Chapter 14: Lightning in a Bottle

The deeper I dug into the study of the metaphysical energy known as "magic", the more it continued to vex me. It was a strange power.

Any 'rules' I figured out were made utterly redundant in the face of some other discovery. This happened so often that I eventually stopped trying to define any hard limits.

Yes, I know. How silly of me, trying to define limits to a power that defied reason. The reality is, that defining limits to something is a subconscious thing humans do. It helps us feel like we're in control. I realise and accept that, I too, was prone to the same pitfalls.

That, of course, did not mean that I'd give up trying to master this art. I would master magic, even if it took me centuries to do so.

To succeed on this wonky path, I would have to adjust my mental approach to the subject I was researching. Not every magical effect or spell required the same mindset, intent or emotional intensity. I could not will a man's limbs to rot the same way I would a flame to burn him. Most importantly, magic, I felt, favoured the will of the mad and eccentric over those who would force it down an Orderly path. The more madly flippant the desire to give reality the middle finger- with no regards to those affected in proximity- the better a spell would turn out.

The Colours I now commanded also played a crucial role in how successful a cast was. Red and Blue enhanced every spell that fell under their conceptual domain. On the other hand, any spell that did not resonate with either Colour came out strange, weak, or dangerously unpredictable. Attempting to offset this setback by injecting more raw mana into the spell, was simply unfeasible and untenable for the foreseeable future. My supply of raw, uncoloured mana was scarce as it was in this magic-starved world. To use it to cast a spell that yielded little to no returns on the investment would be foolish.

This lack of Colour resonance seriously hampered my efforts to research different magicks, esoteric effects, and test theories. The spell to rot a man's limbs away, for example, aligned with neither Red nor Blue. Once again, I wondered what other Colours existed out there? If there was a Blue, Red, and a Purple, surely there could exist an Orange or a Yellow. The thought of a Brown Colour crossed my mind and I snickered. Indeed, sometimes, the greatest power was making your enemy crumble- one stomachache at a time.

Green, I was almost certain, existed. It was upon probing and prodding the enchanted emerald I had picked up from a dismantled idol, that I sensed it. Faint it might have been, but it was there. The mana within the emerald pulsed on a 'frequency' unlike that of raw, uncoloured mana- subtler, yet unmistakably different.

Did I know for certain that Green was a Major Colour and not simply the result of a fusion like Purple? No. No, I did not. Yet, the fact remained that it was distinct enough to stir my Spark, even in its faint and diminished state within the emerald. I may have been a novice in the study of magic, but even I knew the Spark- buried somewhere deep within my soul- was not so easily stirred. It was highly likely that it was the source of my ability to traverse universes, perceive and manipulate Colours, sense magic, and wield it.

Therefore, the most likely conclusion was that Green was somehow highly valuable. Was it more valuable than Purple? It hadn't reached out in the same way when I had created said Colour.

To test the veracity of this hypothesis, I prodded the Rhoynish amethysts. The lust energy felt similar to the Purple I made, though far weaker and lacking the same depth and richness of colour.

My Spark expressed no particular interest when exposed to this energy. To confirm whether the reaction was consistent across the board, I conducted another test. This time, I created a pinch of Purple and held it atop my palm, careful not to let it brush against my skin. Naturally, I had set up a few spatial safeguards around myself beforehand. It would suck if the Purple energy exploded and took half my palace with it. I had learned my lesson with the Fireball experiment.

There was only a slight bit of interest. To me, it felt as if my Spark had accepted it as magic but not as a Colour that could stand on its own. Technically, that was true- it was the product of Colour fusion.

So, what made Green so distinct? If the Colours of Magic truly mirrored traditional colour theory, then Green was nothing more than the union of Blue and Yellow- yet it felt like something more. Why?

Besides 'Green was the Colour of growth because… nature, wildlife, and forests'- no other explanation came to mind.

Knowing magic, the symbolism checked out. Fire, rage, destruction, and passion was Red; Blue was water, mind magic, illusions, and calm logic. Why couldn't Green be about nature and growth magic?

I nodded. That made sense. I knew better than to dismiss the most obvious and reasonable explanation. I took mental notes about the experiment and its findings and stored a copy of them in the core lattice-work of the Paths, hidden among a hoard of uninteresting memories. Any superpowered, magical busybody who wished to gain access to my hard-earned knowledge would have to sift through a pile of hour-long wank sessions and snapshots of the dull, mechanical, everyday routine I had on Earth.

It wasn't much- I knew that- but it was something. Deep down, though, I knew that any being capable of breaching Nidhogg's defenses- slipping past the quantum 'encryption', the illusions, and my own meager tricks- would have little need for the scraps of knowledge I held.

I shook my head, dispersing the fog of gloom and the weight of unwelcome thoughts.

Work now. Worry about the far future and wild what-ifs later.

I took a deep breath and locked in.

__________________________

At this point, my deepest desire as a mage, was to seek out the Green and any other Colours that may exist in this world. The easiest way to do this was to travel the world.

I loved travelling- road trips, camping, adventure, exploration- I loved it all. It made my stomach tingle with excitement. Yet, I also knew that I had a responsibility here. The Empire was in its infancy and it needed me. Ymir couldn't run it all on her lonesome, even if she did agree to stay behind- which she would never.

I couldn't afford casual, blind globetrotting.

If I couldn't set out right away and pursue any whispers of magic, what could I do?

The easiest solution was to use the Paths to locate a Green magical nexus, clear my schedule for a few days, and fly over to claim it. Simple, right?

As I soon learned, it is seldom that simple.

The Paths did indeed allow me to observe the world around my physical body in ways I could not normally. However, what I saw was overwhelming, alien, and horrifying. The world was spread before me. Each living creature- from the smallest bacterium, to the largest mountain- was revealed and unveiled wherever my 'gaze' passed.

These sights were not meant for human minds or eyes.

I was lucky that Nidhogg was guiding me through the process and keeping me sane.

I stopped looking, of course. Even with the eldritch worm's aid, the view was just wrong and made my stomach turn. It also revealed a major drawback to this method- I simply couldn't concentrate on sensing a specific magical nexus when my mind was constantly screaming obscenities at me, telling me how wrong the sights were.

To work around this limitation, I began mapping out the world around me by projecting the three dimensional terrain and structures into the sand of the Paths. The white-and-grey map did not get far before it hit its first major obstacle. A massive, dark, fuzzy void 200 miles north of Othrys. My memory, sharper now thanks to the mental enhancements, recalled more than enough of Essos's geography up to the Bones to provide a suitable answer as to why.

This was the Forest of the Ifequevron. For what else could it be? The void was 1200 to 1500 miles long, a hundred miles wide, and ended near the Shivering Sea. Local legends say that it was once home to the legendary "small but gentle forest folk" that the Ibbenese had named "woods walkers". If Corlys Velaryon was to be believed- there was nothing but strange silences and haunted grottoes in that forest. He did, however, mention carved trees, which made me wonder if this forest had once been home to the Children of the Forest- or perhaps still was.

I asked Nidhogg if it knew why this area was inaccessible to its sight. Nidhogg replied in the negative, though it believed the likely cause was magic of some sort. Whatever magic concealed that place must be powerful indeed. And in my experience, powerful magic was dangerous magic.

Now, whether this obfuscation was a recent occurrence or not, could not be accurately discerned with Nidhogg's powers. But from what I knew of Asoiaf magic- such acts of magic were, more often than not, relics of a bygone age.

This was interesting, nonetheless. Now I knew for fact that there was something magical there, whether it was the Green or some other Colour was unclear.

Excited at the prospect of a possible magical nexus, I reached out with the Spark… and sensed… nothing?

What?

No, there was definitely something there.

'What seemed to be the problem?' I wondered.

For a while, I mentally cycled through a list of theories- some plausible, others far-fetched. One stood out as especially likely- that the veil was powerful enough to blind both Nidhogg and my Spark to whatever lay beyond.

I wracked my brain for what felt like hours- until finally, something clicked.

Nidhogg could sense disruptions caused by magical energy- that much was true. But I could sense magic without the worm's aid- and with far greater precision. The Spark was my guide, attuned to the flow of arcane forces- and it was through it that I felt the pull of the two magical nexuses that I was now connected to.

It occurred to me that, up to this point, I had never used the Paths or Nidhogg's senses as an intermediary to detect Colours. The Spark helped me figure out magic and feel for the minutest of changes in ways Nidhogg could not. It helped me differentiate Colours and how they worked or could be made to work.

I was probably going about this the wrong way. Could it be that by filtering the Spark's perception through Nidhogg, I had inadvertently dulled its sensitivity to the flow of magic? I remembered well how, on the way to this place, the call of Red and Blue had reached me from miles away, clear and undeniable.

There was a way to test the hypothesis. I centered my focus on the emerald, remaining within the Paths, my vision still bound to the worm's gaze.

The Spark that once recognised the Green mana within, was now silent. It did not stir- no matter how deeply I peered into the crystalline surface.

To see if this was something consistent or limited to the Green, I turned my gaze towards the Blue-filled sapphires.

Nothing.

I was torn between the urge to throw a fist in the air for finally figuring out what was wrong and groaning at the fresh hell of questions now flooding my mind. Questions like: 'Why didn't the Spark's senses work through Nidhogg's? The three of us were sharing minds and senses, so what was it that made my senses so special?'

And then came the theories: 'Could it be because the Spark was a part of my soul? (I didn't know for sure- it just felt like it was) Perhaps that was why it wouldn't work as well when there was some other being that its power was being channeled through?'

That, I felt, was probably the answer. Magic was bullshit and so, bullshit, conceptual, and unspoken limitations like that could exist.

To summarise- what did I know for certain?

First, I knew that the forest- vast enough to rival the Adriatic Sea- was undeniably magical. And it was the closest magical anomaly to me in this world.

Second, I knew I'd have to sense future Colour activity, magical nexuses, anomalies, and other esoteric phenomena directly, without relying on any intermediary. No shortcuts. No proxies. That meant I needed to be present on site to get any accurate readings on whatever the hell I was looking at.

And that, in turn, meant one unavoidable truth: If I wanted to deepen my understanding of magic, I couldn't avoid travelling to every magical hotspot I uncovered. Not forever.

I didn't like being limited when the possibility of a breakthrough was just on the horizon. So, I marked the place down as one I would visit someday. Perhaps once I had plucked out the slavers of Slavers Bay root and stem.

The sand map progressed south. Mapping out the beautiful, painted walls of Qarth, its wide streets and the date palms that shaded them. Then it went west where mighty pyramids topped with harpies holding whips rose above the city. My expression darkened as each city of the Bay was revealed to me in great detail. There were no people here, though I could ask Nidhogg to simulate live neuro-physical activity, I did not. The sights I would no doubt witness would just make me angry. More than I already was.

The Empire needed the time to stand on its own. Its armed forces, numerically meagre as they were, needed at least a year's time to train and polish the skills Galmar was teaching them. Their superior reflexes and strength- though not as monstrous as Galmar's- would no doubt give them an edge over their enemies. The superior armour, weaponry, and the repeating crossbows would only make the task easier. Bio-crystal catapults that grew their own stone shot and never ran out, were a besieged city's worst nightmare.

Slaver's Bay would fall. And if I had to drag the entire region into a free age- kicking and screaming- then so be it.

Until then, I would observe with grim satisfaction as Farwan and his spies infiltrated city after city, weaving a treacherous web. For there was no lack of resentful slaves bearing a hidden spark of hope in their bosoms, waiting for the right wind to stir it to life.

…

The map stopped at the Bones to the east, and Braavos to the west. This was not the result of limited capability, but of intentional restraint. The femtosecond-long flash of quantum energy over half a continent may be missed, but a full scan of the planet's surface? And one deeper than 500 feet? That would not be an inconspicuous twinkle and would be seen from afar by any sharp eyes in the deep void.

The time would come when my reach would extend across the Bones, past the Summer Sea, into the untamed Green Hells of Sothoryos, and then across the Jade Sea and Yi Ti, into the Shadow and farther still. Westeros too, I would know, more intimately than its learned men.

For now, the Near East half of Essos would do. Its cities, rivers, lakes, hills and mountains and the caves- natural or man-made lay bare before me, etched into hardened white sand. I studied it closely, my attention drawn to the miniaturised wonders of each city- the towering Titan standing sentinel over Braavos; the ancient, mysterious labyrinth carved into the stone of an island near Lorath; the three great bells perched in a temple on the highest hill of Norvos; and the thick, oval wall enclosing a quarter of Volantis.

The 3D map rose out of the sand, suspended in the air. Not a single grain slipped or scattered as what lay beneath the surface of each city was revealed. This included secret passages, tunnels, and ancient mazes. If I wished to examine a specific passage or corridor, a mere focus of intent would cause the sand to shift and part, revealing it like some alien cross-section- precise and unsettling in its detail.

The most prominent being that beneath Braavos and Qohor. Volantis had tunnels- true- but these were more of the 'escape an uprising or assassination' sort than anything religious or magical. There were also some in the middle of nowhere. These often led to secret tombs or underground barrows. Nidhogg did not detect any overtly powerful surges of magic in them. Whatever lay in these old tombs was either small and weak enough to not stand out or extremely valuable and of a subtle make. Or it was something that contained a Colour.

More golden markers of interest filled the map for future reference. Future me clearly had a packed schedule of tomb raiding, booby traps, and ancient curses to look forward to.

My eyes were inevitably drawn to three other 'fuzzy' areas. The most glaring one being the Valyrian Peninsula in its entirety. If the magical forest embodied subtle mystery and hidden danger, Valyria spat in the face of subtlety and screeched to the world- 'Death! Pain! Despair!'

The sand ceaselessly wobbled and shifted, the peninsula twisting into nonsensical shapes and patterns. Valyria did not want to be mapped. It resisted any and all attempts, Nidhogg confirmed grimly.

That was… within my expectations. Though I had hoped that my eldritch friend would be able to sneak some peeks into that hellhole. Oh well. I added another golden marker- this one ringed with blood red. This would require preparation and time- I could not Leeroy Jenkins this. In fact, it was excellent practice to not pull a Leeroy Jenkins when it came to unknown dark magic.

The other fuzzy spots were within Braavos. The House of Black and White was expected, but the Church of Starry Wisdom caught me off guard. Not entirely surprising, though, given how deeply Lovecraftian its very name sounded.

Hmm.

This was not good. Not good at all. The Faceless Men- I could understand, to an extent. Death is a constant companion to every mortal being, a shadow that follows from birth to grave. It made sense that such a universal force could be tapped for power, that people would flock to their House with desperate devotion or a plea to have them divest their enemy of their mortal coil.

But the Church of Starry Wisdom? What the fuck was even going on with them? What were their core beliefs? How far did their reach extend? What magicks did they practice and the most important question of all- what so-called 'wisdom' were they receiving from the 'stars'?

Nidhogg softly rumbled. 'Be careful.'

It said no more on the matter. And rightfully so. None of us knew anything about these cultists. If they were crafty enough to obscure much of their church from our eyes, we could not afford to underestimate them.

I'd deal with them- right after I crossed the Faceless Ones off my list.

And to pull off either task, one thing was clear- I needed to get gud with the magic I had.

There was just one problem- I couldn't do that inside the Paths. Not exactly. The Paths was a realm the three of us shared conscious and subconscious control over. It was fundamentally unlike the waking world- too malleable, too eager to yield to my magical manipulation. Spells tended to work almost flawlessly, even when cast sloppily. Great for casual spell-flinging, terrible for any serious practice. Asking Nidhogg to keep a tight grip on it and forcefully simulate the real world wouldn't work either. The Paths would obey both wills and the spell would still produce an unrealistic and unreliable effect.

If I wanted to get better at telling the laws of reality to bugger off, I had to practice doing it in the real world- a world that, unlike the Paths, would actually resist the changes I aimed to impose on it.

__________________________

I left the Paths, opening my eyes to the Real.

A soldier made of sand rose on the other end of the arena. I left its puppeteering to Nidhogg. To win, I must turn the sandman into glass- it was against the rules for it to turn its limbs back into sand. On the other hand, the sandman could either sever all four of my limbs, eviscerate me, or cause massive, debilitating bleeding to win.

Lovely, right?

With a light pull of Blue, moisture was sucked out of the air to create a water whip bound to my wrist.

The sandman immediately sprung into action. One of its arms transformed into a nasty, serrated silica-edged blade, the other a spiked mace. Neither would be good for my health.

The air cracked as the whip sailed and relieved the sandman of the mace-hand, the sand of the 'severed' wrist darkening with stray wetness.

The sword-hand suddenly elongated into a spear, aimed at my head. To avoid losing a perfectly good head, I swiftly summoned a Moon Shield. It wasn't nighttime and the moon wasn't fully visible yet, so the shield was a bit weaker than it would be in ideal circumstances. But it was still a magical shield made of force dampening water. The water rippled as the sand spear tried to penetrate it and failed. The force behind the strike was distributed evenly across the shield, and I could feel the subtle vibrations in my left forearm.

It didn't stop there, however. The water rapidly lapped against the offending sand in the form of small waves, chipping away at sand particles and through this act- the structural integrity of the speararm. The process was as quick as it was shocking. I did not wait for the sandman to react or to attack me with the other arm when it eventually recovered from its moisture-induced disability.

With a clockwise twist of my hips I let the force and momentum behind the spear send him sprawling ahead. I cracked the whip, aming it at his knees. With an agility only a fellow superhuman could possess, the sandman jumped over the whip as if it was a mere skipping rope. The second pass it vaulted over- backwards.

'Fuck that. I had to either cut off his limbs or place enough distance between us so I could end this,' I thought to myself.

Though the shield had been depleted of much of its earlier power, it had enough juice left in it for a nice little parting gift.

The water burst outwards and flew at my opponent, freezing into tiny needles, large spikes and jagged ice shards. If the sandman was surprised, he did not show it.

I could swear that just a second before the inevitable impact, I felt Nidhogg smirk with amusement. The sandman's form collapsed down to the floor. The ice projectiles sailed over harmlessly, impacting the wall and shattering into quickly melting chips of ice.

The thin sheet of living sand just barely escaped getting roasted by a burst of fire and dodged under another fireball. It restructured itself back into the sandman and with a quick flick of its still functioning legs- removed some sand from its shins and sent four circular saw-like blades made of sand flying at me, each aimed for a different vital area on my body.

I reacted on instinct- a burst of high pressure flame ignited under my feet and palms, and flew over the circular saws, landing on the other side. Quickly twisting around, I swept my leg sending a wave of scorching flame at the sandman's weakened shins.

He was unable to dodge in time and the sand in his legs heated up, turned into glass and shattered, sending him tumbling to the floor.

Now with only half a body, the sandman had two options- continue the fight by reforming into newer yet smaller form, or surrender.

Much like me, Nidhogg didn't like the idea of a surrender. And so our battle would continue.

The sandman reformed, though not into a human.

A large centipede.

The creature was hideous, no doubt about that. Nidhogg sure had the psychological aspect covered.

I dodged the first and second lunge of the sandypede(?), using fire as a deterrent when it tried to rear up for a third. The bug did not let up that easily. It spat a thin burst of pressurised sand at me. Pain bloomed on my shoulder as one scored a glancing hit that wept blood.

A whip of fire lashed out, searing through two of its legs, but the sandypede remained undeterred.

I channeled Blue into my eyes, still weaving between its strikes. A small peek with Foresight confirmed what I suspected: standing my ground only made things worse. Each time I did, the creature split- first into two, then four. I could deal with one but multiple? That would be a losing battle. If I was to use my supernatural healing and strength for this battle, trampling this creature would've been as easy as pie. But this wasn't a test of superhuman strength but one of magical skill and its practical application in a high stress environment.

Raising a temporary wall of fire gave me the short reprieve I needed to focus on another Blue spell.

The wall of fire dropped, and the sandypede froze. Its 'eyes' darted between the six Damians now closing in.

Before it could form a plan, the Damians surrounded it. They smirked as one, and laughed as one. Before the creature could choose which to lunge at, they struck. Their fists lashed out unleashing jets of fire that roared toward the sandypede, set to converge and melt it into molten glass. But just before the flames collided- it grew wings.

It shot upward in a blur, moving so fast it nearly vanished from sight. Without hesitation, it locked onto one of the Damians. Its jaws clamped down on his neck- only for the image to flicker and dissolve. The sandypede hesitated, its expression a mix of begrudging respect and growing irritation.

The flames, the heat- none of it was real. Each illusion carried my scent, moved with my mannerisms. It had no choice but to go through them one by one, all while dodging their attacks. There was no way to tell which were harmless phantoms… and which would lead to certain death.

Meanwhile, I hovered above the arena thanks to a nifty little cast of Blue, my back to the ceiling, hidden away in a cool cocoon of Invisibility.

I steadied my breath and reached for Red. Slowly, carefully, I rubbed my fingers together. A tiny spark jumped to life, lightly crackling. If this worked then the sandypede was done for. If it didn't- I would lose the element of surprise and the battle would drag on for much longer. That was not ideal.

My desire to channel lightning was born out of a need to electrocute my enemies and fry them in a way that would strike terror in the hearts of those who witnessed it. The fact that it was metal as fuck, was simply a bonus.

I pictured the particles in the air, vibrating and restless. I imagined the friction between them, the agitation growing, electrons leaping from molecule to molecule, unwilling to sit still.

I coaxed that chaos into order.

Red coursed through me, threading into the space around my fingers. I didn't just summon lightning- I built it. One charge at a time. The electrons obeyed because I made them believe they had no other choice.

The air around my hand began to hum, then hiss as temperatures rose sharply. The sharp smell of ozone filled my nostrils. Power coiled at my fingertips, taut and trembling- begging to be unleashed.

All I had to do now was point… and let it loose.

The air was rent apart by a deafening blast as lightning struck- jagged and wild, white streaked with pale violet. It fell like a wrathful spear, blinding and absolute, with stray lances arcing outward, tearing deep gouges into the floor.

The sandypede hissed and screeched and then- silence.

I dropped down, careful to avoid the smoking molten puddle and the slagging floor beneath it. I reached out with my magic, probing the silence for the faintest twitch of life.

Nothing. Just heat, steam, and stillness.

I broke the silence with a loud whoop of triumph. "Fuck yeah!"

God, that felt so good.

No, seriously!

Not only did mastering a spell felt like passing another threshold, the more destructive spells fueled by passion felt good. I could get addicted to the feeling if I wasn't careful.

Nidhogg reformed the glass into another sandman and gave me a congratulatory pat on the back. I smiled. The worm made the sandman smile back- only its grin was just a bit too wide.

My smile faltered. Its smile widened further.

Ugh.

I shoved it away, and its shoulders trembled with silent laughter.

I rolled my eyes playfully and walked back to my research desk in another section of the training bunker.

Now that I have succeeded in bending lightning to my will, perhaps I should work on some control?

The optimum way to learn control over lightning, I believed, was to trap it inside a glass bottle.

The sandman tagged along to observe, even made a nice little glass bottle. I nodded in silent thanks and placed it upright. Then, pressing my index finger to the mouth of the bottle, I summoned a spark- lightning flared to life with a sharp crackle.

Obviously, it didn't turn out as well as I expected.

The bottle exploded. Shards of glass flew everywhere. I nearly flinched before remembering that my skin was impervious to such weak projectiles. My clothing was not as lucky and my shirt got shredded.

I sighed.

The sandman grinned once more.

"Oh, fuck off!"

Nidhogg chuckled in a way only an annoying eldritch bastard could.

__________________________

Author Note: Damian seems to be having a blast experimenting, theorising, researching, and throwing weird and destructive spells around. He might not be an Archmage yet, but he's getting there.

The next chapter is the timeskip, where a bunch of people- friend, foe and the undecided- react to the Empire's existence. Some are okay with it, others not so much. I just know it's going to be a pain to write. It's so much easier when I've got a 21st century teenager's POV and mindset to frame the events through. Asoiaf locals are so weird, wordy, and archaic. Much harder to frame the scenes. Yet despite all that, I look forward to diving into it ^_^.

I'll also add a character index after this posting this chapter. I completely forgot to port the pics in from QQ. Some of them are a bit NSFW and ... age up some characters. Ahem, soo view them at your own discretion. I will also add a page about the dimensions and extra details about the city walls.