Chapter 18: A Path

  Katherine closed her eyes for the span of a blink and opened them again, unsurprised when, in the distance, Dinamo’s applause burst like a well-rehearsed chorus. He was smiling, palms open, as if he’d paid for the whole show out of pocket.

  —Brilliant —he said, his voice clean, the camera picking it up without loss—. Congratulations to Katherine and her… lackeys, for such a splendid maneuver. If I’d been in my copy’s place, I probably wouldn’t have been able to dodge it either. Remarkable. —He lifted his chin, pleased—. But recess is over. The waiting time is done. Now my counterattack begins. Prepare yourselves.

  Katherine looked at him without expression. She already knew the attempt wouldn’t succeed; that was why the outcome didn’t discourage her. From the start, she was only trying to keep him entertained for an hour. If they didn’t, the evacuation would have been for nothing.

  There was also the fact that this had only been a small warm-up for her “children.”

  "A copy…"

  She looked with disinterest at the “copy’s” body, slowly turning to dust—the fate awaiting the death of a Rank 10.

  To her eyes, the forgery had been far too realistic. Both its behavior and the way it fought were convincing. She noticed a few minor details but let them go; at this point, they didn’t matter.

  It didn’t take long to confirm that Dinamo’s predictions were correct. He raised a hand with the calm of someone pointing at an empty seat in a theater. His finger indicated Seo Min.

  —Kathy —he sang out—, I don’t understand why you brought a technopath to this party. You should know better.

  The smile was the last thing Seo Min saw intact. Blood seeped from every opening: nose, ears, corners of the mouth, even pores. Her eyes went out without a sound; her brain fried as if an invisible hand had pulled a lever.

  Katherine had a crisp thought, almost measurable: “Everything was going according to plan.” Dinamo was an almost insurmountable counter to technopaths. Seo Min had been a sacrifice by design: bait for his entertainment—just a sacrifice to please him. Nothing more.

  Dimitri, on the other hand, didn’t take it calmly. He roared. He charged like a runaway bull—

  —You bastard! I’ll kill you!—

  Hate ate through him as he spat the words. The only thing in his mind was Dinamo’s death.

  Which was clearly a provocation.

  Golden gas swirled over Dinamo’s shoulder, compacting into a long-handled hammer—the same kind of tool he’d used to finish off the dome. He looked happy to welcome the opponent.

  —Big words for someone so small —he remarked, amused.

  But he was prudent. He didn’t try to cross iron with Dimitri’s gauntlets; not even he could manufacture something that could withstand that miracle material. Any open block would be a death sentence.

  The first punch went by like a wandering planet. Dinamo dodged with a twist of air and, in the escape, swept the hammer at Dimitri’s face. The free gauntlet blocked on its edge.

  The hammer turned to dust.

  As if he’d mistaken the material when forging it—and used glass.

  The Commentator vibrated in ecstasy, modulators burning red.

  —Ladies and gentlemen! First exchange on the board and we already have a victim on the field! One minute of silence for the technopath, and one minute of noise for the lord of the powdered-sugar hammer! Will these humans endure the next fifty minutes? Or will they despair when they realize the futility of their struggle? Please stay tuned—this is heating up.

  Dinamo resumed his dance. He slipped Dimitri’s short jab, loading a spring for the counter—then danger breathed at the nape of his neck. The whisper was the same as always: Hanami.

  From his back sprouted a string of retractable spikes, like a mechanical flower searching for flesh. They tried to turn Hanami into a porcupine.

  She wasn’t there anymore.

  The distraction nearly cost him the blade coming down along his crown. Baek had found his rhythm.

  —Haidong Gumdo: Storm.

  Like lightning, currents of cuts descended on Dinamo, leaving him little room to maneuver.

  So the retreat was downward, tactical, and anything but silent: what little stone, metal, and exotic materials still clung to the city’s body split like warm butter. The fight was no longer two-dimensional; the air itself was a third floor.

  Dinamo didn’t just drop and dodge.

  He attacked.

  From his shoulders, two golden-gas cannons articulated as if they’d always been there; the cannons spat aces of fire that lunged for Baek and Dimitri as they descended in sync—both, sword and fist, hunting his death.

  He had to halt the descent. Hassan waited with an outstretched hand, ready to turn him to gold at the first touch.

  Again, that pinch of danger at his back; again, a burst of spikes to drive Hanami away; and again, distance—breaking lines of fire from the still-active Baek and Dimitri. Ramiro’s bubbles had done their job: both emerged from the flames untouched.

  —Technical break, sponsored by your favorite robot. —the sphere oscillated, pleased—. Points to those who bet on the knife-and-club duo. If you’re enjoying this broadcast, don’t hesitate to rate us positively on…

  Katherine reactivated the bursts. The bullet pattern—adjustment, correction, pressure—flooded the field again. With Baek and Dimitri pursuing, Hassan tempting, and Hanami stalking his back, Dinamo barely had enough focus to deflect the storm of attacks raining down on him.

  All while making sure to hold back.

  The bullets he managed to avoid didn’t touch the “ground.” They came back—neat as trained dogs. Freya smiled to herself, reflecting them with the elegance of someone filing a freshly trimmed nail. The returned trajectory doubled the difficulty like a private joke.

  —Cultural intermission: if you see projectiles coming back on their own, don’t call an exorcist—call Freya —the Commentator intoned—. The lady is a mirror with a bad temper.

  A horizontal slash from Baek skimmed past. Dinamo rotated cleanly and, as he recovered to vertical, went straight for the unsuspecting Hassan. Another hammer formed in his hand—compact, honest; one blunt strike would’ve driven Hassan’s head down into his chest.

  It didn’t land.

  A white, fibrous mass stopped the blow at its apex with the gentleness of snuffing a candle. The material compressed, spongy—like cotton that decided to be rock for a second—and the hammer froze.

  He didn’t reflect.

  He displaced.

  The atmosphere rippled like a puddle after a stone, and Dinamo was no longer where the cotton had frustrated him.

  —Narrator pause —said the sphere, lowering the volume slightly—. I know the newcomers in the room want context. I’m sure many of you still don’t understand the magnificence of a spectacle like this, so now is the time for…

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  While the narrator took a moment to build suspense, it let the broadcast play at accelerated speed.

  —Crash Course on Rank 10!, module one —the Commentator declared, in the tone of a perversely enthusiastic teacher— well, to be honest, this course is only for those who know the name of their ability. Those who don’t might be trash, hahaha.

  As strikes and flashes kept shredding through the scenes at speed, the robot continued its lesson as if the apocalypse weren’t unfolding around it.

  The “poor” who still hadn’t been evacuated wouldn’t understand how their end had been produced.

  —As you should already know, the name of an ability is only the beginning: it’s the first step of something bigger. A Path.

  The whine of a launch cut the air. Dinamo scattered several missiles born of his golden gas; the projectiles hunted targets with homicidal enthusiasm. Before they could explode, cotton masses appeared and wrapped them completely; the detonations were smothered—wet, useless. At the same time, half a dozen drones bloomed around Dinamo like a ring of escorts; their machine guns drew dense lattices against Baek, Dimitri, Hassan, and Irina, forcing them to chain cover—bubbles, mirrors, and roots.

  —To be truly strong —the robot continued, pleased with its own voice— you have to forge yourself a Path. And since the one who defines the three main Paths is indisposed…

  At this point the narrator pointed with a theatrical motion at the frenzied Katherine, who was currently chasing Dinamo and bombarding him with dark-purple bullets. In response, Dinamo turned his hammer into a pseudo–machine gun, firing golden rounds to counter the dark ones.

  —I, as your humble servant, will be the one to explain it to you. Therefore! If you truly want to become somebody in this reality of the world of ideas, follow one of these three. Yes, three Paths. And of course, just for today everything will be free—today I’m generous. You should thank me later.

  A line of retractable spikes shot from Dinamo’s back, searching for Hanami; again, it arrived late. Baek surged in with an oblique cut that forced the god to abandon two drones and a smile.

  —These three are the safest and easiest to achieve. Historically proven, my lovely viewers.

  The robot cleared its throat with practiced relish. The battle couldn’t touch his narration.

  —But… what is a Path? The name of an “ability” is the physical materialization of your concept—it’s bringing it into reality and giving it form; the Path, consequently, is its integration with you. That said, let’s begin with the first: Bodily Union.

  He pointed at Dimitri just as a bundle of gas tentacles grabbed him by the torso and hurled him toward an unprepared Freya. She inverted his inertia with a blink and bounced him with delicate precision from mirror to mirror; Dimitri landed in a crouch, growled once, and charged again, leaving one very annoyed blonde behind.

  —Bodily Union: you fuse your ability with your body. Your body is your concept. It’s the simplest path, ideal for physical abilities. See? You hit like your power, not with your power. Practical, if you can’t think outside the box.

  A volley of bombs fell like hail. Irina lifted a hand and detonated fan-shaped barriers; each containment sphere burst in a cascade, swallowing shrapnel and fire. Around her, cotton manifested again in strips, filling gaps and smothering what tried to escape.

  —Second: External Manifestation —the robot sang out, pointing at Irina, busy blocking hammer blows and bombs—. You project your concept into the environment. Versatile, practical, especially good for elementals and field variants. A bit harder than the previous one, so you need a brain—but very safe. Teacher’s tip: if everything around you becomes your tool, you’ve got more hands than fingers.

  Baek surged forward with a combination of cuts and feints, pursuing a line that wasn’t there until he drew it.

  —And third, the hardest of the three: Binding. Our friend Baek is the living example. You bond closely with an object—weapon or everyday thing—and manifest your concept through that bond. Techniques are born. Sequences. Styles. See the choreography? It’s not a sword: it’s a language. This path is very complicated because it takes more than a good head, so it’s not usually recommended.

  Dinamo answered with a burst of suicide drones. Baek shifted his weight, split two with a gesture, and the rest slammed into barriers that Freya lit a beat late on purpose, forcing the explosions to “spend” their fury in the convenient order. The cotton—courtesy of Irina—filled any gap in the defenses.

  —Anyway, these are the recommended, reliable paths. Finding your own? —the robot rotated its eye toward Katherine, Caetano, and Yehiel—. You three are distinguished exceptions, so you don’t count for the general public. Plenty of braggarts drop before the first step. Disinterested advice: trying to walk several paths at once is like trying to cross three different bridges at the same time. You don’t get anywhere… except, maybe, the hospital. Or the morgue. Whichever you like best.

  The Commentator vibrated, delighted with itself.

  —So? What did you think of the lesson? I’m sure you learned something new. If you did, vote me posit—

  The sound that came next wasn’t a blow; it was a verdict. A dry crack tore across the field, and the geometry of Dinamo’s defenses folded like wet paper. Yehiel appeared in the center of the plane, his leg still extended, and the kick cut through the golden gas, the barriers, the lines of fire, and the smile all at once. Dinamo’s head popped off to the side like a poorly threaded cap and kept going, tracing a clean parabola until it vanished into the void of space.

  The robot went silent for a tenth of a second—a personal record. Then, with genuine professional fervor, it caught its breath again.

  —What do we have here… a challenger? A fighter, or just a believer? A traitor, perhaps? Or just… the Goat?!

  As Yehiel lowered his leg, a calm expression on his face, his goatlike features grew more pronounced—giving him a more frightening, more feral look.

  Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment; the action had taken them by surprise. Including Katherine. She hadn’t expected him to strike so soon, and she had to reassess the goat-man’s potential.

  He must be almost on Caetano’s level.

  She hadn’t asked him much about his capabilities, leaving him mainly as a free combatant. She’d only told him not to get in the group’s way, and to join in when requested.

  But the one most surprised was…

  —Huh. That, I definitely didn’t see coming. —Dinamo commented, appearing beside his own corpse as if nothing had happened.

  —I have to admit, I didn’t expect any of you to have even the slightest chance of killing me… but what a surprise that one of you managed it. Even with my limitations. Of course.

  Dinamo looked excited during his speech; at moments his aura wavered, as if it wanted to let itself go. But he held back. It would be bad to end things so soon.

  —Tell me. What’s your name?

  It wasn’t a question. It was an order—the order of a predator that had just recognized worthy prey.

  —Yehiel. Yehiel de Courtenay. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I’d be lying— He wasn’t in the mood to talk to the monster in front of him. Not after being forced to wait for his moment, only to watch a young innocent girl get killed right in front of him.

  Dinamo only laughed at the brazen comment, but he liked the blunt honesty.

  —The Shepherd of the Lambs.

  Yehiel’s voice wasn’t loud. He’d invoked the name of his ability again—but this time with the intent to use it. The concept answered first in his shadow: it swelled, tore open, and from it horned silhouettes began to emerge.

  Five goats. Three sheep. They took their positions around him.

  They weren’t normal animals.

  One of the goats wore black chains that seemed to absorb light; its coat was dark gray, almost like the screen of a broken television.

  Another had a peculiar coat—like a mix of hair, algae, and mud. It looked like a filthy goat that had rolled in a swamp.

  A third looked like a mix between a goat and a fish. You could tell it was strange.

  But the fourth was more jarring: half goat, half reptile. A current of lightning seemed to surge from it.

  The fifth stood out the most—not because it was grotesque, but because of the intense golden glow it radiated. It looked like a living statue of gold.

  The sheep were simpler, in that sense.

  One looked like a mass of muscle and wool shaped like a sheep—except it had claws instead of hooves.

  The two twins were identical down to the last hair, except for their pupils: one a cross, the other a spiral.

  But they all shared the same thing: the pressure of a Rank 10.

  Katherine was intrigued by the display.

  Eight…

  Normally, those who followed a Path based on controlling and managing creatures of some kind weren’t especially dangerous: a handful of semi-useful beasts, three or four support pieces, and a lot of visual noise to hide that the core was still mediocre.

  But Yehiel wasn’t playing in that league.

  Each goat and sheep around him was, by itself, a problem the size of a capital. Each one felt like a truly strong Rank 10.

  A controller with eight pieces at the same level as him…

  She couldn’t stop something like interest from slipping into her mind.

  This is a different category now. Interesting—people of his caliber are rare.

  Dinamo, meanwhile, looked delighted. He opened his arms as if welcoming a guest cast.

  —Ah, finally, some aesthetics —he celebrated—. Shepherd and flock. I like it. I was starting to get bored of the main cast. A little variation isn’t so bad.

  Golden gas trembled over his skin, excited by its owner’s mood. An imperceptible shiver ran through the structure of the field—from Freya’s mirrors to the last strips of cotton still floating from Irina.

  —Since you brought company, it would be disrespectful not to improve the stage —Dinamo added, with absolute sincerity—. Let’s move on to the second act.

  Then he started to show off.

  Gas poured out of every pore, every joint—back, chest, the very air around him—as if reality had belatedly remembered it belonged to him. What had once been a city vanished under a golden tide: streets, building skeletons, cracks, defensive remnants—everything submerged beneath a thick, bright haze that bit at the eyes.

  It wasn’t smoke.

  It was substance. Concept condensed—an airy ocean occupying every gap.

  Katherine didn’t bother to keep attacking. Everyone stopped. There was no point trying to interrupt what the false god was doing in front of them.

  After all, it would be bad to offend him.

  So… the game began, didn’t it? Katherine thought, watching the battlefield shrink into a single idea: his.

  This is what it means to face Dinamo.

  It didn’t surprise her. She’d anticipated it long before setting foot in that city. Dinamo loved to flaunt his conceptual ability. It wasn’t just efficiency—it was performance. Showing every spectator, live or recorded, that the world could be reduced to the contents of his heart.

  At the center of everything, leaning against the golden storm he himself had unleashed, Dinamo smiled, amused, as the gas kept expanding, swallowing the last remnants of the city’s past.

  Yehiel, surrounded by his goats and sheep, didn’t lower his gaze.

  The second act had just begun.

  And there was no more room for anyone who couldn’t walk a Path.