The Fool's Freedom

Alan jumped up in surprise, but the strange phenomenon disappeared just as quickly as it had started. The space remained closed, but there was now a small tunnel through which the coin was siphoning his mana. He felt his pool grow lower and lower and tried to stop the process, but it didn’t work.

That was bad. His mana was evaporating fast and Alan didn’t want to learn what would happen if the token kept draining him after it was all gone. He ground his teeth in annoyance and took out the cleansed crystals from his tattered bag. It painted him to waste them for anything other than the ritual, but it was better than dying.

Ash will kill me if I die.

He could feel his bones - his enchanted bones – having some sort of reaction to what was happening, but how could he involve them in the process? Was this Old Greyheart’s idea? Stuff seemed to be working out so far when he tried crazy things, and his bones almost vibrated with something of a desire.

Alan held the crystals in his right hand and concentrated. As soon as his mana pool got dangerously low, he started taking in the mana from the crystals. It was a pitiful amount compared to the ones from Ig-Thun, but it was something. He went through all 6 fairly quickly and was about to pull out the large one when the swirling shadow vortex stopped, and a new symbol, similar to the previous one but quite sleeker and darker appeared on his wrist.

He willed the token to appear and the coin hovered over his outstretched hand. There was a connection he felt with it, but the space he had sensed seemed to be stretched between the coin and the symbol now as if they were separate.

Strange licks of darkness and shadows softly started to dance between the coin and his skin, seeping through his pores and gently crawling into his bones. The amount of mana the strange process expended was pitiful, but it still lowered his regeneration a bit. Alan felt the change. It was nothing like the ritual had been, but it seemed similar in nature. His enchanted bones were absorbing something spatial in nature.

What the fuck did I do?

Alan sat down and watched the tree tops waving in rhythm with the soft breeze. His left arm was outstretched before him. It had grown a bit numb, but no matter what he did the coin didn’t listen to his will anymore. It was going from solid to translucent and almost invisible at a quick speed. He needed a guidebook for all the strange things in this new universe he found himself in.

Why couldn’t the shade or Greyheart simply explain what things were, instead of being cryptic fucks about it all? He had given blood and mana to the coin, making it bound to him and only him. Was he fucking something up, or doing something he wasn’t supposed to?

As he was grumbling, there was finally change and the mana surged, then settled down just like that.

Congratulations! You have successfully altered your bone’s enchantment, combining it with a large amount of shadow mana and a natural spatial attributed treasure. You can now access your personal pocket space.

Enchantment Augment: Left forearm - Shadow Space

Your enchanted bones have been fused with a spatially attributed treasure. You can access a personal pocket space attuned to your shadow mana’s signature. Its size and properties can be enhanced further with more naturally formed spatial treasures.

Wow. So, his enchanted bones could do a lot more than just provide mana. That’s what Old Greyheart had meant… Enchanted but without enchantment.

He didn’t know much about how things worked, but considering he had practically made his bones into an enchanted item, without a proper enchantment, this could kind of count as adding the missing part.

The coin had some spatial attributes, due to the material it was made from most likely, and his little experiment simply took them and made them his own. That… was strange, but promising. The possibilities would be endless!

It was disappointing there was no title or a bonus for achieving something like that, but it hadn’t been overly hard. The process felt almost natural. There were also a variety of skills out there, and he was sure some were related to augmenting the body permanently, without having to have access to a rare material.

The token had changed, the black wood a bit duller, but still sturdy, and he carefully held it in the palm of his left hand, watching as the shadows swallowed it, tucking it into his new pocket space. The shadowy effect seemed to be a personalized touch, which he appreciated. Style was all that people remembered sometimes.

This is cool as fuck.

He put the spear in first and watched the shadows swallow it in a matter of seconds. Taking it out required a few seconds as well and shadows seemingly bled from the pores of his left forearm and formed the long spear, before dissipating.

It took almost no mana to do it! The delay made it much less suited for combat, but it was a massive quality-of-life enhancement.

Alan played around, taking inventory of what he owned until his mana regenerated. Apart from his weapons, coins, and the Echidna crystals, not much.

With another thought the spear materialized in his hand again.

He hadn’t tried out [Shadow Weapon] with the spear yet. The shadows appeared on the tip, coating it and the spear, and Alan willed them to change.

The tip grew longer until it almost looked as if there was a short sword on top. Was a polearm what it was called? It looked deadly. The process was quite slow so he couldn’t use it to surprise his enemy, but it still reinforced his weapon and gave him a quality advantage.

He had a sudden idea, and the shadows moved again, extending and curving to the side. It took him a few tries but then it was done. Not practical for combat, not at all.

But the scythe of shadows he held and admired looked badass as fuck. Alan felt like a giddy edge lord as he waved his new scythe around, imagining whipping it out next time someone in the Sanctuary decided to play tough.

Was it wrong that he really wanted someone to try and act tough, only so he could cosplay Death itself?

Whatever, he had a scythe!

With a wide and clumsy swing that almost brought him out of balance, Alan shot a [Shadow Slash] from the edge and cheered as it left a deep mark on a piece of ruin.

He played some more, until his mana was almost gone again, then decided to head back and check on Florence. He wanted to hear her story if nothing else, and whatever issues he had with her skills or characters, she had always done right by him.

He also wanted to get back out there, to fight and grow. It was addicting.

***

Tim walked the corridor of the large ruin with his head held down, like the good henchman that he was pretending to be. This was to be their new base of operation, The Future’s Headquarters. Laughable.

Cole was nothing more than a narcissistic asshole who thought that running the Sanctuary would be the same as running a gang in a big city. He was wrong.

Tim was used to people like Cole, the corporate world was full of them. When they tasted power over others they got drunk with it, losing themselves and forgetting that they were just people. Which made them easy to manipulate, especially when one was quiet, helpful, and trustworthy.

He had even refused Walter who was seeking healing for Florence, the sexy girl from the office he had tried to charm for so long with no success. She had turned out to be much more than a pretty face and a nice body, and he wondered if they were two of the same cloth. Wolves that knew when to be sheep.

He entered a large room and greeted everyone on the way – mostly former drug addicts and petty thieves. Cole knew his crowd and how to herd it. That was fine for now.

Tim loved nothing more than to let others set the stage for him. It was still too early to be at the helm and draw attention. When small people get big power, they create waves that are bound to be particularly destructive in a quasi-society in which everyone has magic and powers.

He saw Ivan playing cards on an upturned barrel in the corner but passed and instead headed for where Cole was sitting, calming Dusty for the umpteenth time. Tim forced down the disgust that came over him, trying to keep his neutral and submissive expression on. Some people were not worth keeping even as tools.

“Hey, chief. You called for me,” Tim smiled. Cole loved being called by the name of his class. It made him feel important. It made him feel better.

“Dusty here caught another beating. Told him to ignore the Enchanter’s Bane.”

“Is that the place of that Mongolian guy? He sure set shop quick.” Tim said and cast one of his weaker healing skills on the grumbling Dusty.

“Yeah, he has quite the capable bodyguards it seems,” Cole scowled, “We have enough issues with the other gangs without you going and creating new enemies everywhere! Fucking moron!” he spat and kicked Dusty’s boot before walking away.

Tim suppressed a smile. Few would be less capable than trash like Dusty.

“He doesn’t mean it. You are one of the strongest here. I am sure you will show him one day,” Tim said.

Dusty’s swollen eyes rose to meet Tim’s and the bruised man tried to answer, but only a moan of pain escaped his lips.

Tim almost wished he could slit the garbage’s throat himself. That fool Alan would have done everyone a favor if he had finished the job.

***

Florence woke up. Her whole body was sore, but there was little pain remaining. She was in a windowless room and flickering shadows danced on the walls around her. The light giving birth to them came from a beautiful stone, akin to a lit candle.

She stood up carefully, remembering the arrow stuck in her stomach. It had taken all of her skills to keep her awake. She was still reeling from the strong emotions and the amount of adrenaline she had pumped into her veins to reach safety. She had used anger and hatred, she had given herself blind confidence, and even made herself love the Sanctuary, all only to resist the fatigue, and the death that would come if she stopped moving. A tiresome journey.

It was a shame what had happened to Davis. He had been strong, and dependable, if a bit too obsessed. The latter was probably her fault, as the constant pulling and pushing was affecting the man on a deeper level than simply his emotional state at the time.

She was long prepared for death, and the path she had been excited to step on at the start now bore down on her. The constant influx of emotions, the involuntary adjustments she had started making to anyone she met and to herself, was scary. She was losing what little identity she had found and becoming her new power, her new class.

[Manipulator] had been an easy choice. She was not offered many, and the class made her feel safe because it gave her tools that could help her escape any situation. But she had been wrong. She still thought like a person whose only problem was living in a society of other people. There had been things in the forest her skills had been useless against, things with no emotions or thoughts, and things that controlled their emotions to a scary degree. Terrible beings she couldn’t simply terrify or force to worship her.

Her class had fallen short. Her illusion skill was the only one that could help in a fight, apart from her manipulative skills, but she had no means to hurt anything directly.

At some level, she knew it had been a mistake to leave the Sanctuary. She could rule the place, given enough time. But she would become a monster in the process, and her class would completely take over, erasing all she had managed to cultivate through so much effort.

There had been one more person like her in the Sanctuary, a kind older man at first – an unfeeling psychopath. They had sensed each other on the first day. She – a person wearing a perfect mask, constantly managing her own emotions to appear like they were not muted and numb, and him – a successful, unremorseful, unfeeling machine. He had wanted them to work together, as partners.

She had agreed, and an hour later used all of her new abilities, and forced one of the smaller gangs to murder him.

It was only natural and she did not regret it at all.

There was movement in one of the room's darker corners and Florence jumped up. She had not sensed anyone in the room with her even though she always felt emotions, even animal ones. Was she distracted or was it a monster?

Florence closed her eyes and focused. Yes, it was there, a turbulent and dangerous mind, so muted and protected that she expended a lot of effort just to catch a tiny feel. Swirling shadows obscured her senses, and threatened to consume her too if she got close.

There was a familiarity in the darkness.

Florence took the flickering candlestone and walked closer to the sleeping figure.

A man. A tattered piece of cloth was bundled to serve as a pillow. Leather armor and boots rested against the wall, leaving him only in a dark shirt and pants that looked quite sturdy.

He looked different. Gone was the hollowed face that made one think they were talking with a dead man. His dark hair was longer and a short beard had grown on his face; coupled with his filled-out features it gave him quite the charming look. He almost looked as if he wasn’t an asshole while he was sleeping.

Florence smiled, a rare genuine smile. She had always liked Alan. One of the few who hadn’t made her feel like they were trying to get something out of her, or more likely her clothes off of her.

She had some regrets about Davis, but there was a small chance he was still alive. Maybe Alan would want to search for him? Though controlling him again would probably not be possible. He certainly hated her if he was still alive.

Hate made things hard, while a little bit of attraction, a small kind word or a gesture did wonders. It was easy to guide the ones she liked, even if their minds were protected. She had to make sure they remained true to her, no matter the obstacle.

Nevertheless… Alan had mentioned playing games a few times, and even if her knowledge of the subject was very limited, she knew his interest would be roused when she told him what they had found. Yes, it was more than likely that the man would jump at the opportunity to explore something no self-respecting gamer would pass. If not, she would entice him. She could do that. It was for the good of everyone.

Florence sat next to Alan and gently stroked his hair uncaring of how creepy she was acting.

She couldn’t wait to tell him about the Dungeon.