Chapter 58: Date Night

Chapter 58: Date Night

The arms race of the soul:

Pecholard the Studious and Gadrevan the Brilliant were considered the modern masters of the Pre-Mage era. They competed to advance the field of modern wizardry.

Pecholard was business-minded and cunning, hiring other inventors and subordinating them under himself, passing off their creations as his own. Historians have surmised that a great many of the man’s rituals were either bought or stolen from his competition, although he did have a strong knowledge of ritual magic himself.

Gadrevan was a savant, unconcerned with money and fame, much to his detriment, as modern history texts barely give mention to the man and his legacy.

For a time, Gadrevan worked under Pecholard, pioneering the rituals that accessed and binded to the subject’s soul, making Pecholard rich beyond measure.

The two men had a falling out over Pecholard taking sole credit for Gadrevan’s creations, and a disagreement over the method of advancing ritual magic.

Pecholard advocated for the subordinating of the souls of powerful, intelligent magical creatures in order to harness their natural essences, while Gadrevan believed the practice to be vile.

Gadrevan proposed a method to store rituals in the soul and release them when needed. Perhaps more cumbersome than Pecholard’s proposal, but less dangerous to the user, and certainly less cruel to the creatures involved.

Pecholard leveraged his great wealth to stifle and delay Gadrevan’s work while spreading his own among society. By the time Gadrevan had anything to show for his efforts, the sheer power and convenience of modern mage-hood outweighed the risk and any moral concerns with the process of soul symbiotes.

Gadrevan died a poor man in a shack on the outskirts of the capital, his only friend a gibbering peech.

This author wonders what advancements could have been made had Gadrevan been heeded.

“Hmm...” Perry took a bite out of his apple as he skimmed through the Manitian history book. This was the first book he’d actually found that had been even a little bit critical of Pecholard the Studious, inventor of the symbiotic spirit.

“Sounds a bit like Edison and Tesla,” Perry muttered to himself, cross referencing the two history books. “Sounds a LOT like Edison and Tesla, actually.”

Perry pursed his lips and went back to his mom’s spellbook and began flipping through it. Right there at the end was one of the last rituals ever developed, ‘Pecholard’s Symbiotic Spirit’.

No mention of this Gadrevan guy anywhere.The initial posting of this chapter occurred via N0v3l.B11n.

They were both pioneers of soul-magic. Perry wanted to break the moratorium on magic The System had on him, which seemed to be lodged in the soul. He needed tools to interact with the soul, and by extension, his System and the Symbiotic Spirit.

Or, if nothing else, figure out a way to anchor spells on the soul rather than my skin where people can see and target them.

I wonder if a higher Stability would provide a stronger soul to anchor onto? Perry thought, taking another bite as he set the history books down and started cruising through Mom’s library. There were a few reference books related to the spirits that Mom had inside her, some herbalism books, and a few misplaced romance novels, but nothing further on this Gadrevan fellow.

Perry pulled out his cell phone and called Mom.

“Sorry honey, if this isn’t an emergency, I’m gonna have to hang up!” Mom shouted over the sound of destruction and screaming.

“No problem,” Perry said, hanging up and turning on the evening news, which showed Mom fighting a rat-man wielding top-tier cybernetic enhancements. He held his own, but didn’t seem to take the rat-gimmick as far as he could’ve.

He was fighting Mom’s team over some kind of tech robbery. Not even a spiel about rat mistreatment or ‘surface dwellers’. This guy’s got no theme. Lame.

Perry called up Dad.

“What’s up, Perry?” Dad asked.

“Hey, do you know if mom has any more books about magic anywhere? Secret hideout or something?”

“Nah, what you see is what you get. They’re all pretty much on loan from your grandma, actually. She’s got a ton more where that came from. Your mom told me she was pretty insistent on bringing as many books through the portal as she could, to preserve their culture.”

“Ugh,” Perry rubbed his temples. “I was afraid of that. Thanks.”

“Good luck.” Dad said, and he could hear the shadenfreude oozing through the speakers.

“Hah, right,” Perry said, shaking his head.

“Hey, did you wanna kill some prawns on the wall on Thursday, maybe comb the beach? A little father-son bonding time?” Dad asked.

“That actually sounds pretty good, but I got the Draft Orientation tonight because of the whole ‘demon’ thing.” Perry said.

“Oh yeah. Guess you might be doing a little time in the Workshop. Say hi to Mad Mike if you see him.”

“Who’s Mad Mike?” Perry asked.

“You’ll know him when you see him. Just don’t eat or drink anything he gives you.”

“Ominous. Alright, I’ll talk to you later. Gotta haggle with Grandma for books.”

“Later.”

Perry heaved a sigh and called Grandma.

“This is Marigold Zauberer, to whom am I speaking?” Grandma’s voice came over the line.

“Make a contacts list already, Gramma, jeez.”

“Ah, Paradox, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I was going through the history book Mom gave me when I was twelve, and I found somebody named Gadrevan the –“

“And you want to study his work in order to fool around with your own soul in an attempt to further that bizarre ritual magic you’ve concocted.”

“Basically, yeah,” Perry said.

“Hmm...I have conditions.”

“Shoot.”

“Shoot what?” Gramma asked. Since she didn’t have an accent, Perry forgot English was her second language.

“It’s an idiom, that means ‘continue’ or ‘go ahead’.”

“idioms are for idiots.”

Perry just waited silently. Any further input he added could only make things worse.

“Anyway,” Gramma continued. “Soul magic is very dangerous, obviously. It’s a bit like performing brain surgery on yourself. Inherently dangerous and unlikely to be successful.”

“I’ll allow you to study Gadrevan’s theses if you promise to only self-experiment while I’m present to mend your soul.”

“That’s it?” Perry asked. That actually was a perfectly reasonable requirement. After the bone-mending accident, Perry had learned to appreciate safety nets.

“Oh, right, and a day working in my clinic for every day spent studying.”

“Anything else?”

“Sorry,” Perry said, glancing up at Hardcase. “I didn’t expect gramma would be doing surgery.”

“Nonsense, this is dentistry,” Gramma said, bracing the blade against the top of the urglot’s oversized tusk. “The root stops here,” She pointed to a spot about a palm’s length past the edge of the saw. “There shouldn’t be any blood.”

“Urglots usually grind down and sharpen their tusks in battle and mating displays with other males, but there isn’t a whole lot of that going on in Funkytown these days, so these boys need to have their tusks trimmed down regularly.”

She glanced down at the urglot. “Isn’t that right, Stu?”

“...I’m afraid of dentists, your majesty.” The stocky boar-man admitted.

“Well, now instead of a mildly unpleasant sanding, you have to have to get it sawed off, which is distinctly worse. Keep that in mind in the future.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Stewart said, looking thoroughly chastised.

“Grab the back of his neck and hold it steady with everything you’ve got,” Gramma said and began sawing.

Stewart squealed loud enough to startle Hardcase, bucking in his chair.

“They literally can’t help but thrash,” Gramma said to Hardcase as she sawed, a fine ivory powder drifting to the ground. “Which was why I needed my grandson’s brute strength.”

She smiled at Hardcase. “Most of my assistants are your size. Half-pixies and such. Are you sure you’re fully human?”

“You’re the only person in the world that would describe me as brutish.” Perry said. If there was one thing he was proud of, it was being pretty clever.

“Eh,” Gramma shrugged a moment before the saw worked its way through the last of the tusk, snapping the ivory off into Hardcase’s waiting hands.

“Towel,” Gramma said, taking the towel away from Hardcase and cleaning up the area,

“A little souvenir.” Gramma said, handing the urglot his severed tusk as Perry let go of his neck.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Stewart said.

“You can sell it to Dave if you don’t feel like keeping it.” Gramma said.

Stewart nodded, thanking her profusely as he backed out of the clinic, seemingly afraid to turn his back on his grandmother.

Gramma sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “The younger generation generally doesn’t act like that anymore, but every once in a while, you come across one whose parents are diehards.”

She sighed, staring into the distance for a moment, before heading around behind her reception desk and fishing out a stack of books.

“Your payment, Paradox.” She said, putting them in a burlap sack before handing them over. “Keep in mind there will be no self-experimentation without me present.”

“Got it,” Perry said, picking up the books.

“And if you lose those books, there will likely be severe consequences.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” Gramma gave them a brilliant smile. “Have a wonderful evening, you two.”

That’s odd.No parting insult? No jab at my parentage or my potato-monger of a father? Perry followed his Grandmother’s gaze to Hardcase who seemed to be wiggling in place with some kind of suppressed impulse.

Weird. She seems to like Hardcase a lot more than Heather.

Together, they headed out onto the streets of Funkytown and Perry checked the time on his phone.

3:45

Too late for lunch, not quite dinnertime.

“What’s the contraction of dinner and lunch?” Perry asked, glancing over at Hardcase. “Linner or Dunch?”

Hardcase made hard eye contact, cocked a brow, made a perfect dog-shape with her hands, and hooted at him like an owl.

Perry couldn’t help but bust out laughing.

“Why!?”

“I’ve been studying pantomime, prop comedy and hand puppetry,” Hardcase said, her shoulders relaxing as Perry gasped for breath.

“Yeah, but...why?”

“That message in Metalon’s lair did something weird to my head. It’s permanent.” She said with a shrug. “Now I have...outbursts. I’ve been doing some research and I can’t pin down exactly what it is. It’s got a few similarities to Tourettes, but it’s not.”

“Oh.” Perry said, guilt sinking into his stomach like ice.

Hardcase met his gaze and shook her head. “Please. Please don’t feel bad. I’d rather be funny and quirky than broken.”

Before Perry could respond, she looped an arm through his.

“Now, instead of talking about me, how about you tell me why that man kept calling your grandma ‘Your Majesty’.

“Umm...” Perry said, glancing around the streets of Funkytown, spotting a revenant law-man who tipped his hat to Perry before shambling past them into the clinic.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“She is your gramma right?” Hardcase asked.

“That’s never been in dispute.”

“Then why did she call you by your super name?”

“She insists on calling me by my full name. She’s kind of old-fashioned.”

“Your actual name is Paradox!?” Hardcase asked, staring up at him wide-eyed.

“Well,” Perry rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was freaking out when Solaris asked me my name and I accidentally gave him my real one. Nobody thought twice about it, so I decided it was better to own it rather than draw attention to my mistake and out myself.”

“Why did your parents name you Paradox?” Hardcase asked.

“Because I probably shouldn’t exist,” Perry said with a shrug.

“...I’m Natalie,” Hardca-Natalie said after a long pause.

“Nice to meet you, Natalie. I’m Perry.” Perry said, reaching around to shake the hand looped through his elbow.

“Oh my god, it really is your name,” Natalie giggled.