Chapter Text
Six days later
The first time Jack had fully tapped into his supposedly near-endless Soul reserves, it had been a spiritual experience. He had been awash in a sea of cold silver light, separate from his body yet simultaneously more alive than he had ever been. His senses were dialed up to eleven, to the point he could see the individual scuffs on the Snail Shaman’s hat easily. Despite that, it had felt like he was looking through someone else’s eyes rather than his own. His body had felt like it was irrelevant, like he didn’t need it. It was just a fleshy container for power. He had passed out, and woken up with severe burns, having burned his own body with the amount of energy flowing through it.
So, the first two days were devoted to Ater teaching him the basics. How to regulate the amount of Soul he channeled, how to direct and sense it. He had been hesitant to tap into it at all after the first time, but he eventually had. With the Snail Shaman’s help, he had eventually managed to quickly and accurately channel any amount of Soul.
The third day was devoted to teaching him how to Focus. Apparently he was either really bad at it, or the Vessels were unnaturally good at it, because he sure as hell couldn’t bring himself from death’s door to full health in half a minute. It was so slow that it probably wasn’t useful during a battle.
The fourth day was spent learning all there was to know about Runes, and was when the two began actually tinkering. Finally, on the sixth…
A searing ray of Soul blasted out from Jack’s palm, in a concentrated beam rather than a bolt. It struck the chest of the vaguely Husk-shaped target dummy, one of a large group set up outside the Mound, and seemed to almost splash over it, causing it to immediately erupt in a white-hot conflagration. Jack and Ater both winced as the fire immediately started spreading, until a wave of the Shaman’s staff caused it to seemingly peel off of every surface, collect itself in the air, then vanish.
“Are you sure you need to change it?” Ater asked skeptically as he dismissed the flame. “I think that would be quite effective at killing whatever you aim it at. And also killing anything that had the misfortune of standing within five feet of it.”
“That’s the problem. It’s unfocused. It’s more like a flamethrower than a laser.” Jack said, removing the gauntlet. It was forged out of shell-steel, an alloy that was used in most of Hallownest’s construction when metal was involved. It was a combination of chitin and ore. Apparently, raw metal was very hard to get in Hallownest. So mixing it with chitin from wild beasts was more economic, even if it wasn’t nearly as strong as actual steel.
Jack actually had a theory about why that was. After all, Pharloom certainly had plenty. His theory was that Hallownest was built too deep, or atop an area where the Abyss was much closer to the surface than usual. Anyone who tried to mine metals that could only be found deeper down would come across the Abyss. And the other two deepest parts of Hallownest were Deepnest, which was like Australia on steroids, and the Hive, which was actively hostile to any attempt at expansion. The only other deep area was the Ancient Basin. As the crown of Hallownest’s power, it was likely stripped of any metals very quickly.
Geopolitical theorizing aside, the end result was, like the strange glue substance used in making houses, Hallownest used odd but effective materials. What the hell had he been thinking about? Oh right, the gauntlet.
Several opals, the best Soul conductor out of any (naturally occurring) substance, were embedded in the back, and one larger one on the palm. The same gems used in the Soul Sanctum - He’d need to go there eventually, both to steal whatever research they had, and to put them and their victims to rest. - A complex series of runes were running along the forearm length-wise, and clustered around the palm.
“Programming” Soul was much more complicated than Jack had expected. Raw Soul was only dangerous in immense quantities, and at that point it was equally destructive towards everything, even the item channeling it. So he didn’t just have to enchant the Soul to be drawn from his body, focused into a beam, and launched out. He had to very specifically tell the Soul what to do once it actually hit something, or it would just be a fancy flashlight.
“Could you pass me the runes for Vengeful Spirit?” Jack asked, frowning as he examined the runes around the palm of the gauntlet. Ater obliged, sliding one of the books over, already opened to that page. Jack placed the gauntlet on the other side, comparing the runes. “Ah, found the problem. The Soul in Vengeful spirit heats up whatever it touches, the Soul in this turns INTO heat, and loses cohesion.”
Ater just sighed, and reached for the gauntlet, which Jack handed him. The Snail Shaman had become a lot friendlier over the last week. He seemed intrigued by Jack’s innovation, and impressed enough to respect him as a fellow Soul user. He was still often exasperated by Jack’s borderline eccentric behavior, but at least his exasperation no longer came with a strike over the head from his staff.
As Soul flowed into the Gauntlet, a second layer of runes glowed, and a portion of the other ones disappeared as the metal was shoved into its original shape, ‘fixing’ the divots where the second set of runes was carved. Repair runes were something that Jack had added first, both for practice, and to simplify resetting the runes. Though they were much more complicated to use, requiring the Shaman to provide a lot more control over how they directed the Soul.
Jack took the gauntlet back, and began carefully engraving into its surface once more. “After this, we should probably build something defensive.” He said as he worked. He remembered how close he had come to getting the back of his neck torn open on his way here. Lacking a shell meant he was very, very squishy.
Ater gave him a deadpan look. “No. After this, YOU will build something defensive. I will go to bed. We’ve been at this for three hours. I don’t have your instantly replenishing Soul reserves. Vast though my own may be, I need to rest.” The Shaman said bluntly. “As much as I enjoy seeing a fresh perspective on Soul, this is your nonsense to deal with.”
Jack paused, feeling slightly embarrassed. “... Sorry.” He said sheepishly. “I didn’t realize this was draining you so much.” He had gotten too caught up in the excitement of actually being a damn artificer. “Can you still help get the gauntlet working before resting?”
Ater tilted his head in thought, then made a ‘sort-of’ gesture. “If it only needs to be reset two or three more times, then yes. But if you need more than that many attempts you’ll have to learn on your own.”
Jack nodded, and continued working in silence for a few more minutes. Then he slid the gauntlet into place, raised his hand, and fired. A lance of energy once again shot out, this time burning a neat hole through the target rather than igniting it. Jack did a little fistpump - with his non-gauntleted hand - and let out a whoop of celebration.
Ater patted him on the back sarcastically, and turned to leave. “Oh, finally, well done and good bye.” He said bluntly, walking back into the Mound. He paused when he was almost through the door, he turned and asked, “If that’s done, could you finally take care of the Baldur?”
Jack hesitated before answering. “I… I would like to get some kind of defensive item done first. Even if it's just a plain set of unenchanted armor. Unless you’re volunteering to help.” As expected, Ater immediately scurried back into the Mound at the words, causing Jack to roll his eyes. Still, he followed Ater back inside. He may as well return to the workshop they had set up if he was going to be trying to work from scratch.
...
Jack was pulled from his planning by Ater’s voice carrying through the Mound. He looked up in surprise, glancing at the scattered papers. He had two ideas for what kind of defense he could build. The first was something he had thought of long before his arrival in this world as something that would simply be an interesting fantasy concept: Smart-armor. A set of vaguely chainmail-like armor, made from many smaller pieces, that could move themselves freely across the user. When the user was about to be struck, the plates could rearrange to focus themselves over the targeted area.
The second - and the one that was rapidly seeming the most feasible option - was quite literally just the Feedbacker from Ultrakill. An item that could completely stop and redirect both arcane and kinetic energy, sending attacks back at the source with amplified power. He had a pretty clear idea of how it would work on projectiles that weren’t too heavy, but it would take a lot of tinkering to get it to work on heavier attacks. He’d likely even be able to build it into the same gauntlet he had the laser built into.
“And now what comes creeping from the shadows? A blank face, a wicked weapon, and empty eyes? Oho, that’s quite the grim combination. Must be something important to draw something like you to this dead kingdom.” Ater said, his voice distant but still discernable.
Jack immediately sat bolt upright, turning in his chair. He grabbed the gauntlet from off the nearby work table, and hastily tugged it on as he hurried out of the workshop, missing the rest of Ater’s words. Indeed, standing in front of Ater was Ghost, staring up at the Soul that had gathered into the spell Vengeful Spirit.
Ghost turned to face him instantly, and Jack felt his blood run cold. He had not been prepared for how creepy and uncanny Vessels were. He probably should have expected it in retrospect. Just because the community had universally agreed that Ghost was a silly little goober didn’t change the fact that they were quite literally the stillborn corpse of a god, twisted and reanimated by the darkness at the bottom of the world. Most of them was entirely fine, no more creepy than the other bugs. Less so, due to their stubby limbs. But dear god their eyes. Dark, sunken pits, like the eyes of a skull that had just enough flesh left to look withered. They seemed to go back impossibly far, well past what the size of Ghost’s head would physically allow. And the inside of those pits was not just dark, they were a blackness more absolute than a mere lack of light. They were less than nothing. They were– well, they were VOID.
Before Jack could say anything else, Ghost jumped up, and absorbed the spell. Soul was drained in through their eyes, and their cloak flared as if stuck in a storm. After a few seconds, they fell limply to the floor, unconscious. Without ceremony, Ater scooped them up and began walking towards the doorway that led to the upper sections of the Mound.
“Ater, what the hell?” Jack said in surprise, having almost forgotten what the Shaman actually did in-game. He watched in disbelief as Ater simply dumped Ghost on the other side of the gate, and turned around. He waved a hand before Ater could speak. “Forget it, I’ll go with them.” He muttered in exasperation, walking past Ater. “You suck.”
Ater simply shrugged. “Well, at least you finally got around to doing your job as an apprentice.” He said cheerfully. Jack could only throw up his hands in a ‘what the hell’ gesture as he walked over to and sat down next to Ghost’s prone form. He let out another sigh as he heard the gate slam shut.
After a few minutes of waiting, Jack froze as a nail point pushed against his throat, pointed upward at an angle where a firm shove would put it through his brain. He slowly turned, heart pounding as he watched Ghost swiftly get to their feet, the nail staying almost unnaturally still even as they moved. “This… was not my idea.” Jack said nervously as Ghost stared at him with cold, dark eyes. The eyes of a long-dead corpse, that something else had learned how to move. Eyes without pity. Fear quickly built in Jack, until he felt like screaming, but was also too scared to move suddenly.
Just when he was fairly sure Ghost was about to put a spike through his chin, Ater’s voice finally spoke again, thankfully drawing Ghost’s attention, and their nail. “Oh, you’re awake! Finally. I underestimated the spell’s power, and it seems to have knocked you right out. I-...” Ater trailed off at the withering glare Jack was giving him.
“The jerk locked you behind a gate so you’d have to go kill a Elder Baldur that made its nest in the attic.” Jack said bluntly, getting a betrayed look from Ater. “I’m not an immoral prick, and decided to help. I’m actually going to be going with you after you leave this place.” He kept his guard up, ready to lunge back if Ghost tried to stab him. Thankfully, they didn’t. They lowered their nail, and turned to look at him expectantly. “... Do you want me to lead you there?” Jack asked after an uncomfortable silence. At a nod from Ghost, he stood, and walked down the hall.
The upper areas of the Mound were more expansive than the rest, seeming more feral. Jack honestly had no idea what they had been used for originally. The two of them stepped into a large, open room, a ramp leading up to a door at the top of one side. A pair of Baldurs sat in the middle, drawing both of their attention.
Jack paused at the sight of the first Baldur. It looked pretty much like how he expected. A narrower pillbug, with a cobalt shell and burning orange eyes. Ghost didn’t take a second to admire or observe, drawing their nail once again and darting forward. They slashed the first aside before it could even curl, moving far faster than Jack expected. While the first was reeling, they brought their nail down several times on the second in repeated overhead strikes. Their nail was blunted and worn with use, taking several strikes to break through the shell and crush the Baldur.
Jack snapped out of his surprise, whirling to point the Soul Caster at the second Baldur as it curled and began accelerating. A beam of Soul intercepted it, sending it careening off to the side with a hole scorched through it. Ghost turned to look at it in surprise, then at Jack. “Well I’m not completely useless.” Jack said defensively, feeling a little insulted at how surprised Ghost seemed.
The two of them fell into an uncomfortable but effective rhythm, Ghost stunning and disorienting the Baldurs while Jack blasted them. Unsurprisingly, he had no idea what Ghost was thinking, but Jack found the whole thing awkward. He supposed he would have to get used to silence if he was going to travel with them. Actually, he had no idea IF they were thinking.
The community generally accepted that Vessels were never pure, but what if that wasn’t true? What if they could barely experience emotion? What if they were born pure, but gradually gained sentience as they were exposed to things, sort of like Born from Nilhilumbra? That would actually line up pretty well with what the White Lady had said. “Tarnished by an idea instilled.”
After some time, and numerous dead Baldurs, they reached the nest of the Elder Baldur. It was quite an intimidating sight. As bulky as a car, though not as long, with a shell sapped of color by time, coated in shallow cuts. Orange tears flowed freely from its eyes, and several pustules. It was much more heavily infected than it had been in-game. And more grotesque in general.
Ghost immediately charged, which was what Jack had honestly expected at this point. The only part of their personality that seemed accurate was that they were a chaotic dumbass. The Elder Baldur only had time to fire a single bolt before it had to curl to defend itself from Ghost’s nail.
“You have to back up!” Jack called, not approaching for fear of getting smacked in the frenzy. He had to shout to be heard over the near-constant clanging of metal against chitin. Ghost turned to face him, their hands somehow keeping up the exact same rhythm of attacks even though they were looking at something else. “It won’t come out of its shell if you’re too close. We need to lure it out then blast it with spells.” Jack explained awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably as Ghost’s empty eyes bored into him.
Thankfully he only had to endure that cold, dead gaze for a few moments before Ghost stepped back from the Elder Baldur. After a few seconds, it unwrapped itself, already spewing a bolt of corrosive orange slime at Jack. He quickly side stepped, the meagre battle instincts that Iselda had drilled into him kicking in. He fired four rays from his Soul Caster, with that being the limit before it needed to cool. His hand was already uncomfortably warm from touching the metal.
Ghost had fired a Vengeful Spirit as well, and between the powerful combination of spells, the Baldur was already on death’s door. It spat another sizzling glob of infection at Ghost, which hit the small vessel dead center in the chest. They staggered back, long enough for it to fling a live baldur at them. It plunged its head into the wall, grabbing a younger Baldur from its burrow in the wall and hurling it like a living missile. Jack supposed that made more sense than if it actually spit them.
Jack drew his own nail, smacking it out of the air like a baseball. It went careening off into a wall with a satisfying CRACK. He glanced back to Ghost, and paused in confusion at what he was seeing. A section of their torso had gone from black to the same orange as the infection, but that patch was rapidly shrinking, veins of Void growing over it as the edges closed. Like a patch of orange was being pulled under the surface. When it finally disappeared, the piece of chitin over their chest was warped and pockmarked, as if it had abruptly frozen while rippling.
Then the world went white as another cracking sound came from inside his own head. Pain lanced through his skull, and Jack was barely aware of hitting the ground. He just lay there for a moment, stunned. His hair was wet with something warm sticky, almost certainly blood. After a few seconds, when his head felt less like it was going to split open, he looked up, gritting his teeth against the pounding in his skull.
Ghost was standing over another Baldur, one right next to where he was laying. They now wielded two nails, having picked up Jack’s, which he had apparently dropped after getting hit, presumably by that Baldur. The first Baldur came charging over, only to be skewered by both nails, pinning it to the floor. Soul flowed up both nails in wispy streamers, and Ghost’s dark chitin eagerly drank it in. Ghost then whirled to face the Elder Baldur right as it was preparing to fling another youth, and blasted it with a Vengeful Spirit. The storm of Soul tore the Baldur youth from the air, and blew apart the Elder.
Jack slowly staggered to his feet, the pain in his head still excruciating. He was definitely concussed from getting a beachball sized pillbug thrown at his head. He attempted to Focus Soul into the wounds, but found it oddly difficult, as if his Soul was more… liquidy was the best way to describe it. It flowed around his mental grasp whenever he tried to use it, like he was trying to grab water. Was it a side effect of being concussed? Being stunned or otherwise dazed would likely prevent him from using a spell literally called Focus.
His thoughts were diverted as something tugged at the corner of his cloak. He turned to see Ghost staring at him with those dark, horrible eyes. He shuddered at the sight before he even saw what they were doing. They were standing just a few feet in front of him, holding out his nail.
Jack paused for a moment, staring at the weapon. Anything was better than staring at those eyes. He grimaced, and shook his head. “You’ll get more use out of it then I will. I’ll take your old nail.” He said roughly. Ghost considered for a moment, then handed him the weapon.
With that sorted out, the two of them turned back - the shortcut to the bottom didn’t exist outside the game - to go back to Ate– no, you know what, fuck him, no way is he calling him by his first name after that shit. Back to the Shaman, they went to go back to the Shaman.