I tried using a burst of Phonomancy to break up Alexios' charge and open him up for a strike with my Wan-Shen only for his greaves to flash blue as the blast of mystical sound burst on contact with Alexios doing nothing to him and forcing me to dive out of the way of his charging slash. A second, follow-on, strike was blocked on the haft of my Wan-Shen, only for him to start winding and binding with his blade, levering my Wan-Shen out of position before slugging me in the jaw. As his gauntleted fist hit me, there was a flash of red on his Golem-Skin Gauntlets just before impact, then I saw stars as his fist smashed into my mouth and nose, bending my nose sideways and splitting my lip with a crack. I flew backward to collide with a rock that was being used to grow Faerunian Shield Moss.
As I blinked the stars out of my eyes and stood back up, I reached up to my nose, forcibly re-aligning it with a crack and a burst of Alakhestry as I did so, before blowing hard to clear my nostrils of blood. Then, I sucked the blood off of my lip and spat it out onto the ground before nodding. Shroud and Trample, what was I thinking going for that line of attack? I had to get my head in the game here. Alexios, on the other hand, seemed content to wait until I'd sorted myself out to continue fighting, which was decent of him. Then I remembered that New Argive, like Kjeldor and New Argive before it, were White-Themed Nations back before they'd become real places for me to worry about, and suddenly the Chivalry made sense.
"Are you ready to continue?" Called out Alexios.
"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair." I nodded, taking up a guard stance.
"Very well. Here I come!" Warned Alexios.
His artifacts flashed once again as he charged. This time, I leaped up into the air and sailed over him as he charged, flipping around mid-air to lash out with my Wan-Shen from above. The unorthodox maneuver caught Alexios off-guard as my Wan-Shen smashed into his horned helm from above, magical artifacts clashing and testing powers against each other. It was the horned helm that broke first, the blade of my Wan-Shen carving off one of the twin metal horns with a screeching noise and a crack of forcibly unraveled enchantment. Alexios was blown sideways with a thunderclap as he slammed into a rotting log that was growing Tamrielic Fungi, such as the Emetic Russula and Imp Stool. As he did so, he breathed in spores of both, causing him to go into a coughing fit as his Stamina took a hit from the properties of the fungi.
I landed at the same time Alexios did, point of my Wan-Shen up and ready, even as he went through a series of racking coughs from the fungal spores he'd just breathed in. I waited for him to stop coughing and ready for another charge. After all, he'd done the same for me not too long ago. As Alexios straightened, I could tell my last blow had given me the edge I needed. Without his horned helm, and with his stamina lowered from fungal reagents, he wouldn't hit as hard or as fast, nor would he be able to damage me even as I successfully parried. I had this in the bag, now, even if I still couldn't hit him with a spell.
"Returning the favor?" Alexios queried as he'd finished coughing.
"It's only fair." I shrugged.
"You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you." Remarked Alexios.
"You seem a decent fellow, I hate to die." I answered.
Was I just quoting the Princess Bride? Absolutely. Did he give me any alternative with those sorts of setups? Not a chance. As Alexios saluted again, I took up a guard with my Wan-Shen and readied myself for another exchange. This time, when he came in, I parried with the blade of my Wan-Shen in a whirling motion, knocking his veteran sword up and away from my throat, even as my Matukai Technique already ensured the butt of my Wan-Shen was rising up to smash into the bottom of his chin. The already destroyed horned helm went flying off his head as he stumbled back, tripping over a patch of Golarion Goblinvines for use in contact poisons, and bashing his head open on a rock being used to grow First World Camouflage Lichen, he collapsed in a heap and lay very still.
"Fuck! I didn't want to kill him!" I swore as my magic latched onto the dying embers of his and began adapting New Argive Artifice into my own repertoire.
At this point, it felt disrespectful to just take his gear, but thankfully, my powers over comprehension ensured that I could analyze his equipment to recreate later without needing to go through the indignity of looting his corpse. Instead, I took the time that I'd ordinarily take to heal myself in order to give him a proper burial, using recently gained Zeison-Sha Telekinesis to dig him a grave near the apple tree he'd been eating from when we'd begun fighting. As a marker, I planted his sword in the dirt, tip down, topped with his broken horned helm. With a frown, I stepped back to look over the makeshift grave.
"I didn't know you at all, but you were an honorable opponent. I didn't mean to kill you, but I promise you that I'll get better so that I never kill anyone I don't mean to again." I said by way of eulogy.
After a moment of awkward silence, I made my way back to the Greenhouse Entrance. I hadn't meant to kill him and that felt wrong somehow, like he'd died because I wasn't good enough to anticipate a stupid mistake. I'd meant what I said, I would get better so that I wouldn't kill anyone by accident again. I had to if I was going to get anywhere as a Hero, in fact. I trudged through the fields in silence, mentally affirming that goal in my mind, until I reached the doorway. I took a deep breath, gave one look back at the Greenhouse, then stepped through. This time, there when I stepped through, it was into a trophy hall full of the accumulated trophies of the adventures of the previous owner of the tower.
I spotted a Klingon Bat'leth on one wall hung next to an Athasian Carrikal. A Goa'uld Staff Weapon was crossed with an Elven Glaive from Arda, a broken lightsaber shared a plinth with a cracked Green Lantern Ring and a chipped Wakandan Vibranium Knife, the ragged banner of a New Ghiscari Iron Legion hung on one wall, opposite a singed standard of the Sixth Tepet Legion. Nearby, a Dawi Ironbreaker Hammer was crossed with a Dark Eldar Klaive the shattered hulk of a dead Eberrite Warforged was posed in a silent battle with the stuffed carcass of a Faerunian Displacer Beast. A torn and burned copy of the Book of Eibon sat on a lectern, near to a shattered Crysteel Tanto Dagger. Nearby was the dented full plate of a Solamnic Warden of the Rose, while hanging above everything was the battered skeleton of a Mystaran Black Dragon. I saw more trophies as I explored the hall, from a Tarkatan Arm-Blade to the severed arm of a Phyrexian Rager, from a Broken Garou Klaive to the plucked fangs of a Vampire. I passed by a scarred Yautja Mask in the same breath as I passed by a Xenomorph skull, and on it went.
Finally, I came to the end of the hallway, where pride of place was given to the mounted head of a Rancor. I paused to admire the handiwork, only for a cold voice to pipe up from behind me.
"And just who are you supposed to be?" Demanded the Voice. I turned to see a thirty-something man in a tank top, bomber jacket, and jeans. From what I could see beneath the jacket, he was covered in tattoos that glowed to my third eye.
"Derrick Adams?" I asked.
"Depends who's asking. You a cop?" Retorted the Man.
"This is my Tower. I'm asking the questions here." I warned.
"Funny, I don't see your name on it. You do have a name, yeah?" Prodded the Man.
"I asked you first." I demurred.
"Well then, we got a problem, 'cause I ain't giving you my name. Looks like we got ourselves a Mexican standoff." Grinned the Man.
"You need three people for a Mexican Standoff, this is more of an Impasse situation." I pointed out.
"Whatever sort of shit this is, you need to clear off out of my tower before I kick your ass out." Growled the Man.
"My tower." I insisted.
"Is that so? Guess I'm gonna be fighting you for it, then." Intoned the Man, who I was now pretty sure was indeed Derrick Powers.
As he said that, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a collapsible baton that he flicked open with a flick of his wrist, shrugging out of his jacket as he did so. I saw several of his tattoos, a charging bull, a suit of armor, and a shooting star light up briefly and I just knew that fighting him in hand-to-hand was going to be a problem. Fortunately, I didn't need to thanks to my previous fights. I reached into my bag of holding and drew the Mandalorian Heavy Blaster Pistol that the Twi'lek had dropped, snapping off a shot even as Derrick prepared to charge me. The Fat Yellow bolt streaked out for him and I saw his eyes widen as another of his tattoos, a Viking shield flared up in my sight. My blaster bolt splashed harmlessly against a conjured energy shield as Derrick bolted forward, shoulder-checking me into a glass display case that held a series of Drow Adamantine Daggers. The display case shattered as the daggers carved into me from behind, drawing a criss-coss pattern of blood on my back and shoulders.
I landed hard on the other side of the shattered display case with my back feeling like it was on fire. With a growl, I reached out with my newfound Zeison-Sha Telekinesis and flung the now scattered Drow Adamantine Daggers at Derrick. His conjured shield blocked most of them, but after the fifth flung dagger, it fizzled out. Derrick dodged sideways as the sixth dagger came in, cutting a line of blood across the bridge of his nose. The last dagger was parried with his collapsible baton as Derrick charged past the wrecked display. I reached out with my Zeison-Sha Telekinesis and sent glass shards from the wrecked display at him from behind, only for an exclamation point tattoo to flare up and him to duck out of the way as if warned moments before the glass would have hit him.
As he stood back up, I called on my newly gained power of Amber Magic, manifesting an Amber Spear in one hand that I used to parry his incoming baton strike. A blast of Phonomancy at point-blank range burst both his eardrums, only for a tattoo of a mole to flare up and allow him to keep fighting with seemingly no loss of coordination, his sense of balance now offloaded to some kind of tremor sense. I struck out with my Amber Spear, only for him to parry with his Baton and a tattoo of a dragon to flare up. Derrick opened his mouth and a plume of flames shot forth from it, setting my chest and shoulders alight as he spewed fire on me. I fell back with a cry of pain as Derrick followed that up with a kick to my floating ribs that cracked two of them and forced me to rely on my Matukai techniques to keep fighting. I was sent flying through another glass display, this time of a map of the Savage Land, the glass deepening the lacerations in my back from the earlier Drow Daggers.
As I landed, my head smacked the marble floor, busting my scalp open as I lost my grip on my Amber Spear, it bursting into errant motes of Ghur as I landed hard. Derrick came charging back at me, and I scrabbled about for something, anything, to use as a weapon. My hand closed on the grip of my Mandalorian Heavy Blaster Pistol and I brought it up, firing a trio of shots as Derrick Closed to Point Blank Range. Just before the Bolts Hit, I saw a Tattoo of a pair of electrician's safety gloves flare up, the bolts splashing off his newly gained energy resistance, only for the last bolt to eat through it. Derrick was already on top of me, though, kicking away my pistol before raising his Baton, ready to strike down and put my lights out. Fortunately, I still had my bag. I reached into my bag of holding and pulled out the Bronze Blade that Heinrich had dropped before thrusting up.
The blade met resistance as if being stopped briefly by armor, before sinking in as the defensive magic failed. The bronze blade went in to the hilt and Derrick's eyes widened in shock. He toppled to the side dead as I felt my magic latch on to the fading embers of his to grant me the secrets of Tattoo Magic. Derrick had used it to become a Physical Dynamo, but that wasn't the optimal use of it. It was a magnificently broad school of magic. Even without Optimization, Derrick had still kicked my ass almost as badly as Lok'tor had. As I began to use a combination of Alakhestry and Matukai Techniques to heal my numerous wounds, I reflected that he very well could have killed me just now. I'd only pulled out a win at the last second by the skin of my teeth.
"I need to get better." I muttered as soon as my wounds had healed.
"You do. The Last Master would not have destroyed so much of the trophy displays." Came an aged, British, Voice. I turned to see Bartholomew, Spectral Butler, and Spirit of the Tower standing off to one side.
"We only trashed two displays!" I protested.
"Three. Look down at all the blood you got on the expensive Arabyan Carpet." Huffed Bartholomew. I looked down to find that I had indeed soaked a plush purple silk and cloth-of-gold Arabyan Carpet in my blood, the pattern one from Mundus I recognized as Djinn Work.
A thought occurred as I took in the carpet. "Bartholomew, is this an Inert Sorcerer's Flying Carpet?" I questioned.
"Indeed, the Old Master went to great lengths to obtain it. It once belonged to one of the Sorcerer Emirs of the Sorcerer's Isles." Nodded Bartholomew.
"I see. And what happened to the Emir?" I pressed.
"What do you think happened to the Emir, Sir? The Old Master was very insistent that all sales be final, so to speak." Grinned Bartholomew.
"Right. Big shoes to fill then." I muttered.
"Indeed, Sir. Speaking of which, if you'll follow me to the Grand Archive, we can proceed with the claiming and you will finally be able to begin filling them." Insisted Bartholomew.
He led me past another few displays, a cracked Uru Sword next to an Apokaliptan Energy Truncheon a blackened Starfleet Combadge next to a bent Tusken Gaffi Stick, a damaged Holocron near the severed head of a Kree Mandroid Robot. I passed a blackened, inert, Tau Gun Drone and a singed Romulan Uniform before passing under an arch that was decorated with the tattered banners of an Immaculate Order Monastery, a Von Carstein Skeletal Regiment, and an Unsullied War Legion before we arrived in a baroque library, with immaculately painted ceilings, walls of gilded, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed with books of all sorts from the mystic to the mundane, rich hardwood floors, and a pair of oaken doors at the other end. Bartholomew led me through those doors and into a private study where a gigantic armillary sphere was placed. That seemed to be our destination.
"Simply place your hand on the Grand Armillary Sphere and run your magic through it to claim the tower." Intoned Bartholomew.
I walked up to the sphere, placed my hand flat on it, and did as I was bid. As my magic pulsed into the sphere, I felt a second pulse beneath my hand, that of the Tower itself. The pulse of my magic and that of the tower started as different pulses, asynchronous and fighting each other, before, as the moments dragged on and I sent more of my magic into the sphere, slowly beginning to sync up. Once my magic and the tower's pulsed as one, I felt a sense of static in the air, as if an electric charge had just rippled through the tower, bathing everything in ozone and energy before it suddenly settled. I got a sense of power as it did and I knew in my bones that I had been accepted as the new Master of the Tower.
"Congratulations, Master. The Tower of the Axis Mundi is now yours by deed as well as right." Grinned Bartholomew, before another, non-descript, spectral servant arrived with a drink trolley.
"Perhaps some lemonade to refresh you after your recent trials, Master?" Questioned Bartholomew, pouring me a glass. I took it gladly and drank deeply.
It tasted like victory. . .
XXXX
AN: And here we are, the end of the Prologue/Origin Story. Jan has his tower, and a bit of time to train, though only a few weeks before getting dragged into more shenanigans. It was a hard series of fights, but in the end, he managed it.
As for what the next arc holds, well, some people are going to have felt the shift in magic, along with the shift in the Fortunes of Starkesboro. While yes this does mean that Mors Cruentia will know and begin his machinations against the other Traveler, there are also less outright hostile people who keep an eye out for things like changes to Starkesboro and Magic in particular, or new and powerful Mutants popping up in Massachusetts in general.
The next chapter will be an interlude looking at all of those people and their reactions. Then we'll be back with Jan.
Stay tuned. . .