Chapter Forty: Old Bao

FORTY

The man who called himself Bao stood at the top of a rusted, dilapidated hotel. Once it had been the undisputed king of the desert, rising high above the flat lands to dominate the space, drawing every eye towards its glittering lights and false promises. Now it huddled upon itself, mortal steel failing as age and disrepair took their toll. In the shadow of the Thirteenth Tower, nothing truly stood tall.

Bao wasn’t looking at the massive tower that rose through the everpresent cloud cover, sparks of mana infused lightning leaping from the clouds and into the onyx metal. No, his eyes were locked on the desert and the group of idiots who were interrupting his hunt.

“They’re going to get killed,” Bao said, his voice deep but soft as he spoke to his lifelong companion. The dragon spirit bobbed in the air, its long whiskers twitching as its glowing orange eyes turned to look at him. A single long eyebrow twitched as the small dragon snorted, a blast of air that sent a plume of air into the sky.

“I know, but they’re interrupting my hunt,” Bao said as he felt the young spirit’s apathy about Bao’s fellow humans. With a sigh Bao closed his eyes and focused inward. For nearly a century now he had known the mana channels and core of his body like the back of his hand. Better even for he had painstakingly sculpted it. Changing it over time and reinforcing it as he grew older and stronger.

Where once rivers of power had coursed through him he was forced to stare at the crystallized channels. His core was frozen in time, held in place by seven seals, each formed of seven locks. It was the only way to truly move across this cursed land without drawing unwanted attention. Like the idiots in the desert.

They were out “hunting” a mana beast. Natural fauna that had mutated over time by the coursing ley lines that coursed through the planet. Bao knew what it was that this tower should be doing. Gathering that wild mana and redirecting it in a constructive way, rebuilding the world into something more robust.

The Unconquered Tower wasn’t doing that. No, it just drank the mana of the world. Bao opened one lock of seven that held one seal of seven. His core twitched, hardly more than a tremor, but it was enough. Mana rotated through him in a surge that shattered the frozen crystal veins. Bao felt his body begin to heal, the ravages of time reversed in a moment.

His back straightened as muscle firmed and grew strong, his wide belly shrunk and his balding head sprouted a path of white hair that fell to his jowls. Energy burst through him as a manic smile spread across his craggy face as he sighed in relief. He stood straight and felt his back pop. Already his mana channels were growing lethargic, refreezing as he locked the seal again.

“Have to be quick,” Bao told the dragon spirit as he reached into one of the many rings on his hand and drew forth the seven foot long spear. It glittered as if he’d caught the stars and wove them into the black metal itself. With a dozen tendrils of will he snagged all the ingredients he needed to finish the weapon, enchantments blazing to life as he armed the spear.

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“There they are,” Bao said, turning to look across the dead city. Five different mana signatures had just blazed to life. He’d smelled them of course, their stench too hard to ignore as they tried to hide in his city. They smelled like the Fourth Tower. The Cairo tower was known for shadow, light, and deceit, focused on illusions, traps, and poisons. Ranked at fourth, it was one of the least deadly towers as they were rated by lethality, the Thirteenth being the most deadly. Cairo wasn’t as dangerous, but it produced excellent spies and assassins.