Like a painting—a wet smear of color that flooded the empty canvas—the world. The grayness tunneled upwards, drowning all things in that singular shade. Then came the lights: the distant shapes that faded in just there, at the edge of perception. Heads, hands, chains, faces—dots of radiance that scattered themselves out with each cracking of heaven's judgment.
He enjoyed this sensation. He enjoyed the constant surge of data flowing from all things. It grounded the internal awareness born from the honorific words, as though standing here, in the dark, brought a measure of calmness. Perhaps it was the familiarity born from the Orders.
The mind cuts. That was what Shae had said to him. At least, that was the implied meaning—a phrase that existed with very little essence if left as it was... But somehow, he found a sensibility within its nature. Thoughts were a weapon. A weapon with which one shaped the very world. He must arm himself with that might.
And so Merrin sank into himself, watching the turbulence of the unseen world: the surging symbols, their glows, their motions. All of it. So countless they were—so many. Even ahead, observing the violence between Shae and the shadow thing, there were strange shapes about them. For one, with each jump into the air, sharp red marks tore around her—almost as though they were flashes of written words.
Symbols, no doubt.
What then was the creature about? What was this symbol that was so influenced by Discord? What was it?
A mass!
That was the singular answer. And he saw it as such. The creature was a writhing mass of wires—black, countless, all shifting, quaking, moving. What kind of symbol was that? He pondered. How did it even get influenced by Discord?
No matter—Merrin drowned the thoughts, focusing then on the slow flowing of the force. His force. The mindForce. Here, within the pulsing space of the greyworld, that energy existed as a queer sea that expanded out from his wholeness. A tide that battered and drowned all that stood before it.
Too chaotic a thing. Perhaps that was a reflection. The mindForce was the mind of one—their thoughts, their memories, their desires, their needs. Everything that existed in their heads. It powered it and was it. And what then did it mean in the form of such chaotic waters?
One did not require a cleanseWitch to figure that out!
My mind is too frenzied!
What came next was a sudden calmness within his body, all things settling down as though forced, despite its reservations. That was yet another trick of the caster: the total and full control of one's own mind. He enjoyed that, watching as the once convulsive waters settled in moments.
What then was next?
The shaping of it!
For that, Merrin reached, raising the so-called glassy waters like a pillar of translucent hues. He molded it, noting the curling within the greyworld. The way it moved past the symbols, swirling around. Their brief reactions to it. For example, the lights flickered just a bit in their flows—the shapes pulsed for a moment in their presence. There were changes.
Brief, but still there.
This is one way to do it, isn't it? he thought, awing. Although Shae had suggested the force be coated on one's own body or, by extension, a weapon in order to physically harm the symbols, she likely lacked a true understanding of the vastness of his force. Even before he had become Vested, touch was barely a thing required in casting!
Thus, once again, the might of the El'shadie existed in its true awesomeness.
He smiled, watching as the greyworld peeled away, the darkness of the street expanding across his vision. The violence was still as it was; now, however, the creature was missing one limb. Shae had done some damage to it.
That was something. That was proof of her exceptionality. Merrin sighed. This woman is trouble. Yet, despite that, he could not deny the allure of her knowledge. She knew things—powerful things of the caster. And regardless of his own means, the Ashman knew little in comparison.
And now that the daughter of the Hashur had come—perhaps learning such things was… good? Was it, though? Should I really even be doing any of this? That darkness of despair swelled within him. Warning. He sighed. No. No.
I shouldn't—
"What are you doing dazing out?"
Annoying!
"Can't you hear me?" Shae screamed, flipping through the air, sniping her knife once again downwards. Like a whistle, it smashed down before him. And in a blink, so was she, fingers curled around the top of the hilt. "Are you lost or something?"
Merrin stared down at her.
"Don't tell me you suddenly lost all your mindForce?" She stood, taller than he was, leaning in. "Are you a vegetable now?"
Merrin tilted his head, watching the shadow with one hand twitching in rage. Likely watching some woman blinking around you like some serv brought some deep-needed annoyance. Odd, yes, but did that mean the symbol existed with that emotion?
He had no idea. And even with the nature of data acquisition gained during casting or observing the greyworld, he had no knowledge of the symbol's name.
"Hey, hey!" Shae snapped her fingers across his face. "You still in there, Ashman?"
Would she not stop yapping? he thought, exasperated. Realizing just then that yet another word had been gained from the data flows. That was good—something. Useless, yes, but something.
The shadow behind twitched once again in fury—the remaining tendril smacking across the earth, the sky, the buildings by the side. And yet, despite all that, Shae lingered on his face, waving.
This one is not elegant at all…. he reflected. She was no Ashman! No, there was already another here. And who knows what noise here would call upon her attention.
I should end this now!
Shae waved again, eyes wide, lips pursed. "Anybody in ther—" Merrin gripped her arm.
She smiled. "There you are, I almost thought you had begun sailing the sea of so—"
"You should move."
"Huh?"
I hope the daughter of the Hashur had not suddenly become a caster. "You should take Sibel from wherever you kept her and run!"
"Oh… are you perhaps some martyr?"
Why does everyone think that? "No…" Merrin said, "but even the human body is made of symbols, isn't it?"
She paused. "Now that's interesting."
Merrin glanced at the shadow—its frenetic nature was escalating in wilder motions. That was simply more noise. "I don't have time to explain to you, so a warning will have to do…" He took up a deeper tone. "Leave, or be cut."
She chuckled. "Good, good. I see." She muttered, stepping to his side, whispering. "It seems that your timidity is just another mask."
Silence.
"However, do curb that ego of yours." Her lips smacked. "The human body is far too complex to be easily cut by the mindForce."
And so she was gone. Like that. Like a snap of one's fingers—she was nowhere. That was fast—he was unsure when she had thrown the knife. After all, he knew now with surety that her knife was at least the direction with which she shifted herself… For others, however, he had no idea.
Not that it mattered… Not now.
The creature before him was moving, fast, its remaining arm swinging intensely through the air. More noise upon the silent world. From the falling buildings, the stones chipped and smashed across the ground. All of this blending into a singular boom into the night.
Anyone, even outside the Ashmen, could hear it now.
I need to end this fast! he thought.
No battle, no violence, no more noise!
And so it was that Merrin, in that moment, surged his force like a kindling doused with oil. It flared within, spilling out like a transparent sea. Yet it existed with no violence, no chaos across its form, almost dormant. Except it was not. Although the waters passed as some quietude of a thing… it was not. In the end, it was what it always was: the mindForce. One that was now to be shaped.
Merrin went inward and molded his thoughts!
Like a knife. A gash. A cut. A slice.
The mind should cut in a thousand ways!
Of course, he was unsure of the required amount to achieve this… so he was to give it all. Every drop of his force. All of it had been molded. Across the greyworld, it seemed he was a figure surrounded by lines of translucent light. A slice across the face of the silvery world.
And all of it, every single one of those lines were his thoughts. His memories. His mind. His desire. All of his force now targeted at one point: the shadowy mass of a symbol. And in that moment, as his own mind slowed in its procession, he realized one trueness: he had created a weapon that could only harm the symbols… and more, the more complex they were—the higher the complexity, the more force was required.
Ah… what a creature he had become!
The shadow raced towards him, a blur of motions—one that could now no longer be grasped by his fading mind. Not that it mattered… Nothing of its kind could escape what was coming. Not a single symbol.
He heaved a breath, sealed his eyes, and offered the final thought.
And slice!
The shadow paused—just for a moment… a slowed moment, as though it wondered at the thing that was coming. And perhaps it did. Because before its eyes, if it had one, was an infinity of glassy lines—on every side, at every angle… they were coming.
Oh…
A brightness erupted in the greyness, flashing a blinding radiance across everything. And Merrin, too, was drowned in it. Sinking as his mind grasped a final image within that calamity.
It was a woman… a red-haired woman, dressed in a silvery, silky cloak, hooded up and flowing down. In the brightness, her lips were painted red, her face narrow on the jawline with eyes that showed like blood and anger. But the rage was milder, almost as though it was of a tired quantity.
Who was she?