Volume 1, Chapter 3: Terms and Conditions May Apply (Patreon)

The first thing I realized when the Daimon supposedly began tampering with my soul was that I was no longer bound by the force that had been holding me in place.

The realization came with a blink, followed by my tortured eyes closing fully against the light. My body practically groaned with pain, and I quickly rolled onto my side before falling from the steel table onto the hard floor polished to a damn mirror.

I landed on my hands and knees, staring down at the reflection of my exhausted face.

My short chestnut hair was disheveled, my skin a little paler than I would have preferred, and the freckles generously scattered across my nose were, unfortunately, still exactly where they had always been. My hazel eyes were bloodshot, probably from the stress of fleeing a scorned husband—or from being abducted by an alien trying to turn me into a wizard.

One of the two. Possibly both.

Aside from my pale lips and shallow breathing, I was in surprisingly good condition.

“Oh, old man. Now that I can move, maybe we can finally talk man to man, huh?” My voice carried the sort of rasp that came after a night spent partying and drinking for far too long—or during an illness. Even so, in my own estimation—and my opinion of myself had always been the one that mattered most… to me—I sounded fairly convincing in my attempt to be intimidating.

“[Curiosity] Are you attempting to frighten me?” the Gray asked as I lifted my head to locate his current position.

For the first time, I could get a proper look at him as he calmly walked toward a rounded seat and a screen—or perhaps a window—beyond which stretched an ocean of stars.

He was shorter than me, perhaps the size of a ten-year-old child, which, compared with my six-foot-one frame, gave me a certain confidence regarding any potential contest of strength. His limbs were frail, his torso painfully thin, and every step was accompanied by a limp on his right leg, which appeared completely rigid.

He wore no clothing. He had no ass and, most likely, nothing on the other side either. I found myself feeling a little sorry for him, and the adrenaline inside me quieted down.

With a sigh, rather than confronting him, I sat on the floor and slowly used my hands to arrange my legs into a cross-legged position. Once I managed it, I planted my palms behind me, blew a strand of hair out of my eyes and back into its proper place, then gently rolled my head backward and forward before tilting it from side to side to loosen the muscles that had remained tense until now.

“What happens next?” I asked.

The old man reached his seat, turned around—confirming my genital theory—and settled himself calmly. He placed his strange hands, with their overly long but slender fingers, on the armrests and began tapping rhythmically against an invisible surface that flashed with light whenever his fingertips touched it.

“[Sense of duty, melancholy] Soon, you will feel the effects of your connection to the Daimon. It will determine which Paths are most compatible with your nature. The selection is based on the choices you have made throughout your life, especially the most defining ones. It will present them in descending order, from the strongest match to the weakest, but the final choice belongs to you. [Nostalgia] Even the weakest affinity can be forged into a power that defines your future.” His head tilted to one side, and something I had always found terrifying about his species in my nightmares—those enormous, endless black eyes—now seemed beautiful as the light of a million stars reflected across their surfaces.

“You said your species undergoes Daimon implantation too, and I think you mentioned that you had gone through it yourself. Forgive me if I’m mistaken. I was a little preoccupied with all that machinery approaching my face—”

“[Nostalgia] Yes, I underwent the procedure as well. I also follow a Path, and I am Inspired,” he interrupted, sending the thoughts directly into my mind.

I noticed, however, that his thin lips moved in time with the words I imagined hearing. Not enough to say that he was truly opening his mouth, but enough for me to notice. He rested one delicate arm on the support beside him, curled his hand into a fist, and propped his head against it in a gesture of either boredom or contemplation.

“What did you choose? Can you tell me?” I asked, leaning forward, bending my arms at the elbows, and clasping my hands together in front of me.

“[Nostalgia, determination] My answer would mean nothing to you, Earthling. My Path does not exist on the Earths.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, my curiosity growing.

“[Disappointment, need to explain] My Path is Gorglath. To answer your next question before you ask it, Gorglath does not exist on Earth, as I already mentioned. The closest correlation would be your fungi and stones.”

“Interesting. So I was right to call you an old man. You’re a moldy old grouch, ancient as the rocks themselves, huh?”

“[Amusement] I hope we meet again, Alexander. You are an interesting specimen,” he replied as his body began vibrating up and down. If that was their equivalent of laughter, it looked disturbingly similar to one of our epileptic seizures.

[Possible Paths identified. The linked user’s soul demonstrates the greatest affinity with the following Paths: Artist: 85%. Painter: 82%. Graffiti Artist: 77%. Watercolorist: 59%. Thief: 57%. Trickster: 56%. Acrobat: 54%. Escape Artist: 53%. Fighter: 51%. Con Artist: 49%. Tinkerer: 48%. Pyro-Shaper: 35%. Poet: 33%. Lover: 32%. All remaining Paths display insufficient correlation to establish a meaningful and honest bond. Please make your selection.] My Daimon clearly laid out the options before me.

“[Interest] You already know, don’t you? Do you require advice or an explanation?”

“I understand, and I’m not surprised by most of them, now that I know my interests and natural aptitudes determined what could appear on the list. I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed by my compatibility with the Lover Path, though.” I sighed and looked toward the section of the wall through which outer space was visible. After a moment of thought, I listed the options I had been given to my abductor. I could still see them clearly within my soul as Concepts with which I could form a bond.

“[Contemplation, confusion] Graffiti Artist and Watercolorist mean little to me, but judging by the first option, they are connected to art. Am I correct?”

I nodded.

“[Interest, disappointment] Although I find them intriguing, I cannot help you with them. The only form of art practiced by my species is poetry. Why did they appear among your options?”

“I’ve been interested in art in various forms since childhood. Painting, drawing, and later graffiti allowed me to escape from what was otherwise a rather gray reality,” I answered. “I don’t intend to go in that direction, though. Honestly, I still don’t fully understand how these Paths are supposed to work. What kind of magical powers could something like Thief or Acrobat give me?”

“[Need to explain] Paths based on physicality usually enhance those aspects of the bearer. They often focus on temporarily increasing strength, coordination, speed, or other qualities associated with the body. They rarely allow their followers to use Authority to influence anything beyond themselves, although that does not mean they are unworthy of consideration or that it is entirely impossible. Each path can branch into ways that seem inconceivable at its beginning.”

“Nah, fuck them. I’m already good enough at escaping, flipping around, climbing, and painting that I’m not going to waste my one chance at magic just so I can run a little faster or hold a brush slightly better.

“Although, as I said, that Lover score is a real blow. I hope no one besides us ever finds out about it. Fuck. It could’ve at least been sixty-nine percent, right?”

The Gray continued staring at me with the same unshakable expression. I had been fooling myself by expecting a creature without genitals to show any empathy for the tragedy that had befallen me.

“Never mind. The option that obviously caught my attention the most is Pyro-Shaper. The only thing I can think to ask is: what the hell? How did that end up on my compatibility list? I’ve never been particularly interested in fire, you know?”

“[Contemplation, theorizing] If your life underwent a significant change in which fire played a clear role, that may have caused the Path to appear on your list. It is a strong choice for someone who wishes to use their Authority to influence the external world. Fire, as a force of destruction and transformation, is particularly well suited to that purpose.” As he spoke, the Gray moved the hand that still rested upon the invisible terminal glowing beneath his fingers. He raised it and gently tapped his triangular chin.

“My parents died in a fire when I was a few years old, and… I had just used a can of spray and a lighter when you abducted me. Those are the only two instances that come to mind. Is that enough?”

“[Nostalgia] Yes. Sometimes a single event can change an entire life.”

“What do you think I should choose?”

“[Uncertainty] Artist is at the top of the list.”

“I love art, but I don’t see how it could help me save myself or Earth. I’m going with fire.”

“[Resignation, understanding] As I said, every choice—” he began, but I had already confirmed mine within my spirit.

Prismatic light began gathering across my body and seeping out of it in a hazy, gaseous form, only to become completely transparent and invisible moments later. While it remained close to my skin, however, I could clearly see its varied colors. They shifted gradually but rapidly from every shade of the rainbow into oranges, blues, yellows, and whites. Then, before the old man could finish his lecture, all that strange light rushed back inside me.

A shock traveled down my spine and along every nerve in my body.

All my senses abandoned me at once, leaving me in a space that was utterly silent, black, odorless, and devoid of touch, balance, or even any awareness that I possessed a body at all. The only thing that remained was this new way of understanding the world—one I had only just learned how to experience.

[Assigning newly selected Path. Optimizing starting point for compatibility with existing soul. Reconfiguring predispositions and preparing a system comprehensible to the user...] The Concepts appeared within my spirit one after another. With no way of knowing how quickly or slowly the process was unfolding, I drifted through that world severed from physical existence, waiting for the strange procedure to finish while my thoughts began analyzing the situation in which I had found myself.

[Initializing connection to the Library of the Universe’s Memory…]

Presumably, as soon as the process ended, I would land in an alien world beside either the man I had found sitting on the toilet, the boy—Mateo, I thought his name had been—who had been sent down to find me, or perhaps the dog he had unleashed to maul me.

If those wretched Greatest responsible for this whole undertaking possessed any sense of humor, then the last possibility was probably the most likely.

[Connection established. User has gained access to the Pyro-Shaper Path. Determining current state of user’s Authority…]

Assuming it was not an enraged dog but a person with whom I might actually be able to communicate, I still needed to prepare myself for the possibility of being torn apart by a wild beast.

Back where I had been taken from, I had been wearing the clothes I had managed to steal, but they had taken my lighter, the spray can, and the bag of tools. If I got another chance to speak with the Gray, I needed to ask him about that.

I had also forgotten to ask how long this entire trial was supposed to last, and whether I was limited by time or only by the competence of my competition.

[User Authority: Spark. Anima tier: Developing. Psyche tier: Nascent.] I had no idea what any of that was supposed to mean.

[Initial abilities identified and assigned: Stoke, Pyrography, Cinderhide.]

[Displaying the ability designation as recorded in the Library of the Universe’s Memory:]

[Stoke; Classification: Technique, Authority Claim: An existing flame may be encouraged to burn stronger. Increases the size, heat, and intensity of a chosen flame. Requires an existing source of fire. Greater amplification consumes more Authority and may cause the flame to exhaust its fuel or spread uncontrollably.]

[Pyrography; Classification: Technique, Authority Claim: Fire may be drawn from its source and made to follow the Soma of its wielder. The Inspired can pull part of a chosen flame away and leave a trail of fire behind. Simple lines are easier to maintain than detailed shapes. Unsupported flames disappear unless continuously sustained with Authority.]

[Cinderhide; Classification: Technique, Authority Claim: Fire should find the Inspired more difficult to consume. Reinforces a chosen body fragment against fire and extreme heat. Protection is strongest against mundane flames.]

I understood the abilities assigned to me the moment they were inscribed into the structure of my soul.

I could also feel that the soul itself consisted of seven elements, but in truth understood only three of them now. The Anima allowed me to control those abilities both consciously and subconsciously, while the Psyche functioned the way muscles did within the body. It was the Psyche that generated the Authority required to use my abilities and sustain their effects. The greater the strain placed upon it, the greater the chance that it would no longer be able to maintain them and would collapse.

The clear metaphor I understood instinctively also told me that, just like a muscle, this part of the soul was limited by both endurance—how long it could sustain a low-intensity use—and strength—how powerful a single effect it could produce.

The Anima, in turn, limited my soul on a more intellectual level, determining how complex an application of my Authority could be.

I also came to understand that the Soma mentioned earlier in Pyrography was the strange glow surrounding my body, emitted by the soul itself. It was the soul’s physical component, its body, through which I would be able to influence and control both myself and the reality around me.

With that understanding, I found myself once again in the company of the alien who had abducted me.

“—[Resignation, understanding] can produce an extraordinarily powerful effect.” His thoughts finished the sentence he had begun earlier, making me realize that my entire transformation had lasted only a fraction of a second in reality, compared with how long it had seemed to take within me. “[Realization, observation] You have already made your choice. Finally. [Offered hope] May it prove to be the right one. [Sense of duty] Good luck in the Gauntlet.”

“Wait! I still have a lot of questions!” I raised my hand in protest as I felt foreign Authority reach out for me with a claim that my place wasn’t here anymore.

“[Indifference] My task is complete. We will meet again, if you survive.”