Hhh... hhhahh...!
"Hold still, bossman! Still got you pretty good, but it seems you'll have to lose the left forearm. Little anesthesia too, yeah?"
The voice carried a casual mockery, completely at odds with the urgency of the situation. Akiju's hand lashed out in response, grabbing the doctor by the back of the neck and pulling him close. His sharp, unwavering gaze locked onto the older man's, cutting through any semblance of casual banter.
This was Akiju—red-haired and wearing different clothes. He looked the same, the same youthful face. It had been a long time since he crossed the Door, and that time had taken its toll on him in almost every conceivable way.
"Just hurry up, old man. I'm not paying you to talk."
The old man—Mallory—gave a small grunt as he shifted in Akiju's grip before the latter finally released him. Both scientist and a doctor, Mallory had originally hailed from the Columbian States before he chose to leave. When pressed about why he'd abandoned his homeland, his only response had been to call the leaders. Whether that was due to politics, culture, or something far more personal, Mallory never elaborated.
The Columbian States were among the youngest nations on the plate, known for their metal boxes—jets that streaked across the skies like ghosts. A significant number of their designs and theories weren't entirely homegrown, relying heavily on the information left behind by visitors who had come through the Doors before Akiju and who decided to say in the states. Despite their borrowed foundations, the States had a reputation for pride and self-assuredness, a cultural arrogance that belied their relative inexperience.
Akiju exhaled slowly, the sound rasping from his chest. Hahhhh... I'm lucky to have lived this long... but Hecate's still nowhere to be found. Even this continent... this plate... it's so much larger than I imagined. What do they call it here again? Plates. Right. I could spend my entire life traveling this one plate and might barely scrape the surface.
The landship he had managed to purchase wasn't much—a transport with a capacity for just thirty people. It wasn't grand by any stretch of the imagination, but it was his. It was a place to regroup and plan, a sanctuary that kept him moving forward in his search.
Mallory eventually returned, pushing a small cart laden with various tools. The metal wheels squeaked faintly against the floor, the sound grating in the otherwise quiet room. Two
Mallory didn't waste any time. A container sat atop the cart, gleaming under the dim overhead lights and inside was a fake limb, an implant if you will. The procedure to attach it would bind the fake limb to Akiju's body.
Magicules... The thought surfaced unbidden, and Akiju felt his brow furrow as his mind drifted to the months he had spent trying—and often failing—to fully grasp their complexities.
Magicules were made up of three key components. At their heart were the nuclei, the engines that powered everything. Surrounding these were the infotons, which carried the information intent of the caster, transforming thought into action. Lastly, there were pitons, which allowed the impossible to become tangible, though this is but a simplified explanation.
Even with this basic understanding, Akiju still struggled as it was more math and science than just purely fantasy like the novels he had read in Terre. The way magicules worked felt as though it should be more simple, but their application often eluded him, their nature slipping just out of reach even more so without the help of a so called MICA.
Even now, after all this time... I still don't understand them completely.
Mallory's muttering brought Akiju's attention back to the present. The doctor was already making adjustments, his tools clinking softly as he prepared for the task ahead. For now, Akiju pushed his frustrations aside, focusing on the immediate goal to survival and look for hecate.
Hahh… hell… Akuji's breaths came in uneven rasps, each exhale heavy with pain and regret. These damn transplants… so much science, just enough magic to make them unnatural. His gaze fell on the mangled stump of his arm, now prepped for replacement. Unlucky as ever… ending up in a place where the two are so inseparable it feels like I've been cursed.
This world was vast and overwhelming. One of its nations boasted over fifteen thousand years of history—an incomprehensible stretch of time for someone who had only recently crossed the Door.
The sound of water snapped him out of his thoughts. Mallory, the old man, washed his hands with practiced precision. The bracelet on his wrist chimed softly, activating a sterilization sequence that wrapped his hands in a faint glow.
"Now, I may be old and have shaky ol' hands," Mallory said with a dry chuckle, "but I can still handle this kind of work. No need to put you under, either—we're short on anesthesia. It's gonna hurt, though. Fair warning."
Before Akuji could protest, the needle pierced his good arm. A faint sting gave way to a numbing sensation, dulling the edges of his pain but leaving his thoughts painfully clear.
Akuji managed a weak laugh, though it quickly turned into a sigh. Mallory wasted no time, his tools already carving into the remains of Akuji's mangled limb. A sharp yelp escaped Akuji's throat, unbidden. He turned his head to avoid watching the grueling process, his mind retreating to the events that had led him here.
It all began with the daughter of a wealthy man. Akuji had sought her out, hoping to extract information. His goal had been simple—leverage her connections to gain an advantage. But the situation had spiraled out of control the moment her father walked in. The man's interpretation of the scene had been as far from the truth as it could get.
And then it all fell apart, Akuji thought bitterly. The wealthy man had reacted without hesitation, sending his guards after Akuji. The confrontation had left his arm a shredded mess. He'd escaped, but not without paying the price. Every desperate movement to evade his pursuers had worsened the damage until it was beyond repair.
The man hadn't stopped there. Convinced Akuji had been fooling with his daughter, he'd hired a white-haired woman to hunt him down. She hadn't landed a blow on Akuji, but her relentless pursuit had kept him running, pushing his body to its limits.
Eventually, Akuji had taken the fight to the man himself. What was meant to be a desperate plea for an end to the madness had ended in bloodshed. When words failed, a knife to the chest became Akuji's final answer. I didn't want to kill him. But what other choice did I have? It was more foolish than smart.
Even that wasn't the end. Akuji had paid a hefty price to hire someone as a decoy, ensuring his trail went cold. That man was now dead, his body dissected on one of Mallory's tables in Akuji's landship—a reminder of the cost of survival, not even living.
"It won't make you stronger," Mallory's voice cut through the haze of memory, pulling Akuji back to the present, "but it won't make you weaker, either."
Akuji blinked, his gaze settling on the matte black arm now grafted onto his body. Its surface shimmered faintly, a shifting, hazy effect like waves of sunlight rippling through horizon. The sight was mesmerizing, yet deeply alien. Then came the sensation—a crawling, writhing feeling beneath his skin. This weird feeling… like my veins are intertwining with it…
Slowly, the black surface began to change. The hazy shimmer faded as the arm's color shifted, taking on a tone that matched Akuji's natural skin. He flexed his fingers experimentally, surprised at how seamlessly they moved.
"What you're feeling" Mallory explained, stepping back as his bracelet chimed again to sterilize his hands, "is rapid vessel growth. Information protons and phenomena protons are exchanging between the transplant and your body alongside blood vessels too. In a few days, your body will feel as if it never lost the limb."
Akuji clenched his new fist, then opened it again. The limb felt disturbingly natural.
"But don't get cocky," Mallory added sharply. "This arm will bleed and feel pain just like the rest of you. And if you keep pushing your body the way you have been, there's only so much we can use to fix you. Your body won't keep accepting transplants forever. Got it?"
Akuji gave a faint nod, his jaw tightening. The weight of the warning settled over him as he stared at his new arm.
"Twenty minutes," Mallory muttered, a hint of pride in his voice. "A personal best, if I do say so myself."
Akuji let out a slow, measured breath, flexing the fingers of his new arm once more. The sensation was strange—unnervingly natural, as though the limb had always been his. For all the chaos that had led him here, the transplant felt like more than just a replacement. It was a second chance—a reminder of how far he'd come and how much further he still had to go.
But the thought of his sister loomed over everything. If I find her… if I can bring her back… Akuji clenched his fist tightly, the weight of his resolve settling over him like a storm. Then it'll all be worth it.
All he had to go on was a vague lead—northeastern. That was where she might be. The thought gnawed at him, the lack of clarity only fueling his determination. His focus returned as he grabbed fresh clothes—a loose, flowing garment reminiscent of a haori from Japan. It wasn't an exact match but the closest thing available in Fiesta. The design was subtly altered, blending local styles with something that still felt familiar to him.
As he tied the haori in place, Mallory's voice cut through the quiet. "Now, onto the medical report you asked for. You're lucky you're immune to Óhrin. Most of you visitors end up with it eventually, but you've dodged that bullet—for now, anyway. Count your luck."
The old man packed his tools carefully into a small bag, his movements precise despite his casual tone.
"You can start moving your ship whenever you're ready. From what you've told me, the only countries where the person you're looking for might be are Usegal, Yamatai, Yansu, and Yemei. I'll be here, working on the body, if you need anything more."
Akuji nodded faintly, his gaze distant as he processed the information. His attention shifted to the two fortunes standing nearby. With a brief gesture, he beckoned them closer.
"How long would it take to reach these countries?" he asked.
The pair exchanged glances before the woman, Veasna, stepped forward.
"Well, boss," she began, her voice even but tinged with caution, "it'll take months, even if you were to use an AV."
Before Akuji could reply, the other fortune, a man, cleared his throat lightly. "And that's not even accounting for the Catastrophes and Black Zones that litter the regions," he added grimly. "Some parts of the terrain out there are practically alive—and they're not friendly."
Akuji's jaw tightened as he absorbed their words. The journey ahead would be grueling, far more dangerous than anything he'd faced so far. But his sister's image burned bright in his mind, fueling the fire that kept him moving forward.
"Prepare the ship," he ordered at last, his tone steady despite the weight of the task ahead. The fortunes nodded, setting off to carry out his instructions.
Alone for a moment, Akuji flexed his new arm again, testing its strength as he gazed toward the horizon. Whatever lay ahead—the so called Mengaðr, Catastrophes, or worse—it didn't matter. He would find her.
And nothing would stand in his way.