Chapter 140: The tools roboGod gave us

Chapter 140: The tools roboGod gave us

[Title earned: Deus ex magicka. Recover from a fatal injury using magic. +2 vitality.]

[Hidden Class feature discovered: Mental Partition. The psion dominates all minds. Including his own. Passive power.]

Blake groaned and opened his eyes, staring into the flickering light of a lamp flame.

"Oh thank the gods, you're alive. Drink this."

A familiar voice. Too young to be his mother. His mind slowly caught him up, and Blake remembered the explosion and the apocalypse and a new world built by some alien machine. Was it Seul-ki? No.

Then he remembered the dungeon. The orc king. The knife in his chest. The disturbingly attractive orc, Ilya. He lifted his head enough to drink from a cup lowered to his lips. Then he sat up, wincing at the pain radiating through his chest.

"The magic worked, but you should still be careful. I don't know how much damage remains."

Blake took a few deep breaths and felt surprisingly...well, not dead. He wasn't likely to go dancing or chest bumping soon, but all in all for a man who'd probably been stabbed in the lung he was feeling rather well. Then, with a slightly panicked pause, he thought: and also rather human.

His deceptive magic, he realized, was entirely gone. He was about to reflexively re-activate it when he looked up and met Ilya's eyes. He held up his soft, pink hands.

"Why...did you save me? After...why did you help me?"

Ilya's jaw clenched, but she knelt down and wiped a wet rag on the floor to clean up some of Blake's blood. Her tone got harsher.

"Because I believe you're here to kill Gromsh. So I don't really care who you are or why you're doing it. You're a powerful wizard, and we have the same goal. That’s all."

Blake snorted. "So powerful a random orc warrior nearly killed me with one thrust of his knife."

"Any creature can be killed with surprise," Ilya said without hesitation. "Including a king."

Blake smiled at that. He reached down and covered her hands, stopping her from scrubbing. She mostly just froze. "Thank you, Ilya, for saving my life."

"You're welcome," she said as she pulled her hands away, but at least a little of her fire seemed to drain. "My friend...she saw you as well. She promised not to say anything, but she's confused, and afraid. You'll want to continue with the disguise, if you can. But I can handle her a little while."

Blake nodded, feeling...strange. It was the closest he’d ever truly come to being so...vulnerable since his memories were vague and fuzzy. The closest he’d come to failing, to dying, or at least feeling like it. When he was with Mason in the ‘explosion’ that changed the world, somehow he’d never really believed it was the end. But this time...at least for a moment, he truly did.

He shivered and tried inspecting his newly discovered power to distract himself. It sounded cool, but he had no idea what it actually did. He looked over his profile.

Blake Nimitz

Level: 8

Class: Psion

Strength - 3

Before he activated Psionic Shield, he took a look at Mental Partition. As he did he began to notice a distinct new ‘box’ in the corner of his vision. Except, no, it wasn’t really sensory, or at least not part of his actual vision—it was more like he had a new window in his mind, a kind of computerized place he could...put things. What kinds of things, he had no idea...

"You can recover here for the night," Ilya was saying. "Then we need to go back and find Chief Terzog and continue our work. We'll need as many warriors as possible to deal with Gromsh and his bodyguards."

"Yes. Fine." Blake was still focusing on his 'partition'. The most obvious 'game' mechanic would be to maintain some kind of spell for him and save his attention. But he didn’t actually have anything like that except for Psychic Shield.

He flicked his attention to the partition and tried to 'label it', finding he could, almost like a logic problem’s if/then language. He gave it a first shot.

[If—incoming physical violence—then—activate Psionic Shield.]

The text flickered into existence next to the description, and Blake grinned at a satisfying sort of popping feeling of success.

"Ilya, do me a favor and hit me in the face."

The orc blinked and stared at Blake in confusion.

"It's alright. Just remember I’m a human who tricked you into risking your life for me. Should be pretty..."

Ilya slapped Blake hard with her right hand. Or very nearly.

A translucent purple shield materialized an inch from Blake's skin, which Ilya's hand squished into then bounced away. Blake smiled as his partition 'window' slightly glowed in his vision.

"Excellent. Thank you, that's most helpful."

"Glad you could find another use for me," she snapped, and he slightly regretted not smoothing things first. "Now I'll go find us something to eat. Anything else I can fetch you?"

Blake winced slightly, tempted to employ Mental Influence but ultimately deciding against it. "I'm sorry, Ilya. I'm...not used to failure. Or getting stabbed.” He cleared his throat. "And I'm going to do exactly what I told you. All my effort, all my magic, I'll kill this Gromsh, then I'll leave you and your people alone. I promise."

"Why should I believe you? I don't even know your name," Ilya said, then ducked from the tent before Blake could say a word.

His situation wasn’t ideal, obviously. But she'd come around. He wondered at his own hesitation to influence her mind, not entirely sure why he’d felt it. He tapped his fingers on his mana gem, genuinely confused. Was it because he found her attractive, and rather pleasant? He was quite sure that wouldn't stop him.

He liked her tenacity, and her loyalty to her family, too. And yes she'd saved his life, he supposed he owed her for that. He rolled his eyes, imagining Mason standing there judging him. Telling him not to abuse his powers or use them unless he had to.

"Well we don't all regenerate," he muttered. "I don’t have infinite arrows, do I? Need to use the tools roboGod gave me."

He felt somewhat put-upon and petulant at the thought, but he also didn’t fully trust his life in Ilya’s hands. He half-closed his eyes and shot his perception to the orc through Mental Influence, watching her walk through the city of tents and shacks, in theory looking for food, and hopefully not to instantly betray him.

Don't judge me, he thought to the non-existent Mason. She's an orc. And perfectly capable of all manner of...

She stopped at what looked like a meat vendor, and started negotiating to buy something, and Blake winced. Even so, he didn’t stop watching from her eyes, quite certain he wouldn’t until she’d come back to the tent.

Old habits died hard, he supposed...