find it ironic. Cloning, genetic alterations, and consciousness transfers to another person’s corpse were outlawed across most of the universe. Yet somehow, placing a child into what was essentially a weapon wasn’t? Humanity rejected godhood, yet like the ancient Greek gods, they permitted cruelty within their own families.

For a hundred years, Mohinder had lived in this metal frame not of his own choosing. A body engineered for war. A mind conditioned for battle. He had considered himself a warrior without equal. But now?

Now, he was tossed around by a man who was still mostly organic. Less than organic, even—Julian was missing parts of himself. A strong mutant, perhaps, but still human.

Of course, Mohinder had been holding back. But so had Julian. And that was what unsettled him the most.

If they had fought at full strength, who would have won?

A machine forged for war? Or Julian Winters—a man crippled by nature and then enhanced by it?

It didn’t matter. Whatever the answer, Mohinder didn’t mind being bested. In fact, he found himself mesmerized as he now watched Julian work.

The training hall had fallen silent.

No one was sparring anymore. The space had transformed into Julian’s forge, and every eye was on him.

His hammer struck the metal with a rhythm that consumed the room. Hard and heavy, yet precise. Then came the chasing hammer—lighter, faster, striking in rapid succession to carve intricate curves into the glowing white alloy like a marching drum. A chisel followed, etching patterns into the surface, each stroke wild.

The flames roared violently as Julian plunged the metal into the forge. When he struck it again, a visible pulse rippled through the air. And when he submerged the heated weapon into oil, the metal itself seemed to wail.

The heat was unbearable. It pressed against their skin, forcing them to step back, to hold their breath.

It hadn’t been like this when he crafted Cindy’s Phantasm. That process had been smooth, refined—elegant.

But this?

This was raw. This was primal.

Beast.

His movements were brutal, his strikes almost feral.

And yet, when he was finished, none of that savagery remained in the weapon he had birthed.

Only grace. Only dignity.

And the pattern they held could be seen clearly because Julian had not created a blade—no.

Julian had forged the very same kind of weapon Zoan wielded: a pair of clawed gauntlets. Except his were far more refined, and the blades were not limited to just the nails. Their true nature, however, could only be fully appreciated when viewed up close—intricate, almost deceptive in their craftsmanship.

Julian carefully placed the gauntlets on the counter, and Mohinder narrowed his eyes. He hesitated to approach.

How could he not?

While Julian was forging them, Mohinder had felt everything. Every strike of the hammer sent vibrations through his mechanical frame. Every time the molten metal was quenched, he swore he could feel himself being drowned. And now that the weapon was complete, his body was reacting to it in ways he had never experienced before—as if something was pulling him toward it, like metal drawn to a magnet.

Finally, after a moment of hesitation, Mohinder let himself be pulled in.

“This is…” Mohinder muttered as he stood before the gauntlets. He reached for them, but before his hands could make contact, Julian placed a firm hand over them.

“Be careful,” Julian warned. “Try to hold them by the cuffs as much as possible.”

Mohinder nodded, gripping the gauntlets exactly as instructed. The moment he slid them on, a strange sensation ran through him. There was no need to force his hands in—they fit perfectly, embracing his forearms like they had always belonged there.

Not too tight. Not too loose.

It didn’t even feel like armor, or a new skin.

Rather, it was as if his forearms and hands had been replaced entirely, upgraded into something greater.

Mohinder ran his fingers over the engravings that decorated the gauntlets, appreciating their artistry. But then, he realized why Julian had warned him.

These weren’t just engravings.

From the knuckles to the clawed fingertips, every single intricate line was a hidden weapon—razor-sharp, deadly, and humming with latent power.

“Amazing,” Mohinder whispered, completely in awe. “This is… amazing. How could I ever repay you, lohar?”

“You don’t need to,” Julian said with a calm hum. “I am here as a service to help fight against the daemons. Just take care of the Hands of Wind.”

Mohinder stared at Julian, his mechanical fingers flexing as he took in the weight—no, the weightlessness—of his new weapon. Then, as a sign of utmost respect, he clasped his hands together and bowed deeply.

“I will treat them as a part of my body,” he said solemnly. “I already feel as if they are.”

Without another word, Mohinder turned toward the training platform. Unlike Cindy, who had tested her weapon with elaborate movements, he simply raised a hand and gave a single, effortless swing.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

The other exterminators barely saw his movement. It was so fast, so precise, that they only knew it had happened because they felt it.

But none were as shocked as Mohinder himself.

He looked at his gauntlets, his fingers trembling slightly.

This was different.

Every time he swung his hands before, he felt resistance. The weight of his frame, the friction of the air—there was always something holding him back.

But now?

It was as if the air itself made way for him.

No.

It didn’t just move—it amplified him.

The name Hands of Wind had seemed almost ridiculous at first. But now, he understood. Now, it made perfect sense.

Mohinder turned back to Julian and offered another silent bow.

Humanity had done everything to avoid becoming gods. But they had failed.

Because there was one standing right in front of him.

And it seemed he wasn’t the only one who had come to this realization.

The exterminators, who had hesitated to approach Julian before, now surged toward him in droves. Cindy, still practicing with Phantasm on the sidelines, scoffed as she watched them scramble.

She had seen how they ignored him earlier.

Now, they were crawling over each other, desperate. Like flies swarming a perfectly grilled, medium-rare steak. — was what she was thinking.

Unfortunately for them, Julian turned them away.

“I’m afraid I used up all the xylarion for the Hands of Wind,” he muttered, tracing his fingers through the air before brushing them against what little remained of the xylarion metal.

A single cube, no larger than a pinky finger, along with a handful of shavings from the Hands of Wind.

That was all that was left.

And suffice it to say, the exterminators did not take it well.

“What the hell!?”

“The DCC didn’t provide more!?”

“Here! Take my weapon—break it down! Just use whatever xylarion’s in it!”

Desperation spread like wildfire. Some were willing to rip apart their own gear. Others eyed the ship itself, searching for components that might contain xylarion.

Of course, that made the DCC staff member stationed in the training hall rush out and burst into Dr. Heinz’s station, out of breath and wild-eyed.

“Dr. Heinz! The exterminators are rioting!”

“What? What do you mean rioting!?”

Dr. Heinz was already stretched thin managing the daemon wave. Now, on top of everything else, this?

“The exterminators are demanding that the DCC give Julian Winters unlimited access to xylarion!”

Dr. Heinz stared at the staff member, processing the absurdity of what he was hearing.

Did they even realize what they were asking for?

Xylarion was a material so highly regulated that even the highest-ranking government official needed special clearance to obtain mere ounces of it.

And they wanted to hand it over to Julian?

Dr. Heinz turned to his monitors, pulling up the training hall’s recordings. He didn’t need long to understand.

A phasing weapon—one of the most advanced combat technologies humanity had ever created—had been cut in half without resistance by a weapon Julian had made by hand.

That was all the proof he needed.

Without hesitation, Dr. Heinz made the call.

Unfortunately…

[Your request has been denied. We require immediate proof of large-scale effectiveness before releasing the requested materials.]

“What do you mean you need proof!?” Dr. Heinz shouted, causing the entire room to fall silent. “I showed you the recording!”

The response was the same. Cold, bureaucratic, and unyielding.

And then they just hung up on him.

“Curse you!”

Dr. Heinz slammed his fists onto his console, teeth grinding in frustration.

His mind raced.

Was this what Victoria had been talking about? Should he have seriously considered the idea of making the DCC a private sector?

Would that… even be possible?

***

An hour later, the complaints from the exterminators finally died down. Not because they had accepted their fate—but because three more portals had opened, forcing them to deploy.

One had even spawned inside a city.

And Cindy and Mohinder now hovered above the said city, looking down from their spacecraft at the horde of daemons below.

But they weren’t up there for long.

Without hesitation, they jumped.

Falling thousands of feet through the sky, they crashed into the streets below, where the battle had already begun.

And within seconds, it became clear.

Julian’s weapons weren’t just effective.

They were changing the battlefield.

Dr. Heinz, despite being busier than ever, took a moment to make another call.

“Are you seeing this?” he demanded. “Cindy and Mohinder are tearing through them like grass! Do you know what grass is!? Have you touched them!?”

But the response from the World Government was still the same.

No approval.

No additional xylarion.

Nothing.

“Where’s Dr. Ling!?” Dr. Heinz barked, turning to his team. “She should be handling these negotiations!”

“She’s… down there, sir.”

“Down there?” Dr. Heinz felt a vein throb in his forehead. “Why is she on the battlefield again!?”

And while the war raged below, inside the mothership, Julian stood alone in the training hall, arms crossed, listening to the holographic displays.

He had no idea how the fight was truly progressing.

But from the announcements echoing through the ship, he knew one thing—his weapons were making a difference.

This…

This was the life he should be living.

Crafting. Arming people. Staying away from the chaos and just waiting for his materials to re-stock so he could craft some more.

This is it—the life of a blacksmith.

“Hmm.” Julian smiled, humming to himself as he just stood there doing nothing.

The only other person inside the training hall, Craig, could not help but be weirded out by Julian. But then, a few moments later, Craig saw the smile on Julian’s face suddenly fade away.

Julian tilted his head. 

Craig was curious about what was wrong, but before he could approach Julian, Julian approached him instead. 

Craig flinched, wondering what Julian needed from him. 

“Is… there something you need?” He asked, and Julian quickly answered. 

“Yes. Tell Dr. Heinz a daemon is on board the ship.” 

“Uh… What?”

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AUTHOR NOTES

Of course, fate wouldn't allow Julian to just relax.