Chapter 9 "Beneath the Surface"

…..into a cold sweat and a vomiting fit. He couldn't leave the toilet for another half hour.

The shower he took after ridding his stomach's contents cleaned off his body, but did little to ease his addled mind. Drawing himself a bath and just sitting in the warm water proved to be effective once he was certain he wouldn't be stewing in blood and dirt.

He spent almost an hour in the tub, letting the encompassing warmth provide a comfort that he hadn't experienced in years, giving himself time to think calmly about his current situation and drum up a plan. By the third time he had almost nodded off in the bathwater, however, he figured it was time to get out and get busy.

The plan he had come up with was simple: bunker down. He had no idea if the three females were the only ones, or if there were others lying in wait.

They also knew his face, so they would be able to pick him out easily. Defense was his only real option.

The Fallen's mention of "not tonight" had been his only hint of reprieve, so he had to prepare while he could. The rest of the night, well past two 'o clock in the morning, was spent drawing up security measures: Reinforcing every wall plus the floor and ceiling of his apartment, magic sensor runes at the front door and around the balcony, and he would have to finish the Bounded Field set around the whole complex later in the week.

By the time he had finished what he could, his home was more secure from outside attack than a one-bedroom apartment had any right to be.

Sifting through his grandfather's notebook had yielded some interesting finds that, prior to last night, he had been hesitant to try. Now, however, there was no more room for timidity.

The biggest problem was that most of the contents inside were never tested: complex runic sequences, Mystic Code formulae, thaumaturgical theories, and even experimental summoning diagrams were all left to gather dust after his grandfather suffered a massive stroke at age sixty-eight. Either that, or he just wrote down the results of his work somewhere else upon testing them years ago.

It didn't make sense why that would be the case, but a lot of what Donovan Lochlainn did in his later years made him difficult to understand.

The strengthening runes Connor had used against Dohnaseek were something his father, Kellen, had insisted on applying before he went overseas. They acted as a double shot of adrenaline to the muscles in his arms and chest, making them very effective in a pinch.

The big drawback, however, was that they were magical energy guzzlers that left his whole upper body aching from the strain of overuse.

That was where the new series of runes he placed on himself would come in. In addition to inscribing smaller rune sequences and strengthening certain specific areas of his body for short bursts only, there were others that would bolster his body's overall performance a little bit at a time by providing a form of resistance and making the body work harder to move.

These required magical energy as well, though not as much as the adrenal runes, and the consumption rate would be spread out over the course of hours. His use of the runic sword would especially benefit from this improvised system.

Like many of Donovan's projects and experiments, Connor didn't know if his grandfather had actually finished the runic sword he created. The man had simply bound it to the Lochlainn Magic Crest shortly after its transplant onto Connor, didn't say a word about it other than how to summon it, and then died from his stroke not even a month later.

Connor found the weapon to be clumsy and top-heavy, but it was his grandfather's last gift to him, so he'd be caught dead before letting it waste away. It took years for he and his father to come up with a suitable fighting form, which would eventually become what Connor used in the fight.

As far as any clothing went, the runes he had already placed on them kept his magical energy output camouflaged against his surroundings, but for some reason didn't hold up against attack. Unless Dohnaseek's light spears had a means of piercing or negating magic-based defenses, the runes should have also made his clothes function like chain mail.

And yet, they didn't. The fabric was cleanly cut; no snags or rips, just a single slice.

As such, he'd have to dig through the notes again to figure out where he went wrong in reinforcing his clothing and start from scratch. He could feel the encroaching headache just thinking about it.

At around 4:00 in the morning, he was finally ready to call it quits.

Within seconds of his head touching the pillow, he was sound asleep.

But now, morning had come, and with it, a reminder that the word 'hell' starts with an 'M' and ends with a 'Y'.

Begrudgingly, he trudged to the bathroom to start cleaning and freshening up. A splash of cold water to the face jolted him awake and allowed his eyes a good look at himself.

If the state of his face was anything to go by, he both looked and felt like crap. He looked like he hadn't slept in several days as opposed to one night.

His left cheek where Dohnaseek had struck him with the blunt end of his spear was still slightly swollen, partially forcing his left eye shut, and the color was already shifting from an angry red to a grisly purple.

"One thing after another," he mumbled.

As it stood, the bruise would draw attention that he just couldn't prevent. At the very least, though, he could cover it to keep from making every passerby wretch in disgust.

Fishing around in the medicine cabinet, he found a roll of medical tape and some gauze. He cut the tape into strips, then set the gauze over the most discolored area and applied the strips across it.

It would do nothing to protect against another hit to that area, but that was fine. He didn't plan on touching it anytime soon anyway.