ALL NOVEL Book 1 – Lesson 10: “This is my Ion Cannon. There are many like it, but this one is Mine.”
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Book 1 - Lesson 10: "This is my Ion Cannon. There are many like it, but this one is Mine."
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Lian Peng was angry… NO… fuming!… NO! He was furious!
How many years, how many centuries had it been since he’d faced such a humiliation? When had the Lunar Kings become playthings to unknown… barbarians?! Why had he toiled and bled, fighting tooth and nail to get where he was, despite all the naysayers and gaudy, haughty weaklings who relied more on their ancestor’s accomplishments than their own?!
How high did he have to climb? How many sects, clans, and organizations did he have to grind into dust beneath his heel before they learned to STOP SCREWING WITH HIM?! Once more, Lian Peng pressed against the strange elastic metal threads surrounding him with his [Divine Force]. It bulged out another inch but returned his pressure with just as much force, though it didn’t have a spark of Path energy anywhere within.
In retrospect, he admitted that he’d likely been goaded into the trap. It was a foolish mistake, but the stresses of the last few decades had been slowly mounting, and this latest ‘surprise’ was the grain that tipped the scales. Why did everyone have to make things complicated? Why did every new Ascendant from the mortal world seem so full of arrogance and hot wind that they had to be smacked down before they fell in line?! Some of them multiple times!
He understood the Warden’s policy of ‘non-interference’ on the Mortal Worlds — not that the mortal firmaments didn’t already stop anyone from doing so. Yet, if he had to deal with ONE MORE ‘Grand Ancestor of the ‘Such-and-Such’ Sect’ who thought that name meant anything, he’d throw a bloody meteor at the planet and be done with it all!
The fight itself had started simply enough. The slime constructs moved as a group, using their numbers and the blue lights to circle him with surprising agility, always keeping at least a few in his visual blind spot. Why they would do so when he could still see them perfectly well with his [Divine Sense] made little sense. Still, it was an impressive feat of coordination and skill.
Yet, they were slow. So very slow; maybe they were quick for a mortal, true, or even a fresh Ascendant, but to him? A High Celestial with half a foot in Divinity? They might as well have been lazily bobbing there. At that moment, Lian Peng had chosen to test this new ‘Path’ for himself and see their capabilities. If they wouldn’t part with their secrets in peace, he’d pry them out of what remained.
To his surprise, the vast majority of his strikes missed their target. [Phoenix Feathers], traveling so fast even a true Divinity would struggle to follow them, were dodged by the most minute amount of space. Strikes that could topple mountains, even on a Celestial World, slipped through black goo as it moved and flowed around his blows. Despite moving at a snail’s pace, it was like he was fighting a Master Precog, which each move predicted down to the millimeter.
Yet, it was easy to trick the slimes, with several falling to feints or sudden, chaotic changes in movement. The strange weapons they manifested had been a problem, too. With each burst of power, they spewed out a tiny piece of metal — near microscopic — with each metal ball only slightly larger than a grain of sand. The sheer speed at which these grains traveled, though, was mind-boggling. He’d never seen any object move that fast, not even the Warden. He’d have assumed the projectiles were teleporting if it wasn’t for the larger, glowing pieces thrown out every so often. That same speed imparted them with a tremendous force, as well. Not enough to ‘hurt’ him, of course, but each one that struck chipped away at the shield of energy that surrounded him, little by little.
Death by a thousand cuts would have been an apt description, but, more accurately, it felt like being scoured away by a metallic sandstorm.
This was, without doubt, one of the strangest dissonances he’d ever witnessed in a fight. It was almost like he wasn’t fighting the ‘person’ controlling them; there was no real thought or reason behind their action; they were only ‘following orders’ and reacting. It was like fighting a Spirit Artifact, somewhat.
Then everything had changed…
When almost half were dispatched, it was as if a trap had been sprung. The object’s speed and coordination took a quantifiable leap, as Lian Peng worked double time to keep ahead of the slimes’ assault. They still couldn’t hurt him, but they were pests all the same. To make things more annoying, two dozen new players had entered the field. They were about half the size of the ‘slimes’ and roughly the same shape, featureless ovaloids with glowing blue protuberances at one end. Yet, where the larger originals were made of the strange black slime, these were silvery-white and made of solid, plated metal of a type he couldn’t identify.
They were far quicker, too, darting and swerving in erratic patterns, making drawing a bead on any single target impossible. Even stranger, they didn’t seem to be accomplishing much. They flew around, dodging between each other, sometimes bouncing harmlessly off his shielding, with little to no effect. He couldn’t figure out their plan or purpose other than just annoying him. That was when it clicked… that’s exactly what they were doing!
They were probing him! Him!
He was the one who was supposed to be doing the probing and testing, and yet they were toying with him!
Then he had let his guard down in that split second of shock and disbelief, like a new Initiate.
He detected the second object using his [Divine Sense] but dismissed it, as with all the others. That was not a wise decision on his part. He should have scanned each one in turn. If he had, he’d have seen how different this one was from the others and might have reacted in time to escape what happened next.
But he didn’t.
Instead, the object had erupted, spreading the strange blueish metallic fishing net far and wide. He’d tried to escape using his movement technique, but the individual parts of the object moved independently to surround him in the net. Then they did it again and again, each time tightening the shrinking ball until there were no gaps left. Lian Peng didn’t doubt if he hadn’t had a mind to surround himself in his [Divine Force], it would have continued to shrink until he was as tightly wrapped as a corpse. Again, Lian Peng pulsed his [Divine Force], attempting to break free from the strange material, but to no avail.
So yes, Lian Peng was furious.
And not just at these mysterious people who’d insulted him.
No, he was furious at himself. At his foolishness, at his blindness, at succumbing to the same hubris and haughtiness that he’d warned the younger generations about for millennia. But more than anything, he was furious at his own weakness and stagnation.
How long had it been since he’d had a major breakthrough? How long had it been since he’d even tried? When had he, the man who used to toil and struggle and bite at fate while others lounged in their comfort, grown complacent and comfortable? When had he become the very thing he’d once seen as so very wrong with the world?
No more. He wouldn’t… couldn’t be like this anymore. If he was going to keep his promises, if he was going to make the changes that needed to be made, he couldn’t be the ‘him he was’ anymore.
And with that realization, something within Lian Peng snapped. With the sound of cracking of glass, the [Divine Seed] at his core cracked open, pouring forth a veritable torrent of Celestial Energy, unlike anything he’d ever felt. Then, from the shell, a burning effigy emerged.
Lian Peng roared, ‘pushing’ with his [Divine Force] with newfound strength. The unknown material bulged and pushed back, but this time it lost out to the deluge of azure flames; it expanded more and more until, with a cataclysmic boom that shook reality, the azure flames and Lian Peng were free.
The newborn Divinity stepped out of the rolling ball of blue plasma and washed it away with a flap of his wing, along with all his anger and frustration. All that was left was a deep embarrassment at his behavior and the duty, the enemy, before him. Physically, he had changed little, but for the surrounding flames, which had become deeper, more ‘real.’ But anyone with the sight to see would never say he was the same being he had been only a few moments ago. To step into Divinity was to step into your ‘Truth’; it was to take on the mantle of something ‘more.’
And with that responsibility came power. Lian Peng flexed a muscle he never knew he had until that moment, then ‘What was In’ became ‘Out,’ and his [Divine Avatar] blossomed to life. Where once was a black and azure rooster, now existed a gargantuan bird of bright moonlight and pure azure flames, half the size of the wreck. Though it was made of light and fire, every detail, every feather, and plume was perfect, as if sculpted by the hands of the Maker. Its long, graceful neck was the curve of a waxing moon, the tail feathers that billowed behind for miles were beams of purest moonlight, and its long, spear-like beak stood out as a black hole against the blinding light from the flaming comb atop its head, like an eternal eclipse.
Lian Peng spread his wings and cried out with a sound that rippled across space, echoing the birth of a true ‘King.’
With another flap, the now tiny specks buzzing around him ignited as one in a brilliant display of power.
He was done playing games.
He was done playing fair.
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OH, COME ON! HOW’S THAT FAIR?!
Alpha scrambled as he tried to do thirty things at once, from stabilizing the wreckage, which was drifting off in the wrong direction, to saving as many drones as possible — all the while getting out of the sight of the now giant flaming chicken.
How the hell did a three-foot-tall chicken turn into a half-a-mile-tall kaiju made of fire and sparkly stuff?! He couldn’t even get a proper reading from the thing; it was throwing off so much energy that his sensors were going haywire. It was like standing next to a battleship’s exposed core.
Alpha came to a skidding halt as warning alarms blared. He threw the TAWP in reverse just as a pitch-black beak pierced through the weakened hull like cardboard. It was six meters wide — nearly as thick as the TAWP — and seemed made of crystalized fire and darkness. Great, now it knew he was here…
Again, alarms blared, and the beak reappeared as Alpha dodged by the skin of his nonexistent teeth. The next few seconds were like a carefully choreographed dance, with Alpha dodging strike after strike while the chicken kaiju poked holes in what remained of his ship. This couldn’t go on forever, though; Alpha could already see what the chicken was doing. These strikes weren’t just random chance or reactions to his movements. No, they were planned; each one mercilessly aimed to drive him deeper into the wreckage where his movements could be contained and limited.
He was being driven into a corner, and it wasn’t a matter of if he got caught, only when.
How was it even doing this? It was as if it could see inside the wreckage and knew where to strike, avoiding thicker, more reinforced areas while pushing him closer to the inevitable trap. He couldn’t let this go on any longer; Alpha had to do something, or he’d end up a snack for Kentucky-Fried Godzilla out there. He couldn’t even send more drones out as a distraction, as they popped as soon as they left cover.
Suddenly, an idea formed in his head.
And if Alpha could have smiled, it would have stretched from ear to ear.
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Lian Peng pecked at the wreck again, aiming for the large, moving energy signal. He’d noticed the construct before, but it had remained unmoving and unresponsive during the entire encounter, so he had dismissed it as just another broken artifact, like all the rest. Even its energy signal had been faint at first, sputtering and sparking so that it was lost in the noise of all the other objects leaking that strange energy around it.
But that had all been a ruse, it seemed. As soon as he’d been trapped, the smaller objects had dragged him towards the wreck while the larger construct sprung to life, its energy signal brightening into a bonfire among the sparks. Again, Lian Peng was struck by how he had missed this energy to begin with. It was obviously powerful, but it felt… different from anything he’d ever encountered. It was similar to the energy summoned by Static Mages, an offshoot of Lightning Mages who could use their strange ‘sticky’ lightning to control metal tools and other similar objects, yet… it… wasn’t.
Even mortal lightning combined Spirit Energy — Celestial Energy filtered by a Mortal Firmament — and Natural Truths. This new energy type was close, but it felt… deeper, somehow, as if it touched on something that simple ‘lightning’ could never reach. But how did one touch on such a thing without Celestial or Spirit Energy? It should have been impossible.
And yet…
No matter; he’d learn their secrets soon enough. Again, Lian Peng lunged, piercing through the strange, oddly resistant metal. A [Divine Avatar] was a physical manifestation of a Divinity’s power; it was their [Divine Soul] given form. Poking through an object without Path energy should have been as easy as an arrow cutting through the air.
Another anomaly that he would soon pry the secrets from. Lian Peng almost salivated at the thought of what the Lunar Scouts could do with such a material.
He struck again, slowly herding the construct towards a small pocket of debris he’d found with his [Divine Sense]. Once he’d destroyed this large construct, Lian Peng could scan deeper for any more surprises he might have missed, and he didn’t doubt he would find more. His instincts told him that whatever controlled these things was likely in the enormous cube, but he couldn’t pierce it — with either [Divine Sense] or physical might — even after his ascension to Divinity. But they were on the defensive now, his surprise breakthrough having likely taken them off guard. It was only a matter of time.
He wouldn’t let his guard down again.
Lian Peng struck again, missing the construct, but piercing into what appeared to be a large container. As he retracted his beak, several deep blue cylindrical crystals the size of a large man’s arm fell from the gap. The large construct turned on a dime, its outer ‘skin’ warping as it grabbed several rods and fled before he could fully withdraw his head.
As the construct absorbed the rods, Lian Peng’s instincts screamed.
Lian Peng drew back just as a thin, blinding beam of sunfire erupted from the wreck, cutting through the metal hull — and his wing — like butter.
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HA! It let its guard down!
Alpha laughed triumphantly as the long black beak pierced through the reinforced munitions container. It would have taken him constant work for hours to break into that container alone. Yet Big Bird had busted through like it was nothing. Ya, he definitely didn’t want to get hit with that beak.
Alpha rushed in the moment it pulled back, grabbing several of the nitrogen crystals before escaping.
Hehehe
Alpha couldn’t help but chuckle to himself; he seldom got to use this toy. Mostly because the stable nitrogen crystals needed were stupidly expensive. Even the small crate, not much larger than the TAWP, had cost him almost as much as the rest of his standard munitions combined! And that was double what a typical dreadnaught would stock, anyway. Sure, sure, the Expeditionary Force paid for the ‘basics,’ but if he wanted anything ‘fancy’ like this, he needed to pay out of pocket himself. Alpha wept an imaginary tear as he watched a few loose crystals float out of a hole and into the void.
He would avenge them!
Alpha turned around and activated a stored blueprint. The outer layer of the TAWP rippled and flexed as a new component was built on his back.
The sleek, futuristic design of the 5th Gen Nitrogen Ion Cannon, codenamed [Gungnir], had set cyberpunk fan hearts aflutter since it debuted only two decades ago. It had also set the hearts of the Federation’s enemies aflutter, though for ‘different’ reasons.
The TAWP frame turned, skidding to a stop as its magnetic stabilizing clamps activated. In a heartbeat, Alpha aimed, swinging the [Gungnir] around, coordinating with the few remaining drones in hiding to aim accurately at the enemy.
Then, with a thought, he fired.
BOOOOONNNNG!
With the sound of a struck gong, a finger-thin line of cyan destruction erupted from the tip of the [Gungnir], slicing through space and the hull like butter. A good dozen meters of the reinforced metal around the central beam transformed into liquid slag as it passed.
Unfortunately for Alpha, the kaiju chicken seemed to sense something was wrong. Instead of cleanly bisecting the creature as he had intended, the bird moved far faster than something its size should rightly be capable of, and the cannon blast only clipped its wing.
On a cheerful note, the beam tore through the solid flames as easily as it had the wreck, traveling on to carve a deep furrow into the moon’s surface behind them. Its charge released, a slot on the side of the [Gungnir] opened up, releasing a cloud of red powder into the empty void before it sealed shut again.