Forged Legacy

Chapter 175 - Hunger

Harvey wanted to dive right into refining Varek’s Imprint, but his mental energy reserves were spent. Overdoing it on the blood loss was also a concern, but he found that the higher level he got, the more blood he could afford to lose before he started feeling woozy. He didn’t know if that was a function of his body evolving or his Vitality stat going up, but it meant he could afford to test more ink recipes every day than he could back in Veil’s End.

Giving his brain a break, Harvey broke Steve’s shield out of its mold and got to work reheating and compressing the silver. The hammer he’d bought from John’s Mirror was a lot heavier than any blacksmithing hammer he might’ve found back on Earth, but it only got lighter as every smithing session yielded more levels and more strength. He needed to forge himself a new one, maybe even add some inscriptions that helped him adjust it on the fly. The metals he worked with only got heavier and harder to work with as more and more essence wormed its way inside.

The guide he’d read had talked about the virtue of making your own tools. Even before the System, forging your first set of tongs was seen as a rite of passage by most, but Harvey just didn’t have the time. The demands on him grew higher every day, and he found himself yearning for the “simpler” times when all he had was his wand and Fangbreaker, and all he had to kill were faceless elementals that he didn’t know were sentient yet.

[I think you’re forgetting how terrified you were back then. Julian had to be careful not to slam any doors around you so you wouldn’t drop your wand.]

A different kind of trouble, Harvey laughed.

Rhythmic clangs filled the air as he pounded over and over again, each strike bonding the angelic silver a little tighter. The hardest part was working around the handle he’d cast onto the back. One of the leatherworkers in Elysium could add the strap for his forearm to help Steve hold the heavy shield steady, but Harvey couldn’t afford to have the handle snap on him in a critical moment.

Any shield could hold up against normal attacks. Harvey needed this one to stand tall, no matter what Hell threw at them.

The image of Julian’s head getting boiled inside the helmet he’d forged as Marcus filled it with thanefire flashed across his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t his fault. There wasn’t some array he could’ve added to insulate that helmet from the life-scouring flames. Well, there probably was, but none that he could’ve inscribed at the time. Hell, he didn’t have a clue how to protect against an attack like that now. Still, he’d forged that helmet to protect his friend, and Julian died with the Necrolord Prophet holding it with both hands.

[This is going to be different,] Julius assured.

Despite the dozen other things he had to do, Harvey painstakingly worked to make the shield as durable as possible. It wasn’t pretty, lacking all the decorative embellishments and raised patterns that came to mind when he thought of a silver shield, but it was strong. Every tiny imperfection was clear to see with Artificer’s Eyes, glowing like tiny targets for his hammer to pounce on. Then, Perfect Finish helped him coerce every degree of heat until the shield was perfectly tempered.

The blooming glow of superheated metal tattooed in rings around his eyes faded as he finished inspecting his work. It was a good shield, with plenty of essence conductivity waiting to help him make use of the three large crystals jutting out of the front.

A system notification nudged against his consciousness, but no level came with the shield’s completion. He’d figured as much, having gotten his last burst of Profession levels after finishing his Prophet’s Suffering ink earlier that morning.

He didn’t realize how exhausted his body was until he set down his tools and returned to his stool in front of the workbench. So much had happened today, and there was still so much more to do. It started bright and early, with him waking up to refine Marcus’ Legacy before anyone else in the house had even considered crawling out of their warm beds. Then he spent the rest of the morning whittling dragon teeth like a medieval Boy Scout so he could turn them into bullets strong enough to dissolve a Gluthog like cotton candy. He followed that up with an assault where he actually did kill multiple Gluthogs, Helltaurs, Brimfiends, and Mortarhorns, all while desperately fighting to keep himself and his family alive. As if that wasn’t enough, the first thing he decided to do after coming home was build a shotgun from scratch, forge a massive shield for his father, and explore the depraved legacy of a demon who liked to heal himself using his dead friends as fuel.

He needed sleep, but the trial wasn’t going to wait for him. They only had one day until the demon invasion began, and that was if hell didn’t decide to start tomorrow instead of waiting until Saturday. It was hard to believe he’d been in Heaven for less than a week. So much had happened, both for himself and his family.

[And you thought that blitz forging armor before the quest to decide which Outpost we’d make our last stand at was bad,] Julius chuckled.

Staring at the inkwell, still filled with his last failed attempt at refining a piece of Varek’s legacy, he debated whether he should try again now or wait until morning. Honestly, three batches of ink in one day was irresponsible, especially when each batch contained a bereft aspect of hostile legacies. But what choice did he have?

[You could work on inscribing the shield and finishing up the shotgun tonight, then save the ink for tomorrow,] Julius ventured.

No. I’m not going to add the inscriptions meant to save my father’s life while I’m exhausted. He deserves the best I have to offer.

[Then I think it’s time you get some rest. I know pulling an all-nighter feels like the answer, but you’re going to have to sleep eventually, so you might as well do it now.]

I know you’re right, but I’m still going to try one more time to make this infernal ink.

[What? Why? You know I’m right, so get your ass inside, eat some dinner, and go to bed!]

We need this ink. Otherwise, Cash and Celeste have no chance of sneaking into hell with us.

[Exactly. We need this ink, and this is the last Imprint we have!]

I’m sure Cash could find a few more for us if he had to. You saw him loot those demons’ corpses. That has to be standard practice since they need their feathers to make their gunpowder.

[You're pushing yourself too hard.]

Stolen novel; please report.

I know, but I’m not going to stop. Now I’m going to need your help to break out of the vision, so are you going to help me or not?

Julius didn’t respond for a long time, but finally relented when Harvey kept mentally urging him on.

[You know I’d never leave you hanging. Besides, my wagon’s been hitched to yours ever since my wires integrated into that pretty little head of yours.]

That isn’t weird at all.

Harvey took the inkwell inside and poured its contents down the sink. It was a waste, but he was never going to get much use out of the inferior quality ink. It was always hard to tell what time it was with the perpetual daylight streaking in through the windows, but the silence filling the house suggested everyone else was already asleep. Drying the cauldron with the same towel he’d used earlier, he saw a sticky note on the fridge saying his dinner was wrapped up inside.

Harvey pulled out the plate, peeled off the cling wrap, and put it in the microwave. The gentle hum from the surprisingly modern appliance sounded like a leaf blower against the utter quiet of the rest of the home, and he found himself waiting to turn it off before the timer started beeping. It reminded him of his many nights heating up snacks as a child while trying to hide how late he’d stayed up playing video games. It was a fond memory, and he let his mind wander away from all the pressure while he enjoyed his food.

Finally fed and re-energized, Harvey returned to his workbench and filled the cauldron with blood. Not wanting to give Julius any more chances to try and convince him to wait, he pulled the crystalline tattoo of a poker chip out of his spatial ring and dropped it into the inkwell.

Varek was hungry. So… very… hungry. He clutched at his bare stomach, digging his fingers into flesh to try and massage away the pangs. Daddy hadn’t been home in days, and Mommy wouldn’t wake up. He was too young to work. Too young to understand what people even did to make money. All he knew was their tiny apartment and not to bother his parents if the room started smelling like candy. He used to dream that the smell actually was candy, a treat his father brought home for him for being such a good boy for his mother, but it never was.

Staring at the wall, he watched a bug skittering through the cracked bricks. He didn’t like bugs, especially not the ones with too many legs. This one had lots of legs, and he knew that the juicy body didn’t taste very good.

Still, he was so hungry.

Varek averted his gaze as the door to his mom’s room slammed shut. He didn’t recognize the guy fumbling with his belt buckle. It had been years since he’d seen his dad, and he still had no idea if he was alive or dead.

I hope you’re rotting in a hole somewhere, Varek thought.

A bunch of guys had been coming around the apartment since then. Some were regulars, spending time with his mom a few times a week. A few had tried to chat with him, but he stopped responding once he realized none of them were ever going to be his new dad.

He was still hungry, but he’d learned to steal some of his mom’s drugs while she was asleep. He couldn’t take too much or she’d beat the brakes off him once she woke up, but he could make enough merit selling her supply on the street to buy the occasional meal. The problem was that his teenage body was too scrawny to protect himself if someone decided to just steal his supply instead of paying.

He needed to get bigger. Stronger. Once he was old enough to start ascending, he’d join the army. Help Hell conquer more planets. The archdemons wanted their soldiers nice and strong, so they’d feed him as much meat as he wanted. Then he’d come back and show those thieves why you don’t mess with Varek Lucero.

Unlike his previous attempts at refining legacies, Varek’s Imprint was built from memories spanning years. His body changing from that of a young boy around 5 or 6 to a malnourished teenager in an instant was jarring enough to remind Harvey he was stuck in an illusion. He could feel the aspects of his own Legacy bleeding into the vision through a hole Julius poked in the edges of reality, but he ignored them as he let the vision play out.

In the blink of an eye, the ratty apartment was replaced with a simple cafeteria. Harvey saw himself shoveling food into Varek’s mouth, uncaring as a cadre of demons laughed at him.

“Damn, Varek! I know the plate’s white, but that doesn’t mean it’s an angel!”

“Maybe you can get a Profession that lets you cook dead bodies. That way, you might actually learn how to fight!”

“Let him eat,” another demon growled. “The rest of us will survive as long as we outrun him.”

The entire table erupted in laughter, but Varek never took his eyes off the tray sitting in front of him.

The vision shifted to show Varek and a small squad of demons fending off a horde of vampiric bats the size of bald eagles. Varek had fought them many times before and found them to be truly fascinating creatures. They didn’t even need to bite you to start feasting on your life force, making it a race against the clock every time you fought one. They just took what they wanted, challenging you to come try and take it back. He’d used them as the blueprint for his first Class skill, gaining a lifedrain effect that helped him fare much better than his compatriots.

Of their group of 5, one was dead, and three were exhausted by the time the last bat tumbled into the mud. The dead demoness was one of the few people Varek actually liked, but he hadn’t taken the time to get to know her very well. What he did know was that while the rest of their squad had used their first skill slots on powerful offensive abilities, she’d created one that let her heal others. They’d all been so caught up in testing them out that they failed to hear her cries for help.

“Varek! You worthless piece of…” a demon growled as he cradled the dead woman.

“What?” Varek retorted indignantly.

“You were supposed to protect her!”

“We all were!” Varek complained.

“I specifically told you to watch her back! My father put me in command of this squad, and you’ve disobeyed me at every turn,” the demon coughed, rage unable to overcome the weakness left after the grueling battle. “The second we get back, I’m getting you thrown right back onto the streets. I’ll make sure you starve you insolent…”

Before he could finish, Varek kicked him square in the face, sending him back into the mud. The rest of the demons screamed in shock, but Varek sliced his blade along their necks before the shock of his betrayal wore off. He was the only one with any fight left thanks to his skill, and finishing off the drained and wounded demons was easy. One by one, he drank their remaining vitality until all that was left of their bodies were withered husks. Luckily, the wounds he’d inflicted didn’t look much different than what the bats would do to a person, so it wouldn’t be hard to cover his trail. Full of vigor, he snatched their valuables before leaving them to rot in the mud.

Despite being crafted over a much longer time period, Varek’s Imprint was clearly much weaker than Marcus’. The longer the vision went on, the more certain he was that he could’ve broken himself out even without Julius’s help. He’d been wondering how other inscriptionists could use bereft legacies without a secondary consciousness to help them break free, but it seemed he had mostly gotten unlucky with his first attempt at using one. Knowing you’d be entering a vision beforehand definitely helped, and he was relieved to see that he could still sense his body sitting before the inkwell even while his mind watched the sad progression of Varek’s life. It meant he’d know if he inadvertently began trying to anoint himself again, giving him ample time to burn down the vision and return his consciousness.

The vision ended with Varek stumbling out of the bedroom of some sad succubus he’d met on the street. He wore the same expensive suit Harvey now had inside his spatial ring, and the massive diamond and ruby rings adorned his fingers. Double-checking his jewelry to make sure she hadn’t tried to snatch any of his valuables, he buttoned up his silk dress shirt and walked out into her living room. Sitting at the kitchen table, he saw a young boy, no older than 5 or 6. The kid was tiny and frail, unwilling to meet Varek’s gaze as he stared down at him.

“You hungry, kid?”

The boy didn’t respond, sitting like a statue in the wooden chair.

“I said, ARE YOU HUNGRY?” Varek growled.

The boy shuddered, eyes snapping towards Varek before nodding his head furiously. His lips quivered as he looked back and forth between Varek’s face and the expensive watch around his wrist.

“You like this, huh?” Varek asked, holding it up for him to see.

“Can… Can you get me something to eat?” the boy asked, his voice small and scared.

“Find yourself a bug,” Varek spat, walking past him and opening the front door. “It’ll be good for you.”