Chapter 75: The Art of Not Dying (Part Three)

  Shopping with Iron-Jack is like browsing a market while staging a highly theatrical hostage negotiation.

  We are deep in the lower decks of the Gilded Gyre, a sector Jack cheerfully refers to as "The Black Market's Black Market." The air smells of illicit spices.

  "Absolutely out of the question, you multi-limbed extortionist!" Jack yells, slamming his rhinestone-studded gauntlet onto a glass display counter. "Eighty Lucent Shards for a Grade 2 coat? What is it woven from, the dying breath of an angel? I’ll give you forty, and I will keep quiet to the local Enforcers about that crate of illegal gravity-mines in your back room."

  The merchant—a six-armed, praying-mantis-like alien wearing a very sharp vest—chitters angrily, its mandibles clicking. It points two of its arms at me, then two at the coat.

  "The weave is flawless. The human is wealthy. Seventy."

  "He's wealthy, and he recognizes a scam when he sees one," Jack counters, leaning over the glass. "Forty-five. Final offer. Or we walk down to the Silk-Spinners and buy their mass-produced garbage."

  I stand a few feet back, watching the spectacle. Vrex stands beside me, his arms crossed, looking like he wants to crush the entire shop into a diamond just to stop the noise.

  "He is... exhausting," Vrex mutters.

  "He's saving us Shards," I whisper back. "Let the diva sing."

  I need armor. My Slipstream Duster remains in shreds from Valerius’s erasure beam, leaving me running around the multiverse in a canvas jacket offering the metaphysical protection of wet tissue paper.

  Jack finally breaks the mantis down to fifty Shards. I step up, mentally open my Locus, and materialize a handful of the glowing, cylindrical shards onto the glass. The mantis sweeps them away with greedy, lightning-fast claws and pushes the garment toward me.

  "There," Jack says, dusting his hands off with a smug grin. "The Caelorian-Weave Greatcoat. Grade 2 Latent. Quality: Tyrant. Try it on, rookie."

  My previous coat cost the exact same amount.

  I pick it up. It looks like a standard, long trench coat made of a dark, matte-grey material. As I slip my arms into the sleeves—wincing slightly as the fabric brushes my newly regrown left hand—the coat reacts.

  My Prismatic Weave flares, a pulse of shifting, oily light running down my arms. The coat drinks the resonance, the matte-grey shifting instantly to a deep, iridescent black that catches the neon lights of the market and fractures them into subtle rainbows.

  [Item Equipped: Caelorian-Weave Greatcoat]

  [Grade 2: Latent (Tyrant)]

  [Effect: Aggressive Deflection. When struck by physical or magical kinetic force, the weave attempts to violently repel the energy outward. Warning: High Lumen draw upon High impact.]

  "Oh, that feels good," I breathe, popping the collar. The heavy material feels incredibly stable, acting like a wearable bank vault. "It adapts to the user's frequency."

  "Tyrant quality," Jack nods, taking a swig from his metallic flask. "Perfect for a Prismatic Conduit who needs to stand in a radioactive swamp while keeping his biology completely intact."

  Vrex also makes a purchase. The big guy finds a merchant selling deep-earth maintenance supplies. He spends twenty Shards on a very heavy drum of Star-Forge Paste.

  "For the micro-fractures," Vrex explains, scooping a handful of the glittering, metallic sludge and rubbing it directly into the scorch mark on his chest. The paste hisses, melting into his granite skin and sealing the damage perfectly. "It is highly efficient. Tastes terrible, however."

  "You apply it externally, boulder-boy," Jack sighs, shaking his head. He bypasses purchases for himself, citing that his magenta armor remains "a perfect synthesis of form and function," a statement that physically pains me to hear.

  We retreat to a grimy noodle stand on the edge of the market, the air thick with the smell of boiling broth and roasted void-crab. We sit on plastic crates around a metal drum serving as a table.

  I pull up the Schema in my mind, admiring my newly populated Locus and the Caelorian-Weave sitting proudly. Then, I glance at my central star.

  [Current Magnitude: ? 65]

  "Hey, Jack," I ask, dismissing the interface. "Since you're the designated tour guide, when exactly is the next big jump? I hit my Evolution at Magnitude 50. Changed my whole biology. Turned into a Conduit. When does that happen again? Mag 100?"

  I look at Vrex. "You just passed a hundred, big guy. Did you get a prompt?"

  Vrex frowns, his heavy stone brow furrowing. "I merely grew denser. My Horizon increased, while my fundamental nature remains the Unshakeable Earth. I assume the next threshold is Ascension."

  Jack laughs, a harsh, barking sound. He hops up and sits on the mantis's display counter, legs dangling, much to the alien's visible annoyance.

  "This is why parents shouldn't home-school their kids, boulder-boy," Jack says, pointing his flask at Vrex. "They kept you in the dark to keep you safe. The next major rewrite comes much later."

  "When exactly?" I ask, leaning against a support pillar.

  "It’s a three-act play, Kaelen," Jack explains, holding up three fingers. "Act One: Magnitude 50. That’s your Foundation. You break out of the 'Waking' tier and cement your base code. You chose Prismatic Conduit. Vrex chose his geo-construct path. You pick your chassis."

  He folds one finger down.

  "Act Two: Magnitude 150. That’s the Refinement. The Minor Evolution."

  "Minor?" Vrex echoes, his golden eyes narrowing. "A fifty-point gap for a minor adjustment?"

  "Calm down," Jack snorts. "It retains your species while upgrading your hardware. It acts as a direct response to how you play the game from Mag 50 onward. If you act like a tank, your Mag 150 Evolution offers you specialized plating. For you, Kaelen, your 150 probably gives you options to process energy faster, or store multiple frequencies at once. Think of it as a software patch. It takes what you are and makes it exponentially more efficient."

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  "A software patch," I muse, liking the analogy. "Optimize the code."

  "Exactly," Jack says. He takes another drink, his flamboyant energy dimming slightly. He stares at the metal floor of the market, the neon lights reflecting off his polished magenta boots. He folds his second finger down, leaving just one.

  "And then," Jack says softly, "there is Act Three. Magnitude 250. The Ascension."

  The air between us seems to grow a little heavier. Even Vrex leans in.

  "That's Rank 3," Jack continues, his voice shedding all its sarcasm. "That's when you transcend your class and become a Concept. It's the Paradigm shift. You gain Edicts—passive laws of reality that exist entirely because you dictate them."

  He taps his own chest plate, right over his heart.

  "I remain stuck at Magnitude 210, right where I’ve been for a decade," Jack admits, the bitterness bleeding through his words. "I hit my Refinement at 150. I got faster, sharper. The gap between 150 and 250 proves to be a sheer cliff. Grinding out Remembrance requires profound actions beyond simply exploring new trees and tasting weird fruits. The Astrolabe demands structural impact to grant Starlight Points at this level."

  "Anyways, what mag are you guys again?"

  "I'm at 65," I reply.

  "I am at Magnitude 114, Received 3 more after surviving the blow of ascendant and that warden. " Vrex says.

  "Miles ahead of both of you. Keep your scanning skills to yourselves to keep your brains intact," Jack says.

  "Okay, we still have shopping to do," Jack announces, clapping his gauntleted hands together. "Armor is great for when you take a hit. I prefer avoiding the hit entirely. You lost your rope, Kaelen. And your thermal ring."

  He grabs my shoulder and steers me toward a stall overflowing with ropes, chains, and climbing gear that defies gravity.

  "I need mobility," I tell Jack. "My old cord was self-mending. I need something capable of handling my Egress."

  Jack bypasses the merchant's attempt to sell us a thick, glowing chain and points to a tiny, unassuming spool of what looks like spider silk.

  "Twenty Shards for the Gordian Tether," Jack tells the vendor, tossing the crystals on the table before the guy can even open his mouth. Jack snatches the spool and tosses it to me.

  "Monofilament wire woven with spatial magic," Jack explains as I catch it. "Grade 2 Latent, Regnant quality. It possesses absolute physical resilience. The best part? It operates entirely without a hook."

  I raise an eyebrow, feeding a tiny drop of Lumen into the spool. A thread of wire shoots out, stiffening in the air.

  "It anchors to the local coordinate of space," Jack grins. "You pump Lumen into the tip, and it locks onto thin air. You can swing from a cloud if you have to."

  [Item Acquired: The Gordian Tether]

  [Grade 2: Latent (Regnant)]

  [Effect: A spool of monofilament wire woven with spatial magic. It is incredibly thin, possesses absolute physical resilience, and anchors itself to thin air if fed a drop of Lumen. Self-repair.]

  [Cost: 20 Lucent Shards]

  "Okay," I admit, reeling the invisible wire back in. "That's brilliant."

  "I know. Next stall," Jack says, spinning on his heel.

  We stop at an artificer's bench cluttered with brass instruments. Jack picks up a heavy, unlit lantern made of dark iron. He shoves it into my chest. I scramble to catch it with my new hand.

  "The Hearth-Stone Beacon," Jack says, holding up twenty-five Shards to the artificer. "Grade 2 Latent, Dictum quality."

  "A lantern?" I ask.

  "It generates atmosphere rather than light, genius," Jack sighs, rolling his eyes. "Your Caelorian coat is a Tyrant. It punches kinetic energy back at the attacker. That works perfectly for bullets and fireballs. It leaves you completely vulnerable to ambient vacuum, acidic fog, or passive radiation. This lantern enforces a radius of 'Standard Habitable Atmosphere.' Clean oxygen, seventy-two degrees, normal gravity. Grip the handle tightly when we step into whatever hellscape we wander into."

  [Item Acquired: The Hearth-Stone Beacon]

  [Grade 2: Latent (Dictum)]

  [Effect: A brass lantern that enforces a large radius of "Standard Habitable Atmosphere" (72 degrees, clean oxygen, normal gravity). It pushes away toxic fogs and extreme temperatures. Radius scales with lumen usage. Self-repair]

  [Cost: 25 Lucent Shards]

  "Logical," Vrex nods his approval. "Environmental hazards are the true killers of careless Wayfarers."

  "Speaking of careless, It has self-repair too." Jack says, marching us toward a stall selling crystalline electronics. He slaps fifteen Shards on the counter and grabs three tiny, faceted earpieces. He tosses one to me, and hands one up to Vrex.

  "Resonant Whisper-Links," Jack orders. "Put them in."

  I press the crystal into my ear. It feels exactly like a cold drop of water dissolving instantly into my skin, linking directly to the Astrolabe Schema in my mind.

  "Testing, testing," Jack's voice echoes perfectly clear inside my head, bypassing my eardrums entirely. "You hear me, rookies?"

  "Loud and clear," I think back.

  "If you scream my name out loud while we sneak past a pack of void-predators, I will shoot you in the leg myself," Jack’s voice warns in my mind, though physically he smiles pleasantly at the vendor. "These are Dictum quality. The rule guarantees absolute transmission security. We coordinate like professionals, or we die like amateurs. Understood?"

  [Item Acquired: Whisper-Links (x3)]

  [Grade 3: Anchored (Regnant)]

  [Effect: Small, crystalline earpieces. They connect directly to the users' Astrolabe Schemas. Enabling perfectly secure communication. Range effectiveness dependent on lumen usage. Self-repair]

  [Cost: 15 Lucent Shards]

  "Understood," I say out loud, rubbing my ear. "Are we finished? My Locus is getting heavy."

  "One last thing," Jack says, his eyes scanning the darker corners of the market. He spots a grimy, oil-stained stall tucked between two massive pillars. "You. Hacker-boy. Vash said you broke a Magister's lock with your bare hands, right?"

  "I used Kinetic Grasp," I correct him. "And a piece of scrap iron. It cost me two fingers."

  "Because you're messy," Jack groans. "You try to beat the system with a hammer. Let me introduce you to the scalpel."

  He walks up to the grimy stall and points to a small, wedge-shaped piece of unpolished black iron sitting on a velvet cloth. It looks exactly like a cheap doorstop.

  "Twenty-four Shards," Jack tells the vendor.

  I look at the doorstop. "Jack, I refuse to part with twenty-four Shards for a piece of scrap metal. I have plenty of rocks in my Locus."

  "This is a specialized tool," Jack says, handing the heavy wedge to me. "This is The Absolute Shim. Grade 2 Latent, Dictum quality."

  I activate Kensho, looking past the dull iron. The conceptual weave inside the wedge is impossibly dense, folding in on itself in a perfect, recursive loop.

  "Because it’s Dictum quality, it enforces a single conceptual rule," Jack explains, his flamboyant tone dropping into genuine professional respect. "The rule is: 'I fit the gap.' Shove that into a complex magical padlock? It expands and dictates, 'I am the key.' Throw it into the gears of a closing ten-ton blast door? It dictates, 'This gap remains open,' and becomes utterly invulnerable to horizontal pressure. Press it over a cracked acid pipe? 'This gap is sealed.'"

  I stare at the wedge of iron in my hand. It serves as a lockpick, a crowbar, and emergency plumbing all rolled into one piece of cosmic duct tape. It is the ultimate tool for a metaphysical vandal.

  "I love it," I whisper, slipping the Shim into my coat pocket.

  [Item Acquired: The Absolute Shim]

  [Grade 2: Latent (Dictum)]

  [Effect: When pressed into any crevice, mechanism, or breach, it perfectly alters its shape, friction, and density to serve the user's intent. While actively wedged, it possesses infinite structural integrity against horizontal pressure.]

  [Cost: 24 Lucent Shards]

  I check my internal ledger. After the coat, Vrex's paste, the tether, the lantern, the comms, and the shim, our fortune stands at exactly thirty Lucent Shards and a dozen faint shards. It forms a solid emergency fund. I am fully prepared.

  "Alright," Jack claps his hands, turning away from the stall. "The shopping spree concludes here. Time to go to work."