Fluid - 9

A link snaps into existence, signalling my first royal guardsman, and much more—the echoes through the oath cascade higher with smashing blasts of thunder when he takes a second class. The world seems to take a breath, and explosions rock along the link when he takes another two.

“What happened?” Phile asks, drawing my attention away when Nikias’ song explodes.

Nikias’ eyes roll back in his head as he slumps sideways.

“Classes.”

Phile and Ipy are moving to support him even as the word spills from my lips, and I take in more details. Not just four classes, but all evolved and rare. The theme within him shudders under the effort of adjusting to the sudden growth. Without a Class foundation already present to reinforce, the classes change spare flesh into solid muscle, accelerate his nerves, and harden his bones. They race away, drawing down on his body’s resources to create the missing foundation.

Glad I don’t have to choose between keeping him alive or trying to catch him, I scramble for options to save him instead. A Royal Knight Class would be a jump to be picked up by an unclassed person, but he’s gained the Anar version. I’ve no time to learn what else, but his oath directs me to one common tone in all four. Four melee combat classes, all trying to improve his body, are stripping it of resources. Beneath frail flesh, the toll starts to bite into his Soul.

With his spare mass already being consumed, Protean’s song won’t help him—it’s not a wound. He needs more energy to prevent the four classes from consuming him while making changes, but these are classes meant for beings Aunt Am says were close to demigods. I have to do more than just supply his flesh with energy.

The beastlands’ wild song rolls instinctively from my lips, and in those first notes, my brain catches up. There isn’t time to compose proper music for the task, I need to feed him enough energy to matter. Cascading notes of chaotic, vibrant energy—full of growth potential—race onwards, controlling them entirely is impossible but I need to at least direct them. The notes’ power rings loud enough to drown out the gasping, desperate breaths rasping in his throat. I touch him with the song, a mere brush to keep him from completely changing into an Outsider.

The balancing act threatens to become a tug of war between his body’s needs and what he can survive taking in. They’ve barely begun to lower him to the floor when I catch an off-tempo rhythm, and the convulsions start.

Focusing past it, I hear the impending cascade of organ failure with his body's reserves gone. Splitting my voice has the music of Mechanus’ cogs joining the mix.

I can’t stop it and only hope that Mechanus’ Order might let me control the system's pace. The first notes skid across the internal changes trying to find purchase. It takes two complete rounds before it gains a trembling grip, and he’s already got bloody tears leaking from his eyes.

Winding the song along one notch at a time with long, sustained notes, I brace against the classes and clashing maelstroms until finally, their pace starts to slow. Yet Order and Chaos are seldom easily mixed.

Mechanus’ Order crystallises within the maelstrom and tries to lock it all in place. With the energies adding to the battle inside him becoming a hindrance rather than help, I need a fulcrum or way to reduce the interactions between the six forces at play. I grab for the Spire's essence, and the additional song anchors my flesh and the twined music so fast that it presses me into the stone, and I sing in time to the fractures spiralling through my bones. When my shins and knees split, pain lights me up from my toes to the crown of my skull.

I’ve no spare breath to scream, and the points of light dancing in my vision makes letting go so tempting. Memories of hard training getting my father’s nod of approval and Aunt Am’s smile despite her unfair imprisonment and losses have me wrestling the pain’s furnace into the song. Mother's right: choices have consequences, and my mistake will not be what kills this boy. I’m unsure when I'd stood, but the chair's edge behind me prompts me to sit down before collapsing.

I’m reeling in the balance between forces when another convulsion starts, his heels beating a tempo on the floor. Singing on instinct with three planar sources has the excess energy painting the floor, and the others jump away. From the beastlands’ green glow, phantasms of wild plants and beasts sink into the floor, causing Phile to retreat further. Only a few beats behind, ethereal manifestations of Mechanus’ cogs follow them, and the Spire’s grey takes over the stone.

The fight between Chaos and Order wipes away my control over Protean. Despite rippling between my standard shapes, I don’t dare stop singing or even consider my form from one note to the next. My voice slipping from soprano to deep bass, and every pitch in between, is the least of my issues. Focusing on the nails gouging deep into my palms is the only thing preventing my mind from merging into the higher planes’ energy flow. Fatigue chewing along my spine battles against Protean’s renewal, and I’m slowly losing.

The contact with the classes' demands makes their nature clear before their drain finally ends. They’re all intended for an experienced Anar, and he took them on together. Their song gives me details and history. They all have a legendary requirement: a direct oath to a member of Anar Royalty rather than ‘merely’ sworn into the royal guard. It’s an hour or more with me drip-feeding him the power before he stops trying to die on me. Humans are so fragile, yet I’m not in good shape either. My heart is sprinting along in my chest, and my lungs burn with every breath.

I can’t blame Gideon or Nikias. I, the Anar Queen, not a noble of the court, accepted his direct service, so he qualified for them all.

Finally, when he’s stable, I can focus on the physical instead of his essence, and I find a cloak has covered him at some point. Rags show where one series of convulsions tossed aside shredded clothes. Phile’s hand on my shoulder feels like it's the only thing keeping me upright in the seat. Wiggling my toes, I can feel the blood squelching in my boots, but there isn’t any pain in the motion.

My drooping gaze falls on my hands on my lap. It takes a bit to realise my skin is bronze-gold, and the light from my eyes competes with Tove for the room’s brightest glow. Though I’m thankful the only audience remains Ipy and Phile, even if I’m unsure how it stayed that way with the dozens of voices clamouring along the corridor.

“Drats.”

The word comes out so rough with fatigue it's beyond grumpy, and the tenor draws my attention to my body’s other changes.

Tove floats before me, her scarred golden shell bumping against my chest. “When I asked if I could hear you sing, I didn’t mean so loud or soon. You freaked everyone out, Gai. I had to stop others from barging in and claiming my front-row seat.”

“You don’t sit down.”

“Could if I wanted to,” grumbles Tove. “You’d best change back. Only Ipy and Phile have seen you in that form.”

Ipy clears his throat, drawing my attention to where he now stands guarding the door. “Would you explain a few things?”

“I think the Guild Master is going to want to hear them as well,” Phile states. Ensuring I won’t slide from the chair, she carefully crouches to check for a pulse in Nikias’ muscle-thickened neck. “Besides whatever you did to Nikias, why are you now male? Was your other form a lie?”

It takes focus to change back to the shape they met me in. Not trusting my fatigue, I retrieve a hand mirror and confirm I’ve handled it right. Though I need to remove gold motes from my leaf-green eyes, the rosewood-hued hair and coppery-mint skin are fine.

“I’ll explain, but that’s not a conversation for now. Tove, I hope you’ve got concealments in place. How crazy did things get?”

“You beat your personal best by a wide margin. Gailneth is complex, Phile. Sometimes she switches genders more often than some people change clothes,” quips Tove before her tone grows serious. “She’s always the same person inside, and I can give my word she’s a type of Elf, just not one you've heard of previously. She is not a monster, if tales of doppelgangers and other shapeshifters have you worried.”

“While I can wait for your full explanation, Imhotep’s going to want to hear something,” warns Ipy. His words pulled me back from the images of dark magic weaving in among the shining notes.

“Drats.”

That at least gets Phile to snort, but before she can say more, Ipy opens the door. Standing right on the threshold are Imhotep and Nanoĸ. No one else is in sight, but I can hear their voices further down the hall. While Imhotep is calm, Nanoĸ’s tension screams of restrained violence.

“Make a move towards Gailneth, and I’ll end you,” says Tove, rising out of my immediate reach.

The harsh edge in her tone shocks me to my bones. “No threats, Tove.”

“Not a threat when it's a promise. Mister pyre-kissed was running his mouth earlier when you were saving Nikias,” replies Tove.

Motioning between them, I rush some introductions. “Nanoĸ, this is Tove; Tove, this is Nanoĸ. The other gentleman is Guild Master Imhotep, if no one introduced you.”

“I got told his name when I hopped outside to tell everyone to stay out,” admits Tove. “You both can stay at the door since you don’t need to check on Nikias. I’ve already confirmed he’s stable and merely sleeping. With Gail still recovering, I don’t want you near her.”

“He’s one of my students, and I’ll not take your word for it, firefly,” snarls Nanoĸ.

A giggle slips free and has his gaze fixed on me, but imagining Tove splattering him across the hall steals my humour away.

“Nanoĸ, if you can’t calm yourself, wait outside,” orders Imhotep. “We have a Priest and Celestial on hand. Exactly what healing can you provide they can’t?”

Nanoĸ looks ready to burst into flames. Stretching up, I stroke Tove’s scar.

“Tove, please be polite.”

“You had blood oozing from your skin, Gailneth; I’m not taking any risks with you,” Tove replies, and I hear Ki spinning through her, ready to discharge.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, but grumble at me about it. Nanoĸ’s concern for his student does him credit, and I’ve protections. He is more a danger to himself than me.”

When Nanoĸ lets out a long breath, Imhotep closed the door.

“What happened?” demands Nanoĸ, his tone calmer.

“He unlocked some classes and immediately made some selections without asking if we had any advice. I had to take drastic steps to save his life.”

Nanoĸ stabs a finger at Nikias. “That doesn’t look like any Class selection I’ve ever seen, nor does it explain the building.”

With the massive corded muscles outlined by the cloak’s folds, I can see his point about Nikias. As for the building, I’m biased—I hated the shiny marble, so I think it’s better now.

“It's not a single Class, he took four evolved base classes in one hit. None intended for humans, and I had no easy means to help him adjust, so I had to tap into raw planar energies. There was some overflow,” I admit, and catch a hint of motion in the grey walls: a brass cog slowly brings a plant perched atop it closer to the stone’s surface. “It's certainly an improvement to all the shiny white.”

“The lobby’s staircase now reaches three new floors,” Imhotep announces blandly. “How do you know he took four evolved classes? Has he been awake?”

When I give a head shake, Imhotep’s scepticism deepens. “I know because he swore to serve me if I’d accept him on the team—I should have been clear in declining his offer before accepting him on the team. Since he’d sworn that oath of service—even his simple declaration—I can feel his four classes.”

My helpless shrug has Nanoĸ’s gaze narrowing.

“Explain,” states Imhotep.

It’s an effort to strangle off the urge to tease him. “Which part?”

“Why does the oath of service give you any knowledge of his classes? It doesn’t work that way for our rulers.”

I’m glad for Imhotep’s clarification because I’d no basis for starting a comparison. “I’m not Human Imhotep, and I didn’t even know the Aranya Class would have this effect. Only after the process started did I learn he'd gained vision options from swearing to my service. No one’s done that before, so I didn’t know it could happen. Now, was anyone outside this chamber hurt?”

“No,” admits Imhotep, and Nanoĸ’s mutter echoes his admission.

Still trying to sort through what I’ve learnt about the classes, I try to distract them. “Might I suggest we wait until Nikias wakes up to discuss his classes? You said the building had gained three new floors?”

“Yes, three floors. The landings at their levels are closed off by double doors. A basement, plus two upper floors, with the highest having sounds of wildlife coming from it,” Nanoĸ states, crossing his arms carefully. “We’ve posted guards at each of the doors.”

“I had to tap into energy from three planes to balance his state. Mechanus, the Beastlands, and the Spire,” I say, noting the gears continue to click along at a consistent tempo. “It seems some of those energies leaked into the building itself.”

“The Spire isn’t a Plane,” protests Imhotep, and unfortunately, I can’t restrain my snickers.

“Heat mirages were drifting into the floor and walls while Gail was singing,” offers Phile.

A tapping at the door interrupts Imhotep as he goes to speak, but he opens the door calmly. “Yes?”

It's Petrus who answers. “Guild Master, another flight of stairs has appeared extending upwards. Another set of brass and stone doors blocks access to the level, and the handle also freely turns. Should we look beyond them yet?”

“Has anyone looked outside?”

“We’ve double-checked the building's exterior again; there isn’t any change in height.”

“Just keep standing guard. I’ve already sent a message requesting a senior team,” replies Imhotep and closes the door.

The distraction lets me get my bearing, taking in the building’s energy clicking and turning. Everything is turning, the original floors acting as its central pin, discs of energy spin and shift position around the ethereal gears now in place within the building. The songs stretched the building's interior and left it salted with resonating energies that continue to sip from their sources.

The three new floors don’t have any real hazards, but the one with the sounds beyond represents the Beastlands: filled with wild animals, abundant plant life, and eternal sunlight.

“Gail, you look ready to pass out,” warns Tove, her voice dragging me back from Resonance’s lure.

“Nikias needs some new clothing,” I murmur as I consider what I’ve learnt

A sudden flare of light snaps from Tove, making me squint. “Don’t you dare create more clothing now, young lady!”

“I was just going to-”

“You can do that tomorrow,” insists Tove. “Do you have any other enchanted clothing with you?”

Since she knows I have Inventory I take the hint and pull out a pair of boots, cloth pants, and a shirt; like everything I own, their enchantments let them shift size. “These will adjust to fit anyone. Even though I’m sure they’re also too fancy for the village.”

“He’s sworn into your service he should wear fancier clothing. Not like you can’t make more for both of you,” states Tove.

Phile looks up from the clothing at me. “Why did you come to speak to my mother if you can just make clothing?”

“I need Zosime’s advice about suitable clothing for travelling on the peninsula—I offered to hire her for advice. Plus, if I’m just adjusting materials, it's easier than creating from scratch,” I offer. “I’ve still not sorted that out with her; too many things happening.”

It’s not only the truth, but it softens a tightness in her expression that wasn’t present before, and I wonder how badly I’ve messed up.

“I’ve half a mind to expel you from the guild,” warns Imhotep hesitantly.

“That’s understandable, so what’s the but?”

Imhotep motions to the blood coating the floor around my seat. “But the Celestial’s willing defence and familiarity with you say much. However, if the team I call in finds issues with the modifications you’ve caused, we’ll speak again about the cost. Why were you bleeding?”

“The magic I used doesn’t draw its price in Mana, but the life energy from the user. Normally it causes fatigue, but I was pushing the limits of what I could do today.”

“And if you had exceeded those limits?” asks Imhotep curiously.

“Hopefully Tove would have raised me from the dead.”

The others choke at my bland tone, but Imhotep merely pauses. “You would have given your life for a Human? One who I assume is a near stranger?”

Despite her shock, Phile beats me in response. “She met him last night at my mother’s house.”

“You lot have an issue with elves, don’t you? It was my mistake. While it was one I made in ignorance, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t fought to keep him alive.”

As Nanoĸ inhales to yell, Imhotep’s hard gaze cuts him off.

“If you know Tove could restore lives, why didn’t you let him die and ask for help that way?” asks Imhotep, only to stop at the flat look I give him.

“Human Souls are frail. I wasn’t just pumping energy into his flesh, so I don’t know if that would have been safe. At the very least, it could have left him permanently crippled, and people don’t always come back from the dead.”

Nanoĸ’s scars give his skin a strangely mottled flush. “You claim to have saved his life and Soul.”

Pointing at him buys me time to get a word in edgewise. “No, I said I don’t know what would have happened, so I wasn’t prepared to take that chance. Maybe it would have worked out, but I can’t see the future. I know he’s unconscious, but could we get a stretcher or something so he’s not resting on the stone?”

“Instead, you endangered everyone in the building and potentially the town,” grumbled Nanoĸ.

“No, I didn’t endanger others. The impact on the building was because Nikias was on the floor. I was directing the music towards him, so the building caught the overflow, but a material object is vastly easier to affect than a Soul.”

My explanation seems to go astray with him, and I raise my hands before he can object. “Metaphysically, counting thresholds and stuff, the building is one entity, so overflowing energy into the stone floor will have it cascade into the walls. But I don't feel any energy soaking into anyone but Nikias and the building.”

Nanoĸ fixed me with a glare for my interruption. “Why didn’t you keep it contained to him if you’re such an expert?”

“Planes are massive energy sources, and I did all I could to hold it back. If I let him drink up all the energy flowing through me, there wouldn’t be a body left. If you want a full explanation of planar dynamics and energy flows, I’ll give it to you when I’m not exhausted. It shouldn’t take us more than a couple of centuries to get a meathead like you to understand it.”

Before he can snarl at me, Imhotep clears his throat. “Calm.”

Pushing off my boots, I upend them and let the enchantments shunt the pooled blood over the floor. “I’m too tired for this conversation to be civil if he wants to throw around accusations. I almost killed myself keeping his student alive; a little benefit of the doubt would be nice.”

With my boots no longer keeping the seal, my clothing shunts the blood inside it to the floor. It joins the spreading pool and makes me lightheaded, wondering how close to the edge I pushed myself.

“That’s a lot more blood than I expected, Gail,” whispers Tove. “Are you alright?”

Trying for a reassuring nod, I lift my feet out of the pool. “I’ve healed already, just worn out. Didn’t think I’d hurt myself that much; some fractured bones broke the skin.”

Before anyone can ask what to do about the blood, I unleash a Spell to clean up the lot. It dries to dust that collapses into itself and disappears. As Nanoĸ goes to say something nasty, I give a tight smile. “At least I’ve plenty of Mana left to remove stains.”

Imhotep eyes Nanoĸ and points at the door. “Stretcher.”

He gets.

“Tove, would you help Myrto get some rarer Priest classes or what she’s interested in, please? I know you’ve got a bunch of information on evolved classes, and I don’t want things unbalanced between them.”

Imhotep snorts. “Why do you seek a Lantern Archon’s advice about such matters?”

“Tove is a lot more experienced than most expect from a Lantern Archon.”

“I know a few things,” giggles Tove, then she cuts off with a sigh. “Though I keep getting told to take a transformation to at least Hound Archon. Do you want Gail to leave? I got asked to help tend the villagers so Ipy can adventure with Gail.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t want hands, Tove,” I interject before she can give her theories about washing dishes. “Classes for Myrto?”

“Options, so many options. Ranger is a base Class, but as a semi-caster it would reinforce Priest, same with Paladin, a combat holy warrior type. Evolved base: Oracle, Paragon, Mystic, Hierophant, Anointed Priest, and a few different sentinels and prophets. I’ll ask her if she wants to increase the power of blessings she can channel or learn physical combat skills,” rambles Tove. “Though taking evolved divine caster classes would let her channel more Mana and access extra paths for blessings, some people like to generalise for their first Prestige.”

“Thanks, Tove.”

“No worries,” Tove snickers. “How about I send Myrto to talk to her boss lady?”

“Tove!”

“What’s wrong? Gate her there, it would open a ton of evolved and Prestige classes if she meets her in person,” counters Tove glibly.

The look of disbelief Phile fixes on me gets Tove giggling.

Letting out a groan, I rub my face. “I don’t think you should refer to Hestia as her boss lady.”

“Hestia laughed last time I said it near her. I’ll talk to her—Myrto I mean—about the options I know, and after Nikias is awake, we can figure out an area he’s not covering. That way she’ll be able to see how she’s contributing to the team beyond just healing,” Tove states.

“He’s heavily physical defence, with powers to extend protection to others. That’s as much as I’ll say until he’s awake,” I offer, and Tove spins in circles as her thoughts race away.