Chapter 112: Prep on both sides

The forge was a cavernous space, its ceiling lost in shadows. A ruddy glow suffused the air, casting dancing reflections on the sweat-slicked bodies of stocky dwarves hunched over their anvils. The clamor of metal on metal was a deafening blur of sound, punctuated by the rhythmic bellows of the furnace.

Agatha looked on with interest. "This is quite the spectacle," she murmured, her voice carrying over the din.

Beside her, Mirabella seemed less intrigued. "What it is, is unnecessarily hot."

"Either way, it's truly awe-inspiring. The craftsmanship here is unparalleled, but that is expected of the spawns of Marcella." She turned to the group, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. "Imagine the skill it takes to shape any alloy, magical or not, into such intricate forms."

Lucinda found herself nodding vigorously. "Marcella, the Goddess of the forge. Unlike conventional Gods, all dwarfs are her spawns, and all have the talent for creation. One had even helped make my own blade." Her voice, however, was almost barely audible over the noise.

"Well, if this isn't a feast for the senses, I don't know what is. I feel like a queen about to be adorned in the finest armor," Victoria murmured. "It's quite seamless how they blend mana into weapons and armors. I wonder if they could add anything else."

Professor Eugene spoke loud enough over the noise. "As you can see, this is one of Galadriel's more prestigious forges. For the upcoming festival, we will need you few to be equipped with the best armor this forge can provide."

Agatha nodded. "I understand. Defensive magic alone would be inadequate." Cor'nella would no doubt boast about how armor was not needed and the magic of her Goddess was enough. Though when they docked in Galadriel, the fairy apparently had some business of her own.

"Indeed," Professor Eugene replied. "To that end, we will require armor that is not only protective but also aesthetically pleasing. A balance of form and function, if you will."

Mirabella scoffed. "I care about function, not fashion."

"And yet," Professor Eugene countered calmly, "a striking appearance can be a powerful weapon in its own right."

Fiona chimed in, "It's important to remember that your armor should reflect your individual strengths and personalities."

"I just hope it's not too heavy," Lucinda murmured, casting a glance at her chest. "And that it is comfortable."

"Of course, I would wish mine to be the most dazzling armor in the realm," Victoria declared. The group continued to move deeper into the forge, the heat intensifying. Dwarfs, their faces streaked with soot, paused from their work to regard the newcomers with curious eyes. Some tipped their helmets in greeting, their voices a deep rumble against the heavy noise.

"Observe the craftsmanship," Eugene said, gesturing to a suit of armor in progress. "Note the runes etched to serve as enchantments, the perfect fit. This is the level of quality we seek."

Agatha examined the armor closely. "It is indeed impressive."

Mirabella snorted. "It's just metal."

Fiona shook her head. "It's more than that. The Familial Arts the dwarfs possess allow them to essentially bring their wildest imaginations to life. As long as they have the needed materials and if it's to do with craftsmanship."

Lucinda looked impressed at the armor. "Dwarfs are no good with charms so they use runes. These particular few act to help the armor adjust its size to the wearer."

Victoria hummed. "Smart, they would have no need to take measurements."

Professor Eugene cleared his throat. "As I was saying, each of you will require a suit of armor tailored to your specific needs. Agatha, for instance, will need armor that offers maximum protection without sacrificing mobility. As Creation Magic is very delicate and leaves you defenseless when using it, not to mention Arcane Ascendance should only be a last resort." Agatha nodded, her expression thoughtful.

"Mirabella," he continued, "your destruction magic is your primary asset, though I did note your improvement with other aspects. At any rate, your armor should enhance that base strength while providing adequate protection."

Mirabella grunted in acknowledgment.

"Lucinda," Eugene continued, "yours should be a lot simpler. You are already exceptional, though even if your defensive magic is nothing to scoff at, it still needs to be cast. Many would look for such an opening, so you'll need a sturdy set." Lucinda nodded with a wry smile. "And Victoria," Professor Eugene finished, "though you will not be doing direct battle, you will be our strategist. The head of our operation, meaning you need just as sturdy a set of armor. How flashy you want it to be is your choice."

Victoria grinned. "Of course."

As they moved deeper into the forge, the group became increasingly aware of the intense heat. Sweat began to bead on their brows, and their clothes clung to their bodies. The dwarfs, however, seemed oblivious to the heat, their bodies hardened to the forge's unforgiving environment.

"It's like an inferno in here," Mirabella complained, fanning herself with her hand.

Agatha wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. "True, though what of Mikoto? Should he not also be here?"

Mirabella grunted in interest; she was wondering about that as well.

Fiona spoke as she wiped some sweat from her brow. "He had some business with the Headmaster; he should be here before long, however." Professor Eugene, unfazed by the heat, continued his explanation.

"In addition to armor, we will need to get you used to it. The curriculum's second stage will continue; we'll help improve what you're best at." As they moved further into the forge, the group came upon a section where dwarves were crafting weapons. Swords, axes, and hammers of every shape and size were scattered about, their surfaces gleaming in the firelight.

Their eyes were drawn to a particular figure, a dwarf hunched over an anvil, his form almost swallowed by the colossal shadow it cast. His work area was a microcosm of work, tools strewn about with reckless abandon that belied the precision of his craft. A mountain of discarded alloy of different kinds had shavings piled up at his feet, a relentless industry. Professor Eugene, a glimmer of respect in his eyes, gestured towards the dwarf.

"This is Gideon," he introduced, his voice carrying over the residual clamor of the forge. "One of the kingdom's most skilled craftsmen." Gideon looked up, his face full of grime and concentration. His eyes, a piercing blue, seemed to bore into the group, assessing them with a critical gaze. A thick, unruly beard framed his face, and his hands were scarred and calloused, bearing witness to a lifetime of toil.

"Aye, I'm Gideon," he grunted, his voice rough and gravelly, carrying a distinct accent that hinted at ancient, forgotten dialects. "What do you want? Can't ye see I'm busy?"

Mirabella, ever impatient, blurted out her words. "We need something made, obviously."

Gideon's gaze sharpened. "And who might you be, missy? A princess? A queen? No, you look more like a brat."

Victoria chuckled. "Oh, no need to be so harsh on the girl. Let's start with introductions. I am Victoria Eizenberg, and I believe you'll find me quite charming once you get to know me." Gideon snorted.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Professor Eugene stepped forward, his voice firm.

"Gideon, these are the few I mentioned. They require your expertise in crafting armor." Gideon eyed the group again, his expression one of skepticism.

"You want me to make stuff for you lot?"

"Precisely," Eugene replied. "We need equipment that is not only functional but also aesthetically pleasing."

Gideon scoffed. "Pretty armor. That's what you want, eh? Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I ain't no artist."

Agatha, maintaining her composure, said, "We understand the importance of functionality, but we also believe that appearance can be a valuable asset."

Gideon grunted. "Alright, alright. Let's see what you're made of." He gestured to a nearby table. "Sit." The group exchanged glances before obeying. As they sat, they took in the details of Gideon's workspace. The anvil was worn and scarred, its surface pitted with countless indentations. Tools of every shape and size were scattered around, each with its own unique patina. The air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and sweat, a potent concoction that clung to their senses.

Gideon eyed them critically. "Now, let's get this over with. What do you want?"

Professor Eugene began to outline their requirements; he seemed to have a firm grasp on Gideon's character. He was quick with his words and did not drawl out. As he spoke, Gideon listened, his expression impassive. From time to time, he would interrupt with a sharp question or a gruff comment, his skepticism evident.

"I have the gist of what you lot want," the dwarf murmured. "If it's for the festival, then I suppose I can make it a top priority."

"How generous," Mirabella drawled.

"Ah, thank you, Ser Gideon," Professor Eugene uttered. "And there will be one more seeking you out later."

"I see, well then bugger off; I need to get to work." Gideon stepped out of his seat and walked off.

Victoria chuckled. "Quite the charming fellow."

"It seems to be a requirement for all dwarfs to be at least a bit cranky," Lucinda stated wryly.

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The chamber was a sterile, monolithic expanse, its walls a fusion of obsidian and chrome. Its atmosphere was heavy with the antiseptic tang of metal, a constant hum of machinery providing a low, rhythmic counterpoint to the silence. At its heart, cradled in a complex web of advanced engineering, rested the Divine Blade Nihil.

A hushed reverence hung in the air as a cadre of scientists, cloaked in somber black uniforms accented with crimson piping, circled the artifact. Their faces were obscured by visors, their eyes twin orbs in the gloom, reflecting the eerie, pulsating glow emanating from the blade. Encasing the blade was a complex apparatus of interlocking metal and glass. It was a marvel of engineering, designed to both contain and study the artifact. A series of magnetic fields held the blade aloft, counteracting its apparent weightlessness. A series of transparent tubes fed a constant stream of cryogenic fluid around the blade, attempting to temper its volatile nature.

The scientists moved with precision, their movements choreographed to avoid disturbing the delicate equilibrium. One, a wiry figure with tattooed symbols snaking up her arm, adjusted a series of dials on a nearby console. The chamber filled with a soft, mechanical whirring as the magnetic field configuration shifted subtly. Another scientist, a towering figure with broad shoulders, moved closer to the blade. Their gloved hand hovered near the crystalline surface, a series of sensors embedded in the glove gathering data. The scientist's visor flickered as it processed the information, a series of complex algorithms attempting to decipher the blade's enigmatic properties.

A third scientist, a woman with short, cropped hair, focused on the blade through a high-powered microscope. The crystalline structure of the blade was magnified hundreds of times, revealing a complex lattice of dark matter interwoven with strange, alien symbols. Her eyes widened in concentration as she made meticulous notes on a data pad. As the scientists worked, the Nihil seemed to react. Crimson veins within the blade pulsed with increased intensity, and the blade itself began to vibrate subtly. A low, guttural growl echoed through the chamber, a sound that seemed to originate from the very depths of the artifact. The scientists exchanged nervous glances, but their hands did not waver. They were in the presence of evil, but they were also in pursuit of knowledge. And in this pursuit, fear was a luxury they could not afford.

The chamber was filled with the tension of anticipation. But it was all for naught; he knew well that the artifacts of the Gods could not be deciphered by man. Even if man had come far in terms of technology, they had not come far enough. Nybbas leisurely glanced at the encased blade as Vel'ryr scientists went about studying it wildly.

("Nihil, with this in our possession, our goals become all the more closer.") The demon thought, idly staring at the confined blade yearning for destruction. Yet it took Arne dying just to recover it; a frown played at his lips at the thought. ("Once again, the unknown variable is responsible. Even if Arne was the most affected by our metamorphoses, his power was nothing to scoff at. Alas, rest in peace, old friend, I and the others shall avenge you before long.") It angered him, another friend gone to these spawns who would call this world theirs. But Beatrice took the most brunt of the anger; it probably took no small amount of effort on Aegraxes' part just to calm her down.

"So this is Nihil." He heard the sound of footsteps that came to a stop beside him. "To think those foolish Gods would leave something like this in the hands of mortals." He heard Ezerald scoff.

Nybbas found himself agreeing, "Those lot were never ones to interfere in the affairs of man and demi-human; that occasion is only for the festival. Perhaps just another one of their tests."

"How idiotic," she murmured, taking note of the cautious glances the scientists threw them. Well, mainly Nybbas; were it not for her horns, she would look relatively human. "But I heard of Arne's demise, who was it?"

"Mikoto Yukio," her demon brethren answered. "It seems the combined effort of Beatrice and Arne were not enough; Aegraxes was able to prevent her death. However, she is still seething with rage."

Ezerald pursed her lips. "Damn it all, I should have accompanied them. May-"

"It would have been in vain," Nybbas interrupted, giving a wry grin. "Aegraxes himself stated that boy was too much to handle for the likes of us." She clicked her tongue.

"Damn this metamorphosis!" Her outburst caused a scientist to jump, but she ignored them. "What of the gathered souls and the dragon's soul? Is it enough?"

"It is, but Aegraxes would have us alter our plans on what we are to summon." She looked at him in confusion as he continued. "Arne, back when Aethel was whole and ours, you remember, right."

"I may have been but a girl, but I do," she affirmed.

"Amongst us, Arne was the only one capable of ever matching Aegraxes. He was also the oldest, which is why after the war between those Gods and Dragons, he was the most affected by our metamorphosis."

A deep frown settled on her lips. "Then what? Aegraxes wants us to use those gathered souls to attempt to revive Arne?" She surmised.

"Exactly, you always were quite smart, Ezerald." She huffed at his praise.

"Needless words aside, is resurrection even possible? I heard Arne was hit by an imitation of Beatrice's magic. Is his soul not too damaged?" She questioned.

"Even I do not know Aegraxes' exact plan." Nybbas shrugged. "But that aside, how comes taming that divine beast?" Ezerald found herself scowling.

"The damn thing is tenacious; it will not listen. It's already tried to eat me a total of four times now." She spat out, Nybbas chuckled, and she glared. "It's not funny!"

"It very much is."

She huffed in annoyance. "Why must I even handle this?"

"Who knows?" Nybbas drawled.

Ezerald could just sigh in annoyance. "Whatever, I'll have the beast tamed in time. Though about Aegraxes, something has been bothering me about him." Nybbas gestured for her to continue. "Some fifteen years ago, he created himself a spawn, yes? Did he ever tell you what purpose it was supposed to serve?"

"I've no clue," Nybbas freely admitted. "It's hard to ever gauge what Aegraxes is up to; it's anyone's guess. Perhaps you should ask Asmodai; he is the second oldest, and he's known Aegraxes for much longer."

"Like I'd like to talk to that shriveling sack of sh-"

"Now, now, young ladies should not be so vulgar," Nybbas chastised.

"Fool, I am merely a few millennium younger than you," she retorted.

"Touché."