Chapter 26: "Crafting Like a Boss (When Your Mentor Is Basically a Magic Cultivator Iron Man)"
In which Asterion channels his inner tech gremlin, builds enough firepower to shame a superhero, and gives Evan his first taste of supernatural-slaying swagger.
There are a few signs that you've hit your physical limit.
One: when your arms feel like spaghetti noodles that've been left in the strainer too long.
Two: when even blinking feels like an extreme sport.
And three?
When you start seeing sparkles even though no one's throwing glitter.
I had all three.
The moment I left Talia safely behind her mansion gates—where rich people probably had spa bots and backup IV drips for post-party "tiredness"—my body started shutting down faster than an old laptop after a Windows update.
I barely made it a few blocks on the Fireblade before I considered just...
letting gravity do its thing.
Then he spoke up.
"Congratulations on your first real job as a hero."
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
"I'm satisfied with your performance. With more practice, you'll handle situations like that faster and with fewer mistakes."
Wait.
Was that...
Praise?
Asterion's voice wasn't scolding.
Wasn't sarcastic.
Wasn't carrying the usual undertone of:
You did adequately, but here are seventeen reasons you nearly died.
No.
This time he actually sounded...
Proud.
And let me tell you, that hit harder than the plank I'd smacked that possessed guy with.
I smiled.
A wide, goofy, lopsided thing that made my already sore face hurt more.
Didn't care.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I'd done something genuinely good.
Not:
Oops, I sort of prevented a disaster caused partly by my own terrible decisions.
Actual hero stuff.
I'd saved Talia.
I'd gotten people out of that house.
I'd broken the ghost's control over at least one victim.
And somehow—
somehow—
I hadn't died.
That's what we call a win-win.
"Rest," Asterion added. "You'll receive your reward tomorrow."
I narrowed my eyes.
"You're being suspiciously nice."
"Would you prefer criticism?"
"Nope."
"Good."
I wasn't about to argue with the ancient voice in my head when he was actively telling me to sleep.
I reached home.
I think.
Don't ask me to explain the last few minutes.
One second I was dragging my zombie legs through the front door.
The next—
BOOM.
Face-first into bed.
No brushing my teeth.
No changing clothes.
Didn't even check my phone.
My body hit the mattress like a sack of potatoes thrown by a sleep-deprived farmer.
And I was done.
Somewhere between awake and unconscious, I heard Asterion's voice.
Quiet.
Almost distant.
"Good. One step forward, Evan."
A pause.
"Keep going."
Was I dreaming?
Was he actually talking?
Didn't matter.
My last coherent thought before sleep dragged me under was:
I think I'm starting to like being a hero.
Evan Mercer was out cold.
We're talking the kind of sleep where you drool into the pillow, breathe like a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner, and lose all recognizable ownership of your limbs.
He'd earned it.
Between surviving a haunted house party, rescuing a very intoxicated Talia, setting a building on fire, fleeing a supernatural mob, and somehow driving a possessing ghost out of a man by weaponizing terrible singing, the boy deserved approximately ten years of sleep and a cookie.
But unfortunately for Evan...
Asterion had other plans.
Evan's consciousness sank deep into their shared mental space.
His body, however, didn't remain entirely idle.
Asterion took control.
Carefully.
The first thing he did was repair the damage.
Ki spread through Evan's muscles in controlled currents.
Bruising began to fade.
Inflammation eased.
Small tears from training and fighting knitted together faster than they naturally would.
Asterion didn't force it.
Evan's body was still human.
There were limits.
Push too hard and healing became damage wearing a prettier name.
"Better."
He flexed Evan's fingers.
Then rolled one shoulder.
The body was improving.
Slowly.
Which was exactly how it should be.
Next came movement.
The techniques Evan had learned weren't enough if his body froze under pressure.
So Asterion began guiding the sleeping body through controlled repetitions.
Footwork.
Guard changes.
Falls.
Rolls.
Basic combinations.
Weapon transitions.
Not full mastery.
Not knowledge magically replacing training.
Just reinforcement.
The same movements again and again until Evan's muscles began recognizing patterns faster.
By the time he woke, his body wouldn't suddenly become a martial arts legend.
But some motions would feel less foreign.
A little more natural.
A little faster.
Asterion nodded.
"That'll do."
Then came the mind.
This required more caution.
Asterion placed two fingers against Evan's temple.
A small formation glowed briefly beneath the skin before fading.
Not a device to pour entire libraries into his brain.
That would be stupid.
And potentially fatal.
Instead, it supported memory organization.
Pattern recognition.
Mental focus.
Helped Evan retain what he had already studied and what Asterion deliberately taught him.
Languages.
Negotiation basics.
Observation.
Basic engineering principles.
Supernatural theory.
Nothing beyond what Evan's mind could process.
Asterion adjusted the formation slightly.
"Too much information without understanding is useless."
He paused.
"And a melted brain would be inconvenient."
Evan snored.
Asterion glanced downward.
"Insightful as always."
The body growled.
Loudly.
Asterion looked toward the stomach.
Naturally.
Accelerated recovery required fuel.
There was no magical replacement for food.
So Asterion did the reasonable thing.
He walked downstairs.
Opened the refrigerator.
And began eating.
A lot.
Leftovers.
Chicken.
Rice.
Fruit.
Two sandwiches.
Something Garrick had labeled EXPERIMENTAL—DO NOT EAT, which Asterion wisely put back.
Eventually, the body stopped demanding enough calories to feed a small army.
"Better."
With healing underway and Evan's consciousness still sleeping deeply, Asterion changed clothes, covered his face, and left the Mercer house.
Thirty minutes later, he stood before a very different building.
Sebastian's mansion wasn't so much a house as it was a financial statement.
Twelve-foot iron gates.
Fountains that probably cost more than Evan's neighborhood.
Marble pillars.
Gold-trimmed doors.
The kind of place where even the security guards looked like they'd been tailored.
As Asterion approached in Evan's body, the guards recognized him immediately.
They bowed.
Apparently Sebastian had made the new chain of command very clear.
Asterion entered.
A servant approached.
"Tea, sir?"
"No."
Another reached for his coat.
Asterion waved him away.
"I'm here to work."
He continued toward the lower levels.
"Bring Sebastian."
Sebastian had dealt with many dangerous people throughout his career.
Politicians.
Criminal rivals.
Mercenaries.
Businessmen who smiled while planning hostile takeovers.
None of them unsettled him quite like Asterion.
Because Asterion rarely needed to threaten anyone.
He simply looked at them as though resistance was an inconvenience already accounted for.
Currently, Sebastian was escorting him through a reinforced underground facility beneath the mansion.
"This was originally used for some of my... less legitimate projects," Sebastian admitted, adjusting his tie.
Asterion looked at him.
Sebastian cleared his throat.
"Formerly less legitimate."
They entered the main chamber.
Workbenches.
Machining tools.
Modular steel platforms.
Fabrication equipment.
A small forge.
A sealed clean room.
Advanced local manufacturing systems.
By this world's standards?
Exceptional.
By Asterion's?
Primitive.
But useful.
He walked slowly through the space.
"It'll do."
Sebastian visibly relaxed.
Asterion examined the available tools.
This would become a base.
Equipment development.
Training.
Mission planning.
Research.
Not just for Evan.
Eventually Mara and Toby would need proper resources as well.
Perhaps even the Mercers, once circumstances made secrecy impossible.
Asterion reached into a storage formation and removed a thin metal plate.
Lines of light spread across its surface.
A schematic projected above it.
Sebastian stared.
"These are your restructuring plans," Asterion said.
The projection separated into divisions.
Transport.
Security.
Infrastructure.
Medical services.
Technology.
Education.
Legitimate trade.
"Study them."
Sebastian nodded.
"If something doesn't make sense, ask."
"Of course."
"If you still don't understand, ask again."
Sebastian blinked.
Asterion glanced at him.
"I prefer questions to expensive mistakes."
"Understood."
Asterion closed the projection.
"Bring me ten people."
Sebastian straightened.
"Fighters?"
"Potential operatives."
Asterion's tone hardened slightly.
"Disciplined. Loyal enough to follow orders. Intelligent enough to understand them."
Sebastian hesitated.
"Will you be training them personally?"
"Initially."
He walked toward the central platform.
"I can accelerate foundational learning. Correct posture. Basic reflex conditioning. Combat principles."
Sebastian looked intrigued.
Asterion continued.
"But I cannot replace experience."
That needed to be clear.
"I can show someone the correct movement a thousand times. Their body still needs to perform it. Their judgment still needs to develop."
Sebastian nodded.
"So they still train."
"Extensively."
That seemed to disappoint him slightly.
Asterion noticed.
"There are no shortcuts that remove work entirely."
"I see."
"We'll use similar methods elsewhere."
Sebastian looked up.
"Medical staff?"
"Training support only. Memory reinforcement. Simulations. Accelerated instruction."
"Engineers?"
"The same."
Asterion folded his arms.
"This world doesn't lack intelligent people. It lacks time."
Sebastian's entrepreneurial instincts immediately woke up.
"If we can shorten training cycles..."
"Without lowering standards."
"Of course."
Asterion gave him a look.
Sebastian quickly added:
"Strict standards."
"Good."
Asterion turned toward the workshop.
"Leave me."
Sebastian paused.
"Is there anything else?"
"Yes."
He looked back.
"Do not send me idiots."
Sebastian nodded rapidly.
"Understood."
Then left.
The doors sealed.
Asterion exhaled.
Finally.
Quiet.
He activated several formations.
Lines appeared across the floor.
Power rerouted.
Machinery came alive.
Tools lifted.
The forge ignited.
Screens activated.
Metal moved across workbenches.
This wasn't yet the kind of laboratory Asterion remembered from his own universe.
Not even close.
But...
It was enough.
For now.
He looked across the room.
"Let's see what this world can build."
Asterion's universe had possessed technology far beyond anything currently available in Havenbrook.
He understood advanced materials.
Energy systems.
Weapons engineering.
Protective fields.
Automation.
And centuries of warfare had given him a rather thorough understanding of one particularly useful question:
How do I make this more difficult to kill?
So once the workshop doors sealed...
Asterion went to work.
Not as a ninja.
Not as a magician.
As a cultivator, engineer, formation master—
well.
Competent formation user.
Lysandra would have corrected half his work and complained about his line efficiency.
He smiled faintly at the thought.
Then continued.
Machines activated.
Fabricators whined.
Metal heated.
Formation lines were engraved into components.
Spiritual materials recovered from previous encounters were catalogued and tested.
By sunrise, the workshop looked like a supernatural armory had collided with a science-fiction laboratory.
And somehow survived.
High-Tech Combat Armor
Sleek blue-black plating.
Light enough for Evan's current body to move properly.
Strong enough to absorb impacts that would otherwise break bones.
Thin glowing formation lines ran beneath the armor, distributing force and channeling stored energy.
The suit could eventually support limited flight.
Eventually.
That feature remained locked.
Asterion had absolutely no intention of giving an inexperienced teenager unrestricted aerial mobility on day one.
He'd already seen how Evan treated a motorcycle.
Yin Daggers
Short blades designed to interact with spiritual entities.
Not enchanted instant-kill weapons.
But unlike ordinary steel, they could actually harm ghosts.
A useful improvement when one's enemy normally ignored physics.
Pistols and Long-Range Weapons
Modified firearms.
Special ammunition capable of carrying spiritual energy.
Some rounds disrupted ghostly structure.
Others were designed for physical threats.
Asterion added recoil controls.
Then added another limiter.
Evan was not receiving military-grade firepower without restrictions.
He liked the boy.
That did not mean he trusted him with everything.
Heavy Rifle
Asterion stared at the finished weapon.
Technically...
it was a rifle.
In the same way a tiger was technically a cat.
It would be locked away.
For a long time.
Possibly until Evan stopped making decisions based primarily on whether something looked cool.
So...
Potentially forever.
Gauntlets and Blades
Close-range weapons reinforced through formations.
Gauntlets allowed Evan to strike spirits directly without needing Asterion to channel energy through every punch.
The blades could carry controlled Yin disruption.
Useful.
Reliable.
Less likely to destroy an entire room than some of Asterion's other ideas.
Steel Wires
Asterion paused over these.
Then smiled.
Useful for traps.
Binding.
Movement control.
Weapon retrieval.
Evan had finally learned to appreciate preparation.
Might as well encourage it.
Specialized Compounds
Not poisons for Evan to carry casually.
Asterion wasn't insane.
Mostly.
Instead, he developed substances for weakening certain supernatural entities, disrupting possession, and interfering with ectoplasmic cohesion.
Everything was labeled clearly.
Very clearly.
Because Evan absolutely looked like the type of person who might accidentally drink something marked only with a skull.
The Rest of the Toybox
Smoke bombs designed to interfere with supernatural senses.
Compact shields.
Throwing weapons.
Binding devices.
Controlled explosives.
Small autonomous support drones based on local technology combined with Asterion's engineering knowledge.
Energy blades.
Sensors.
Emergency medical equipment.
And at the center of the armor—
a compact energy core.
Not one powered by Asterion indefinitely.
That would be wasteful.
Instead, it stored energy gradually and could be recharged through multiple sources.
Ki.
Electricity.
Specialized batteries.
Certain forms of spiritual energy.
Flexible.
Repairable.
Something Evan and Toby could eventually understand and improve themselves.
Asterion stepped back.
Surveyed the armor.
Then began turning features off.
Flight?
Locked.
High-output weapons?
Locked.
Advanced energy discharge?
Locked.
Full-strength gauntlets?
Limited.
Heavy rifle integration?
Absolutely not.
The equipment wasn't a finished reward.
It was a progression system.
Every feature would be earned.
Every limit removed only when Evan had demonstrated enough control not to kill himself.
Or someone else.
Asterion folded his arms.
"Better."
Maybe one day Toby would surpass parts of this design.
Perhaps Garrick and Selene would add technologies Asterion hadn't considered.
Good.
That was the point.
Asterion wasn't trying to make Evan dependent on him forever.
He was giving him a foundation.
A gift.
A test.
And, perhaps...
a promise.
Most people tested equipment by reading manuals.
Asterion tested equipment by trying to break it.
This explained a great deal about him.
He began with the armor.
Impact tests.
Heat.
Cold.
Electrical stress.
Spiritual-energy interference.
Ectoplasmic exposure.
Every failure became a correction.
Every correction became another test.
The anti-spirit compounds were tested against stored ghost residue and isolated ectoplasmic samples.
Not Evan's body.
Asterion was ancient, not suicidal.
And Evan was human.
Very human.
Painfully human.
Which meant experimentation required restraint.
Once the equipment passed its initial tests, Asterion turned his attention back to Evan's body.
Not upgrading it into something supernatural.
Training it.
Ki moved through muscles and joints in small controlled currents.
The process encouraged recovery.
Reinforced coordination.
Sharpened the connection between movement and intention.
Nothing permanent came without work.
But Asterion could help Evan make better use of the work he'd already done.
Then came spiritual sensitivity.
Evan had already begun sensing Yin energy.
Asterion expanded that training carefully.
Not by changing what Evan was.
By teaching his senses what to notice.
Cold spots that had no physical cause.
Distortions in ambient spiritual energy.
The pressure produced by possession.
Residual emotions left behind by certain spirits.
With practice, Evan might eventually walk into a room and know something supernatural had passed through it.
He wouldn't become a ghost.
He would become someone trained to detect them.
Asterion opened his eyes.
"Enough."
More would do more harm than good.
Then came the weapons.
He tested each one.
Pistol.
Two shots.
Center mass on the spectral target.
Turn.
Dagger.
Close-range transition.
Wire.
Bind.
Pull.
Throwing weapon.
Smoke.
Movement.
Shield.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Not because Evan would wake up magically knowing every technique.
Because Asterion wanted his body familiar with the weight.
The balance.
The recoil.
The transitions.
When Evan first used them himself, they wouldn't feel completely alien.
That mattered.
Asterion moved through another sequence.
Three targets.
Two physical.
One spectral.
Step.
Fire.
Turn.
Gauntlet strike.
Wire.
Pull.
Blade.
Done.
He stopped.
Looked around the workshop.
Most of the equipment performed adequately.
A few pieces needed redesigning.
One shield had embedded itself halfway into a wall.
Asterion stared at it.
"...Too much return force."
He made a note.
By dawn, he'd completed several full testing cycles.
The armor stood on a platform nearby.
Silent.
Waiting.
"The boy is ready for the basics."
But Asterion's expression didn't remain satisfied for long.
His thoughts returned to the house.
The strings.
The possession.
The masked DJ.
The way the entity had spread its influence across dozens of people while remaining mostly hidden.
Evan's new equipment would help.
But that ghost?
The real one behind the party?
Asterion doubted the current gear would be enough to defeat it outright.
And if creatures like that existed here...
There would be worse.
Much worse.
Asterion looked toward the armor again.
Then toward the first light of morning creeping through the ventilation shaft.
A faint smile touched his face.
Good.
Evan needed challenges.
And Asterion?
He was only getting started.