Chapter 204: Unified Theory of Demanifestation

Chapter 204: Unified Theory of Demanifestation

My mind split in two. One half began to filter through the observations I’d just made, while the other processed Hysteria’s question and the resulting conversation.

I glanced at my ruined floorboards. Their destruction grabbed my attention, and not just because I was annoyed they’d need to be replaced. By this point, I was committed to scrapping the entire mansion to make sure there weren’t any more surprises hidden around by Hysteria’s goons. What got my notice was that Varrin had forced himself backward.

Strength did a few wacky things, the most obvious of which began at Level 10. Every Delver who’d ascended to superhuman levels of flex gained the ability to create their own leverage. Otherwise, their strength wouldn’t be terribly useful. A two-hundred-pound body could only apply so much force to an external object before it simply pushed itself away like Varrin just had.

With Varrin’s Strength score, the man could lift several elephants, African or otherwise. He could apply that force in physics-defying ways, meaning the full brunt of it could be used without pushing himself away from whatever he was using it against. That is, unless Varrin chose to allow himself to be pushed, or unless something else pushed back in turn.

“He hit you pretty hard,” Xim said to Hysteria. “It would have been weird if you hadn’t felt it.”

“Get over yourself,” said the avatar. “I just struck a mountain with enough energy that it evaporated, and I didn’t feel that.” They looked Varrin over. “There’s more to it than this man’s delectable slabs of beef.”

[It appears that the Zenithar is warding the Eschens somehow, likely to limit Hysteria’s influence. I cannot teleport them without her permission, which she seems reluctant to give. Additionally, there is a problem that requires your attention.]

Varrin’s thrust had been perfect, with only the very tip of the blade’s point connecting. The entirety of the man’s power had been concentrated on the extremely small spot where the sword contacted bone. The amount of pressure that generated was staggering; something in the realm of tens of millions of pounds per square inch.

Kazandak was unharmed since it was Immutable, but even that didn’t allow the material to perform beyond the bounds of its material properties. It only prevented it from being damaged in any way.

My vest would allow an arrow to pierce it as easily as typical c’thonic leather, but due to its Immutable property, the arrow wouldn’t leave a hole behind. Seinnador had described it as the vest becoming a sort of tunnel, where the attack didn’t go through the vest’s material, but between it somehow. That description didn’t quite work for me, since the material still absorbed the kinetic energy it normally would. It just avoided anything over that hard limit.

An easier way for me to think of it was that the vest simply sent the excess energy wherever it was most easily sent. In the case of an arrow hurtling toward my chest, the easiest place to send that energy was into my chest.

As for what that meant with a sword, it wouldn’t make sense for the weapon to go through the thing it was attacking once the limits of its durability were reached. The excess energy would instead rebound into whatever was driving the sword forward. In this case, Varrin.

“You asked me to give it my best,” said Varrin. “You can hardly be upset if it stung.”

“Stung?” said Hysteria. “Boy, it was like being caressed by a gentle breeze.” They ran a hand along their arm, which was growing a layer of pale skin. “No, you’ve got something else giving you a boost. You’re much too weak to take advantage of it, but it’s there.”

Hysteria walked back to the counter and swept half of the mugs onto the ground, reducing the number of untouched drinks to three. They leaned over, placing an elbow on the sticky surface and settling their chin into their palm.

“We have another problem?” I thought to Grotto. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

[The wastelanders are in your bedroom.]

“Shit.” I went to rub my beard, but my gauntlet clanked against my bascinet. Two threads of thought were fine, but three was stretching me thin. “That’s not too surprising. They disappeared shortly before we got out with the Card. The teleport weave in here was an obvious jump point. What are they doing?”

The force of Varrin’s strike rebounding may sound counterintuitive, but it’s really the same thing as the arrow in my vest example. An arrow collides with the vest, and the excess force is sent in the same direction the arrow was traveling. With Kazandak, the sword is intuitively perceived as the body in motion, and one would expect the energy to go in the same direction. However, the problem should be considered from the frame of reference of the Immutable object–the sword–in which case it was Hysteria who was in relative motion.

When Hysteria’s sternum collided with the sword, the kinetic energy the Immutable item needed to offset was moving toward Varrin. Thus, the weapon shunted the excess energy in the direction of its wielder, which would explain why Varrin had just ruined my hardwoods. Varrin hadn’t pushed himself back, his attack had exceeded the bounds of Kazandak’s tolerances, and the Immutable property transferred the excess force to its wielder, which was the easiest place for the energy to go. That was my theory, anyway.

Okay, technically that meant Varrin had pushed himself backward, but in a very roundabout manner.

Like Varrin’s strike to Hysteria’s neck, the avatar’s flesh had parted easily enough, but their sternum hadn’t even vibrated. The Spectral portion of the attack broke apart like ocean waves against a rocky cliffside.

Kazandak was a masterwork sword made by one of the world’s most prominent crafters. Its tolerances were pretty high, but it still had limits. Limits that Varrin was already running up against, it seemed. The sword’s requirements weren’t particularly demanding, and it had never been intended for high-end use cases. Like slaying gods, for example.

We’d need to get him a sword that could do that, eventually.

“This is probably Orexis’s fault,” Hysteria mumbled, drumming their fingers. “Destroying a god, even a little slice of one, does weird things to people. The divinity has to go somewhere, after all.” The avatar picked up another mug and drained it, then wiped their mouth with the back of a crimson sleeve.

I suddenly realized the avatar was wearing a set of blood-red robes, their body fully reformed. A dark skull was stained into the front of the cloth.

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If this manifestation was disrupted, what would happen? Would the divinity be sucked back up into the heavens? Would it dissipate and reform later?

Each school of magic had well-known counters. Would having more properties relating to the five schools of magic create more vulnerabilities or less? If Hysteria was locked into one school–Spiritual–would they be easier to demanifest than an avatar like Avarice, who seemed to be spread out across three?

Did any comprehensible rules even apply to the avatars?

The idea had me intrigued. If an avatar could be pigeonholed into a specific school or attunement, it might give us a framework for counteracting them.

Further testing was needed. Maybe more avatars would be willing to let us attack them until we figured out how their bodies worked.

“Geulons,” said Hysteria, “have a significantly higher level of control over their biological functions.”

“Nonsense,” said another of the delegates. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” The man had moved to stand next to Jinta, and he pried the first delegate’s hand from her arm. He received a deep scowl for his efforts.

“You may not be aware of it,” said Hysteria. “But it’s true nonetheless. Let me show you.”

Hysteria turned to Varrin’s sister, Riona, who hadn’t made a peep since our brief escape. Her expression was absent, but she snapped her head to meet the avatar’s eyes.

“Stop your heart,” said the avatar.

Varrin flinched and raised his sword, which he’d never sheathed. Riona’s expression furrowed into a look of concentration.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said, tone pitiful.

Hysteria knocked one of the mugs from the counter and picked up the last.

“It’s okay,” they said gently. “I can’t ask you to do something you’re physically incapable of.”

The avatar took a long draw from the final drink. They turned to the Eschen delegates, who’d silently separated into two camps. Jinta and her frustrated colleague were on one side, with the other three staring daggers at them.

“Zura!” I snapped, pulling the Zenithar’s attention away from her people. “Stop fucking around!”

The elder Geulon blinked, taking precious seconds to process what I’d said. By the time the message had gotten through, it was too late.

Hysteria finished off the final mug of beer and looked at the group of three delegates.

“Let’s see how it works on this trio,” said the avatar. “Go ahead. Stop your hearts.”

All three Geulons collapsed, and the Zenithar let out a strangled cry. Jinta screamed. The man next to her stumbled back, tripping over his feet and hitting the ground hard.

I clenched my jaw until pain shot through my gums. Xim cast Heal on one of the delegates, heedless of the potential harm it might cause to their non-Delver constitution.

They didn’t get back up.

“Do you guys want to see some necromancy?” Hysteria asked, before thrusting their arms out to either side.

The other two Eschens started to run. My mind whirled to find anything I could do to help. Finally, Zura released her hold on her delegation, and Grotto whisked them away, fresh corpses and all. The Zenithar stayed behind, spinning toward Hysteria with a look of pure hatred. It was an alien expression on her motherly features.

The lights in the room dimmed, and a complex sigil sprang to life on the ground. I studied the glyphs, but the runes were unfamiliar.

Water began condensing along the ceiling, dripping down like a spring storm as Zura’s presence swelled.

The Zenithar’s soul pressed down on us like a lead blanket.