I Transmigrated Into a Weak Body

Chapter 4

Brandon backed away slowly, moving behind a thick stone pillar in the middle of the room. He picked up a heavy iron hammer from the table, holding it tight in his uninjured left hand. 

Something massive slammed into the outside of the door. The heavy wooden beam holding it shut cracked loudly. Dust fell from the ceiling. 

The hinges screamed, bending inward. 

Brandon held his breath. He pressed his bloody right thumb against the very end of the copper line he had drawn near the pillar. He was the grounding wire. He was the switch. 

The wooden door exploded inward in a shower of splinters. The locking beam snapped in half. 

Through the doorway lunged a nightmare. It was a hound, but not a natural one. It was the size of a full-grown tiger. Its fur was patchy and black, but most of its body was covered in thick plates of dark steel, bolted directly into the beast's bones. Its eyes burned with a sickening, glowing red light. Saliva dripped from its iron-capped teeth, sizzling as it hit the floorboards. 

It was a mutant, a creature twisted by the Empire’s dark magic. 

Two more armored hounds pushed their way through the broken doorway right behind the first one. They snapped their jaws, their red eyes locking onto Brandon hiding behind the pillar. 

The first hound let out a terrifying roar and charged. 

It took two massive steps into the room. Its heavy, steel-plated paw stepped squarely onto the puddle of moonshine, right in the center of the geometric copper drawing. 

"Let there be light," Brandon whispered. 

He pushed his own life force, his own spark of energy, through his bloody thumb into the circuit line. 

The energy raced across the floor at the speed of light. The copper dust caught the charge, carrying it instantly into the crushed quartz. The quartz, acting as a magical battery, multiplied the energy instantly. But there was nowhere for the energy to go. It was a broken circuit. 

Until the hound’s heavy iron paw provided a bridge. 

The jagged piece of broken glass Brandon had placed in the center sparked. The magical energy tried to jump the gap. The result was an arc of pure, white-hot electrical plasma. 

The plasma instantly ignited the pool of high-proof moonshine. 

A massive, roaring flash-fire erupted in the center of the room. It was not normal fire. Because it was fueled by magical Aether and high-alcohol moonshine, the flames were a brilliant, blinding blue. 

The explosion of heat was instantaneous. The temperature in the room spiked to hundreds of degrees in a single second. The first hound didn't even have time to scream. The blue fire washed over it, slipping underneath its steel armor plates, instantly cooking the beast from the inside out. 

The other two hounds, caught in the expanding ring of the flash-fire, howled in absolute agony. Their fur caught fire, and the magical heat melted the iron plates bolted to their bodies, fusing metal with bone. They thrashed wildly, knocking over tables and smashing into the stone walls, entirely engulfed in blue flames. 

Within ten seconds, the thrashing stopped. The beasts collapsed, turning into smoking, blackened piles of ash and melted iron. 

Brandon leaned against the stone pillar, breathing hard. His trap had worked perfectly. Physics had won again. The intense heat of the room was suffocating, and the smell of burnt hair and roasted meat was enough to make him want to vomit. But they were safe. 

He looked toward the corner. "Veronica! Keep your head down! The fire will die out soon!"

The blue flames were already shrinking, having consumed the alcohol and the magical charge in the quartz. 

Brandon let out a long sigh of relief. He let the heavy iron hammer drop to his side. He had bought them time. They could sneak out through the back sewer grate once the smoke cleared. 

But then, the temperature in the room suddenly dropped. 

It happened so fast Brandon could see his own breath. The remaining blue flames on the floor did not just die out; they froze in place, turning into strange, twisting statues of blue ice, before shattering into harmless mist. 

Footsteps echoed from the street outside. Slow. Calm. Deliberate. 

Through the smoldering doorway stepped a man. 

He did not look like the dirty, rough guards from the alley. This man was tall, slender, and dressed in an immaculate, long white coat with gold trim. 

A silver mask covered the upper half of his face, leaving only a sharp jawline and a cruel, thin mouth exposed. 

It was an Inquisitor. 

As the man walked into the ruined, smoking workshop, Brandon noticed something impossible. The smoke, the ash, and the intense heat in the air seemed to bend away from the man. A faint, shimmering dome of warped air surrounded his body, like heat rising off a desert road. It was a kinetic shield. 

The Inquisitor stopped in the middle of the room, looking down at the melted, blackened remains of the Empire's terrifying hounds. He did not look angry. He looked amused. 

"Fascinating," the Inquisitor said. His voice was smooth, cultured, and unnervingly calm. "Three Blood-Hounds, each costing a fortune to breed, reduced to ash by a scribe who cannot even afford to feed himself." 

The Inquisitor turned his head slowly, his cold eyes locking onto Brandon behind the pillar. 

"I am Inquisitor Voss," the man said softly. "And you, Brandon, have made my day very, very interesting."

Brandon tightened his grip on the iron hammer. He stepped out from behind the pillar, placing his body between Voss and the desk where Veronica was hiding. "Get out," Brandon warned, his voice steady despite the fear racing through his veins. 

Voss smiled. It was a chilling, empty smile. "You possess a unique trick, boy. Exploding Ward-Stones. Burning my dogs. But tricks only work on beasts and fools." 

Without taking a single step, Inquisitor Voss casually raised his right hand, pointing his gloved fingers toward the corner of the room where the large oak desk sat. 

Brandon’s eyes widened in horror. "No!" 

Voss simply flicked his wrist upward. 

With a sickening crack, the massive, heavy wooden desk was violently ripped from the floor and thrown across the room, smashing against the stone wall. 

Veronica screamed. 

Voss slowly curled his fingers into a loose fist and lifted his hand higher. 

Veronica was suddenly jerked violently into the air. She kicked her bare feet, her hands clawing desperately at her own throat. There was no rope. There was no visible hand holding her. She was suspended three feet off the ground, choking, caught in an invisible, magical grip. 

"Let's see how clever you are," Voss whispered, his smile widening as Veronica’s face began to turn pale blue. "When you have nothing left to build with."