NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire

by Jason Crutchfield

  I shook my head. The situation grew far too light hearted, far too quickly. I returned my attention to Raze, “You manipulated the tip of my rifle before I shot at you. You manipulate the tips of my blades to skim by you. You chose a small sword for its wobbly blade, and you manipulate the tip to curve around parries and dodges to strike your target in harmless spots to rile them up, blind them, and hide them from the truth of your ability. And for your fire trick…”

  I thumbed behind me to the door, “it's all that sludge out there. Your telekinesis is so finite that you can manipulate small droplets of liquid as well. Like little bubbles, you dampen a given area with sludge. Then, you snap your fingers and slam dust particles together in the air like flint and steel. The friction is enough to ignite the fuel source, and the flame does the rest.” I gestured to the piles of ashes that used to be Raze's subordinates.

  “… How in zee world did you figure all zat out zo quickly?” His eyes widened. For the first time since I began combat with the flamboyant duke, I felt a sense of advantage.

  “The strange feelings in my hands were far from subtle. That tipped me off to your psychokinesis. The fire part seemed logical to me when I thought about all the containers of sludge you store in those warehouses, but I was convinced of the theory when you kicked me and made that,” I gestured to the dim black scorch marks marring the ceramic tile on the floor. They were the product of the flame Raze created when he kicked me from his presence; I had sailed across the room and landed in the fire he conjured at my projected destination.

  “How does zat matter?” He asked.

  “Simple. If you could truly control fire, why not just ignite my body in mid air when I had no control over my trajectory? Simply put, you require time to gather the droplets of sludge. You probably have a few barrels tucked away right outside the mansion or behind closed doors. I would be impressed if you psychokinetically carried sludge all the way from those warehouses, but it's not impossible, I guess,” I shrugged

  “Regardless, you can't properly aim the gathering of those sludge molecules when a target is moving. That's why you use those exaggerated hand gestures, like a magician fooling his audience. It draws attention away from what you're really doing.” I grinned at him. The color drained from his face like an evaporating fog.

  “Zat iz… mozt imprezzive. I truly undereztimated you. You are not dozile and foolizh like zee puppy. You are cunning and ruthlezz like zee wolf. But a wolf iz still a canine. And you will ztill die like one.” Raze lifted his small sword so the thin blade bisected the view of his face with the same dramatic poise he used before our fight began. Though theatrical, it signified his weariness for talk and readiness for battle, “Knowing zee zecret and doing somezhing about it are two different zingz, Zhe-wolf.”

  My grin faded, and my brows furrowed. If he was aware of my discernment of his ability, then surely he understood that I detected the weakness of his implant? His left hand, which he held loosely above his head during our clash of steel and manipulated gracefully during his obscuring parlor trick, served as the focus for his psychokinetic powers. He utilized the imagery conducted by the motions of that hand and its fingers to guide his thought waves in order to achieve his desired results. Considering he no doubt understood I knew this fact, was it possible his left hand only served to amplify his abilities rather than as a necessity for their use?

  I exhaled slowly. The cold draft seeping through the walls and windows nibbled at the few puncture wounds still decorating my body, but the most intense bite raced down my scorched right side with the brisk passing of chilled air. I noticeably winced. Raze's eyes squinted at the sight of my flinch, and with another pretentious “Engarde!” he dashed across the distance separating us.

  His small sword gleamed in the luminescence atop the balcony as he poised to plunge it within my chest. I parried the blow, but the results from previous attempts repeated; the blade curved around my left dagger and pierced my pectoral just above my left breast. And when I thrust my right dagger toward his floating left palm, he simply pulled the blade's tip to the side with the force of his mind. I cried out in pain even as I began to understand the source of his confidence.

  Even knowing the weakness to his finite psychokinesis changed nothing. I possessed no tool with which to counteract his abilities. Crelyos regarded Raze's capabilities with a melee weapon as unparalleled. That was before his unique nanite blossomed. Now, his level of skill was maddening. I clenched my teeth as he pulled the small sword free of its fleshy sheath. Though the pause in our combat allowed me to catch my breath, the dizziness caused by my blood loss failed to subside.

  Despite all the analysis and information I gathered to defeat Raze and learn the next step in my journey, my defeat still seemed inevitable. My death seemed certain. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it of both my dizziness and frustration. I concentrated on my nanites and lowered my eyes to the ground; the neurons in my brain began firing bioelectric sparks at a target location.

  No, I refused to leave this world without taking Bradich with me. I refused to fall because Raze's attacks blinded me with pain and frustration. Even if it meant activating that nanite, I would persevere. I would triumph no matter what it cost me. I stepped forward and tried to recall the last time I had activated that nanite.

  But before any such memories bubbled to my surface thoughts, the color faded from my emerald eyes leaving only a pale green, and a sense of extreme apathy overcame my every thought and action. As my foot touched the ground, I felt the click of that nanite buzz to life within the folds of my frontal lobe. My world instantly dimmed to a foggy gray haze of numbers, probabilities, and calculations. Like a walking corpse, I felt that nanite strip every sense of humanity from me with crude efficiency.

  File 18: Dousing the Duke of Flame

  “Oh good heavens… she activated the nanite that cuts her pain receptors again. Damn it, Ihlia!” Oswald hissed from the base of the stairs.

  Raze stared at me for a moment. I perceived his hesitation and surged forward. He thrust the tip of his small sword toward my chest in response. I understood his reasoning for avoiding an assault against a small target such as my head or neck. Even if he could wobble his small sword around my dagger, I was capable of swiveling my head to avoid the death blow with relative ease. His tactics involved poking and prodding the victim to the point of blind frustration, then finishing them in a fiery blaze.

  Nonfatal strike, slight shift required. A voice that almost felt like another entity's floated through my head like an eerie whisper. The thoughts belonged to me but were detached and removed from me at the same time. I lifted my left dagger as though intending to swat his small sword away as in previous attempts, but instead I thrust it passed his extending arm toward his chest. The blade wobbled around an imaginary parry, and with his attention focused on piercing the nonfatal muscles in my breast, my dagger found its mark in his own. I simultaneously hooked the dagger in my right hand around toward his left ribs.

  Raze's cries from being impaled in the chest shattered his concentration. The feeling in my right hand caused by his psychokinetic abilities still deterred the impalement, but the blade still managed to skim by his stomach and rend through his flesh, splattering his blood across the floor. He shoved his small sword deep into my chest, but my movements remained unhindered and my expression stoic. He staggered back a step to recuperate from his wounds, and his face contorted from the agony caused by my attacks.

  Without pain receptors, Panacea acted sluggishly. The nano hub relied heavily on the information sent to the brain by medium of pain to quickly detect damage and dispatch nanites to the afflicted location. Without that pain, my wounds would remain in place far longer, and the blood loss would accumulate far more quickly.

  In addition to stunting my healing, the nanite responsible for cutting my pain receptors also grossly distorted my sense of humanity. The boon of mai
ntaining an unwavering assault in the face of extreme torture was questionably worth the price paid, but it was a feeling I never grew accustomed to in the scant few times I activated the implant. I lunged forward without mercy and renewed my attack. In the dim light, my daggers flashed like lightning, and Raze's howls seconds after the blades found their marks boomed like an accompanying clap of thunder.

  Nonfatal strike, ignore. The dance continued with predictable results. Right side parried, compensate next strike. My every motion flowed with the perception of my Cognitive Accelerator. In my unfeeling state, I no longer required mental focus to maintain the slowed perception, I simply did. Or perhaps my mental focus could no longer be obscured by external sources. Regardless of the reason behind the phenomena, in my mind's eye, Raze possessed all the speed of a sloth.

  Impact confirmed, press the assault. I suffered several wounds similar to those received during our first exchange, though without the accompanied flinches or sensory distractions, I managed to inflict worse wounds upon the duke.

  “I do not underztand… how can zis be. It iz like you are not zee zame at all! Anzwer me, Zhe-wolf!” Raze gasped for air; with the climax of his angered cry, he gagged up a small blot of crimson which he spat on the floor. The flamboyant duke reeled backward to escape the threat posed by my lengthy daggers. Slowly, I knelt down. At my feet lay my leather trench coat. Its right half completely burned away, the charred remains of the lengthy black garb resembled half a vest more than a coat.

  With a blank expression, I lifted the left portion of the frayed remains. After tucking the hilt of my left dagger firmly between my teeth, I shoved my left hand through the sleeve and adorned it despite its abysmal state. Raze's burning glare burrowed into me, but I felt nothing and tore a thin leather strip from the frays decorating the coat's right border.

  As I placed either hand at the back of my neck, I scooped my ebon tresses from their prison beneath the collar of my coat. I used my free hand to bunch the flowing locks, still singed at the end from one of Raze's many bursts of flame, into a long ponytail. I calmly tied the leather band around the strip of hair to hold it in place and returned my dagger to my waiting grip.

  “Raze…” I fastened my gaze on the duke of flame. Even the sound of my voice echoed like a cold vacuum devoid of humanity, “… I'll say it again. Give me any information you have regarding Bradich's whereabouts.” I lowered both arms to my side and turned my daggers into a forward grip in my palms.

  “Zat iz zo cute. You believe zat you have me on zee ropez. You forget about zis!” Raze leapt back and pressed his back to the wall as far from me as feasibly possible. He swirled his left hand in front of his face; he gestured more swiftly than usual and more akin to those he used when he set the floor aflame. Raze was gathering sludge quickly. Whether his hasty motions indicated a tactical maneuver or a sign of desperation, I was unable to decide.

  The moment the sour, burning smell of sludge reached my nostrils I propelled myself forward. No sooner did my feet left the ground, than Raze turned his left hand toward my body with fingers pressed together for a quick snap. My apathetic gaze never faltered even as the methodic thud of my boots hammered into the tile floor. Raze's lips twisted into a gnarled grin, “Too late, Zhe-wolf. Zis iz zee end.”

  “I agree,” I responded plainly. As the muscles in his hand, in the sluggish manner in which I perceived them, drew his fingers together for the heralding crack, I tossed up my left arm encased in the remains of my trench coat. The click of his fingers and the synchronous roar of flames bathed my left forearm in golden light. With the sludge attached to various parts of my body, the fiery swathe twirled about my arm and blazed a trail along my back. With the passage of air intensified by my running, it only further provoked the flame's accelerated growth.

  I felt nothing. With my pain receptors cut, not even the heat imposed its discomfort on me despite the flame's close proximity to my skin. I smelled the leather and burning flesh along my left arm as the clothes melted and fused with the fibers of my skin. I understood the significant damage racing across the left side of my back and torso as the fire rapidly pulled the moisture from my skin and marred the pallete of my flesh with crimson scorch marks. It failed to stop me or even give me pause. I rushed forward as a half-lit fireball.

  Raze's eyes widened; he no doubt expected me to stop and writhe about in pain, consumed by the ruby sea burning away at my body. Instead, I thrust my left dagger straight toward his chest. The tug on the left side of my hand sent the dagger askew, accompanied by his confident shout, “Foolizh Zhe-wolf!” I simply barreled into him despite the edge of my dagger twisting harmlessly to the side. My flame engulfed elbow, instead, collided with the broad expanse of his pectoral muscles encased in elaborate garments. His expectations to swat me away and dust off a frayed thread or two quickly transformed.

  Raze burst into flame with the ease of a cotton ball. The fire exploded like a bucket of red paint splashed onto a canvas. Robbed of his concentration, Raze failed to add new sludge to my burning body. Though the flame did not smolder, it maintained its hold only on my lithe frame's left side. Meanwhile, his ear piercing screams vibrated the walls and ceiling. The duke of flame's own bitter fire mercilessly consumed him. I kept my forearm pressed hard against his chest and burned with him as I pinned him to the wall. Amidst his incoherent shrieks, he managed to speak.

  “How… iz zis… pozzible?!” He grabbed my arm, desperately trying to wriggle free of my grasp so he could roll about on the floor. As the flame enveloping my body traveled to my stomach, I reached up with my right hand and peeled the trench coat off my left side. The sickening squelch as it ripped layers of my flesh away elicited no reaction from me at all. As I finished tugging my left arm free, it hung at my side like a smoldering raw clump of charred flesh. One would hardly be able to discern it from a slab of well cooked meat. I stepped back, and Raze finally dropped to his knees and raked his fingers across his face as though trying to tear the fire from his body.

  “The table,” I monotonously responded.

  “Zee…table?!” He howled and moaned, rolling about on the floor like a crazed animal.

  “The sludge you were drinking when we walked in. It may be fit for consumption, but it's still quite flammable. When I tossed you on the table, it covered your shirt. It doesn't help that your frills encourage burning far more than leather or that your hair is long, flowing, and not pulled back. With all those fire hazards, I wonder if it's the world you really wanted to burn… or yourself.”

  By the time I finished my explanation, Raze succeeded in dousing the flames bathing his body. His charred figure lay at my feet; several charcoal patches marred his bald head, and the majority of his flesh resembled ashen flakes. Only small strips of burned, frayed cloth covered random parts of his body; as I stood over him watching, I could scarcely help but liken Raze to a half-cremated mummy. If not for Panacea, both of us would surely have died from our wounds. Raze no doubt would have died immediately whereas I would have perished later, so logically, I considered it my victory.

  “Zee zludge on zee table… zee trench coat… zee hair band. You planned all of zis?… What zee hell are you, Zhe-wolf?” Raze's voice cracked and creaked like a smoker living prior to Panacea who went through three packs a day for forty years.

  I stared down at Raze's feeble figure without remorse. Sheathing both daggers at my hips, I reached behind me and gripped the stock of my hunting rifle. I tugged it from its strap and brought the tip of the muzzle to Raze's forehead. With a quick slide of the bolt action pin, I loaded a new round into the chamber. My vacant eyes offered the duke no comfort, but they seemed to provide an answer to his question. A pained smile quivered at one corner of his lips; perhaps he thought me a monster.

  I slowly squeezed the trigger, but as the reverberating bang sent the round rifling from my firearm's tip, a strange sensation tugged at the tip of my gun. The bul
let sailed clear over Raze and embedded itself in the decorative wall on the far side of the semi-destroyed ballroom. I glanced toward my rifle's end; Crelyos' biomechanical grip firmly clutched its tip. At the last moment, he had vaulted atop the balcony, grabbed the end of the gun, and yanked it up and away from the fallen duke of flame. My gaze drifted to him with stoic expectancy. I wanted an explanation.

  My left hand, disfigured with hideous burns, gripped my dagger's hilt and slowly slid the blade from its sheath. A simple swipe would surely make Crelyos leap backward and relinquish his hold on my weapon. It was the logical course of action. I suddenly felt another's grip on my left hand. The firm but delicate hand of Doctor Oswald pressed down against my wrist, forcing my dagger gently back into its sheath with a soft whisper. As I swiveled my face toward the doctor, his free hand lifted and cupped my cheek with tenderness and genuine concern.

  “Ihlia, snap out of it.” His words carried a power in them. It was like I sat in the darkness of my mind's eyes watching the events play out before me in sullen loneliness, but then Oswald appeared with a guiding light and beckoned me to follow him. My world's foggy haze lifted and the prickling sensation in my skin returned. I blinked a few times as the sweltering agony coursing through my body welled up at once. It felt like a giant flaming meteorite dropped straight onto my head. I cringed and cried out, gripping the grotesquely wounded left side of my figure with my more bearable, but still uncomfortably scorched, right hand. When I let my rifle go to accomplish this, Crelyos merely held it by its tip.

  “How the hell are we supposed to get info out of him if you just off him? Damn, Ihlia. Think about these things.” Crelyos shook his head and shouldered my rifle for safekeeping. I laughed softly, painfully, under my breath and staggered toward Raze. His breath escaped him in ragged heaves, and his face contorted in a tortured expression. But Panacea already began the process of stitching his body together beneath his cocoon of black charcoal and raw flesh. I stepped one leg over the top of his body, hovering just above him while still cradling my left side.