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    Yet another crossroad, yet another choice — though this time it would be a decision he wouldn’t enjoy making. Kaius knew it was a little petulant, but he couldn’t help but feel bitter that the trial was pushing him to split up from Porkchop.


    It felt cruel, after two back to back trials of endless struggle in isolation.

    He did not shy from the challenge, but it did feel lonely to lack that ever present fortress of warm support in the back of his mind. Even now, with the deepest parts of their bond silenced, he could find comfort in his loyal friend’s physical presence. It was in the warmth that radiated through his back as he leaned against his brother, and the ability to just talk and be understood.

    Going their separate ways this trial would be unpleasant, but it was the right thing to do. They needed to know — even if it didn’t lead to immediate ignition, even a hint of resonance would be better than the utter lack of progress they’d made up until this point.

    As far as the actuals that waited for them, well — they could be worse.

    The left path looked like it had been designed for Porkchop. It was, quite literally, a simple wall of stone. Likely Kaius could chip away at it with his newly enhanced blade, and a wagon-load of nails — but it would take an absurd amount of time, most of which would be waiting for his resources to regenerate.

    Nor would it be the wise choice. From his earlier experiences igniting aspects and within the Crucible itself, Kaius knew that ignition was an intensely personal experience. The fact that they’d tried a cooperative route first didn’t change that — after all, their bond was integrated into the very core of both of their beings. If that wasn’t personal, he didn’t know what was.

    Still, attempting a route that was absurdly difficult in all the wrong ways — that wouldn’t push him in the way he needed to be pushed — would be a fool’s move.

    His path lay to right. The trail through the grass was shrouded in a miasmatic black. A maleficious counterpoint to the fog that blocked all but a couple of strides of his Truesight. It boiled with mana — traces of poison and smog affinity both. Affinities he had resistances to, if he didn’t already have enough hints it was designed for him.

    Though he only got the barest glimpses of them, something cut through the fog with the same swiftness as the butcher locusts they had fought so recently. Whatever they were, it wasn’t living — neither he nor Porkchop could hear any sounds of life, just a thin whistle as the objects cut through the air.

    He’d already prepared his inscription loadout. A quarter of his pool each for Bound Maelstrom, Slip Step, and Expedient Shunt, with the remainder spread between his two Drakthar spells — just in case he needed some ranged capability further down the track.

    Fed and rested, there was nothing holding him back from diving in straight away. Nothing, except his discomfort.

    Kaius sighed, staring longingly at the middle route — the one that meant walking another league with Porkchop at his side. If only it didn’t also carry the risk of taking him another step closer to mediocrity.

    Only a hundred longstrides ahead of them an inactive metallic golem stood sentinel in front of a gate powered by some sort of gem. Fashioned into an immense figure wrapped in heavy-plate, unfamiliar inscriptions wrapped every surface of his body. If not for the fact that the runes warped before his very eyes, he would have been sorely tempted to take the path and try their new tactic at the next crossroads.

    It was his first time seeing a proper autonomous construct in person. They were rare; a branch of runecraft that brought to mind illusive grandmasters hidden away as they desperately tried to recreate an artform that had been largely lost to mankind. The dwarves still knew, from what he had heard, but they guarded the secrets of their colossi jealously. What little examples remained from the Empire had suffered a millennium of weathering — and had most of their secrets hidden inside their mechanical forms, with runes rigged to slag themselves upon deactivation or tampering.

    Fascinating as the construct was, without the opportunity to learn from it, there was no point delaying.

    Kaius groaned — if he put this off any longer he was just going to drive himself mad. As soon as he was in the miasma, he’d be fine. There wasn’t much room for overthinking when you had to immerse yourself in the moment to stay alive.

    “You’re ready then?” Porkchop asked, bending round to nudge the back of Kaius’s head with his nose.

    “Yeah,” Kaius sighed, hauling himself to his feet. “I just need to get moving — I’m just starting to ruminate now.”

    “We’ll do great — and regardless of what happens, we’ll see each other when we’re done.

    Kaius nodded, pausing for a moment before he rushed and wrapped Porkchop in a crushing grip. “Good luck.”

    “Please, you’re the one who’s diving into a toxic cloud full of dangers — I just have to break down a wall.”

    Giving Porkchop a final squeeze, Kaius stepped back and walked towards his challenge. Black miasma roiled a handspan from his face — thick like smoke and choking his vision to a tiny bubble only a little wider than his wingspan. This close, he could smell it. Acrid and bitter, like a motley collection of alchemicals had been left to go rancid. He caught a bare metallic shine as something cut through the air — smog swirling in its wake.

    A blade — but one that bent mid flight. He could hear others, whistling through his path like swarming flies.

    Kaius drew his sword, its tip dipping into the smog. Translucent and glassy, it melded into the black — visible only thanks to the tinged veins and band of metal that ran through its belly. Taking a final look back, he caught Porkchop’s eye — hesitating for just a moment, before he rallied his nerves.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    He’d see the big lug again soon, and it would be nice be to cut loose with only his progress on his shoulders. A more personal struggle.

    Giving Porkchop a nod, he stepped forwards.

    The miasma prickled like acidic needles on his skin, toxic affinities roiling as it tried to rip and tear at his flesh. Deep within him, Rapid Adaptation recognised and remembered the nature of the assault. The Skill leapt into motion, flooding his body with bolstering energy to attack the invading force continuously.

    It crushed the affliction instantly.

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