The Reluctant Artificer

Chapter 9: Ghost in the Machine

"They want my soul? Sorry, but I already promised it to a much louder, ruder voice in my head," Dimas shouted, backing toward the humming generator.

"Do not insult me while you are being hunted by the faceless, child," Odin's voice growled directly inside his mind. "Jump to your right, now!"

"I'm jumping!" Dimas screamed, throwing himself onto the concrete. "Holy crap, that was close! His blade almost cut my head off!"

"The boy babbles," the lead assassin hissed. "Kill him. Retrieve the core from his flesh."

"Yeah? Come and get it, you freak!" Dimas yelled, scrambling to his feet. "Come on, work! Get out here! I need the gauntlet!"

"It is not a glove, you brainless scavenger," Odin snapped. "Will it to shape! Feed it your anger, not your panic!"

"I'm angry! I'm really, really angry!" Dimas roared, thrusting his arm forward. "Just manifest, damn it! Look at that, the violet light is flaring! My skin... it's peeling back like liquid metal!"

"It is bonding to your nervous system, child! Do not resist it!" Odin commanded.

"Agh, it's crawling over my knuckles! It's solidifying!" Dimas gasped, the weight of the weapon instantly centering his balance. "Now, which one of you shadow-bastards wants to go first?"

"He wields the spark," the second assassin whispered, stepping back. "Vane warned us of this. Surround him!"

"Vane? Who the hell is Vane?" Dimas asked, keeping his guard up as the three figures circled him. "Is that your boss? Tell him his employees suck!"

"The Vane Directorate does not tolerate thieves," the lead assassin snarled, lunging forward with impossible speed. "You are a rat playing with fire, scavenger!"

"Maybe, but I know how to burn!" Dimas yelled, raising his gauntlet to block the descending blade.

The impact rang out with a loud, metallic clang.

"Ah! My arm!" Dimas cried out, his knees buckling. "Odin, he's stronger than he looks! He's crushing me!"

"Because he is drawing power from the ambient ley lines of the lower tier, you fool!" Odin roared. "Do not just block! Channel the kinetic force! Remember the Scrap-Stalker!"

"Right. Absorb and redirect," Dimas muttered, gritting his teeth. "Okay, shadow-face. Let's see how you handle your own medicine! I'm taking your strike... and throwing it right back!"

"What is this?" the lead assassin gasped.

"It's called a counter-attack!" Dimas screamed, driving his glowing fist straight into the assassin's chest.

The violet shockwave exploded from his knuckles, tearing through the creature's dark rags.

"One down!" Dimas panted, his chest heaving as the gauntlet hummed with a dangerous whine. "Who's next?"

"Foolish boy," the remaining two assassins whispered in unison. "You cannot kill the shadow. We are legion."

"Yeah, well, I've got a lot of scrap metal, and I'm not afraid to use it!" Dimas shouted. "Odin, my shoulder is on fire. I don't think I can take another hit like that. My bones are practically rattling."

"Then stop trying to fight them one by one," Odin urged. "Look around you. The clinic's grid is unstable. The generator is screaming."

"The generator?" Dimas muttered, glancing back. "If I mess with that, the whole place goes dark. Aris's patients... they'll die."

"They will die anyway if these hounds consume you," Odin pointed out ruthlessly. "But you do not need to destroy the power. You need to release it all at once."

"An EMP," Dimas whispered. "An electromagnetic pulse. It'll fry their shadow-tech and dissolve their forms."

"Precisely. But you must be the conduit," Odin warned. "The feedback will run directly through your nervous system. You might not survive the surge, little spark."

"I've survived Sector 4 for twenty years," Dimas muttered. "I'll take my chances. Hey, shadow-freaks! Looking for the core's energy? Here's the whole damn menu!"

"Stop him!" the assassins roared, descending into the basement like storm clouds.

"Wait, is there really no other way than frying myself?" Dimas yelled, sprinting down the stairs. "Odin, my body is already crying!"

"There is always another way, child, but it involves your immediate dissection by these beasts," Odin snapped back. "So unless you wish to become a research specimen for Vane, grasp those cables!"

"Too late!" Dimas screamed. "I've got the cables! Odin, give me everything! Now!"

"Brace yourself, child of the scrap!" Odin bellowed.

The world exploded into a blinding sheet of violet lightning as Dimas screamed in pure agony.

"I... I did it..." Dimas choked out, his vision instantly turning pitch black.

His hands slipped from the cables, and he collapsed onto the cold, damp floor. The hum of the generator died, leaving the basement in absolute, suffocating darkness.

*

"Dimas? Dimas, can you hear me?" a cool, soft voice called out.

"Ugh, my head... where is the fire?" Dimas groaned, his eyes clamped shut.

"There is no fire, little spark. You are safe," Irina Sokolova replied.

"Where is this? It smells like... actual clean air. Did I die?"

"You are in my private residence in the upper district," Irina said. "And no, you are not dead, though you certainly tried your best."

"What about Aris? And the kids on the breathing machines?" Dimas rasped.

"They are safe, Dimas. The clinic is intact, and the grid has been restored. My agents took care of the cleanup before the Enforcers could trace the blast to you."

"A blast? Was it that bad?" Dimas asked, squinting against the soft amber light.

"You melted a reinforced military alternator and left a three-meter crater in the clinic's basement," Irina said, her voice dripping with dry amusement. "The local news is currently blaming a gas leak. It was a very convenient explanation."

"Gas leak. Right. Standard Sector 4 excuse," Dimas muttered. "Hey, why can't I feel my fingers?"

"Because you have third-degree electrical burns across both palms, a fractured collarbone, and mild brain swelling," Irina explained. "I have you on a high-grade tissue-regeneration drip. Do not try to move. You will only tear the biosynthetic skin."

"Terrific. Just what I needed," Dimas sighed, sinking back. "Hey, Odin? You still in there, or did I fry you too?"

"I am here, little spark," Odin's voice echoed quietly behind his eyes. "But do not shout. Your mortal vessel is incredibly fragile, and my own energy is severely depleted from shielding your heart."

"Wait, you saved me?" Dimas asked, speaking aloud.

"Who are you talking to, Dimas?" Irina asked.

"The voice. Odin. He says he kept my heart from stopping," Dimas said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Fascinating," Irina murmured. "The core truly has chosen you as its permanent host. Your father would have been proud... and terrified."

"You keep mentioning my father," Dimas said. "The shadow-freaks in the clinic... they said they were from some place called the Vane Directorate. They said they were here for the core."

"They were," Irina confirmed, her face growing serious. "The Vane Directorate is a rival conglomerate. They operate in the shadows of the upper spires, and they have been hunting the core for a decade."

"And my father? What did he have to do with them?" Dimas asked.

"Your father was a chief engineer for Vane, Dimas," Irina said softly. "He was the one who originally discovered the core in the deep ruins of the outer wastes. When he realized what Vane wanted to do with it—how they planned to use its resonance to enslave the lower sectors—he stole it."

"He stole it? The drunk from the docks?" Dimas asked, disbelieving.

"He wasn't a drunk, Dimas. That was a cover story to keep you safe," Irina explained. "He lived in Sector 4 to blend in, hiding the core under the guise of useless scrap. But Vane eventually found him. They staged the structural collapse that killed him, hoping to recover the core from the rubble."

"But they didn't find it," Dimas said.

"No. Your father had already buried it deep in the forbidden zone, where only someone with his exact genetic signature—his lineage—could trigger its awakening. He left it for you, Dimas."

"He left me a death sentence," Dimas spat. "He knew what they would do to me if I found it!"

"He knew you were the only one who could stop them," Irina corrected gently. "He knew that if Vane got their hands on the spark, they would burn the city to the ground to fuel their machines. He trusted your strength."

"I'm just a scavenger!" Dimas yelled. "I don't want to save the city! I just wanted to buy a decent meal and keep the lights on in my workshop!"

"That choice was taken from you the moment you touched the obsidian, Dimas," Irina said, her voice cold but steady. "Vane knows who you are now. They know you survived the shadow-hounds. They will not send minor agents next time. They will send their elite hunters."

"Let them," Dimas growled, the violet seal beneath his bandages beginning to pulse with a low, dangerous warmth. "I'm tired of running. I'm tired of being afraid."

"A training? You're kidding, right?" Dimas groaned, his head spinning. "I just told you my whole body is broken, and you're already planning on turning me into some kind of corporate soldier?"

"You are not a corporate soldier, Dimas," Irina said, her voice smooth and cold. "You are the key to bringing down an empire that has kept Sector 4 in the dirt for fifty years. If you want to survive, you will learn to fight. If not, the next time we meet, I will be attending your funeral."

"Well, when you put it like that, I guess I don't have much of a choice," Dimas grumbled.

"Good," Irina said, a faint, shark-like smile appearing on her face. "Because your training begins tomorrow."