Lorin
patreon
Chapter 45: Promise
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 14:18:17 +0000 UTCI growled, pushing against the strain on my breast. “What do you mean?!”
No answer, again.
I weighed my options. Nine jailors, four seconds. That meant in the best case scenario I’d be locked against one in a close quarter fight. And I didn’t like my chances should that happen. I clenched my jaw and coated my arm in magic. The only way to avoid the close quarters fight was yet another gamble. One I was willing to make.
The veil’s electric warmth tickled my skin, making my hair stand on end. I clawed at it, using my hand to draw shapes. The grooves I left behind were filled in mere moments, returning the veil to its pristine all encompassing form.
Shape the old weave? What the fuck do you mean shape it?!
I clenched my jaw and listened. Their steps grew closer with each second.
I didn’t have enough magic to use burst. This would be my final attempt before things got out of hand.
I closed my eyes, still running, and focused on the sensation of the veil brushing against my arm. Though small—and light, the weight of the bullet felt immense as it bounced around in my closed fist.
Shape, shape, shape. I recited the word in my mind like a mantra, desperately feeling for any sort of change. “Shit!” I exclaimed and shot my eyes open. “I swear if you just do this for me I will… I will give you whatever it takes.”
“Terms accepted.”
I definitely heard the words. But they didn’t come from the outside. The sound caressed the inside of my skull as if spoken to my very being, my soul. I shivered as a flood of magic erupted around me, drowning out the approaching charge of the jailors. The veil shuddered, and stretched its threads toward me in a spiralling cylinder of red and blue. It embraced the bullet within a cocoon, still firmly grasped by my hand.
It didn’t drain my magic, it drained the magic surrounding me, the world’s magic. The unclaimed. A flash of red screamed toward my arm, obliterating all in its path before the thread slowed in its approach.
I clenched my teeth as the thread coiled around my wrist, tearing through my shirt like it was paper. It burned itself into my skin, flashing red, then blue, then white and hot. When it dissipated, it looked as if I had a white tattoo of a string circling my arm.
The bullet fell out of the fading cocoon, and into my hand. Not much had changed about its outward appearance. The once green liquid sloshing within shone white and brilliant.
The thundering steps of the jailors echoed through the halls once more. I glanced back. They weren’t far away now. I clicked my tongue, lamenting the fact that the experiment had lost me so much valuable time.
I slid the bolt back with a clank, chambered the bullet, and turned to shoot.
“This better work,” I whispered.
As my finger slowly squeezed down on the trigger, pulses of flaming pain wandered up the thread coiled around my wrist. It ate some part of me, I didn’t know which. But none of it mattered if this didn’t work. Losing something was of little import if you weren’t alive to know what you lost, after all.
The wand didn’t roar as it usually did. The world did.
Space and sound overlapped, falling over each other in layers. For the first time in my life, I saw sound. I saw how the waves pushed into the veil, sending violent ripples racing across its surface. It was almost distracting enough to help distract me from the pain.
The shapes of the charging jailors superimposed over itself. Like the shapes in a kaleidoscope. The colours flashed, and then dimmed. Instinctively I jerked my head away. Large black spots still lingered in my sight. Not even when I furiously blinked did they disappear.
“Fuck,” I whimpered and lowered the wand. The barrel bent outward like a flower in bloom.
A twang of pain shot through my heart at the sight of my trusty weapon. It didn’t seem unfixable, just very non-functional as it was. A new barrel and it would be good as new.
Surely there are gun parts laying around somewhere, I thought—trying to console myself.
I shook my head and turned heel to run. With space and the very veil folding over itself, I couldn’t see what impact my shot had. But with the commotion and otherworldly happenings I sure as fuck hoped it was something extraordinary.
That hope of mine further intensified as I put some distance between me and the wretched madmen. The metallic clacks of their soles slapping against didn’t echo in the halls, they weren’t following. I slowed my pace to catch my breath before turning to look.
Large piles of ash lay scattered where they once stormed down the corridor. I slowed down, and backed up against the wall, pressing my back to it, resting my hands on my knees.
“Holy shit…” I moaned and wiped a trail of sweat from my eyebrow.
The consequence-
“Yeah, yeah,” I said and waved the runes away. I glanced to both sides, confirming I was alone in the hallway, and sat down, holding my wand in my lap. The barrel was still hot from firing at the jailors. And bent to shit. I stroked it with my hand, feeling how the iron had warped and cracked.
“Shit,” I repeated and rested my head against the wall, eyes closed in thought.
Without my wand I am fucking nothing. What do I do? How the hell am I supposed to escape or help the others like this?
I gently tapped the waned against my head.
“Think, Cal. Think.”
I shot my eyes open, and climbed to my feet. Whatever the case, I wasn’t of much use to the others as I was now. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t improve quickly. If the oratory still held accolades aplenty then that could be the boost I needed to escape, or help. Whatever the situation demanded.
“Stupid,” I mouthed to myself. There should have been plenty of ways to escape that didn’t force me to blow myself up, yet I had chosen the most painful and least probable option. I could chalk it up to desperation, but a much larger part of it than I wanted to admit still had it out for the jailors. I knew they weren’t the same as the one who tortured me. But I hated them for it nonetheless. Judging all by the sins of few.
I clicked my tongue and strapped the wand to my back while summoning the dagger. Silent scream was durable. There wasn’t even the slightest nick in the blade. Not even after all the abuse I had put it through.
I scratched my head and got walking. I wonder if bound accolades repair themselves?
I groaned, and shook my head. Thinking about it made me seethe. If that was the case, then my wand could have fixed itself. I cursed my fate without even knowing if my doubts were true. It made me feel a little better despite the pressing predicament.
As I checked my mirror image in the shiny blade I still couldn’t see Sera’s wry smile return my own. She was still out of commission—apart from the stray string of runes she sent my way when shit got too real.
“I’ve got a lot of questions for you when you’ve rested up,” I hissed at the dagger.
The white band coiled around my arm didn’t hurt anymore, and I didn’t know what it did to me. Hopefully Sera knew. I didn’t like being reliant on stuff I didn’t really understand.
I opened my status, to see if anything had changed.
Name: Caleb Kane
Race: Human (88%) ??? (12%)
Title: One of reviled flesh, Outsider’s mark, Pact bound,
Blessing: Shaper
Acclaim: Whisper
Accolades: Silent Scream, Battle-worn thimbles, Cherished blasting wand, Embrace of Innocence
I swallowed. Two whole less percent human. And a new title. I still had no idea what they meant, or why the hell there were even there. Who cared what someone was called. I sure as shit didn’t. But it made me wonder if the others had any.
Samara might very well be known as a Slaver. Samuel, shitling. Nea, porcelain brute.
I chuckled to myself, and squeezed the dagger tight in my hand as the ornate door to the oratory came into view.
Carefully, and slowly, I peeked inside. There were no jailors left, only the cracked statue. I could have sworn there was something inside before we were chased away. But now, the insides were black and empty, filled with nothing but shade.
I took one step at a time, and listened as the scraping of my soles rolled across the room without difficulty. The bench rows were emptied, only small versions of the sermon book lay open on the same page, each showing the same poem about the wayward daughter.
It was eerily quiet. Quiet enough that I heard the flickering flames of the candles. How they swayed in the wind—how the endless wax dripped into white stains below the candelabras.
I crept to the statue, silent as a mouse. It stood tall, at least three heads taller than me.
Fearing the sharp edge of my blade—but not enough to unsummon it—I tucked it inside my pants. The cold steel pressed up against my butt as I heaved myself up on the statue.
Not taking any chances, I thought and groaned.
I craned my neck and peeked inside the hollow shape. It was remarkably sturdy for a structure with nothing inside.
Nothing but dark greeted me. I sighed, relieved. I wasn’t ready for another fight. Not like this. My magic had recovered a little. But not nearly enough. And I didn’t want to rely on the old weave more. One promise and my humanity was sucked away without compromise. That had to be the cause.
The firepower had been commendable, sure, but only having nineteen more uses before I was half inhuman wasn’t a very cost efficient way of doing things. Even if the promise conjured me a miracle.
I hopped down on the ground. My knees nearly buckled under my weight.
“God…” I whispered. “What I wouldn’t do for some rest.”
Going here just as I woke up turned out to be a real shitty idea.
Who would have thought?
I rubbed my eyes, then gave my temple a few sharp slaps.
“Stop being so emotional. You. Fucking. Child.”
If only I stayed. If only I let Joanna explain herself. I shook my head, again. She didn’t need to explain herself. Her reasoning was sound. Thinking back on it, I could barely remember why I got so mad.
Like a child throwing a tantrum.
I cringed at the very thought of it. I looked down on Samuel for being a little immature arrogant prick, but I was still very much the same. There wasn’t a lot that separated us, only a few years. I wasn’t more than seventeen, and he was fourteen. Yet I thought of myself as a fucking grown up. Stupid. Stupid as shit.
I’d have to come up with a damn good excuse to avoid Joanna killing me up if I wanted to go back to earth. And I did. Preferably with her… and the others of course.
Her opinion just meant more to me than most others. She and the priest had been the closest thing to family I had since my mother… since my…
My eyes shot open as I rummaged through the glove departments on the bench rows. What was her name?
I could most definitely recall my mother. I could see her face, her blonde locks that looked much the same as mine. Her warm smile, soothing voice. Her smell. The way she whistled as she made coffee for herself and dad every morning. The voices she gave the different characters when she told Jacob bedtime stories, and I secretly listened in—pretenting to be asleep in the upper bunk of our bed. I could remember everything, even the things that I shouldn’t after all these years, but not her name.
My heart raced. It pounded against my ribs like it wanted to break through, and it felt like it would.
“What the fuck…” I muttered, and rubbed my head.
A sudden rustle around the altar had me whip around instinctively, pointing the dagger forward.
