171 – Just Communication
In the center of the black orb, a bead of shimmering white light formed. It darted to the surface, moving about in place of a pupil as Zefaris looked around.
Zef stared into Zel’s eyes, then hastily squeezed her left eyelid shut. She jerkily shook her head, remarking, “That’ll take getting used to… But at least it works.”
“See something weird?” Zelsys asked, curious.
“Just your optic nerve,” Zef answered as she gathered her things and continued filling the speedloader. “Could’ve sworn I saw those silver lines shaped into a glyph on the inside of your right eye”
While Zef continued her work, Zel made repeated attempts at manifesting ball lightning without the use of her hands, mostly focusing on her shoulders. After a stray arc struck the ground and ignited a few isolated grains of gunpowder, she made the choice to perform her experimentation elsewhere in the chamber.
The same results as before. The same struggle.
Not eager to keep trying the same thing until it worked she invoked, “Style: Beast…”
With the increased affinity to lightning and awareness of her own silver conduits that they style conferred, it became considerably easier to achieve her desired result. That is to say, it became possible.
It still took considerable effort, focus, and time, but after a couple attempts using Beast Style, Zel managed to manifest a pair of tiny lightning-beads, one above either shoulder. When she let go, they went zipping off into the air in random directions before fizzing out of existence.
She tried it again and again, and with yet more focus and effort, she even managed to direct the eyeball-sized beads of light in a general direction. They still wandered about in their zigzagging patterns, but at least they could be guided. It was still far too difficult and time-consuming to be of any use in a real fight, but Zelsys couldn’t help herself gnawing away at it even if she knew it wouldn’t reach a usable state during her time in the dungeon.
It was her fourth, or perhaps fifth attempt when she noticed the Caster leaning out of his nook, staring at her. Her immediate assumption was that he must be staring at her rear, considering the angle, but his beckoning hand made her doubt the assumption.
She walked over, squatting down to look the sitting bugman in his beady little eyes. With a gesture, he made another pillar lower down to widen the entryway of his and the Spearman’s hidey-hole. He dispelled her assumption when, in awkward wording, he asked, “Your… Heavenly fire. How did you obtain it?”
A tilt of her head and an eyebrow raised in confusion clued him in on the clunkiness of his speech.
“How do you say…” he murmured to himself, looking off to the side before he seemingly remembered, perking up, “Lightning! That’s the word. How did you obtain it?”
Smugly, she smiled and answered, “I cut a lightning bolt from the Living Storm.”
“I-I see, that does… Does explain it, I think...” he stuttered, visibly taken aback by the answer.
“What about you? No visible breathing method, no incantation, you just throw a green lightning bolt and stand there twitching like it’s you that got hit,” she continued, digging at the Caster’s vulnerability to his own abilities. She was prodding at him not just for the sake of prodding, but also out of curiosity.
“Ah, I have no lightning of my own,” he smiled sadly. “I merely know how to draw on the strength of a willing other. Without outside help, I can only exert command over the aspect of earth. My role in the Divine Army was fortification support, before this mess...”
“This mess?” Zel raised an eyebrow again.
“The war,” the Spearman cut in while the Caster still ruminated on his answer, his voice bitter and angry. “They told us we’d quash some hillbilly upstarts and be back before the festivities. Half a year later, most of our battalion lay dead in ditches and the rest of us only live as these twisted parodies of our former selves. We were sent out on recon one day, and found this place. The Loyalists only moved in recently, forced their way in through the Fog Gate using some artifact.”
“Any ideas as to why they might want to take over the dungeon?” Zel asked. She had her own opinions about the matter, but was also curious about the view of someone from the other side of the battle-line.
“They think the dungeon’s treasures can just be stolen and taken back to the surface world, that most of them aren’t mirages never meant to leave the Sea of Fog,” the Caster cackled this time. Before Zelsys could ask the question that immediately sprung to her head, he added that, “They think everything in the dungeon is permanent like your rewards. Even the walls are just a big lie, paper-thin sheets of pseudo-reality made concrete by the Core for as long as there are living things nearby. The moment the Core loses control, the cogworks start jamming, sinking into the Sea. Though, I suspect that’s exactly what the Emperor wants.”
The longer he talked, the more confusing and audibly deranged he became. In only a few sentences, the bugman started to sound like some rambling hermit. Still, some of what he said made sense, and Zelsys recognized some of the things he said, so she decided to play along.
“Two questions,” she said, gesturing with two fingers. “No, make that three. First, why are you telling me all this? Second, what do you mean by the dungeon sinking into the Sea of Fog? And third, why would the Emperor want such a thing to happen?”
“You challengers are our only hope of what we know ever reaching the surface, so I suppose helping you understand would increase the chance of you spreading the truth of things,” conceded the Caster, shifting about in place and taking up a more comfortable sitting position.