Claws which arced up, razor-sharp and growing hotter by the second, so that the very air shimmered about them, superheated and roiling.
“Now that’s a fearsome power,” said Leonis. “Those claws look like they could cut through rock itself.”
“One hand alone?” asked Naomi, perhaps less impressed. “You’ll need to train carefully to maximize—”
Scorio raised his other hand and fed mana into it. Fingertips elongated, grew hard, six inches long, gradating from deep burgundy at the base to cherry red to searing white.
“Both hands,” said Naomi, grudgingly respectful. “That’s much better—”
But Scorio wasn’t done. He willed the mana to spread across his form, taking his time, and as he did so the black scales appeared, emerging through his very skin to wreath his hands and the backs of his forearms all the way up to his shoulders, and there across them to meet at the base of his back. His robes faded away, disappearing into mist, so he was left wearing only an ornate metal belt that held up a layered black cloth that hung to his knees.
“Oh,” said Naomi. “Oh.”
Scorio rose. His body was changing, even where no scales rippled across its surface. At once becoming leaner and more muscled, his shoulders broader, his arms and legs thicker, longer. He’d gained some six inches in height, another six inches of reach not counting his claws. But the power. The sweet, delirious power that burned him from within. It was terrible, not moving, not unleashing it, not giving vent to its destructive power.
He flexed his super-heated claws, each leaving after-images in his dark-vision, which, he realized, had doubled in scope, now encompassing most of what he saw directly before him, with greater detail and depth.
“That’s…” Lianshi’s voice was hushed with awe. “You look…”
Scorio extended his arm, turned it about so that he could admire the scales. Each was diamond-shaped, slightly fluted in the center, rising to ridges along the visible edges. Overlapping with perfection, yet fluid, not constraining his movement at all. He felt clothed in glory, the scales gently warming him. They extended across his shoulder blades but not further down his back; his chest and torso remained bare, as did his thighs.
“Impressive,” said Naomi, rising to her feet. “Let’s see what you can do. I’ll be waiting in the old Gauntlet.”
“He just passed his trial,” protested Lianshi. “That’s not fair—”
“Who said anything about fair?” asked Naomi as she strode by, and in a flicker flash, she was gone, replaced by the chitinous horror that was the Nightmare Lady. “You want fair, give up now.”
And with a backward glance of her sulfurous green eyes, she reached the exit tunnel and leaped lightly out of view.
“You don’t have to do this,” said Lianshi hurriedly, turning back to Scorio. “You’re weak, you just underwent a traumatic experience, a huge physical transformation—”
“It’s all right,” said Scorio, stepping past her. “I want to.”
Lianshi shook her head once, confused, but a moment later she and Leonis followed.
Scorio reached the tunnel that led by torturous ways into the old academy. Despite his now-massive mana reservoir, he could feel it venting furiously through the cracks into the air around them.
He already missed the imperial gel’s phenomenal properties.
Scorio crouched, felt the huge muscles in his legs bunch up, then leaped up into the tunnel.
It was time for a rematch.
Chapter 67
Scorio awoke into a tomb of hammered copper. Steady, deliberate, he climbed into a crouch, leaped for the opening, and immediately felt the difference in having reached Emberling.
Even without igniting his Heart, his body was stronger, its athletic ability vastly increased. He soared up through the square hole to land lightly in a crouch beyond it, the leap near-effortless, his balance perfect as he dropped to the copper ground.
Two green eyes burned in the near distance; the Nightmare Lady was walking toward him, unhurried, her tail lashing eagerly behind her elongated form.
Scorio rose to his full height. He’d run out of mana before reaching the basilica, had been forced to drop his new form. But now he set his will to gathering more Coal into his Heart, gathering it about his fractured core with great, imperious sweeps.
“When I first saw you, I thought you weak,” called out the Nightmare Lady as she drew close. “Weak of body, weak of mind, weak of spirit. That was my undoing. I underestimated you and fell for your trap.”
Scorio didn’t answer. He focused on gathering ever more of the rich Coal mana into his Heart, whose reservoir had suddenly grown so voluminous that he felt like he’d never finish.
“Then I thought you merely cunning; I decided to punish you for your temerity with rigorous training. Harsh beyond what most would tolerate.” The Nightmare Lady stopped before him, perhaps ten yards off. “I was confident you would crumble and cry mercy. Yet you didn’t.”
Scorio breathed slowly, deeply, forcing his mind to calm, his spirit to become tranquil. The more she talked, the longer he had to fill his reservoir.
“But you persisted, and in time risked everything to become a Cinder. Again I revised my opinion. You were cunning, yes, persistent beyond all else, but also wildly reckless. But your gamble paid off, and again you surprised me. Cinder. No mean accomplishment.”
Slowly she lowered herself into a crouch. Her great, segmented tail stilled behind her, its triangular blade hovering over her head, its wicked tip aimed at him.
“Then came the Imperators, and you somehow managed to wrest a readmission to the Academy from that madness. But that was your first mistake. To return to that cesspool, that nest of vipers. I followed you but knew the venture was doomed. And I was proved right.”
Scorio wanted to reply, to argue, but held his peace. What use were words? She wasn’t talking with him, but at him. Let her. He’d focus on drawing in the mana, compacting it, seeking that elusive point of saturation where he could ignite.
“But still you persisted. Impossible. And now this. You stand before me an Emberling. Of equal rank to me. And I tell you true—it rankles. Once I could have slapped you around on a whim. Now? Well. That remains to be seen.”
Beads of sweat prickled on Scorio’s brow. This was untenable. How was he supposed to fight, to defend himself, when it took this long to fill his reservoir? Then again, that was the whole objective of a Cinder, to enlarge their capacity to its utmost limit. But perhaps using the imperial gel and the Delightful Secret Marinating technique had proven… excessive… on that front.
“You need to return to the Academy,” Scorio heard himself say. “We need you to be part of our Gauntlet team.”
Her green, burning eyes narrowed. “To what end? Why should I dance to their music? What would I gain?”
“Jova Spike has promised to tell me of my past if I beat her at the Gauntlet run.”
“Your past is yours.” She placed one hand on the copper floor, the huge column of pale golden light illuminating one side of her, making her black figure appear oily and slick, and leaving the other half near invisible. “I’ve told you. I’m done risking myself for your cause.”
“Is that why you’ve been monitoring me all this time? Why you risked fighting the Alben Worm?”
Her eyes narrowed further, and he saw the tips of her talons sink into the metal. “Don’t mistake my base compassion for a willingness to humiliate myself further.”
“A contest, then,” said Scorio. Still, he poured mana into his Heart, trying to outpace the amount vented so that he could reach capacity. “If I defeat you in combat now, you come. If I don’t, you can go back to wasting your time.”
“Clever,” said the Nightmare Lady. “Alas, I can sense you desperately drinking in mana. How fractured has your Heart become, Scorio? I think you’re out of time. I accept your contest, and it begins… now.”