Soul of Searing Steel

The ability to procreate for many species existing across the Multiverse far surpassed that of humans.

Even if human possessed a hormonal system that allowed them to be sexually receptive throughout the year, each gestation period required at least nine to ten months and usually resulted in the birth of a single infant on each occasion. Basically, humans’ ability for reproduction was very weak, especially when compared to other species that could breed without breaks. It would already be considered frequent for them to do so two or three times consecutively, with the possibility of some individuals having no adaptability when it came to breeding.

Indeed, that would only apply to certain especially fertile species—every race had their own strengths and weaknesses when it came to reproduction, with most creatures that lived longer lifespans generally breeding less and vice versa. That was perhaps why humans were just a little less fertile compared to humans in the perspectives of certain species that lived natural lifespans of over three thousand years.

Still, whatever the case may be, being a most basic part of a society composing of intelligent life, reproduction forged the very roots of a single race, determining the form of a civilization itself as well the trends of the society, even the very direction in which the collective consciousness progressed. The processes or fundamentals of changing a race’s breeding attributes would undoubtedly change the state of the entire race from its roots, a constant whether that change would be to hasten or to slow it.

Be that as it may, rarely were there any races with such grand vigor that they would implement such monumental changes to the breeding process of their own kind—it was not out of terror and the unknown, but because they truly believed that the reproduction of their kind had naturally evolved over millions of years to reach a perfect state in the present, hence not needing a single adjustment at all.

But it was different for humankind.

Or at least, the people of Mycroft had made a change.

***

On the first of January, Starfall year 858.

It was 34 minutes past seven in the morning on Mycroft Standard Time, down south at the Lake of Eternity, the General Hospital of Tidesong City.

A young man was pacing back and forth along a corridor as he waited anxiously outside a surgical theater like a walking machine that knows no fatigue. A trash can in a corner was filled with ice cream boxes, and one could imagine just how many ice creams the nervous man had eaten as he waited.

One could tell that his favorite flavor was vanilla.

The man looked to have just reached his twenties, with handsome and youthful features including black hair and a pair of uncommon purple-red pupils. He would look up from time to time at the tightly shut doors of the surgical room, while also scanning a signboard attached on the wall where a single row of elegant elven handwriting was engraved.

[Hospitals are a no-smoking zone]

“Who on earth would even smoke here!”

He cursed in irritation to himself. “I’m not retarded enough to bring cigarettes with me when I meet my child for the first time.”

The reason that the man—or ‘father’, as he should be called by now—was loitering in the hospital was clear. He was waiting for his wife, and the birth of their very own bundle of joy. Even so, that process basically depends on the efforts of the mother alone, while as the father, he could only act the part of a flightless bird that was seemingly affected by anxiety disorder, and not vastly different from refuse.

Meanwhile, there was no telling how much time had passed when the red light glowing over the doors turned green. It was then that a rather relaxed and not-quite-tired elven doctor stepped out from within.

“Mister Fafnir Chris. The operation is a success—your wife and child are in good health,” the elven doctor said pleasantly, but stopped Fafnir when he tried to enter the surgical room while attempting to reassure him with a sigh. “But apologies, you should not enter since your wife is… well, a fairy, after all. What I mean to say is that the sight may be a little unseemly, like… well, you know, a little weird.”

“What!” Fafnir exclaimed, his eyes bulging in anger. “Do you doubt my love for Vela?!”

“…No.”

Stumped, the elven doctor could not put any ensuing caution to words, and hence simply shook his head. “Fine, but to tell the truth, I can never really understand the bizarre tendencies of you humans…”

This time, he did not stop the other man.

“Darling, is that you?”

“It’s me, it’s me!”

Fafnir’s mind jolted at the voice, and he hurried into a small ward. The very next second, he saw a tiny humanoid brimming in radiance lying down over a specially made white crystal surgical table (which was the size of two palms), with several elven doctors and nurses removing the tailored miniature surgical tools from the table.

“Psionic separation isn’t as difficult as I had imagined. Feels simple, actually.”

“Compared to birth, the difficult part is actually the impregnating…I just don’t understand at all. It would have been acceptable if it was interracial, but how do they (humans) even get in heat past the factor of size?”

“Funny you should say that. Didn’t the leader of the Tidesong tribe marry a Sea Dragon woman with Ancient Dragon bloodline? That would be both interracial and between difference sizes.”

“Yes, but humans have transfiguration abilities. That tribal leader is a druid who is an Animagus as well—it makes sense either way.”

Fafnir certainly could hear the conversation which was not muffled at all, but did not have the time to argue with them about the definition of Platonic Love, nor was he bothered to explain mutual relationships: it was a more thorough intermingling transcending mere bloodlines, a fusion in the aspect of the soul, cultivating the pair’s progeny through soul and mind.

However, it was the process that could prove to be a hassle. It was thanks to the Mycroft civilization having getting in touch with many beings of pure energy or spirit over the last ten years, such as the Almond civilization whose candidate had won the Gold-tier singles in the first Cosmic Invitationals tournament, and obtaining their help in various research in the process. Otherwise, it would have been a major obstacle for humans who did not have the attribute to procreate with a fairy.

“What, darling?”

Thanks to the great success of the Psionic separation operation, along with the fact that fairy was not troubled by infectious diseases, the doctors did not stop Fafnir as he approached the white crystal surgical table, staring tightly at the Wind Fairy who appeared weakened due to the surgery.

“I’m alright. It’s just that it would probably take a few days until I can move around normally.”

The Wind Fairy had blue hair and pale golden eyes, coupled with a delicate and pretty face. Her crystalline wings that resembled the energy shields of Void warships made evident that she was a fairy who kept up with the new age. In her arms was small bundle of radiance, and her face was overflowing with a motherly glow—even if she was just the size of a palm.

Meanwhile, the elven doctors stared at Fafnir with narrowed eyes even as they left. They had a feeling that a crime was committed somewhere, but could not find proof.

To the fairies, splitting a part of their Psionic composition was akin to cutting out a part of their own body. In truth, Fafnir himself had done the same, but that had been a few months ago—he had mostly recovered by now.

“Either way, our child is healthy!”

As she spoke, the Wind Fairy called Vela happily lifted the bundle of light while Fafnir carefully directed his magical energy to form an invisible and gentle bounded field in place of his relatively oversized hand, lifting the bundle that was just the size of his thumbnail.

“Yes…I can feel it…the energy frequency is very stable—great, wonderful!”

“Ahem.”

While husband and wife were sharing honeyed words and emotions, even looking forward to their child’s future, the first elven doctor returned to them with a gentle cough. His eyes narrowed at the document in his hand and he started in a businesslike manner. “Congratulations on a successful surgery, mother and…”

The doctor stopped at that, unsure if he should be saying ‘son’ or ‘daughter’. Still, being an elf, he changed his tone in a singsong manner to glaze over that part of the conversation. “…Based on the ‘New Mycroftian Procreation Proceedings’, I have to ask for your permission, but you must be aware of its contents.”

“Anyway. Do you two consent to us performing ‘Divine Armament Bonding’ for the newborn?”

Was there even a need to ask?

After sharing a glance, both Fafnir and Vela answered together, “We do!”

***

Be that as it may, Fafnir was actually a little uncertain. He swallowed as he watched the radiant bundle he was carrying, and muttered to himself doubtfully, “However, can my child really undergo the ritual? What I mean is, wouldn’t it be the same after he grows up?”

After all, according to the information Fafnir was privy to, the first divine armament bonding ritual required the extraction and subsequent replacement of a part of the newborn, with which the bonding would be achieved. That being said, his own child…was also rather special. Perhaps he…or she would have a semi-physical body of humans as the years passed, but it remained that the infant was still a pure psionic fairy body at the moment.

Would that actually work?

“There will not be a problem.”

Clearly having expected the issue beforehand, the doctor shrugged. “The old ritual that lasted up to three years ago was basically inspired by the traditional methods of That Count’s clan. Even if it could reach a resonance stability of 100%, most parents were concerned with the rather bloody measures involved and the possibility of hurting the child, which was why they would often refuse. This is why just two years ago, a brand-new casting ritual was invented without the need to extract a part of the subject’s body.”

“And now, our technology has advanced once again.”

As he spoke, a pale blue dimensional radiance materialized from the doctor’s hand. Soon, a test tube that glimmered in silver light like a nebula, as if it contained a small galaxy, appeared in his grasp. “By drawing inspiration from the construct of the Black Fog, the greatest creation of the Shelter civilization, and combining that with some of Mycroft’s own unique technology, we have developed a psionic reagent that could be used as a medium for the divine armament bonding ritual. Not only does it dispense with the necessity to extract a part of the subject’s body, it also does not have to be conducted during the infant stage—the reagent simply has to be injected in place as the core of the divine armament in Psi form, allowing the divine armament itself to grow alongside the newborn.

“The former Shelter civilization called the ritual ‘artificial deities’, which I find to make sense—it is just that we would have a weapon instead, haha.”

After many years had passed and with most secret information now slowly publicized, even the Black Fog was now a joke that doctors and patients could share and regulate the atmosphere with.

In the meantime, both Fafnir and Vela breathed a sigh in relief following the doctor’s explanation. Their tentativeness was not a matter of conservative attitudes, but was because their child was definitively special in its form, not to mention that newborns must not be exposed to much harm.

And soon enough, there was further doubt.

“That being said, doctor, our child is so small…isn’t that reagent too much?”

In return, the doctor sighed and handed the test tube containing the divine armament core reagent to Fafnir, before making a gesture of ‘putting it inside’.

Fafnir could not react at once, while Vela realized what it meant with a start, before exclaiming in shock, “Put…put it inside?”

She was looking at the test tube, where the image of a cradle actually appeared. “A…a test tube baby?”

“What, should I have injected it instead? It’s not a balloon.”

The doctor appeared unconcerned with the astonishment of the couple. “The psionic reagent is the best nutrient fluid for a growing psionic being, and is much better than being outdoors. Moreover, in the process of growth, mutualism with the divine armament would increase the standard of divine armament resonance significantly, even breaking through the evaluation limit of 100%. Believe me, we have done more tests in this respect than you could ever imagine.”

***

Leaving aside the matter of the test tube and the newborn radiant bundle, and the couple who were unsure how to ‘put it inside’.

Broadening perspectives, moving away from the hospital located at the center of town to the entire Tidesong City, one would see that there were crowds everywhere over the streets, with every species and every form of being—physical, mechanical, with spectral and winged beings having taken into the air. Those beings of different appearances, some of them having arrived from other worlds, all assumed humanoid forms without exception as they treaded upon the human realm.

Reasonably speaking, it was rather difficult to identify pure-blooded Mycroftian individuals from the diverse races.

But that was not the case.

On the streets, one could always see half-psionic bodies of different appearances hovering behind each Mycroftian. They could be humanoid, weaponlike, beastly, or some random geometrical shape or object such as a musical instrument. In turn, any individual accompanied by those half-psionic bodies were undoubtedly Mycroftian.

Such psionic bodies were also floating near children who had just reached schooling age, protecting and guiding them as they played and prompted them away from any danger—since younglings may not have been aware of threats, their weapon partners would be their best companion, playmate and guide.

Whether they would still require such instructions in the future, at the very least, the divine armaments would maintain a safe direction ahead before they matured.

Certainly, it was not every Mycroftian who would choose divine armament bonding—at least, there were still some who casted suspicious glares upon the half-psionic bodies.

“What assurance is there that such a bond is safe?”

They would often ask with doubt in their words, even a strong measure of attack. “All of you have no way to ensure anything, do you? If the divine armaments would turn on the user, isn’t it simply deaths for mortals like us who possess no Extraordinary power?”

It was for various reasons that they would refuse the change, and yet their doubts could not actually be considered mistaken. As a bare minimum, the developers of divine armament bonding had thought about that question even as they created it.

And the answer to all those questions was ‘whatever’.

Was it not safe? Then it was working. There were no complete assurances of safety in anything in the world. The only recommendation for absolute security was to die and indeed, not even death itself was peaceful because the greatest of champions could reverse entropy and time by force even if someone should die, pulling the person back to the living, kicking, and screaming.

Even the initial form of the human body was not safe: with the possibility of various hereditary illness, natural defects that develop in pregnancy such as pygmy, would those elements not be more dangerous than divine armaments which were artificial and striving for perfection? Others notwithstanding, toothaches, appendicitis, digestive issues, cancer…which of such things were neither painful nor threatening to humankind?

Moreover, as compared to the divine armaments which appeared to have no issue as of the present, humans should have been most alert against other things—including car accidents, otherworld trips, running and crashing into something sharp, the recoil from a spell that they were learning, withering and dying due to excessive training on combat aura…there were untold ranks of people dying in their own cultivation of Extraordinary power across worlds, just as there were none who did not attempt learning magic or combat aura as weapons or tools.

One should especially note how many people had died violently day by day after their training had went awry.

In that respect, the divine armaments could avoid most of the aforementioned dangers.

They were psionic forms and weapons bonded to a human, altering their partner’s body starting from the moment of the bonding ritual, allowing the person to reach natural perfection. He would be able to avoid sudden ambushes, be warned about dangerous places, cautioned before a spell recoil, or even share the recoil with the user. Moreover, the divine armament could be a guide for their companion if they trained in combat aura, or at least prepare a will for them if the partner would live their life alone (with some notifying the city guard or the partner’s parents).

It was possible that something untoward might happen to divine armament bonding in the days to come, such as a bunch of rejects who relied on the divine armaments for every little thing—but in the first place, such individuals would have planned to live off their elders and were basically refuse in every sense of the word. That was one respect where the divine armament would keep them in check.

With that being said, it was not impossible for divine armaments to develop negative side effects to their partners—for instance, when the divine armament would be simply so pressured by a reject of a partner and hence retaliate in rage, because that made perfect sense. Still, they were ultimately psionic bodies nurtured and grown in their partner’s soul and body, and any retaliation would at most be a split in psyche and akin to forcing the left hand to slap the right. Nonetheless, such examples had yet to happen at all and should not be used as a rebuttal.

Be that as it may, there were certainly some who did not attempt divine armament bonding out of such shallow reasoning.

Outside Tidesong General, a middle-aged man who was not especially advanced in age leveled a gaze of mixed emotions towards the hospital. He could sense his own son and daughter-in-law inside, and his…grandson, or granddaughter?

Well, who cares? One way or another, they were rejoicing and enfolded in a moment of bliss.

But even as he had become a grandfather now, there was a myriad of feelings in his heart.

“Divine armaments, huh…”

The man called Furstner Chris—formerly known as Chris Radcliffe before using his first name as his last—breathed a long sigh. “Is this fate?”

His father had wanted it, for the sake of authority and as the embodiment of duty.

He did not want it, for the sake of freedom and to avoid duty.

However, his own son had lived until now without knowing a thing about all that, just as his grandchild had obtained it in the same ignorance.

A causality and cycle, a yearning and desire had entangled four generations, once again returning a link to a family with blood ties to the House of Radcliffe. He could actually hear the divine armament which had yet to obtain Self cheering and resonating, a ritual derived out of the Radcliffe pact feeling elation precisely because it had felt the blood of original owners.

“Lucky little fellow, grandchild of mine…unlike myself who has no right to possess it because I had avoided duty, you know nothing at all about anything, nor do you need to shoulder any responsibility… it is because someone had severed the fate of bloodlines that you could grow with such freedom.”

And the chain of causality of the Radcliffe family had now connected every human being, even every intelligent entity to exist in the future.

The middle-aged man sighed, soaking in his own feelings quietly even as a blonde woman gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Sophie, believing that her husband was feeling sentimental because he was now a grandparent, whispered, “Stop sighing, old man. It’s a good thing.”

“Right, it is good…wait a moment, you! I’m not old!”

Having agreed by reflex, Chris was left in enrage when he realized what his wife really said while she placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“I’ll show you how awesome I am—and give Fafnir another sibling!”

***

“…Right. It is all good.”

Over the skies of Tidesong city, an Avian girl with blue hair and black wings looked out over the city, focusing at the General Hospital with a gaze of mixed emotions

Zero Three was watching the human and fairy—a physical being and a psionic being—giving birth to the next generation, shaking her head in what could have been either helplessness or joy. “Are the people of the Radcliffe bloodline born with a preference for non-humans? To actually put the moves to a fairy…”

“Still, it is well. If not for me having directed resources for such research…humph! Would those two have so quickly discovered how to bond so quickly? But as expected, I have the right idea—the procreation looks perfect.”

The procreation of human beings had changed, as she and countless others worked diligently.

All was well.

The AI who had driven the developments from behind the scenes nodded slightly and then turned to look over all of Tidesong City.

Naturally, the many bonded divine armaments were reflected into her eyes.

“…Really, never thought that such a day would come.”

Zero Three had watched as the creation of her former home world developed bit by bit until it reached its present state. She had seen the divine armaments working diligently alongside herself and the Moldavian Liege’s Residence, gradually developing something that was necessary for both Mycroft’s present and future. Though she was glad, she still felt a little troubled.

Every effort and struggle were being rewarded… but could that man see it now?

He could. Most definitely.

“Joshua, the cosmos is not all peaceful at the moment… the hearts of all beings are actually shaken.”

With that thought, Zero Three logged on to the Mana Net as if it was natural. As a Spirit Terminal in human form, one of the chief administrators of the system and an authority in the Mycroft civilization, she could certainly connect herself across the cosmos and learned of many secrets that civilians would not know.

And she could see that many rather unhappy posts and anonymous threads were popping up in various forums.

[Another Multiverse Joint Assembly—even the Third Cosmic Invitationals is simply canceled. Is something huge about to happen again?]

[Crackdown on Mana Net during Council, terms to be prohibited in forums (attachments)]

[Rumor has it that something has happened over at the other side of the cosmos. Lost contact with every online acquaintance from the Piroth galaxy—been playing Grand Colosseum together but connection was cut halfway through, although I’ve been getting used to it in the recent few years.]

[Prayer and donation. Everyone online is family. We are all the Alliance.]

[What use is prayers or donations? The officials have already sent reinforcements, with the word being that the Legendary swordsman and the new Pope are leading the forces. Civvies like us just have to wait for news.]

[Sigh. Even if we are clearly so far away, there is the sense of panic regardless for some reason…]

Zero Three was browsing through anonymous discussion threads, a place of confidential discourse where the real thoughts of the public were conveyed compared to the official threads where public statements or instructions were posted. Though not all of the public were informed about the fact of the impending invasion of Chaos and darkness, but the sharper ones amongst the people would always feel nervous and imagine certain things when society became ever jumpier and more and more signs presented themselves.

“It’s been three years since the army that Brandon and Roland led has left for the Piroth galaxy… Even if the Shadow Space which the Multiverse Sacrificial Grounds and the Wise One of Shadow casted to connect every world makes communication considerably easier, the Evil Gods could likewise easily invade every world if they could not repel them.”

Zero Three’s face darkened at the very thought. “Even after having decrypted the Unified Archives, and managed and embodied the Mana Net, all I could do is stay in the rear…it always feels like I’m not much help to everyone, even if I did do something with the divine armaments.”

However, there was nothing she could do even if she was dissatisfied—having ascended to what was defined as Legend with the legacy from the God of the Skies and the other Legend in the Liege’s Residence, Zero Three still clearly knew that she was bad at fighting and would not be helpful.

With that thought, she opened a high clearance forum, finding no one conversing and that the latest two posts were made days ago.

Even so, the posts were shocking.

The first, uploaded by User ID ‘Love. Physical Evangelism. Kindness’ revealed the present state of the Piroth Galaxy in the anonymous discussion.

On one of its previously uninhabited fringe systems, the Knowers’ repeated confirmation allowed Mycroft explorers to excavate a major Forerunner ruin dating back to the age of the Wise One of Arcane.

However, that relic realm was now a fortress sector—there were now major stretches of fortresses and fortifications around the ruins like ramparts forged from metals, an immeasurably sturdy perimeter that tightly protected the entire sector.

Hundreds of civilizations had poured out their lifeblood here to reinforce the defenses: one could see dozens of different styles in the perimeter combined with every corresponding variant of Extraordinary power. The powerful ripples of supernatural distorted the very light of the sector, causing the sides of Piroth to glimmer in a rainbow hue.

The second post by User ID ‘Shielding Sword’ was an interpretation of the ancient literature uncovered from the Forerunner ruins.

[A lost text from the civilization called Barod, with long and complicated contents describing their civilization’s history, progress, and key technology. I have uploaded more vital data to Sector Omega on the Unified Archives—it is browsable with the password]

[But what is important to us isn’t information, but their regret and lament before their fall.]

[‘We made the wrong choice in castrating civilization grade to avoid the Evil Gods. After falling to Class Two, though the Evil Gods did not attack as planned, their spawn did not ignore us, and the more they came the more interested the Evil Gods would be…it is as the Wise One had said, escaping resolves nothing, for we had in turn been ‘resolved’.’]

[There has been much negativity in the Mana Net and morale-hurting intentions to escape, and there are just as many whom we personally know wanting to hide in the Shelter World…to tell the truth, that is the last resort after we are defeated. No one is allowed to live inside without bleeding, and I hope everyone could make arrangements, guide the discussion, and keep the pessimism in check.]

The user’s words were strong and seemingly voiced in anger, and strict if not harsh.

[Escape is futile. Like the man has always said, there is only a chance of survival by directly facing the tribulation. No victory would be gained out of no reason, and we must fight so that the Shelter World can be activated safely.]

“Right, it just as the man had said…”

Hovering in the skies, Zero Three looked up, her gaze piercing clouds to reach the Void. “Just as you had said.”

“Even so, when would you really appear before us and personally say those words?”

The artificial intelligence clearly knew that it would not be long—the great pulse in the depths of the Mana Net and the core of the Vortex of Creation had become ever more rapid and profound.

“This is the eight year since you have left the normal cosmos for the Vortex of Creation.”

***

Indeed, it had been eight years since Joshua van Radcliffe had entered the Vortex of Creation.

The moment of advent was approaching.