But out here in the ruins, it was time to get to work.
Scorio took up strips of cloth and wrapped them around his wrists, crossed them over his palm, around his knuckles, between his fingers then back around his wrist. Did the same to the other hand, then clenched them both into fists.
Time to hunt.
He took up the burlap sack he’d used to gather Black Star plants and climbed out. Dropped lightly from cyclopean block to cyclopean block till at last, he reached the street, where he broke out into a light run, warming up.
He threw punches as he went, moving south, deeper into the ruins. No oblique angle this time, but just a straight path into the heart of the destruction.
Scorio moved easily, the new sandals quickly breaking in. The sun-wire above had perhaps another half-cycle before it went dark. Enough time for him to get in deeper than he’d ever gone, to find a means to get below into the caverns where he could hunt for sunphires. With any luck, he’d find some Black Star flowers as he did so.
Not that he planned to venture below ground tonight. He wanted to cajole Naomi into joining him when he finally went underground, but first, he had to find the entrances. Come to her with a concrete plan.
The gray, flinty streets crunched under his light footfalls, the sound echoing off the buildings that were painted a dark, ruddy brown by Second Clay. After the crowds of the living city, he felt alone, lost in a dream. On he ran, block after block, deeper into the ruins, until at last, he was certain he’d never penetrated this far.
The street turned into a canyon whose base was choked by detritus and fallen rubble. He hopped up onto a ledge that might once have run along the second floor of the building and ran lightly past dark window after dark window. Leaped down at the far end onto an archway that now served as a bridge over a narrow chasm, then turned up a broad flight of stairs that hugged the side of a cathedral-sized building, the steps so worn and cracked it was more of a shattered ramp than anything else.
Up onto a demolished courtyard where countless palm-sized crabs scurried away in alarm, their carapaces gleaming like freshly spilled oil as they disappeared into hundreds of cracks.
Across and around a partially demolished tower, then he dropped down three stories, arresting his fall every ten feet with an activation of his steel rod till he dropped and rolled and resumed running.
The building to his side was encrusted with scalloped shells as large as he was; they were mercifully closed, their edges wickedly sharp, but nestled amongst their number he saw a young Black Star. He carefully drew it forth and dropped it into his pouch.
This street opened into a plaza of some sort, rough mounds hinting at former sculptures. A shattered temple arose at the far end, huge columns no longer supporting anything. Scorio ran lightly through them, into the interior of the building which now was without a ceiling.
In the bloody light of Second Clay, he saw a monstrous creature uncurl itself from where it had been feasting on a corpse.
Scorio staggered to a stop, eyes going wide.
It was all curves, its blue exoskeleton thick and segmented, each of the pincer-like claws that it raised as large as a vendor’s stall, its face a tiny conglomeration of eye stalks and feathery feelers. Bloody froth fell from its mouth, which was a vertical slash filled with a combination of fronds and sharp ridges.
It was hauntingly beautiful; the blue carapace gleamed as if enameled, gradating from deep cobalt to a cerulean blue, all of it mottled with darker spots.
“Wrong temple,” said Scorio, raising both hands in apology. “Sorry. I’ll take the, ah, next one.”
The fiend took a scuttling few steps toward him; its massive bulk was supported by some six heavily armored legs which allowed it to move with surprising speed.
Scorio backed away, but the fiend didn’t take its eyes off him. At least, Scorio thought it didn’t. Hard to tell with unblinking eye stalks.
Could he outrun it? Scorio kept moving backward, and again the fiend burst forward in a flurry of steps, skittering forward with shocking speed.
No outrunning this thing.
“All right,” said Scorio, drawing the steel rod from his robe with one hand, the chalk with the other. “If you insist.”
He summoned his Igneous Heart. The Coal mana was thick in the room, and he swirled it rapidly about his Heart twice just as the fiend charged him.
Not losing sight of his Heart, drawing the Coal into his being, Scorio raked the chalk across the ground, drawing an inch-wide strip, then leaped back.
The fiend crashed into the invisible pole, fell back, and swung a huge claw at the obstacle.
A chunk of stone tore free from the ground, the chalk mark upon its face, and crashed over to the side.
“Oh,” said Scorio, slowing to a stop as he stared. “You can do that?”
The fiend let out a hiss, more crimson bubbles bursting from its grotesque mouth, and lunged at him, claws snapping.
With a grunt Scorio ignited his Heart, shoving enough mana into the obsidian stone through sheer force of will, and then leaped back, triggering the steel rod and leaving it suspended in the air.
The fiend crashed into the rod as it gave chase, and once more it staggered back, but this time Scorio wasn’t waiting. A quick glance at the interior of the temple showed him it was in a precarious state, many of the support struts and buttresses having collapsed long ago.
A plan clicked into place, and he drew the bridge from his robe. Ran toward one of the walls, and heard the fiend disengage with the rod and come clicking after him.
No time to look back; he sensed the treasure in his hand, swirled the mana about as he ran right at the wall, and then activated the bridge as he bent down to set it against the floor.
Which caused the bridge to explode upward at a forty-five-degree angle, smashing into the wall and punching a hole in the ancient masonry.
Scorio caught hold of the bridge’s railing and swung himself under it so that it formed an impromptu barrier between them just as the fiend fell upon him, driving the bridge closer to the ruined wall.
Which caused the entire side of the temple to come crashing down upon them with a mighty, sloughing roar, blocks the size of barrels toppling down in a rush of dust and chaos.
Scorio turned away, closed his eyes, and braced himself, but the bridge held firm, its upper end lodged against the base of the hole it had created, so that the blocks crashed down and rolled off it even as his Heart guttered and died.
The fiend wasn’t so lucky; massive stones crashed down upon its gleaming carapace, half-burying it, cracking and denting its armor.
Then the bridge recoiled into its tiny form, the treasure slipping out from under the blocks to spring up to where its far end had lain.
Scorio was ready—he swept as much Coal mana as he could manage into his Heart, climbed out of the gap even as he willed his Heart to ignite, and with his enhanced strength grabbed hold of a stone as large as his head.
The fiend let out another hiss and tore a great clawed arm free, but before it could bring it to bear Scorio hurled the rock with all his Cinder-strength right at the beast’s face.
Eye stalks shattered, pale blue ichor gouted out, and the feathered extremities of its mouth were mashed into a crumpled mess.
The claw swept in like a death knell, but Scorio drew deep from his burning Heart and leaped right up and over it. Landing lightly, he ran up, leaped again, and dropped with both feet on the rock that had embedded itself in the fiend’s head, driving it in even farther.
Shell shattered, more ichor burst free, then the fiend subsided, giving a final series of clicks before lowering its claw to the rocks.
Gasping for breath, Scorio staggered away, his Heart guttering again, and waited, expecting the fiend to erupt from the rocks, to come at him again with renewed ferocity.
But it didn’t. After a couple of minutes, he allowed himself to relax a fraction and retrieved the bridge. It had suffered a few deep scratches from the falling rocks but otherwise seemed unharmed.