Flawed Fracture

by Katie Vack

  Thief grinned. "Now I know why you're a good storyteller."

  "What?"

  The other boy laughed. "You were trained to talk. That's why you're so good at speaking. I reckon you'd make a pretty good story teller if you wanted."

  Grayson frowned. "I don't see what's so funny any of that."

  "What's funny," Frankenstein spoke and Grayson turned to find that he had been listening in from the doorway, "is how melodramatic you are. Let me get this straight: your parents are dead, you were raised by criminals, and you're half death sorcerer. Did I miss anything?"

  "No."

  "No other secrets that you're keeping? No other unfortunate instances in your past?"

  "No."

  "And there's definitely nothing else wrong with you or your past?"

  "What are you getting at?"

  "This," the man flung his arms outwards as though to encompass the worlds, "is the new age. The age of uncertainty."

  "Make you point."

  "Welcome to Fracture, Grayson. I hope you enjoy your stay."

  "I still don't understand what you're trying to say."

  The doctor sighed. "You know, I really can't tell whether you're genuinely this dense or just dragging things out on purpose. My point is that this is Fracture. Angels and demons. Light and dark. Good and evil. Chaos and Order. Your complaints might have held some weight in the old universe, but things have changed since then. Nowadays every man and his dog have a sob story or two to cry about.

  "A sob story? Did you just call my life a sob story?"

  Frankenstein blew a perfect smoke ring. "Yes."

  "You have no right. You have no idea what I've experienced; what I've been through. You have no right to judge me on something you can't understand."

  "Who said anything about rights? I'm the doctor, you're the patient. I can say whatever I want to you, and you can't complain about it unless you want to heal wrong. I'm not going to patronise you or insult you in any way, but nor am I going to keep quiet for the sake of your fragile pride."

  "I'll kill you."

  "A rather inept attempt at a threat, considering you've already told us you aren't a killer."

  "Perhaps. But I can still hurt you."

  "You could try. You would, of course, lose your only doctor in the process. Then you'd have to visit one of those lumin healers; those pesky ones that could find out what you really are."

  "Whatever." Grayson was too tired to bother arguing with him, so he turned back to the rest of his group. "I still don't get how you found out what I am."

  Thief shrugged. "It was Karolus actually. He was the only one on the scene."

  The angel's face darkened. "I was flying overhead; I'd been cleaning up a couple of runners. I watched you fighting the leech, and it wasn't pretty."

  "How? You couldn't have seen through the tree cover- not clearly, in any case."

  "You weren't in the trees. You were fighting in the road."

  "I don't remember that. He threw me down the hill and I passed out."

  "Then you might have a problem. I watched you fall, but then it was like something snapped and you went berserk."

  "Berserk?"

  "One second you were on the verge of death, the next you were like a devil- it's like nothing I've ever seen before. You got back up to your feet, you started screaming your head off in agony, and then your hands and feet caught fire with some kind of black flames. After that, the leech couldn't even face you for ten seconds- you beat him around like a cat with a mouse, you ripped an arm and a leg off, and then you passed out."

  "Gods." Grayson had no idea what to say. He wanted to deny it- it was simply too ridiculous- but at the same time he started to remember flashes of events. There had been a caster he had been fighting. He had destroyed that man. "I... don't know what to say. I can remember now."

  "It was terrifying. You were like some kind of mad beast. Has anything like that ever happened before?"

  "No once."

  "And you have no idea why it happened?"

  Grayson shook his head, choking at the thought of such a loss of control, but then Frankenstein cut in.

  "I might be able to offer an explanation." The rest of the group looked round at him. "The black flames, Grayson. Have you ever called upon them before?"

  "Never."

  "And did it feel like you were calling upon them, or was it that they were in fact calling upon you?"

  "How," Grayson's voice trailed off, "do you know something like that?"

  "Simple. You aren't the first person for this to have happened to."

  "Then what was it?"

  "The Flames of the Damned, of course."

  "The what?"

  Frankenstein raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what the Flames of the Damned are?"

  "Why would I?"

  "A good point. Okay then, I guess I have to educated you a little on casters.

  "There are three distinct stages to a caster's powers. The first is the creation of shadows. Anyone with the abilities of a caster can do this, and it's pretty simple. A caster's shadows seek out life and energy, drain them, and siphon it into their master. The actual mechanics vary upon the user- sometimes they gather around the caster's body as yours do, sometimes they connect to the caster's body but extend outwards from it, and in extremely rare cases they are entirely separate entities. That's the stage you're at right now.

  "The second stage is where these shadows become corporeal, turning into objects which can be used for physical offense and defence."

  Grayson looked up, attention suddenly grabbed. "Wait, they what? How the hell does that work?"

  "Have you ever heard of quantum physics?"

  "Heard of what?"

  "In that case, I won't bother to go into the mechanics. The point is that the physical shadows can be used to cut, crush, shield, and armour, and are fairly potent at doing so; but they lose their ability to drain energy. That's why the first two stages are normally used in conjunction with one another. It's worth pointing out that caster development is extremely slow- most never reach the second stage until they're about sixty or seventy.

  "The third and final stage is known as the Flames of the Damned. Simply reaching the third stage can boost you up a rank or two overnight, let alone learning to use it- that's how deadly it is. The Flames of the Damned manifest as black flames, incorporeal as with the first stage. They are constantly absorbing energy, requiring no input from the wielder, and they do it at an incredible rate. Those flames are a force of destruction on an entirely different level, but they take an extreme force of control to keep them in check. They can cut through stone, through steel, through diamond, but a part of that power is directed back at the wielder.

  "As you'll know, what makes caster magic different from something like elemental dominion, runes, or affinity is the way in which it is used. Where other kinds of magic come naturally to the user, barely requiring a simple thought, caster magic seems almost to have a life of its own and is constantly fighting to escape it's master's control; hence the strength of a caster is determined not only by their natural affinity to their shadows, but by the strength of the mind which controls them.

  "You will be familiar with the way in which your shadows try to wrest themselves out of your control; to be honest, at your level it's pretty basic. However, the Flames of the Damned aren't quite like that- not only are they vastly more powerful and therefore harder to control, but the effects should you lose it are quite different. At level one or two your shadows will either disintegrate and simply vanish, or they will detonate and release all the energy pent up within them. Not necessarily ideal in a combat situation, but something you can work around.

  "The Flames of the Damned are a little different. Lose control of them, and they gain control of you. They are for all intents and purposes intelligent and malicious beings, and so should your control over them break they will act in a deliberately vicious manner; normally involving a kind of berserker rage such as
the one your friend has just described."

  "So..." Grayson mused, "That means that I completely skipped the second stage and went all the way to the third."

  "It seems so."

  The boy grinned. "I'm a badass."

  "Not really," the doctor grimaced, "you lost control of your powers and went berserk, and were lucky that your focus was upon the leech. A little less fortunate and it could have been your teammates you were ripping to pieces."

  "Sure, I get that. But I still managed to beat that leech who was 'so far beyond our level'." He stopped suddenly, a thought just occurring to him. "What did happen to him, anyway?"

  "He got away," Karolus said, "you tore off a couple of his limbs, and then some gunships flew in to pick him up. Seth and Crayton-"

  "Zachineru-"

  "Crayton were busy extracting the silvan and the mutant, so I was the only one able to deal with the aircraft; and against that kind of firepower," his expression darkened as he reflected upon his failure, "it was all I could do to keep them from shooting you. They flew him away somewhere, although whether he could survive that is anybody's guess."

  "I see." A weight had been lifted off his chest. "Good."

  "Good? How is that good?"

  "Well..." he suddenly realised that he had dug himself into a pit and struggled to think of a believable excuse, "Sora has a bit of a vendetta against Lyka. Let's just say it might not have ended well for me if I'd killed him, and deprived her of her chance to pay him back."

  Thief laughed. "You've got that right; she's a real psycho. God only knows what's wrong with her head to make her like that."

  Grayson frowned. No matter how he felt about her, he didn't appreciate his partner being talked about like that, at least not behind her back. More than that though, Thief was near enough blind to the thoughts and emotions of the people around him, so to be classifying her as a psychopath seemed a little strange. "Vicious I get, but what do you mean by psycho?"

  The boy pulled a face. "I had to run into her leftovers. Killing is one thing, it's part of the job, but what she did- it's like when she fights, her aim is not to win efficiently but to inflict as much pain as possible. The poor guys must have died slowly and painfully. I'm sure they've committed enough atrocities of their own, but I just can't believe that we should put them through a hell like that before they suffer again in the afterlife."

  "Life isn't clean. It's brutal, and messy, and it never follows the ideal route."

  "I'm a mutant; I know all about expectations versus reality. But there's a difference between a messy fight and virtual torture. Better you than me, lumin, because I don't think I could stand her."

  "Couldn't stand who?" Sora reappeared suddenly, soundlessly, through the door she had just left through. Considering her timing and the way in which she had simply appeared, Grayson couldn't help but wonder whether she had ever really left at all. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd been eavesdropping around a half-closed door.

  An awkward and resounding silence met her sudden arrival, everyone waiting for somebody else to come up with an acceptable answer. Nobody did, and so she frowned in a manner which gave nothing away. "Bad question? Fine. Karolus," she turned to the aetherial, "you've got a call. It's the Boss."

  * * *

  "Well done. Well, well, done." The Boss was turning sarcasm into an art form, pacing before them within a hologram projected onto the wall. He appeared to be his usual well groomed self, perfectly smart and presentable, and apparently not losing any sleep over the recent incident; at least, not for their sakes at least.

  "You hospitalise half my men and you fail utterly in your objective of capturing the officer. Congratulations on giving us a textbook example of how to mess up a mission. You're a bunch of imbeciles, my corporation is a laughing stock, and I personally am having to deal with pressure from on high about this disaster. I don't like being pressured for someone else's mistakes, so you'd better have a damn good excuse as to why exactly you failed so utterly-one which goes beyond your general incapability."

  "We couldn't help it," Karolus responded, white faced, "we were set up. There's an information leak."

  "Oh," the man mocked, "spare me. What exactly do you think that has to do with me? If there's an information leak it's on your end, and therefore your responsibility to fix it. I trust you have done so?"

  "I'm still working on-"

  "That's a no, then. A whole week of sitting around killing time, and yet you couldn't find room in your busy schedule to deal with the compromise. Pathetic." He turned away from the screen, crossing his arms across his chest. "What kind of information leak?"

  "The enemy knew about the mission. It wasn't an unprotected convoy, but a disguised group of armoured vehicles full of soldiers and led by a high level leech. They were ready for us, and they were waiting."

  "So you told someone you shouldn't have. Why is it that you never accounted for that possibility?"

  "I never felt-"

  "You never felt it necessary to take basic precautions, and so you fell apart the moment things stopped going according to plan. If you'd just done this properly, the information leak wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference. Am I right?"

  "Well..."

  "Am I right?"

  Karolus lifted his chin, his previously fuming face devoid of any readable expression. "As you say, sir. It was my fault. It won't happen again."

  "Good. I'm glad to hear it; as should you be, considering that another slip up will cost you the job. Either way, that's settled. You," he didn't bother turning around, simply expecting Grayson to respond, "you lied to your..." he struggled to find the words, "co-workers."

  "Yep." Grayson, unlike the angel beside him, couldn't find the effort to act remorseful and respectful. He wondered distractedly whether the Boss would be half as condescending if they were to meet in person. He somehow doubted it.

  "You lied to them, and you told them that you were an ordinary lumin. Your lies might easily have spelled the deaths of your peers, and more importantly have put the entire mission into jeopardy. I could have you thrown out into the dirt."

  "You could. But you won't."

  The man turned round at last, face scrunching up noticeably in outrage. "What did you just say?"

  "I said," Grayson leaned casually back against the wall, "that you could have me thrown out, but that you won't."

  "You're arrogant, boy. I have half a mind to get rid of you this instant. What makes you think you have the right to talk to me like that?"

  "Simple analysis. From what I can tell, you don't seem to have any real power. This all comes down to whoever your mysterious boss is, and since I haven't been kicked out yet I doubt that I'm going to be. You need someone who knows the shard like the back of their hand, and there aren't too many lumin mercenaries out there. Besides, I doubt you'd be willing to wait. I'm too valuable to you right now, and you can't afford to get rid of me. Am I right?"

  "Why, you-"

  "And of course, we can't forget that your boss asked for me personally."

  "Reign in your ego, half breed. I can hurt you. I don't have to take your abuse. I don't need to play along with your ridiculous idea of having been asked for personally."

  "Then prove it. Do something. Take me down, or cut me off. Do it now. You don't need me, so get rid of me. You can't have a mutinous subordinate, can you?"

  The man said nothing, simply stared at him for a few seconds. Dead silence pervaded the room, and Grayson became acutely aware of his teammates disbelieving eyes boring into his back. Eventually the Boss turned and began to walk away, leaving them to clear up the pieces. "You will regret those words. I may not be able to fire you, but I can still make you suffer: and you will," he spoke through gritted teeth, "suffer."

  The screen blinked finally out of existence. Stein was the first to speak. "Jesus, what got into you? That has to be one of the most suicidal moves I've ever seen anyone make."

  Grayson shrugged, not quite sure hims
elf. He'd just had a sudden urge to go and butt heads with a very rich, very influential, and very ruthless employer. "I was tired of his spiel. I don't like cowards who'll say what they want at a safe distance when they wouldn't dream of doing so face to face."

  "Then perhaps," Karolus was clearly struggling to remain calm, "you might want to work on your self-control."

  "I'm sure I'll live."