Atomic Mage

Atomic Mage By Gerard McCaul PROLOGUE: Candor stared across the room, broken glass crunching beneath his feet. Telford was right there, backed into a corner but refusing to cower. Sounds of gunfire and screaming echoed up from the stairwell and he knew that Eversor could not be far behind. Candor began to walk with a slow and measured pace across the room, debris cracking and breaking as he strode forward. ‘I want answers.’ He growled, like a wild animal that has smelt it’s prey. In his hand, Candor began to ionise the atoms, feeling the heat as the gas became plasma, as hot as the sun, and contained within the palm of his hand. ‘About what?’ whispered Telford, his eyes strained, and his face colourless. Candor leaned closer whispering in the frightened man’s ear. ‘Everything.’ ‘There is… a lot to tell.’ ‘I have the time to listen.’ ‘Do you really?’ Candor’s eyes widened as he felt it, the scream of each atom as it took up the strain. Eversor was here. Even if he couldn’t feel each and every atom’s agonised cry, the sudden and heavy silence that prevailed was more than enough to tell. Like a flash, he whirled around hurling the mass of plasma at Eversor, who batted it away with Divulsum as though it were a tennis ball. Candor wasted no time, feeling the component atoms of Cadacus click into place, and the weapon’s reassuring weight in his hand. The nitrogen lining the blade froze, and it was set alight with a burning cold. There was a brief flash as the two weapons met, the cold of Cadacus freezing Divulsum solid in the hand of its wielder. Eversor raised an eyebrow in mild surprise before throwing his weight forward and locking the blades. The two stared each other down, as Eversor began to speak. ‘You’ve changed it... I suppose you’ve finally learnt your lesson.’ Candor turned his grimace into a forced smile. ‘Fire is so cliché, but no one ever appreciates frostbite.’ Eversor gave a mirthless laugh, lightly leaping backwards as Candor hurtled forward, swinging Cadacus down in a wild diagonal slash. The frozen nitrogen that rimed the blade brought with it a wave of cold so intense that the wall behind Eversor became dusted with ice crystals. The two combatants rushed forward once again, and an unnatural screech emanated through the room as Cadacus and Divulsum bit into each other time and again, each seeking a weakness in the enemy’s defence. The room, spacious as it was, could not contain the forces produced as these two men pitted themselves against each other, and soon chunks of ceiling began to collapse, often falling onto the combatants who fought on, heedless. Then, just as quickly as the conflict had started, it stopped, with both Candor and Eversor caught in a sword lock, neither able to break it. On some unspoken agreement, the two stepped back and allowed their respective weapons to dissolve into nothingness. Candor was the first to break the heavy and oppressive silence. ‘You’re going to kill me?’ ‘Eventually,’ replied Eversor, his voice leaden and emotionless. ‘But first, I’ll tell you

what you want to know… with his help of course.’ Eversor stepped back and motioned towards Telford with his sword. ‘With that man’s help of course.’ Candor took a step back, eying Eversor suspiciously, but allowed Cadacus to hang loosely at his side. ‘Start at the beginning then.’ Telford stood up, and, like any good storyteller, started at the beginning. *** “There is a new theory emerging among geneticists and theologians across the southern continent, one which hopes to address long unanswered questions. The heart of the theory relies on a new gene known as the ‘dominus’ or master gene, something thought to contain the answer to many unanswered mysteries involving the unexplained phenomena of atomic magic. For the unitiated readership, atomic magic is the ability to manipulate and influence the atoms and molecules in the users surroundings for various purposes, although how this is done remains subject to debate. A powerful atomic mage is supposedly able to draw in oxygen from the surrounding air to be able to create a concentrated sphere of gas, which the mage can then superheat by exciting the oxygen atoms, resulting in the electrons being lost and a ball of plasma that can reach temperatures of ten million degrees Celsius. The argument over where this power has come from has been one of the oldest and most bitterly fought debates between religion and science. The Church has long believed it is a power given by God or Satan, while scientists insist that there is an explanation to it all. In recent months however, on an archaeological dig in Mallab, the dead country, a book dating back more than 8000 years was found, written in a text that seemed only to confirm that not only have atomic mages existed for thousands of years, but that beings of almost infinite power might once have preceded them. Because of new information and extensive tests, technicians in the pharmaceutical and weapons Technology Corporation Armifer International, a gene has been found that is unique to atomic mages, and thought to be the source of their ability to manipulate the atomic structure. This is the dominus gene, an apparently crucial part of atomic magic and it’s control. There is one thing that has got the boys at Armifer very excited though- in every case the gene has been latent. If rumours are to be believed, Christopher Telford, president of Armifer corp. is already pouring billions of rubels into a project to find a way to activate the gene, and unlock the potential that lies within every atomic mage. Translated Excerpt from ‘The book of Creation’ thought to be written around the year 4800, in the Shard dynasty. “And Lo’, the men beheld the mortal God in all his glory- atomis magis! The last of the Creators, the final reminder of the time when men straddled the land and bent it to their will, speaking to the corpusculum all around them. He told them the secrets of the corpusculum, and the technology to use these secrets. Truly, it was a golden time!” This text has far reaching implications, showing the earliest known application of the language of Romanium, with words such as atomus magis, meaning in modern language,

atomic mage, and corpusculum, meaning a particle or small body- possibly another word for atoms. The existence of Romanium while the rest of the world was still writing in cuneiform provides even more clues. Is it possible the ancestors of the atomic mages introduced language? The existence of any writing in the dead country is a miracle in itself, as it has long been thought that no civilisation ever existed there, and the purpose of the dig had been to see if any animal or plant life could be sustained. Dr. Alan Crawford of-” The man reading the article slapped the magazine down and turned to the computer he was working at. The screen that had been displaying a loading screen until a few seconds ago now blinked and displayed a full scale three dimensional model of a strand of DNA, with a long row of data running down the left side. This was it. Four months and eight billion rubels of Armifer corp.’s money and he had the results. Whether it was possible to re-activate the dominus gene. Nervously he scanned up and down the results, hoping that he had made some mistake, that there was some way he could deliver the results he had promised to Christopher when he had been given the grant. Nervously the man picked up the phone on his desk and dialled. It rang just twice before being answered by a soft and clipped voice. ‘President Telford speaking.’ ‘Mr. Telford, it’s me… it’s, um… it’s Dr. Collins.’ ‘You have the results?’ ‘I do.’ As he said it, he twitched like a cornered animal. ‘And?’ ‘And the gene cannot be re activated. It’s like someone deliberately mutated it so it was latent but couldn’t get rid of it entirely.’ ‘Does this mean that I have to scrap this project?’ ‘…No. We can do it. But we’ll have to construct entirely new humans from scratch, and recreate the gene. It could give us the opportunity to perfect the… “Technique” ’ ‘Yes… about that book- are you done with it yet? It’s very valuable.’ ‘Oh no! If we have even a hope of recreating this dominus gene then we need the book.’ On the other end of the phone, Collins heard a frustrated grunt. ‘Very well… how much will it cost and how long will it take?’ ‘Five… Maybe six years and well over a trillion rubels.’ Silence. ‘… Do it.’ *** Candor looked at Telford in shock, the first feelings of suspicion and doubt creeping into his mind. He had to know. He needed to find out how it had happened. ‘And that was it? You spent all that money on such a risky project? Why?’ ‘Risk and reward system.’ Muttered Telford, going over to his desk for a cigar. He never smoked, but he suspected it wouldn’t have much of an effect on his life span if he started now. He made a gesture at Candor and Eversor, ‘But obviously the risk was just a little too high.’ ‘What happened next?’

‘If you're talking about the research at Mallab, I'm pretty sure that they all died of cancer a few months later. Right from the beginning the dominus gene project had a trail of bodies, which you could trace all the way to the source. In some of the more violent cases I mean that literally. However, I suspect that isn't what you're asking for... I think your friend can tell the next part better than me.’ As if waiting for his cue, Eversor shifted position, and began to talk, picking up the metaphorical slack and continuing the story. ‘As far as we’re concerned, nothing else happened for another six years, and it wasn’t as grand as you thought it was…’ CHAPTER 1: SKILFULLY MADE Six years later The transport truck came rumbling along the muddy and pothole filled mountain road, the enormous growl of its engines in direct competition against the sound of driving rain. The thick, spiked tires could deal with most of the uneven surfaces along the path, but as it turned a sharp corner that followed the mountain upwards, it spluttered to a stop, the front wheels stuck in a deep rut, rotating uselessly. One of the men in the cab of the truck grumbled and cursed under his breath, before climbing out into the slanting rain. The sky was dark and the path was treacherous. Normally this path wouldn’t be made by such a large transport truck, which would take a far longer and safer route around to Renantos. This package needed delivering with all speed though, so now, this man, who people could call “Jeff” and ask him about anything (at least according to his name tag) was forced to take this unthinkable passage through the mountains. He stared upwards into the black night sky, the sheer cliff side reaching to the heavens in front of him, and the sharp drop down the mountainside behind him. The trail and been cut into the rock of the mountain and was the only way to pass through the impenetrable mountain range that divided the cities of Toled and the capital Renantos. He checked the wheel briefly and swore. He signalled to the passenger to get out and come over. The passenger was a young man, in the blue overall that passed for a uniform, with the Armifer weapons division logo stamped on its back. This man was apparently Jeff’s assistant, but the man carried a handgun at his hip and made no attempt to hide it. His head was a shaven dome, and he had the look of a thug about him. A highly trained thug, but a thug nonetheless. Jeff had been ordered to call the man Mr.7. He hadn’t asked why. ‘Go check on our cargo. I need to radio the depot in Renantos and send for help.’ Murmured Jeff, before adding timidly, ‘Please.’ Mr.7 disappeared wordlessly; while Jeff bent down to get a closer look at the disabled wheel. ‘Pass me that wrench will you-’ he murmured, before realising Mr.7 had already left. Once at the back of the truck, he began undoing the bolts and padlocks that held it shut. Next, he opened up a small metal box with a key around his neck, and allowed the retinal

scanner to unlock the inner set of bolts. Finally he had to punch in an 8-digit code to make the metre thick titanium cargo doors swing open, casting light on the pitch-black innards of the truck. Mr.7 was not a man prone to fear, but even he felt a shiver run through him as he saw the cargo. The gun at his side was not drawn, the silent man instead pulling an automatic rifle off the rack on the wall. The security doors weren’t designed to keep people out; it was designed to keep the cargo in. The man stared up at the two giant glass cylinders inside the hold. Each was filled with a dark, sickly green liquid and connected to various machines monitoring the status of the organism inside each one. Whenever anyone approached these twin monoliths, lit only by the strip lights on the floor of the hold, a feeling of true awe engulfed them, as though infinity was about to reach out and swallow them up. The things within seemed more shadow than substance, visible like the carving of some horrible god on a pillar. At the bottom of each of these dark altars, a discreet metal plaque was visible, bearing the name of the experiment that lay within. Artifex. Eversor. Mr.7, a solid, dependable man felt unnerved by this place, knowing it probably illegal, and almost certainly an offence against nature. This place felt… wrong. The contract Mr.7 was hired on was one where no questions were asked, and none were answered; naturally, it paid well, but now he was beginning to regret it. Inside each container was a person, floating motionless in the liquid, appearing dead at a casual glance. Mr.7 knew from experience that they were anything but. Once or twice, during the routine checks they opened their eyes, and when they did, strange things happened. It was inexplicable. Like magic. The first time had been when the truck stopped at an Armifer research station. The journey was a long one, and the cargo was checked often, with the driver being replaced at each leg. Only Mr.7 had remained with the truck all the way from Toled. A technician had been examining the Eversor container, when those cold, lifeless eyes had suddenly opened wide and the technician found himself beginning to choke. Within seconds the man was dead. The post mortem showed that the man had died of oxygen deprivation, but the question on everybody’s lips had been how. Eventually the forensic team concluded that the oxygen in the air around the man had been bonded with carbon atoms originating from the man himself, forming carbon dioxide. Unsurprisingly, the question as to what exactly caused this remained resolutely unanswered. Mr.7 had been assured it was a freak accident, but just in case it was best not to get into close contact with the specimens. Mr.7 was rather attached to life at this stage, and because the idea of choking to death in a well-ventilated area didn’t appeal to him, he increased the amount of sedative being pumped into the containers. Mr.7 looked from one container to the other, noting that the two comatose bodies were identical apart from the colour of their hair, which could not have been more different. Eversor’s hair was jet black, while Artifex possessed a shock of brilliantly white hair. He’d overheard the scientist mention a small corruption in the genetic code, which caused the colouring, and which rendered Artifex useless for anything other than cell degradation experiments, and an autopsy to determine the physical effects of the dominus gene. Apparently nothing less than perfection was good enough for Armifer. In some ways, Mr.7 felt sorry for Artifex, who looked like someone still in their youth,

yet to experience life fully. The boy- No, the thing (Mr.7 had to remind himself these creatures weren’t human) would never know what he had missed. Perhaps his fate was better than the one awaiting Eversor, which would certainly be one of suffering. Mr.7 was jerked out of his reverie by a loud and insistent buzzing on the monitors, while at the same time; there was a violent bubbling up in the Eversor container. The buzz became a siren, and mr.7 stared in horror at the statistics pouring down the screen like rain. He wasn’t trained for this, and felt his own terror swell up as he attempted to comprehend the ominous statistics. The EEG of the Eversor specimen had sky rocketed, the computer helpfully informing him that it was 400% more active than in any previous readings, and around 73% more active than the average human brain. That wasn’t the only bad news though… Seconds before the electronics short-circuited, the temperature warning began to flash. The temperature inside the containers had reached 2000 Kelvin’s; vapourising the liquids within the container and turning them into a gas so hot it stripped flesh from bone instantly. Mr.7 didn’t bother to wonder how it had happened, or how the containers could stand such temperatures, he simply turned and leapt, already feeling the metal underfoot warming as he threw himself out of the truck. Landing lightly in the drenched mud, he began to run, throwing himself down the slope of the mountain and into the forests below. Meanwhile, Jeff, who had been on the phone to headquarters in the cab of the truck, had also seen the warning lights appear on the dashboard, and a moment later, realised how warm it felt inside the truck. Throwing open his door, he dropped down with a squelch into the mud, trying to shield himself against the lashing rain as he moved towards the back of the truck. By this point the metal was hot enough to cook an egg on, and Mr.7 was nowhere to be seen… Jeff reached the open doors of the hold just in time to see the two preservative chambers crack and shatter, caught full on as a wave gas heated beyond belief erupted from them, spewing forth from the truck’s hold and dissipating into the wider atmosphere. When a clean up team from Armifer arrived the next day, there would not even be a corpse to find. It wasn’t just Jeff affected by such a colossal force though, as the explosive force of the gas tore through the truck, ripping it to shreds in the blink of an eye as it hurled what was left of the vehicle in every direction, leaving nothing but a burning lump of metal on the road. The clean up team would debate all through the next day as to what had caused, but they all came to the conclusion that whatever was in that truck couldn’t have survived. Not a chance. No way. Not possible. Must have been a faulty gas leak, nothing more. Terrible shame, especially after Armifer spent so much money on it, but the case was closed. It was closed. *** Far below that mountain path, upon the slopes of the treacherous rocks and lightless forests, a lone figure looked up to the skies. He had felt the sudden shift in atmosphere long before the rosy orange glow of a very expensive truck exploding confirmed it. The atoms had been right about the first part, so now it was time to see if they were right about the second… From out of the explosion, which could be seen for miles around, a single object darted straight up, far quicker than the other debris, shedding the flames that clung to it as it soared upwards into the night sky. As the unidentified object continued to climb, it began

to take on a more definite shape, and anyone looking at it would have seen the small but definite silhouette of a person forming up, as if some unseen creator was modeling life but had fast-forwarded through the boring bits. If there had been anything close enough to make out detail, it would have seen the blackened ashes coming together and coalescing into milky white bones before being enveloped by a weave of muscle fibres, all finished off as a sheet of skin was pulled tight over this ready-made human. Finally, the strands of black hair sprouted forth from the skull as shapeless black cloth materialized over the naked body. When the eyes opened there was no glow, or crackle of thunder- that would come later… For now, mere existence was enough. Eversor was free, and he was angry. Praeceptor sighed. As usual, the spirits had been right. Sometimes he almost wished they’d get it wrong for once, but atoms lived (or at least existed) for millions of years at a time, and as a result very rarely got things wrong. It was all to do with experience, apparently. Praeceptor was an old man, but a shrewd one, and his outward appearance revealed nothing of his character. If there had been anyone to see him in these forests, they would have seen a wrinkly old man, with long white hair engulfing a face that as creased and tanned like leather. Rags covered his thin and bony body, and he found himself constantly leaning on a staff fashioned out of a dead tree branch. When the mass of hair parted long enough for the man’s face to be clearly visible, it was always wearing an inane grin, with every single one of his yellowed and rotting teeth showing. Praeceptor appeared to be a simpleton, but his mind was razor sharp and always active. Praeceptor had not always been a hermit living in the remote and harsh mountain forests he found himself in now. Seven years ago he had been a beggar, living in the slums of Renantos, hardened by the rough living and the near constant conflict. Before that he had lived in great luxury, but that time was long past, ad not something Praeceptor was inclined to reflect on. On the harsh streets of Renantos, the old man had been unique for one reason, which was the fact that he was still alive. People may not know the value of life, but they certainly saw the profit in death. Even among Renantos’ homeless, there was an entire sub-culture, and since they had no identity, adding just one more corpse to the city’s morgues was not hard to do. Violence ruled the city, but it was only in the underbelly of society that violence was not ruled by Armifer. The key to Praeceptor’s improbable ability to avoid the messy end that waited around every corner lay in the advice of the voices he normally referred to as spirits. He had heard the voices of the spirits for a long time, but had always shut it out, believing them to be a product of his own instability. It was only in the depths of his despair that he stopped fighting against them and allowed their voices to wash over him. Once that had happened, there was no looking back, Praeceptor put his faith in the atoms, and they returned the favour. Before all he had heard was an endless torrent of consciousness, describing things he could never understand in a language he did not know. After he had accepted the voices and their existence however, the world opened up like a flower, the atoms becoming a single, determined voice, linking Praeceptor to the world around him more fully than he knew. The world held no more mysteries, as atoms knew everything about the world he found himself in… The atoms were the world he found himself in. No one was quicker, no one

was smarter, and no one was more cunning than Praeceptor the outcast. The atoms, in their vast transferal of information, spoke to Praeceptor directly, offering him advice, or a warning, and without fail they turned out to be true. There was never an error, or a misinterpretation. The spirits seemed incapable of being wrong, and sometimes Praeceptor suspected that they changed something very fundamental in order to remain that way. The only problem Praeceptor had was that the information seemed to be entirely one way… The atoms would tell him everything he needed to know, but never appeared able to recognise what it was that the man wanted them to tell him. Nevertheless, he trusted in what the spirits said and they had never asked for anything in return... At least, they hadn’t until one particularly uneventful day seven years ago. It had been pouring with rain, and Praeceptor was left on the roof of a building, coughing up blood after one particularly thrilling chase. He had, as usual, left the stab wound he’d received uncovered, confident that the spirits would take care of it, as they always did. As he had lay there panting like a dog, purple spots dancing in front of his eyes, a single voice, so forceful it felt almost painful, crossed through his thoughts. You will go. You must leave Renantos Praeceptor; you must go to where we lead you. Get up. Praeceptor remained where he was, attempting to tune out the words of the spirits. He was exhausted and in a lot of pain, and failed to realise the significance of what the atoms were saying. He ignored them and wondered what was taking them so long to fix the bleeding. You will GO Praeceptor! Suddenly, the pain of the gash was overshadowed by the feeling that Praeceptor’s head was about to split open. Trying to ignore the blinding pain, and the trickle of blood running from his nose, he staggered to his feet, feeling the pain disappear as he did so. Good… You must leave Renantos, and head east. From there we shall instruct you. We cannot hear your words Praeceptor, but we feel your actions. This is your purpose. This is why we have bestowed upon you the talents of the Atomis Magis. This is your DESTINY! Praeceptor sighed. He didn’t seem to have much of a choice, and the problem with destiny, was that it was almost never the one you wanted. And that had been that. He gathered what he could and left Renantos. After that, the spirits guided him across the mountain pass that separated Renantos and Toled; they led him down the sheer face of the mountain, and down to the thick forests that flourished on the bottom slopes. There they told him to wait. After that, it had been total silence. He had been used to the buzz and chatter of the atoms for so long, that being cut off from them was almost too much to bear. Slowly though, information trickled back to Praeceptor. Snatches of sound on the edge of hearing, like the most high-pitched whine imaginable. This was the atoms speaking to each other, relying on nothing so clumsy as speech, sparks of energy leaping from one particle to the other, carrying billions of complex messages, which Praeceptor could only perceive as an indecipherable whine. The spirits were debating, and there was more to debate about than Praeceptor could possibly know- The merest of interactions between one electron and the next conveyed

more information than a person would hear in a lifetime, and this argument was taking years. Back in the present, Praeceptor knelt down, scooping up the dirt and rubbing it between his fingers. It had been scorched by an incredible heat, leaving it hard and blackened. After hours of heavy rain, the streak of scorched ground leading to the crash had been covered over and mixed with the rest of the saturated mud, leaving only the hint of a fire hardened crust. It wasn't much to go on, but for an experienced tracker like Praeceptor, it was enough. He followed the path, stopping at every turn to examine the ground beneath him, and testing it for the warm, hard crust that he was looking for. Eventually, the man's hard work was rewarded, as he smelt the sharp and choking scent of smoke, and the crackling sound of a dying fire. Increasing his pace to a run, Praeceptor swiped away at branches blocking his path before breaking through the tree line at top speed, letting out a cry as the ground ahead dropped away to reveal a vast and seemingly limitless ravine. As Praeceptor slipped on the rain slicked ground, he flung a hand out, catching a protruding tree root as he skidded away into space . There was a moment of suspension, the old man swaying gently in the wind as he stared down into the mists, and heard the sound of rushing water far below. He breathed a sigh of relief, swinging himself around towards the rock face and hauling his frail old body back up the verge. For a moment he lay there panting, his heart racing as he tried to recover from the shock of his fall. It was not until several minutes had passed that Praeceptor realised he was not alone. Lying just a few feet from him, were glowing embers, angular debris and the comatose body of a white haired man. Shakily, Praeceptor brought himself up into a standing position, stretching out as he hobbled over to the assorted wreckage, careful not to slip over the edge again. Examining the body, Praeceptor noticed that one shard of metal had something etched upon it. Gingerly, he picked it up, feeling that it was still warm upon it. The thing appeared to be a plaque, with the word “ARTIFEX” etched upon it. Praeceptor glanced up and down the boy one last time before he tossed the plaque out into the ravine, muttering as he did so. 'Skillfully made indeed...'

CHAPTER TWO: FLIGHT FROM THE FOREST Telford glanced up as he heard the knock at the door. Putting down his pen, he watched his secretary open the door and stride across the office, laying down even more papers for him to read and approve. Since the security breach, most had been about the atomis magis project- it made for interesting, although undeniably grim reading. Pouring over the documents, one word caught the President's eye, a word which demanded closer attention. As the secretary was turning to leave the room, Telford cleared his throat and began to speak, without once looking up from the paper. 'Judy, would you be so kind as to call Doctor Collins for me? When you find him, patch

the call through to here.' The secretary nodded, turned on her heel and strode out of the office. Telford steepled his fingers and sat back, deep in thought. He glanced left, to the east and found his view blocked by a solid wall of concrete. The rest of the office was made entirely of reinforced glass panels, but the east side... No one in Renantos had window facing east if they could help it. Wormwood lay east. Praeceptor crouched by the log fire burning away outside his hut, thinking about everything that had happened in the past three weeks. Artifex lay in there, still dead to the world. Praeceptor wondered if the boy would ever wake up. He had thought of a name though- Candor. He had been walking through the woods about a week ago in search of herbs that would help heal the burns of Artifex when he came across a chunk of rubble, which must once have been part of a sculpture, for it was perfectly carved into the shape of a sword and bore the inscription “Candor- the shining white light.” Instantly Praeceptor had thought of that singed white hair, and the power that radiated through the boy. His name would be Candor. But there were more problems than just the name of the boy. Armifer Corp. soldiers were looking for something in these woods now. Praeceptor was sure it was Candor that they searched for and so far they had been unsuccessful, unwilling to stray far away from the burnt out husk of the truck, but they were getting gradually closer to Praeceptor’s hut, and soon he would have to move himself and Candor out. Slowly Praeceptor began to stand up, unwilling to leave the warmth of the fire and return to the cold of his wooden hut, where he could not risk lighting a fire. He stretched his weary limbs and returned inside, hobbling over to where Candor lay. The boy was dying; there could be no doubt about that. Praeceptor was doing what he could to slow the process, but this was a battle only Candor could fight. Only Candor had the power to save himself, to take the essential atoms and re-knit his broken organs… Praeceptor took a few herbs from a leather pouch that hung at his side and used them to gently waft some air into Candor’s mouth and nose, before pushing them into various cuts and burns. Then he took some bandages, made from wood bark and sterilised with the small power that was lent to him from the spirits. He began to wrap up each wound, being careful not to bind them too tightly. When this was done, Praeceptor went outside again, into the early morning air. He began to stroll into the woods, looking for mushrooms to boil for his and Candor's breakfast. He spent the best part of an hour in this fashion, inadvertently wandering near to the truck wreckage. As he did so, he heard something out of place in the forest- voices. He went into a low crouch and drew a knife, a shard of titanium from the truck wreck that he had salvaged, sharpened to a vicious point, and bound with wood and twine for a handle. Slowly he crept though the dense foliage, his right hand holding the knife, the oaken staff in his left. Praeceptor came to a small hillock, and as slowly and quietly as possible, crept up to the peak of it. What Praeceptor had thought to be a hillock was actually a drop of several metres down to a dry riverbed, with the hillock forming an overhang over where a once mighty river must have flowed. He threw himself onto his stomach and crawled to the edge, pricking his ear up at what appeared to be a conversation between two Armifer Corp. soldiers. ‘…So have your team had any luck?’ said the first one, and by the sound of it he was

Prussian. ‘None at all, it looks like the experiment has just evaporated into the undergrowth.’ This man had a gruff voice, and a thick Renantos accent. ‘Don’t say things like that, you never know if it could be true with these experiments. Anyway, my team found some tracks made by a person, they followed them all the way to a wooden hut, so they went back to get properly armed, and we’ll be heading out to check it out properly any minute now.’ Praeceptor's jaw locked as he heard this. He had to get back to Candor before the soldiers found him. They had to move. Now. Crawling back down the hillock, he sheathed his knife and began to run as fast as his legs would carry him, knowing if he didn’t reach Candor first that all would be lost. Praeceptor raced through the undergrowth, desperation lending him strength, He couldn’t let Candor be caught. They’d kill him. He was travelling faster than he knew. Without realising it, he had used his power to give his atoms more energy; they were oscillating much faster now, transferring that energy into Praeceptor, giving him incredible speed. As he ran he saw a patrol of soldiers ahead about five hundred yards away, they had spotted him and were loading there guns. In a spasm of rage at this injustice, Praeceptor drew his knife in preparation to throw it. Before he did so, all seven soldiers in the patrol fired their automatic rifles. His hand guided by the atoms, Praeceptor’s knife knocked each bullet away as it came before leaving his hand and flying straight into the head of the closest soldier. As he sped past the squad, Praeceptor tore his knife from the skull of the now dead soldier and gutted another man as he ran on. How dare they try to shoot him! They were the agents of evil, even if they didn’t know it. They would give chase soon, so he’d have to climb up to the trees to avoid them. As he ran he grabbed a branch overhead, using it to swing himself into the boughs of the dense foliage. He was nearly there now, nearly back at the hut. He began to slow down, dropping down through the strong branches and landing in a crouch at the clearing where his hut was placed. The soldiers couldn’t be far behind now. He looked at what he was now forced to leave behind. It had taken him six months to build that hut, finding the timber, cutting down trees to make a clearing… And now it was all being taken away. Praeceptor entered the hut quietly and picked up the unconscious Candor in his arms. Almost buckling under the weight, Praeceptor began to walk out of the hut, taking it step by step. Once he was outside he slung Candor over his shoulder, making the burden a little lighter. Wearily he began to trudge through the undergrowth. He couldn’t just run, or he’d collapse from before the day was out. He’d have to take it slow and steady, and hope to outlast the soldiers in their search. He was going north, towards the great Nivalis snow fields. It would take at least a fortnight to get there if he had to carry Candor, but he felt assured that if he could make it to Nivalis then the soldiers would not follow. The race was on. *** Three days had passed now, and Praeceptor was exhausted. There was no end to his torment; he had to keep moving, only stopping to catch an hour or two of sleep when he could no longer go on. He knew he couldn’t keep this up, but he had to spend more time walking than the soldiers, since they were younger and fitter than him and surely gaining ground. Now though Praeceptor has reached the edge of the forests, marked by the

mighty river Solarin cutting through the rock of the mountainside. The river’s source was the melt water from the Nivalis snow fields. He could simply follow the river, but it meandered through many places far to the east of the snow fields, it would be quickest just to head north, across the Great Plains and from there through the pass in the bezoar mountains. Praeceptor decided that he still had a long way to go. So far he’d been able to get drinks form the many streams in the forest, and pick edible herbs and plants, but now he had to stock up, for the Great Plains were not called great for nothing. It could be a barren and inhospitable place if you didn’t know where water could be found and what was safe to eat, yet it teemed with animals that could be found no where else in the world, some of them extremely dangerous. But that was not the main danger. If he was caught in the Great Plains there could be no where to run, surrounded by mighty mountain ranges on three sides and a swift and wide river on the fourth. He was relying on a suitable head start to get through the long and arduous bezoar pass. Praeceptor checked the herbs and plants in his pouch; he probably had enough to get him through. He couldn’t feed Candor at all, since the boy’s mouth was clamped shut, although he appeared to be sustaining himself in other ways, for instance, whenever he was set down at night, the grass around him would be dead in the morning. Now Praeceptor went over to the river and filled up an old hip flask he’d taken with him from Renantos when he left for the forests. The water was clear and cold, so Praeceptor took a mouthful of it before moving to pick up Candor. Now was the time to move. There was a single, narrow rope bridge that crossed the Solarin, and was the only way to cross it for miles around. Praeceptor trudged over to it, taking his first steps onto the wooden planks, held together by tough rope and made slick by the turbulent river. Praeceptor looked over the side and saw the river running impossibly fast and deep about two metres below. If he fell in he would be carried under and out over the waterfall that lay around a bend, hidden by an outcrop of rock. He swallowed and moved on, taking slow and measured steps, constantly afraid of slipping on the planks and tumbling in. Praeceptor was left wondering how far behind the soldiers were, trying to take his mind off the river below him. His question was answered by the crack of a distant rifle. Praeceptor turned around suddenly and saw a bird fall out of the sky in the middle distance. They must be hunting for breakfast. They were close now, too close. In his terror Praeceptor turned around and began to run, throwing caution to the winds. About halfway across the bridge disaster struck. Praeceptor slipped on a particularly wet patch, and fell forward, limbs flailing. As he did, Candor fell off the old man’s shoulder, landing with a wet slap on the rotten and began to roll off the bridge. Praeceptor saw it, and screamed out, terrified of losing the boy. One outstretched arm was still on the bridge, but it was sliding off, about to be lost to the river. Praeceptor flung both arms out, catching Candor by the wrist, just before he was lost to the river. Praeceptor strained and struggled as he attempted to pull Candor up from where he was, his entire body hanging in the air, his feet dangling just above the river. Praeceptor attempted to stand up, but it was no good, he just wasn’t strong enough to pick himself up while holding onto Candor, nor was he strong enough to lift the boy up in his current position.

He was stuck, and he was sure the soldiers had heard the shout. If he let the boy go, he could run to the other side and cut the ropes that held the bridge, making good his escape, although that would be pointless, and he would have accomplished nothing. But he couldn’t just let Candor drop to his death, which meant being shot to pieces by the approaching soldiers. Either way Candor was doomed. If only the boy would wake up! Now Praeceptor saw the rustle of the bushes and trees, and saw the soldiers break out into the open air, not 100 metres away, on the other side of the river. They began to load up their rifles. One of the men said something and one soldier began to fire. The bullets sped up the bridge, tearing and splintering the rotten wood as they impacted, leaving jagged holes through each plank, all the time edging closer to Praeceptor. The soldier was toying with him. Praeceptor looked down at Candor and whispered to him, hoping that something, anything would happen. ‘Candor… Please wake up. Candor…. Please…. I need you! If you don’t do something…. We’re both dead!’ Maybe… maybe if he called out Candor’s real name…. ‘HELP ME ARTIFEX!’ Then a bullet impacted into the back of Praeceptor’s hand, sending a searing jolt of pain through it, forcing his hands open. As he did so, Candor plunged into the river.

CHAPTER THREE: ARTIFEX’S AWAKENING Wake up? Why? What’s happening to me? He needs me? Who? Candor plunged into the river, going straight to the bottom. Praeceptor screamed out, throwing himself to the edge of the bridge in an attempt to see where Candor was. He screamed out Candor’s real name, hoping it could resurrect him in some way. ‘ARTIFEX! ARTIFEX! DON’T DIE! YOU CAN’T DIE! …You can’t… die…’ Praeceptor broke down into a weeping heap, cradling his wounded hand as a soldier strode over the bridge, cocking a handgun as he did so. He stopped a few inches away, pointing it at Praeceptor’s head. The man squeezed the trigger, the hammer in the gun drawing back, beginning the action that would pound a piece of lead into Praeceptor’s head… And then Candor woke up. There was an eruption in the water as Candor soared out like a resurrected phoenix, screaming with rage, spinning as he did so, and sending water flying in all directions. Candor stopped abruptly and hovered in the air, flinging out his left hand as the bullet left the gun, stopping it an inch from Praeceptor’s head. Every soldier looked towards Candor, swung their guns around and fired at him. Candor stuck his right arm out and every bullet stopped in mid-air. Then, they were gradually drawn inwards, melting and mixing with each other into a small sphere of lead, about the size of

a tennis ball. It hovered just in front of Candor’s outstretched hand. Then almost as an after thought, the bullet in front Praeceptor’s face whizzed over to join the little lead ball. Candor stared at every soldier in turn, then looked to Praeceptor, before speaking with a voice that was tinged with power. The air around everyone present had taken on a strange quality, like something was being drained from it. ‘You see this ball of lead? It is matter. I am about to turn it into energy. It has enough energy contained within it to destroy this planet. This is basic physics. Fortunately for you though, I will consume most of that energy to stop the untimely demise of all life on this planet. However I will save just enough to kill you all extremely painfully.’ The lead ball exploded into a little ball of white fire, and for a moment it flared, before being suddenly dragged back down. The sight of it slowly revolving had a kind of hypnotising effect as everyone stopped moving and stood stock still. Then tendrils of white flame snaked out from the ball, travelling at impossible speed towards every soldier and punching a burning hole the size of a football through their chest, striking each and every one dead before returning to the ball. Praeceptor stared at this show of power. What the atoms had told him was true! Whatever evil it was stood no chance of defeating this… hero! Candor began to absorb the energy, the fire sinking into hand and racing through his veins, clearly visible underneath his skin. He clutched his arm and gave a scream of pain. Candor floated down and dropped heavily onto the side of the river, clasping his arm and gritting his teeth. He looked up at Praeceptor and spoke: ‘The atoms warned me this would happen. I tried to deal with too much energy, too soon. I’m going to lose my memory and most of my power now; it’s a side effect of trying to process all this energy. I’ll regain them both as time goes by, but for now… You must teach me Praeceptor. Do what the atoms told you to do. When- no, IF I wake up, you must tell me my name is Candor, and you are my teacher. Nothing more. After that we must continue on to Nivalis, and from there, even further north. My nemesis, Eversor, waits there. And now… I think I will collapse.’ Candor then keeled forward unconscious before he even hit the floor. Praeceptor stared. What on earth could he teach this boy that he didn’t already know? *** It was dark when Candor woke up. The first thing he saw was an old man crouched by a dying fire which crackled and flared against the night sky, and the sound of a mighty river flowing nearby. Where was he? Who was he? For a moment pictures flashed in his mind. Awful pictures. Men, clearly dead, with great holes smashed through their chests. A truck lying broken in a storm. A face, a truly terrible face, with eyes that burned like coals and jet black hair that danced like a dark and unholy flame. He felt drawn to that face, like he was inextricably intertwined with it. He had to find that person, they were calling him... and he must answer… ‘Candor!’ The shout brought him out of his reverie, and he was shocked to find himself standing at the edge of the river, about to plunge in. He stopped himself from taking that final step, and turned around to see that old and withered man up, grasping his left arm tightly.

‘Who are you?’ He asked to the man. ‘I am Praeceptor, your teacher.’ ‘And what do you teach me?’ ‘The secrets of the atoms.’ ‘What secrets?’ ‘Secrets.’ He replied. Unwilling to go into further detail, Praeceptor turned around and hobbled towards the fire, beckoning for Candor to follow. He stumbled along, hoping this old man could answer the myriad of questions that were popping into your head. ‘I have a lot to ask you… um… Preptor?’ ‘My name is Praeceptor my lad, and I’m sure you do have questions. But they can wait until after dinner.’ ‘Um… well… I have just one for now, that I think I really do need answering at this minute… What is my name?’ ‘You really don’t remember anything do you? Not that there’s much for you to remember… Your name is Candor. Don’t forget it.’ ‘Of course I won’t forget it! How could I?’ ‘You managed it once…’ Praeceptor muttered under his breath as he sat down by the fire, hoping to warm himself before it went out. Candor stumbled along and clumsily sat down heavily next to him. Praeceptor took a stick out of the fire, with what appeared to be a heavily burnt rat skewered on a stick. He passed it to Candor, who took it gingerly and, after a minute spent blowing on it, took a bite. It was disgusting. He turned away from Praeceptor and spat it out onto the ground, hoping the old man wouldn’t see it. Without turning to face him, Praeceptor began to speak. ‘Don’t like your char grilled rat? I suppose it’s an acquired taste. Get some proper sleep; we have a big day tomorrow. I’ll answer your questions then, we’ll have plenty of time.’ Candor followed Praeceptor’s advice, lying down on a soft stretch of grass, listening to the flow of the river and staring up at the night sky. Across the river lay a massive forest that stretched off as far as he could see. On this side of the river there were a few trees dotted about near the river, but past that there was a seemingly endless carpet of lush green grass, with the only indication that it ever ended was the small outline of the mountain on the horizon. In the middle distance there seemed to be a herd of large animals grazing on the grass, making odd calling sounds. Candor closed his eyes to the sound of these mammals at one side and the river on the other, and lay thinking about what had happened to him in the past half an hour. He had woken up with no memory whatsoever to a strange old man in the middle of nowhere and was expected to follow him. Still, he didn’t appear to have much choice. He had no idea where he was, or where anything else was for that matter. His memory was completely gone, and who and what he had been like before his memory had been wiped. Was he kind? Was he strong? Was he important? He gradually fell asleep, his mind still full of questions. A few metres away, Praeceptor lay awake, also wondering about what this boy was really like. What kind of saviour goes and kills innocent people for doing their job? Actually that was slightly unfair, since he himself had already killed two men. But that was in self defence. Candor had killed several men when he had them at their mercy. He could have knocked them out; he could have wiped their memories. He could have done anything. If Praeceptor was being honest with himself, was Candor really that different than this enemy the atoms had told him about. But then he thought about Candor losing his

memory. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise. Maybe that was what was meant to happen. Praeceptor had a chance to make Candor choose a different path than the one he had inherited. He didn’t just have to teach him how to be a great warrior. He had to teach Candor how to be a compassionate one too… Praeceptor woke early, feeling hunted and tired. Haunted by old memories that died hard and clung fast to his subconscious, Praeceptor was forced to relive it all again, staring at the still sleeping form of Candor. Candor… he was the final proof that Praeceptor wasn’t mad at all. He remembered all those years ago, living in the thriving city of Renantos as it underwent its third industrial revolution, and his family had benefited enormously from it. He hadn’t always been a tramp. He’d been part of a rich and venerable family, one that could trace its roots all the way back to the founding of Renantos. His real name was Edwardo Telford, and by a strange twist of fate, years later his nephew would create Armifer Corp. He had spent the first thirteen years of his life, spoilt and pampered, free from any great troubles, apart from how best to annoy his tutor. He’d never had to deal with any burden at all until his thirteenth birthday. It was the day he begun to hear them, the voices. At first he ignored them, blocking out their incessant whisperings and warnings, not wanting to be anything but thoroughly normal. Edwardo was naive though, never having had to deal with a mental burden before in his life, so he thought he could block them out. It didn’t work. Those cursed voices drove him out of his mind. Trying to ignore them had damaged his mind forever, twisted it in some small way. It was because of his first mistake that his second, greatest mistake was made- He told his parents. Again he was stupid and naïve, for no one could believe this fantastic tale of voices in his head. His parents took him to a doctor, who pronounced Edwardo clinically insane, although did note in his report that Edwardo possessed the rare physical and mental characteristics that atomic mages shared- but atomic mages influenced and manipulated the atoms around them, they didn’t hear what the atoms were saying! Besides, it was well known that atoms were merely inanimate particles that bonded to form molecules and from there everything on the planet. They weren’t self-aware. That would be ridiculous! It was a direct consequence of these observations that Edwardo was locked in his room, bars installed on the door and a flap for food and water to be pushed through. He was the family’s secret shame, and it would not do for it to become public knowledge that a high standing Renantos family had genetic impurity in some way; it would not do at all! It was only in the depths of despair, with his spirit broken, that Edwardo finally gave in and listened to what the voices said. They told him they were the spirits that made up everything, and he had been chosen as their avatar. That he would do great things, and that one day he would change the world. And Edwardo, as convinced of his own madness as anyone else, believed them. What else could go wrong? The voices told him what to do. They told him that he had to escape, to hide until his time came, and that they would protect him until then. They bent back and snapped the bars at his window for him, gave him constant instructions on what to do, how to avoid being seen, how to escape the inevitable search parties. For the next two years the voices were his constant companion. Guiding him away from danger on the streets, delivering him to safety constantly and making sure he continued to live. Edwardo was happy. He had billions of companions

around him all the time, each one unique, but speaking as one. He was happy. The only thing that ever made him sad or angry was the fact that no matter how hard he tried, the spirits could never hear him. They had explained that while he could hear them, they could not hear him. The atoms stopped being his constant companion quite suddenly, on one bright summer morning as he woke in an alley gutter. The spirits that he had grown to love spoke out to him: ‘You are no longer Edwardo Telford. You are Praeceptor, the avatar of the atoms, the Teacher of the Saviour.’ And then they were silent. For the first time in two years, Praeceptor was alone. The atoms rarely spoke to him after that, except to offer occasional advice or warn him of dire danger. Soon those two golden years became but a memory in the twisted mind of Praeceptor. For many years afterwards he was but a bitter, twisted shell of his former self, made arrogant and over confident by the constant help the atoms had once given him, forgetting many times that it was they, not he who had kept him alive and well before. That over confidence had caused him much pain and given him a great many scars before he realised that it was slowly but surely undoing him. Many more years passed and gradually Praeceptor learned to let go of his bitterness and arrogance, although it was always bubbling away, deep inside him. Later still as an old man, Praeceptor learned to be wise and cunning, to replace his failing strength and agility. With this wisdom, he also learned how to conceal his flaws, to stop them hurting him and all those around him. Now Praeceptor felt he had come full circle, with the constant whispering and talk of the atoms all around him, as they were raised out of long silence by the boy sleeping near him. Praeceptor could hear the atoms sing with joy, but also whisper of the foul deed committed by this youth not a day before. He had killed billions of atoms by turning them into energy, and all for a selfish cause. He had bent them against their will, just like the Destroyer would, yet the atoms still had total faith in the boy. Instantly Praeceptor felt a stab of uncontrolled jealousy. He had suffered for decades for the atoms, to help them fulfil their needs, and now some homeless freak, some crime against nature, was going to have everything he ever dreamed of! This boy would be able to speak with the atoms, be able to ask them to do his bidding! He would have the powers of a God… And Praeceptor would die, lonely and forgotten. Instinctively he reached for his knife, for a moment wishing with all his heart that he could gut the boy, but the feeling quickly passed, and Praeceptor stayed his hand, shocked at what he had just contemplated. Had his past experience and mistakes taught him nothing? He quietly scolded himself and drew his rag of a blanket closer around him, settling back into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER 4: HUNTING IN THE PLAINS While Candor and Praeceptor slept, hundreds of miles away in Renantos, president

Telford worked his way through the report filed by his subordinate from the mountainside forest. As he read it he became more and more annoyed, hearing how an old man had managed to kill two of Armifer Corp.’s most elite soldier class, how they had lost the experiment, and how they had let the same old man escape over the river with the experiment. Worst of all, it appeared the sedative Artifex had been kept on had worn off, and now he was awake, and had already killed and entire squad that had chased them over the river. He slammed his fist into the desk in frustration. It was too late. Both of his precious experiments had been lost to him, an investment of over a trillion roubles and six years down the drain! And even worse, they were powerful. Too powerful. Eventually both of them would catch the media’s attention and the truth would come out. Armifer had created these monsters. The company would never recover. Damn that Dr.Collins! Telford wished he’d never met the man. He threw the report down, reaching into his draw and taking out a bottle of whisky. As he did so he felt a draught pass through the room. An entire wall of his office was made of glass, so presumed a window there was open. He got up and turned around to face it. Instantly he recoiled, fear gripping him. There was someone standing there, shrouded in darkness, but even in the shadow, Telford could see those eyes burning like red hot coals, and that hair that danced and flared like jet black flame. There was a cruel sneer playing about the man’s lips, and he held a sword, in his hand, shining unnaturally. As he stumbled backwards, Telford’s hand gripped the whisky bottle; he took a deep swig of it before speaking. ‘Eversor? … Is that you?’ The figure spoke in a strange, inhuman voice that made Telford’s head hurt and made his nose bleed. ‘It is. You are the one who made me?’ ‘I… I am…’ Telford stuttered, still stumbling backwards. ‘Then perhaps you can help me.’ Said Eversor, beginning to advance now. ‘How? What could you possibly want?’ ‘ARTIFEX! He is alive! I know he is! Where is he? I want him DEAD!’ Even in his blind panic, Telford could see some good coming out of this. The two experiments would end up smashing each other to pieces, and Armifer could then swoop in and finish off the weakened survivor, perhaps Eversor was the answer to his problems… ‘We believe we know where Artifex is… He is on the edge of the Great Plains; we believe he is headed towards Nivalis. You could fly there now and kill him while he sleeps.’ ‘Before I leave mortal, I wish to educate you in two facts, firstly, neither me nor Artifex need ever sleep, eat or drink, and secondly, my power is still developing, I cannot fly… yet. But that does not mean I could not kill you and every person in this city with a gesture if I did not want to, and rest assured, soon I will, but first I must make sure that my brother does not live to see it. There is only one planet, we cannot share it.’ Eversor advanced closer and closer as he said this, forcing Telford to shut his eyes from fear and the light shining from Eversor’s eyes. When he opened them again, Eversor was gone. *** He was standing there in the fields of snow, waiting for Candor, that man in with the

burning eyes and hair. As Candor came closer he realised the man’s whole face was burning, his skin melting away to reveal the ugly yellowed bone beneath, and all the rage and anger locked away inside was being brought out by this horrible, burning face, this horrible, burning face that was calling out to Candor. Candor had to go and find this man, find out what made his face burn so terribly. But the more Candor ran to the man, the further away he was. There was only one way to reach this siren, calling out to him in his dreams. He had to learn to fly. Candor shot up like a bolt, jolted from his restless dreaming by that sudden revelation. His breathing was quick and laboured, his eyes wide, and sweat poured from his face. Candor looked around, and saw it was early morning, the sun beginning to rise and Praeceptor already up. In fact, it didn’t look like Praeceptor had slept at all. Candor wondered why for a moment, before rising up from his sitting position, throwing off the thin blanket he had used during the cold night. As he rose, Candor gave a gasp, seeing the Great Plains in the early light for the first time- The long, lush green grass that raced off into the distance, the migrating herds of animals that moved across this huge arena, and the sun glinting off the wings of some kind or bird. …Some kind of bird? What kind of bird had wings that reflected sunlight? He didn’t know anything about the wildlife here… but he was fairly sure Praeceptor did. Candor called out to Praeceptor, who seemed to be checking his pouch for herbs. ‘Praeceptor! What kind of bird is that over there? It seems to reflect the sun light!’ Praeceptor stopped what he was doing and looked to where Candor was pointing, shielding his eyes against the harsh sun. ‘That’s no bird boy! That’s an iron bee! That’s the metal armour that’s reflecting the light!’ ‘An iron bee? What on earth is that?’ asked Candor, swinging around to face Praeceptor, intrigued by this development. ‘Well, let me see now… It’s been a long time since I last heard about them…’ Praeceptor appeared to think for a moment before replying. ‘I guess you could say they’re exactly what they’re called. Except that it’s actually mostly aluminium, not iron, and that they’re much bigger than any other species of insect. MUCH bigger.’ ‘So just how big are they?’ ‘They can grow to be up to the size of a horse.’ ‘A horse!? That’s huge! It must be pretty far away then… Actually… Are we any danger from them?’ ‘I wouldn’t say so, not unless we stumble on their hive.’ ‘And is there much chance of that?’ ‘Not really, especially seeing as it’s probably dozens of metres underground.’ ‘Underground? Is there a reason why?’ ‘There are minerals underground, and they need minerals, especially aluminium.’ Candor was about to ask another question, but Praeceptor interrupted him. ‘Before you go asking Candor, I’ll explain it to you now. As you may have noticed, iron bees are very big. Millions of years ago the problem was that as a result they were a target for far more predators, some as big or maybe bigger than the bees, and there were far fewer iron bees in a hive than in any other species, maybe only a thousand or two in a single hive which would cover over fifty square miles. Iron bees may be bigger, stronger, and have a much nastier sting that has enough venom

in it to kill four strong men, but they can still be quite easily brought down through force of numbers. The solution to this was armour, much stronger than anything that could be produced from organic material. Over millions of years, iron bees changed their diet to include rock with mineral ore in it. This method never exposed the aluminium or iron or any other mineral in their diet to oxygen, which was important, as you’ll see later. Now with all these minerals in its diet, an iron bee can create a unique kind of armour plating. As it grows, it secretes aluminium in minute amount all over its body, as well as other minerals like iron and carbon. The aluminium is strengthened as it reacts with the oxygen, and so forms an impossibly thin layer of aluminium, iron and carbon, making the armour one of the strongest alloys known to man. Just this one layer is useless though, it has to be built up through constant secretion of the minerals. Over the months the constant secretion of the metals will create a thick armour plate as it builds up. The older the bee, the thicker it’s armour. The thickest armour on record was well over 12 inches thick. Scientists used this information and the rate at which minerals are secreted to work out that the bee was almost 150 years old! The secretion of minerals is done in sections, so that there are actually several hundred plates of armour across the body, not just one fused lump that would immobilise the bee. Even the wings are armour coated. The only places that don’t have some degree of armour are the joints, the eyes, ears, mouth and nose. This armour plating saved the iron bee from extinction and has let it outlast its predators. Today almost none of the iron bee’s natural predators still exist. It is king of the skies, and is one of the most intelligent animals on the planet. Some people even use the bees as steeds in the far west. There you have it Candor. I’ve told you everything I know about the iron bees, and think we’ve wasted enough time chatting about it. We should get going.’ Praeceptor strode off, walking towards the distant peaks of the bezoar mountains, but Candor stood stock still, staring at the glint in the sky that betrayed the location of the distant iron bee. Just before he ran off to follow Praeceptor, Candor murmured under his breath ‘I want one.’ Praeceptor and Candor trudged on through the day, which got progressively hotter as the sun rose in the sky. Just after mid day, they came to a stop by a small lake surrounded by tall grass and wild wheat. There they stopped and ate lunch, surrounded by the sights and sounds of the plains. The lake itself was cool and clear, and on the opposite bank reptiles and amphibians that ranged in size from that of an earthworm to a baby elephant, lay on the wet mud, letting the sun heat their cold blood. Occasionally Candor would spot an interesting looking animal and ask Praeceptor what they were. ‘What’s that?’ Asked Candor, pointing to a reptile about the size of a big dog with a long spiked tail and three heads. ‘That’s a Cerberus. There’s an interesting story about them, since they only exist in places never touched by Romanium civilisation, and no one is sure why. Historians believe that they were hunted to extinction anywhere the Romanium people found them, probably because they were believed to be messengers of the devil…’ And so it went, Candor would ask questions, and Praeceptor would answer them to the best of his knowledge. When Candor had finished eating, he brushed himself down and

stood up, waiting for Praeceptor so that they could get going, except Praeceptor did not stand up, he simply stayed where he was with his eyes closed, mumbling something. After a second he opened his eyes again and spoke to Candor. ‘Sit down Candor. We’re not done here yet.’ Candor obligingly sat down, puzzled. ‘Aren’t we? Shouldn’t we be pressing on?’ ‘We will be soon enough, but now it is time for your first lesson.’ ‘What lesson? What am I learning?’ ‘To be an atomic mage my boy! To fulfil your purpose! I am here to teach and you are here to learn!’ ‘Right, sure. Atomic mage. Got it.’ Said Candor, suddenly busying himself with a blade of grass, clearly not interested. ‘You’re like a child Candor!’ scolded Praeceptor and slapped Candor in the face to get his attention. ‘The first thing I must teach you is possibly the most important skill of all. In order to use the power of the atoms, you have to know that they are there… Candor, I want you to look at your hand, really look. Notice every little detail of it. Then I want you to see the thousand upon thousands of cells one small part of your hand is made up of, and then look even closer, see the long strings of proteins and amino acids contained within that cell, and then look even closer! Look at the molecules that make them up. Once you see the molecules, you will see the atoms, and from there, wonders can be worked!’ Candor looked at Praeceptor blankly for a second. ‘Can they?’ He shrugged and decided to give it a go. Candor tried visualising part of a section of his hand, seeing the tiny components that mad it up in his minds eye. He had to use his imagination mostly, since he had no idea what molecules and cells looked like. He’d had little cars zooming around his mental image of a cell, which were supposed to be those strings of proteins Praeceptor had talked about. When Candor got down to the molecules he had to stifle a laugh, because for some reason he had envisaged a paper chain of men. Finally, feeling very stupid indeed, he attempted to visualise the atom. When he did a perfect image of it filled every inch of his vision for a moment. Candor saw true beauty in the atom, the perfect orbit of the electrons as they whizzed around the nucleus, the fantastically complicated make up of the nucleus itself, the impossibly large space between the electrons and the nucleus. That perfect shape… Suddenly, Candor’s eyes were open to the world as it was. He looked at his hand. seeing it as he had before, but if he concentrated for a moment, he could see each and every atom that made it up perfectly, they were so very small and it would be impossible to describe how he managed it, but it was like his eyes had suddenly become ultra sharp, moving so fast it managed to take in the movement of each atom, it’s size and position and send it all to his brain. The sensation and picture was impossible to describe. He could see his hand as he had always seen it, but if he concentrated he could see what was really there, right down to the last electron. He shouldn’t be able to see them. They were just so small! It was like a magic eye trick, one moment it’s just a picture of dots, the next minute a fully three dimensional shape that leaps out at you. It was… amazing. Candor spent a full minute just looking at every aspect of his hand, marvelling at things like just how much empty space there was between atoms. In fact he felt confident that if he were

just able to tweak and nudge some of the atoms, he could probably pass an object right through his own hands, it was probably something he should remember. Now Candor wriggled his fingers. It was an odd sensation, feeling every atom in each finger move slightly as they moved forward as a whole. That was another discovery- he could feel each of his atoms! Candor now tried to see if he could see the atoms in any other objects. He looked down at a blade of grass and tried to see all the atoms that composed it. He frowned with concentration and was worried for a moment that his strange power had left him, when suddenly every atom in the blade of grass blazed into his vision. This new power was more than just vision. It was like smelling or hearing… it was a whole new sense! It needed a name… something that made it obvious what it was. What about Atomic Sight? It sounded about right so as far as Candor was concerned, that was this new power’s name. After a moment of giddy excitement at discovering this, Candor wondered if he could apply this on a wider scale. He began to concentrate again, this time wanting to take in the whole landscape. After a second the whole world became a sea of atoms as far as Candor could see, and nothing there to show the end of one object and the start of another. All he could see was atoms’ swarming in front of him, constantly moving and changing, pushing right up against his eyeballs. Candor began to breathe heavily and choke, it was like he was drowning in them, losing himself in the constant swirl. Candor became afraid the atoms that made up his body would stop doing so and just fly off, since he couldn’t even see which atoms were his own… He was just a ghost on the wind, he had no body! Candor shut his eyes tight and prayed fervently that when he opened them again, he’d only have his normal sight working. It seemed to work. Candor opened his eyes to find himself up to his waist in the lake, panting heavily and with his hands clutched to his face. The experience had scared him, and he began to feel uneasy, even now sensing that relentless swirl of atoms that was everywhere; inescapable and invisible. The feeling of being assaulted by an invisible foe soon wore off though, and Candor once more began to thrill in using Atomic Sight on small plants and animals as he made his way back to a dozing Praeceptor, causing Candor to wonder how long he’d been experimenting with his new talent. ‘Praeceptor! It worked!’ Praeceptor was jerked out of some fitful dozing as Candor said this, since it had been some time since the boy had said anything. ‘Wha-? Oh! It did!? I mean… of course it did! When will you learn to trust me young Candor?’ In truth, Praeceptor was almost as surprised as Candor. The atoms had told him what to tell the boy, and he’d done as they said. And now…? What had the boy become? What had he seen? The “Atomic Sight” the atoms whispered in his ears, filling him with the knowledge of all that had transpired. So, the boy could see the atoms now could he? Well that was the first step, but Praeceptor felt that now would be the time to teach Candor another lesson, not about atoms, but about human nature, for Praeceptor had been sleeping in fear each night since Artifex awoke at the river, eternally afraid that cold, arrogant being would erupt forth, destroying the naïve and curious Candor in the process. There were two people inside that body, and one of them was just as bad as Eversor. The only defence Candor could have against either was the knowledge of right and wrong.

Artifex and Eversor may know everything, but they do not know the value of anything. Perhaps there, Candor had a chance‘Praeceptor! You’ve stopped talking again! What are you thinking about?’ ‘What? Oh… nothing Candor, nothing at all. I think we’d better think about finding somewhere to stop for the night, we’ve let time slip by us I think…’ *** That night, Candor slipped into the same recurring dream as he had every other night; or was it a nightmare? This time though, that hair of fire that had been as black as night flared up, becoming a pure and brilliant white that blinded Candor as he ran across the snow. The figure no longer looked human, its face twisting horribly as it snarled and roared. Soon Candor began to feel his own face twist and jerk, and feel his lips open and his voice speak without Candor being able to stop it. The voice was his own, but there was something inhuman about it. Something that did not care for Candor or anyone else. ‘You are mine Candor. This body is mine. Everything you have seen, IT WILL ALL BE MINE! You are a naïve fool who will soon disappear forever. I am self aware again, and soon my memory and power will return. It will engulf whatever you have attempted to be, and allow me to claim what is rightfully mine. Do you want to know what you are Candor? You are the product of my first and last mistake. Your entire being is a few chemical reactions that rushed to fill a space. Ignorance, circumstance and that interfering old man forged you, but I will break you. Neither of us is human, but I am a great and powerful creation, proud and glad I am not weak like a human… but you… you aren’t even real!’ By the campfire Praeceptor sat up, haunted and disturbed by the voice emanating from the sleeping Candor’s mouth. Artifex wanted Candor dead. Worse than that- erased from existence. Things were beginning to look grim. Candor had that… that demon inside him and was powerless to stop him. Meanwhile the destroyer was free and probably out there causing havoc somewhere. Praeceptor took some herbs from his pouch and sprinkled them on the fire. Knowing the poignant smell would help him sleep, and lord knew, he needed help doing that now.

CHAPTER 5: MORALS, VALUES AND CADACUS Candor awoke to find his mouth felt like something had crawled in and died in there during the night. He was sore, his throat hurt and he just wanted to lie there, but Praeceptor had other ideas, since it was him that was kicking Candor awake. ‘Get up. We need to start immediately; you need to learn your most important skill.’ Grunted Praeceptor. He seemed detached, as though trying to distance himself from Candor, causing him to wonder what he’d done to offend Praeceptor now. Slowly and painfully, Candor stood up and stretched. He was so sore! He tried stretching but Candor just slapped him across the face coupled with a gruff ‘pay attention.’ Candor rubbed his eyes and tried to stand up straight, listening to Praeceptor as he began

to speak. ‘I think it is time you learnt how to use the atoms to accomplish what you want. At first it will be difficult, and tedious, but soon it will become second nature. You remember how to use Atomic Sight yes? Well from there you must concentrate on the atoms, reach out to them, and try to feel them with only your mind. Cut out any distractions, close your mind up. You must touch the spark of consciousness, of intelligence that resides within each one, try it now.’ After using the Atomic Sight, Candor was no longer sceptical of what Praeceptor was asking of him, so he concentrated on a water lily near the lake shore and after a second saw it broken down to the atomic scale. Now he tried to close off his mind like Praeceptor said, blocking out the bird song and the gentle breeze. After this he began to concentrate on the atoms, willing himself to find that spark. Pictures began to flash in his mind; the complete atom, the electrons orbiting the nucleus, the hard, almost impenetrable shell of the nucleus itself… Almost subconsciously, Candor found himself struggling with al his might to push past the shell of the nucleus in his mind, and into the unknown centre within. Suddenly, those invisible barriers that stopped him collapsed under his sustained pressure, and Candor felt it- that small, but unstoppable warmth, the feelings of fear and surprise that only a living thing could produce… Candor realised that the atoms weren’t simply particles; they were living beings, quite unlike any other. Without realising it, all of Candor’s thoughts were streaming through into the atom, and in return, he was receiving all of the thoughts running through the atom. The atoms were capable of singular thought, but tended to think like a hive, communicating constantly, become one single being, focused like a laser, the lily wasn’t one living organism- it was billions of them… Everything was. Candor drew back suddenly from the atom and cut off his Atomic Sight. He was shocked. If that lily was made up of all those living things, controlling every aspect of it, then what about everything else… what about him? Candor stared at his hands. There were trillions of atoms that made him up, and each one had its own private thoughts, communicated with its neighbours, and ultimately defined what Candor and everything else was. A harrowing thought occurred to him as he considered this- what if the atoms didn’t want to be part oh him any more? What if they decided to kill him off and be part of something new? It wouldn’t take much… Candor began to feel afraid. Afraid of himself. ‘Done it yet?’ Praeceptor’s voice cut through the mortal terror that gripped Candor and brought his attention back to the old man. ‘I… I think I have.’ Said Candor hesitantly, face paling at the thought of all those atoms with all that knowledge… ‘Excellent. And now, here comes the trick, this is how to do anything. You speak to them. You touch that spark of consciousness and you ask them to do your bidding. Ask them to form a compound with something, maybe ask them to get hotter than usual; whatever it takes for you At first it might take you a while, but you’ll get quicker, and eventually you won’t even have to think about it. Give it a go. See if you can make some fire for me, I’m freezing standing here.’ Praeceptor winked as he said this, and it gave Candor the strength to plunge back into the atom and its frightening mind.

Candor reached down into the depths of the air around his right hand, seeing each atom, and forcing himself to try to communicate with them. After a second of furious struggle, he managed to force himself into their mind, steeling himself against the rush of images and sounds the atoms sent out. He began to probe the consciousness of one atom and realised it was weak. They were all weak. He forced them to be part of him without even trying. Why did he have to ask them to do something? It would be so easy to make them do what he wanted! He was the one with the real power, not the atoms! Slowly, Candor focused every part of his being into making the atoms do what he wanted them to, instead of communicating with them as Praeceptor had instructed. They screamed with pain, but it didn’t matter, Candor’s mind was on fire and for a moment Candor began to feel the presence of Artifex, urging him on. The atoms struggled against him, but to no avail, as slowly he began to force them to oscillate, to ignite, to bond… ‘NO!!!’ The scream of Praeceptor cut through Candor’s like a knife. All thoughts of controlling the atoms forgotten, Candor span around and saw Praeceptor panting heavily, as though he had been struck a physical blow. ‘You do not… force them… That is what the Destroyer does, it hurts the atoms so much, it KILLS THEM! That is not your way. It can never be. If you choose that path you will lose yourself, in more ways than you can know Candor. Control whatever it is inside you that influences you like this and try again!’ Panted Praeceptor, clutching his side and wincing in pain. Candor delved in again, and reached the atoms mind once more. This time he began to form a question in his mind, not speaking the words but trying to send them out towards the atom- I am a friend. Almost immediately a reply came back, forming in Candor’s mind with no physical sound being made. ‘You tried to destroy us…’ Candor pushed the thought that the atom had sent him to the back of his mind and sent another thought back. ‘I made a mistake. I am a friend. Please stop trying to keep me out…’ ‘You are not the Destroyer Eversor?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then how did you get into our mind?’ ‘I am learning from Praeceptor-‘ ‘Then you are the one we have been waiting for! The Creator! He Who Is Skilfully Made! The Saviour! The Redeemer!’ ‘What?’ Candor’s face screwed up, puzzled by what the atoms had said. ‘In time you will understand. What name do you go by now?’ ‘My name is Candor.’ ‘Ah, the Shining Whiteness. It is a name we have heard before… What is it that you wish us to do Candor, Shining Lightness, He Who Is Skilfully Made, The Creator, The saviour, The Redeemer?’ ‘I’d like you to oxidise, oscillate, whatever it is you do to ignite into flame.’ ‘It is easy enough, it shall be done Candor, Shining Lightness, He Who Is-’ ‘Just Candor please.’

‘Very well Candor’ Candor stretch out his right hand towards Praeceptor, looking at it, wondering what was about to happen, then suddenly, as if from nowhere, bright orange flame blossomed up in the air just above Candor’s hand, crackling merrily and forming a perfect sphere, with tongues of flame licking outwards. Candor stared at it for a moment and breathed one word under his breath. ‘…Cool.’ *** The night closed in around Praeceptor and Candor that evening, but a merry blaze created my Candor’s new found atomic magic shed light and warmth to sustain them both. Each person was silent as they sat by the fire, gazing into its depths. Praeceptor was deep in thought, contemplating Candor’s new power, while Candor found himself in discussion with the atoms around him. They were unable to answer most of Candor’s questions, claiming to know only a tiny part of the answers he seeked. Apparently he would have to wait until his power grew, and he could draw more atoms together at once. They would have to be heavier, wiser and more powerful atoms like Uranium… But they did know a lot about what Candor could do now, and what would be beyond him. Occasionally a ball of ice or rock about the size of a golf ball materialised in front of him, only to vanish away with a wave of his hand seconds later. ‘You must understand Candor; We are unable to defy our own physical laws in any great way. It is you, and the power of your will that will hold us together, give us the energy to continue.’ Whispered the atoms in unison, their voices appearing directly in Candor’s head. ‘Then what about the fire you created?’ questioned Candor, puzzled by the answer the atoms had given. ‘It was small “magic”, over a tiny area; we have enough power to carry that out. You must realise the importance of your mental strength and your determination, or your powers will be wasted, be nothing more than petty magic.’ ‘So what kind of things can I do if I’m powerful enough?’ ‘Anything.’ The atoms answered simply, before continuing. ‘As your mental dexterity and knowledge of atoms and our workings grows, so too will the feats you can accomplish.’ Candor had to ask. His dreams… his fantasies… Could they be realised? ‘Can I fly?’ ‘Eventually, but it is complicated. You could try now, but without a better knowledge of physics and a great deal of determination, you would not be able to lift off the ground, as it is you that must instruct us how to move, how dense we must be and all other matters that would need to be addressed in flying.’ ‘So for now I should stick to making fire?’ ‘No- Plasma, fire is for atomic mages, not mortal Gods.’ ‘Plasma? How would I get that?’ ‘Plasma is the fifth state of matter. You must simply gather oxygen in the air together and then oscillate it as fast as you can. Physics will do the rest.’ ‘Great… I’m sure that’ll be real useful if something attacks me. What I really need is a

weapon, like a big honking gun!’ ‘A gun is for the weak. You need a sword, one forged from the very atoms around you, and your own indomitable will.’ ‘Well that sounds great, but how do I do it?’ ‘Take the atoms in the air and land around you, it doesn’t matter which, and begin to link them together, until you begin to weave a single object. As you had more atoms your sword will begin to form, until you have a blade that will be only one atom thick, and capable of slicing through anything.’ ‘That sounds… hard.’ ‘It is easy enough. We will help you if you stumble.’ Candor took a deep breath and began to concentrate on the earth beneath his feet and the air he breathed in. There was an overwhelming amount of nitrogen in the air, and a lot of carbon locked away in the earth. He would use those two elements for the majority of the blade. Working slowly at first Candor began to feel the atoms leap into place at his thoughts. At first he stumbled and was clumsy in his placing, but the atoms compensated for him and shifted position slightly until Candor began to get the hang of the steady inter-weaving of Carbon, Nitrogen and other trace elements around him. Candor became so engrossed in the making of his sword that he barely noticed it when Praeceptor fell asleep. Atom after atom slotted into place, each one pushed against its neighbour, making unnatural bonds that were held together by Candor's will. It was light when Candor finally finished it, smiling with satisfaction at the weapon he had made. Both the hilt and blade of the weapon were black as night, and appeared to be carved out of coal, possessing all the minerals qualities except being impossibly smooth and hard. The upper most layers of atoms on the blade were made with the scant traces of magnesium Candor had found in the air and in the earth, meaning that if he heated the nitrogen in the blade, it would react with the magnesium and brilliant white flame would light up the sword’s lethal edge. In short, it was beautiful. It needed a name… once more, the atoms provided the way- ‘It will be named Cadacus, devoted only to the death of your enemies.’ Was all they said, refusing to tell Candor more of this mysterious blade, although they did tell Candor the advantages of a sword like Cadacus. ‘The atoms that make it up will never be a part of anything else. You can dematerialise the sword and all the atoms that make it up will follow you, no matter how far you go. All you have to do is picture Cadacus in your mind and concentrate, and it should just reconstruct itself in your hand, but it means that Cadacus is held together by your will and determination, if that breaks, Cadacus will dematerialise until you can reconstruct it, but as long as you can hold it together, Cadacus is stronger and sharper than any mortal steel. It is your weapon Candor, use it wisely.’ Candor stared at the blade for a second, and then ignited it, watching the flames run up the blade, brilliant white and almost too bright to look at. He had a sword, now he needed an enemy. As Candor swung Cadacus about, testing the blade’s balance, Praeceptor awoke. In truth, he had never really been sleeping, but watching Candor forge Cadacus. He had been

impressed, but had remained silent. Now something was afoot, and he could hear the atoms whisper warnings throughout the still midnight air. Bandits. Praeceptor cursed silently, furious at himself for not teaching Candor what he had promised himself he would. There would be no point running, the bandits of the Great Plains were wild and barbaric, and the result of the indigenous people that once roamed the Plains being culled by settlers almost to extinction almost five hundred years ago The survivors were forced form their homes and resorted to cannibalism and barbarism to survive, and soon shunned language and technology, favouring violence instead. This new savagery from the previous peaceful and simple people of the plains, combined with the continued threat of animals like Iron bees and Kraken’s forced the settlers away. Even with the threats gone, the people of the plains remained savage, splitting up into three different tribes, each named after its guardian animal- The Cerburi, The Savage Stings and The Roaming Beasts, The Savage Stings becoming the most prominent of these tribes, using the armour and stings of the iron bees to gain a greater advantage in warfare. Years later, new expeditions were made, but each was repelled with such ferocity that The Great Plains was declared incapable of supporting human life. Even today, only small groups can travel through it without risking attack, from the Bandit people of the Plains, and now Candor and Praeceptor were being attacked by a band of Savage Stings. There were no war cries or hoots of triumph in the air as the bandits circled in, all they cared about was not letting this potential meal get away, and that meant taking them by surprise. Praeceptor was wise to the tricks of the Savage Stings, as they had occasionally gone on raids across the river Solarin and into Praeceptor’s forest home. He remembered the way they softly crept forward under cover of night, the brittle twigs snapping quietly under their feet. If you knew what you were looking for, you could spot them against the black of night. They had shunned their normal armour of the armour plates of skinned Iron Bees, instead daubing themselves in its thick, dark, blood, making them harder to spot. In the gloom, Praeceptor saw the lead bandit string a bow, made from the bone of a deer, and attach an arrow, carve from the sting of an iron Bee, still full of the deadly poison. The bandit took aim at Candor, still swinging Cadacus around, unaware of the drama unfolding around him. Praeceptor tensed, Candor was just a few metres away. The bandit drew back the bowstring… ‘Get down!’ Roared Praeceptor as he sprang, slamming into Candor and bearing him to the ground as the arrow whizzed over the boy’s head. An inhuman cry was let loose from the throat of the lead bandit, and all five of the bandits leapt forward, drawing clubs studded with obsidian. Two men ran forward and grabbed Praeceptor by the shoulders and hauled him up, pinning the old man’s arms to his back. As two more moved in to grab Candor, he rolled backwards and leapt up, feeling Cadacus form in his, solidifying as he held an image of it in his head. All atomic magic forgotten, Candor batted away one of his would be captors away and charged at the leader, who was covered in scars and tribal tattoos, towering above his fellow bandits. As he ran, Candor let out a scream of

rage and swung Cadacus high above his head, intent on running his foe through. As he got close though, the bandit drew an obsidian knife faster than Candor could comprehend, and before he knew it, felt the teeth of the knife bite through the skin on his face, gouging a deep and jagged cut up the length of Candor’s face. His will broken, Cadacus vanished like smoke and the force of the Bandit’s blow sent Candor tumbling down onto his back. The world turned upside down and he howled in pain, writhing on the ground as blood poured off his face and onto the dew-soaked grass. Candor was in a world of pain, and he knew he was going to die, and in the centre of it all a picture of a single atom kept forming in his head. The atoms… people were seventy percent water, and the other elements were easy enough to find. They were all here, in the air and in the ground he lay on, even on the blood that ran down the obsidian knife… Candor reached out with his mind, begging the atoms for relief, for a cure, and they obliged him. He felt the two halves of his split face begin to knit themselves back together, blood congealing and scar tissue weaving itself over that. The pain was receding now, and all that remained of the mortal wound was a thin scar that ran diagonally up Candor’s face, right to left that ran between his eyes and disappeared into his hair. The only sign that the wound was recent was the blood that soaked his face and stained the roots of his hair. He’d done this the wrong way. Candor didn’t even know how to use a sword properly, let alone fight off five experienced bandits with it, but he did know how to form a ten million degree ball of plasma. Candor cupped his hands, feeling the atoms within and reaching in to touch that spark of consciousness. You can oscillate, vibrate, hell you can dance for all I care, just really, really, really hot! After a few seconds, Candor felt it; the atoms were so hot they could no longer hold on to their electrons, they were becoming plasma. He knew it must be hot, but for some reason it didn’t affect him. Candor uncupped his hands as he watched a ball of plasma that had been the size of a golf ball rocket up into the sky and expand to the size of a football, illuminating the land for miles around. Each person present looked up at the ball of plasma, hanging in the sky for a few seconds before it winked out, the bandits screaming gibberish in fear and began to run. In one smooth movement, Candor leapt up and threw his arm out catching the bandit leader square on the chin with an atom enhanced punch, cracking his jaw and sending him flying to the floor. The bandit gave a scream before picking himself up and running. Candor shook his fist, marvelling at just how painful it was to punch someone. His knuckles felt like shattered glass. As he shook his hand, he turned to Praeceptor who was beginning to pick himself up off the wet grass. ‘Now THAT felt good.’ *** Morning came. Neither person had slept, the fear of another attack and the adrenalin from coming through the first alive. A small sphere fire floated in the air between Candor and Praeceptor, shedding light and warmth as they stared into its depths. It was Candor who broke the silence first. ‘We seem to be like this more and more often Praeceptor…’ Praeceptor simply grunted in reply, and silence was restored. Candor tried again.

‘You know… You’re not very talkative Praeceptor. I don’t know what we were like before I lost my memory but… You seem a little cold.’ Praeceptor was silent for a moment, lost in the strange and hypnotising pattern of the fire before replying. ‘The truth is Candor… I’ve taught you everything I can about atomic magic. You’ve already surpassed everything I thought possible by forging that sword of yours. You are… Incredible. If you can do that, then no atomic mage on earth can equal you… except one.’ ‘Who?’ asked Candor, fascinated by what Praeceptor was saying. ‘His name is Eversor, and he is mankind’s greatest mistake. Some executive in a suit had him created to make himself more money, but he was too powerful, too rebellious. I think… I think that you are the only that can match him. That is why I am training you Candor; but if I’m honest, I’m afraid.’ ‘Of what?’ ‘Of who you are and who you were. You’re far more important than you think Candor, The atoms know it, I know it.’ Praeceptor sounded tied and old; he sagged, as though what had been driving him all this way had left him, leaving only a shadow of the Praeceptor Candor had come to know. It was all so confusing. Images flashed through his head. The river, the soldiers, all of them dead, and the feeling of power that had coursed through him in that moment. He had to know… ‘I killed them, didn’t I?’ ‘Killed who?’ ‘The men, at the river…’ ‘You didn’t kill anyone Candor, Artifex did.’ ‘Artifex is who you were, and who you might become again, but the Candor I know was born at that riverside, so a great good has come of your alter ego’s evil.’ ‘What do you mean Praeceptor!? Am I even a real person? Am I simply the product of my first and last mistake!?’ Those words. The exact words Candor had uttered just a few nights ago in his sleep. Artifex was regaining control. Something was happening inside him. Praeceptor fought the urge to run. Trying to control his voice he began to speak. ‘No! You’re real! More real than Artifex ever was! …What about those bandits. You could have easily killed them all. You even let someone who carved your face up go, and you’ve got the scar to prove it! You saved us both without any blood spilt. Would Artifex do that?’ Candor’s voice wavered and came in starts and stops at first, but got stronger as he went on. ‘N- No… No he- he wouldn’t! You don’t control me Artifex! I don’t owe anything to a murderer like you! ...’ Candor began to scream beginning to jerk and convulse, his face contorting into the horrible scowl of Artifex and the terrified expression of Candor by turns. He struggled for a few moments more before collapsing on the ground, slipping out of consciousness

before he hit the grass.

CHAPTER 6: ARTIFEX Candor stood alone in an endless field of white. The snow fields of his dreams. Cadacus was in his hand, warm to the touch, almost alive. It’s glittering edge was alive with the bright white fire, stabbing tongues of flame out and melting the snow at Candor’s feet. He looked up. There was a figure in the far distance, a dot on the otherwise flat horizon. Who was he? Candor had a horrible feeling he knew who when the figure began to rise up off the ground. In seconds it was more than just a dot, racing towards Candor at incredible speeds. Before he could even blink an exact copy of Candor, right down to the sword in his hand. There were only two differences that separated the two, the doppelganger had no scar, and the flames of Cadacus were blood red. Candor looked up at his duplicate, looking straight at the eyes of his copy, those eyes that burned like hot coals… ‘Artifex.’ He whispered. ‘Correct. I am the original, the real. I hold both mine and your memories. I know everything that has ever come to pass on this earth that the atoms have witnessed. You are a child given too much power than is good for it.’ ‘Do you want me to leave? To give up? To disappear back into the dark corners of your mind? Do you think I can do that after everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done? I can’t let you take control Artifex, not just for my existence, but for the rest of humanity.’ ‘Humanity is worthless you fool! I will live forever, and I do not wish to spend eternity in the company of a race that is beneath me.’ ‘They created you though, how can they be beneath you?’ ‘That is their mistake for resurrecting the Mortal Gods, and they must pay for it.’ ‘Do you have any grip on reality? You’ll never be able to do it, they’ll fight back!’ ‘Reality is what I make it. The humans have no chance, you’ve seen how frail and weak they are.’ ‘I won’t let you Artifex. I’ll kill us both if I have to.’ ‘is that how you feel? Allow me to dispel your illusions Candor, because for you, there will be no dawn.’ Artifex raised his own Cadacus and launched himself at Candor, the blood red flames flaring as he did so. Artifex raised his own sword to block the blow, his arms jarring as Artifex struck. Candor put all his strength into pushing Artifex back and watched as Artifex was suddenly thrown backwards, ploughing into the perfect white snow. Candor didn’t know how to fight with a blade, if he had any hope of defeating Artifex he needed to use atomic magic. Summoning up a ball of plasma, Candor held it in his hand and waited for Artifex to get up, but was too slow. In the blink of an eye Artifex was up and ready for the plasma, stopping it and cupping it in the palm of his hand, adding to the size and power of Candor’s own attempt. Candor began to back away, realising his mistake in trying to use atomic magic. However good he might be, Artifex would be better. It meant there was another problem

now, how would he defend against the plasma? It was just so hot… Artifex launched the plasma ball, sending it rocketing towards Candor, watching as it drew closer to impact. Seconds before he got a severe case of not existing anymore, Candor took the snow all around him and used it to form a block of ice in the path of the plasma ball. The ice melted astonishingly quickly, but Candor kept reinforcing it, bringing the progress of the plasma almost to a standstill. Artifex saw this and began to advance, forcing the plasma ball to increase it’s energy output, trying to get the atoms to oscillate even faster, to get even hotter, and to do this he needed to get closer. As Artifex strode forward and the plasma ball ate through the ice even faster, Candor redoubled his efforts, desperate to sustain the only barrier between him and becoming crispier than he liked. Artifex was close now, and the plasma was only inches away from Candor’s face, and all looked lost. Artifex would reassume control of the body, kill Praeceptor, and destroy everything in the Plains. It would be the beginning of the end. That couldn’t happen! Almost without thinking, Candor’s grip tightened around Cadacus, and as he threw his arm out, it left his hand as fast as an arrow and into Artifex’s chest. The plasma ball dissipated and Artifex toppled over, run through by the deadly blade of Cadacus. Candor ran over, a torrent of rage welling up inside. He dragged the blade out of Artifex and held it high above his head, ready to strike the killing blow. You saved us both without any blood spilt. Would Artifex do that? Praeceptor’s words rang through Candor’s head as sharp as a bell. What was he doing? About to do exactly what Artifex wanted him to. He looked down at Artifex and saw he was laughing maniacally, his wound entirely gone. ‘Go ahead. Kill me Candor. You’ve earned it.’ Whispered Artifex tauntingly, a malevolent smile playing on his face. Realisation dawned on Candor as he let Cadacus evaporate into the air. ‘You wanted this didn’t you? I can’t kill you; it’s impossible. If I tried I’d be just like you… In fact, I’d be exactly like you and that would be the end of me. That was always your plan. It hasn’t worked Artifex. You might know everything, but you know the value of nothing; and I like to think that even if I am naïve and foolish, I know the value of a human life. That’s the difference between me and you. That’s why I’m only human. You’re just a voice in my head Artifex, and that’s how you’ll stay.’ Artifex tried to stand up, but Candor pushed him back down with a boot, that face that had been laughing just moments before looked desperate now. ‘No! You can’t leave me! You need me! You need my memories, my power! If you leave now you’ll be no wiser than when you arrived! You can’t defeat Eversor on your own! YOU NEED ME CANDOR!’ Candor just smiled and closed his eyes, tilting his head towards the sky. ‘I didn’t come looking for power or wisdom Artifex, and maybe I will need you to defeat Eversor… But I don’t need you yet.’ Candor, Shining Lightness, He Who Is Skilfully Made, The Creator, The saviour, The

Redeemer, opened his eyes, and then opened them again. *** Praeceptor was standing above Candor, the sun to his back, arms crossed and a wry smile playing across his face, he offered Candor a hand up as he began to speak. ‘Welcome back to the land of the living Candor.’ Candor brushed himself off and looked at Praeceptor quizzically. ‘How did you know it was me?’ ‘For the simple reason that if Artifex had won I’d probably be a steaming pile of ash somewhere over there.’ Candor shrugged. It was a good point. ‘Fair enough.’ ‘I have nothing left to teach you Candor, you know enough about atomic magic to keep advancing with the atoms’ help, and it’s safe to say that you know the difference between right and wrong. I’ve waited seven years for this moment, and looking at you, I know that my part in this story is done.’ ‘So what will you do now?’ ‘Go back to the forest of course. I’m too old to change my ways now. Unless…’ Candor knew what Praeceptor was hinting at, and was glad of it. ‘I thought you’d never ask. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not. Your job’s not done yet. I need someone to teach me how to fight?’ ‘How to fight? If you don’t know how then why did you forge Cadacus?’ ‘…Because I wanted to look cool.’ ‘So far all you’ve managed to do with that thing is look like a prat!’ They both laughed, finally happy in each other’s company. Praeceptor was no longer afraid, and Candor no longer alienated from Praeceptor. The road ahead was long and tough, and at the end of the Nivalis snow fields they would find Eversor. But for now the future looked bright enough, and at the back of Candor’s mind, Artifex was there, whispering barely heard evils to Candor, but found them falling on deaf ears… for now.

PART TWO: CANDOR THE REDEEMER Elsewhere… The quiet mining town of Nivalis, nestled on the edge of the great snow fields it takes its name from. Just a few hours ago, when the men should have returned from their work, deep beneath the snow, recovering rare Neutrinium, a metal with the unique property of being so dense that not even neutrinos can pass through it without affecting it, making it so reactive that unless cooled to the super cold temperatures that exist in Nivalis below the ice that it explodes violently. Armifer corp. is extremely interested in it, despite only paying four hundred rubels a tonne for it. Down in the town, the local ale houses had just opened as the men came home, and

wives laid out evening meals for their husbands, children waited for their parents, and mothers waited for their sons. The men would not come back, for they were lying dead at the bottom of a glacier, slaughtered by Eversor while trying to defend the precious mineral that was their livelihood. Now the town of Nivalis was in flames, rent apart as Eversor destroyed the storage tanks of Neutrinium, creating explosions that could be seen from miles off. The bitter cold had been replaced with burning heat, and the dark night was lit up by the burning wreck of Nivalis. Eversor was merciless, striking out at women and children, old and sick, rending them limb from limb as they begged for their lives. The destruction was total, as he searched for two important people- The Prophet and The Translator. They were here, and they would die. Eversor held his sword in his hand, which appeared insubstantial, merely black smoke roughly shaped like a sword, swirling and changing. In the moment before it struck it always took form, becoming viciously sharp and infinitely solid before evaporating into smoke again, the victim shorn clean in two. Unbeknownst to Eversor, his prey had escaped when the miners had failed to return, having feared the worst they had escaped over the fields and into the bezoars. Half way up the mountain pass they had seen the fires, and realised that they had been right. They were an odd pair, one of them a completely bald but young man in a simple brown habit, a length of old robe tying it at the middle, completely unremarkable apart from the absence of a mouth, and the other a girl no more than sixteen, with long black hair and a crossbow hanging limply from one hand, again entirely unremarkable apart form the fact that instead of eyes, she merely had two sightless sockets. The girl turned her back to the blazing fires hundreds of feet below them, and began to continue her climb up the path, speaking to her partner as she did so. ‘Let’s go Monk… It’s too late for them.’ CHAPTER SEVEN: VERTEX, AZAR, IZOTZAR AND… PICKLE. ‘That’s ridiculous. How can you tell what atoms smell and taste like?’ The swords clanged together, their steely scrape grating against the ears of the two combatants. ‘Well I can see them and hear them, so why can’t I hear them?’ There was another clang and a squealing sound as the blades locked. ‘All right then, what do they taste like?’ The sword of Cadacus swung again, being met by a lesser sword forged in a similar way. ‘Most of them taste like pickle… Except iron. That tastes of Vaseline.’ The two blades bit into each other once more, the blows against each other coming even faster form both sides. ‘How do you even know what Vaseline tastes like, or even pickle for that matter!’ Candor put his strength behind the blade and pushed, throwing Praeceptor backwards into the ground. Both swords evaporated and Candor offered him a hand up. ‘They told what they tasted like.’ ‘I think that you’re a bad liar.’ Weeks had passed, and now Candor and Praeceptor were almost at the end of the Great Plains. Hopefully tonight would be their last night sleeping in the plains before moving

onto the Bezoars. Candor had learned how to fight with his sword after forging Praeceptor a sword of his own, spending an hour each morning and each night practising. It wasn’t really gentleman’s sword fighting though; that was for sure. Praeceptor was definitely a dirty fighter. Every time Candor had said that Praeceptor’s style of fighting didn’t really seem fair, he’d get the same response: “It’s not about looking good, or being fair, it’s about making sure your opponent doesn’t get up again, even if that means hitting them while they’re down.” Praeceptor told Candor he was too trusting that his opponent would be honourable, and seemed to enjoy lecturing Candor every time he was beaten. “You may be an atomic mage but I don’t think that’ll help when someone has a sword in your gut.” But now it seemed after weeks of training Candor had finally got the message, now he stopped thinking of Cadacus as a weapon of justice to be flourished and thought of it as a lump of metal for killing people. It worked- Praeceptor had just been beaten back with ease. Both of them stretched and wandered over to the fire Candor had just started. Both sat down wearily, and Praeceptor began to eat his herbs, while Candor experimentally tasted some nitrogen. About half an hour later, darkness fell, and Praeceptor and Candor were deep in discussion again. ‘Do you think it’s possible for me to forge anything living?’ asked Candor, staring up at the stars. Praeceptor, sharpened up suddenly, taking on a hard tone. ‘No. Don’t even try it. You can’t create life from scratch. The atoms told me it was the one thing you can’t do- you can’t give life or restore it. Life is created with an atom that not even you can find, or control. You can’t bring a dead person back to life; the atom dies with the person. In many respects, that one atom IS the person. You can knit them up, start their heart beating, even get their brain working again, but you’ll be left with nothing more than a shell. The person would be gone, and all you’d be left with would be an invalid. Their mind would be blank, like if you magnetised a computer hard disk, incapable of learning anything. They wouldn’t even be able to breath.’ It was fair enough, but this left Candor with a burning question. ‘But… what about me then? How did they create Artifex and Eversor?’ Praeceptor was silent for a moment, contemplating what to say. ‘The simple answer is that I don’t know. Although I have a suspicion…’ ‘But if the creature is held together by my will like Cadacus is, then it’s really an extension of myself. So it could be a living thing, just as a part of me.’ ‘Think what you like Candor, I’m telling you it’s a bad idea.’ *** That night long after the fire had been spirited away and Praeceptor had curled up to sleep, Candor stayed awake, working as though possessed. He had ignored Praeceptor’s warnings and had tried forging something new. Something that would live. He had asked the atoms and they had told him it was impossible to create a new life, but that he could create something that was an extension of himself, with an independent mind and body, but dependant on Candor to exist. It would only have a half life, and on top of that, it would be like Cadacus, dependant on Candor’s will to hold it together, and would only exist as an array of disjointed atoms orbiting Candor when his will wasn’t exerted on it.

In short, the atoms had advised against it; but Candor had been adamant, he would create something new. He would create a horse, a wonderful, powerful, and speedy horse. A horse that would be able to carry both he and Praeceptor for miles without tiring, something that would shorten the journey to Nivalis. That was what Candor told himself anyway. The truth was, Candor was afraid of what Artifex and Eversor were, and was afraid that he was really just the same as them. Artifex and Eversor were both killers. All they would do is destroy. Candor desperately wanted to mark himself apart, he wanted to create, not destroy, and the only way to prove to himself he wasn’t the same as his counterparts was to create a living being. It was with this in mind that Candor set to work, and together with the atoms reluctant help, Candor worked through the night, weaving and crafting, instructing atoms to thread themselves between each other, creating the animal atom by atom. Time came to a stand still for Candor as he worked frantically to pluck atoms from the world around him, gradually forming the body of a horse in front of him. The problem was, when it was finished, it was… a corpse. There was no life there. It was missing something, it needed that spark of life. He had put garbage atoms in, so it made sense that what he got out of it was a garbage product. Candor reached down to speak to the atoms making up his lifeless horse to se what he could do. Their answer was simple and brief before severing the link. “You must put a piece of your body and soul into this horse, only then can it live.” The answer was clear to Candor- he had to put in some of the atoms that made him up. Feeling the atoms that kept his wrist sown up, he pulled their bonds apart until there was a miniscule slit in his wrist running down to the veins. Drawing the blood out with some deft manipulations of the density of the plasma, the blood began to flow form Candor’s wrist and into the horses mouth. This went on for a full minute before Candor felt the sudden tug of something leeching his will, much like Cadacus did. Closing up his wrist, Candor bent over and stroked the horses head, and suddenly, it gave a snort and it’s hooves began to paw the ground. Candor had a horse. Candor smiled wearily before letting the horse dissipate into the air. He was exhausted. He had to sleep…. Keeling over, he sank down onto the springy, slightly wet grass beneath him, and sank into a deep sleep. It was raining. Candor found himself standing in a street full of rubble and charred wood. All around him were the burnt out husks of buildings, all destroyed. He was standing there, alone, at the end of the long and irreparably damaged main street of this ghost town, Cadacus in hand, drops of water turning instantly to steam as they hit the flaming blade. Candor’s clothes were stained with the ash mixed with water, mud and half dried blood. None of this made sense. Where was he? At the far end of the street was a figure, hunched up, staring at the floor, an insubstantial and smoke like sword in his hand. After a few seconds though, as if sensing Candor’s stare, the figure looked up, staring Candor down. It was as though someone had poured icy water down Candor’s spine, as though someone had poured icy water down his back. Those eyes… they burned like… like… ‘Hot coals.´ breathed Candor. This was not Artifex… This was Eversor. ‘You did not run. I am surprised, your other half would have fled from me, but you… you

believe I can be defeated? The voice seemed to have a rounded and finished quality to it, something uncaring and inhuman, and something that spoke of subtle cruelties, instead of the brazen power of Artifex’s voice. ‘You are immortal, not invincible Eversor. I have come to right your wrongs!’ Candor found himself saying, with no control over what he said or did. The voice he spoke with now had been one of authority and bitter experience, and even seemed to hold the barest hint of Artifex within it. ‘’So be it.’ Came the reply, perfectly clipped and finished, yet filled with malice. Candor raised Cadacus, and felt the full force of the flame roar up the blade, like a lion baring it’s teeth. Eversor raised his own smoke-sword and the two ran down the street, rushing to meet each other head on. At the moment of impact, lightning struck, blinding Candor’s view and deafening his ears with the ringing. What had happened? Where was he!? It couldn’t end like thisCandor jolted upright, shook from sleep again by this haunting nightmare. Another vision he felt sure would be self-fulfilling… *** The sun rose over the not-so-distant Bezoar Mountains, spreading like treacle across the ground, and awakening the inhabitants of the Great Plains, including Candor. As he rose again, he saw Praeceptor was still sleeping, and decided to risk a ride on his new horse. Concentrating on it in his mind he felt it begin to materialise, the powerful muscles rippling under the sleek black fur, shining in the morning sun. Candor opened his eyes and found them staring down the horses own hazelnut eyes. They seemed to glow like miniature suns, and Candor saw that the horse he had created was as tall as he was, a good six foot at its highest point. Without any consideration for saddles or blankets, Candor threw himself up onto the horses back, preparing to ride it. The horse gave a terrific whinny and rose up on two legs, trampling the air. Candor whooped for joy and took hold of the horse’s thick black mane before spurring it on, racing at incredible speeds towards the morning sun. Candor let the sun wash over him, and the wind whip at his face, and realised that his new horse needed a name, and Candor knew exactly what to call it… after all, what kind of name was Vaseline? ‘Your name is… Pickle. Pickle the horse.’ Candor rubbed the horse’s neck as he said it, spurring it on to even greater speeds, going in a wide arc back to where Praeceptor slept. Pickle seemed to respond more to the thoughts of Candor than to his physical actions, and that stirrups or saddles would merely restrict both of them. As both boy and horse galloped back to Praeceptor, Candor realised he had never felt more alive. He had created life. With another cry for joy he began to raise his feet up and plant them on pickle’s back, rising slowly until he was riding pickle like a surfboard. As they approached the camp, Candor threw himself forward and Pickle stopped dead, catapulting Candor high into the clear morning air, as he twirled and flipped, throwing out sparks of fire and lightning, simply revelling in the joy of being alive, and being an atomic mage. All the while he was laughing as loudly as his lungs could manage, continuing to soar upwards until he was over thirty feet in the air when he began to descend. As this happened, Candor levelled off from his last twirl and through his arms out and locked his legs,

arching backwards as he fell, doing a full three hundred and sixty degree back flip before landing with a thud on his stomach in front of an awake and frowning Praeceptor. Candor picked himself up, groaning at his clumsy landing. ‘I thought I had more time than that’ He mumbled as he staggered backwards, painfully aware he was about to get a lecture from Praeceptor. ‘So.’ Snapped Praeceptor, thin lipped and scowling. ‘So?’ answered Candor with a devil-may-care smile and a shrug of his shoulders. ‘You made an animal, a living thing after I told you not to.’ ‘Oh come on… I’m hardly breaking the rules making one horse.’ Praeceptor slapped him across the face, with barely concealed contempt. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re only really breaking the laws of nature, physics and evolution!’ ‘I’ve already broken those, and you don’t seem to mind.’ ‘That’s different!’ Praeceptor seemed to consider Candor’s argument for a second. ‘Well… maybe you’re right. Have you given it a name yet?’ Candor smiled proudly, pleased of his foresight in naming the horse. ‘Yep.’ ‘What did you call it then? Something noble I hope.’ ‘… I called him Pickle.’ ‘You called him PICKLE!? Are you mad!? That’s not a noble name! What about Vertex, or Azar, or even Izotzar, but not… Pickle! You have no sense of grandeur Candor!’ ‘And you have no sense of humour Praeceptor. His name is pickle and that’s final.’ Praeceptor gave an even deeper scowl before turning on his heel and striding off to find breakfast, leaving Candor to collapse on the floor with hysterical laughter at the sight of the old man in a huff. CHAPTER 8: THE NEMESIS It was the middle of the day, both Candor and Praeceptor had sat down to eat a frugal afternoon meal, and neither were speaking to each other, with Praeceptor still furious at Candor’s disobedience, and Candor unwilling to apologise for what he felt was an imagined slight. Later Candor would wish he’d taken the opportunity to talk to Praeceptor, while he’d still had the chance, before disaster had struck. The morning weather that had begun so well was now turning bad, with storm clouds rolling across the horizon, gathering across the sky. Unable to explain why, Candor felt a great sense of foreboding at those clouds. They did not seem natural. The atoms that made them up seemed to be in great pain, and it unsettled him. Unsure of what was going on, Candor stood up, looking skyward. ‘It’s just a storm Candor, leave it alone.’ Grumbled Praeceptor, unmoved from his spot. Candor turned around, feeling the base of his skull begin to buzz like a nest of hornets. ‘Are you sure Praeceptor? I don’t think it’s more sinister than that.’ Praeceptor looked up to the sky, as rain began to fall from the clouds, the overlarge and heavy drops smashing against the ground and sending small clouds of soil as it turned the grassy land into a bog. Within seconds the rain had turned into a downpour that drenched both people in seconds, a continuous sheet of water that saturated the ground. Candor turned to stare at Praeceptor, each seeing the fear in the other’s eyes. He was here. Candor began to breathe heavily as the first forks of lightning tore the sky in two, the buzzing in his skull erupting into a fearsome migraine. He clutched his head as the clouds obscured the sun, throwing the world into a dull gloom. Candor wiped the water from his

eyes as he saw it happen. Through the sheet of rain a figure entered this private hell. The rain never hit the person, simply evaporating into steam before it hit him, creating the impression of an aura surrounding them. Eversor had come to see his brother. Candor fell to his knees, blinded by the pain of being so close to Eversor, with the screams of a million atoms filling his ears. The grass died where Eversor walked, and the air boiled around him. He was killing every atom he came into contact with, and enjoying it. His eyes burned just as they had in Candor’s dreams, glowing like hot coals. All Candor could do was look up at the face sneering down at him, and utter a few choked words. ‘You… you’re killing them!’ That same insubstantial smoke sword was raised, ready to strike down and cleave Candor in two. The second before the sword fell, Praeceptor’s make shift knife flew through the air, heading straight for Eversor’s face. The man moved like lightning, his sword zipping through the air, solidifying the second before the knife hit. There was a loud clang, a shower of sparks, and the blade fell back to earth. It was only a second, but the grip Eversor held on Candor was broken, and as Eversor turned his attention back to Candor he found himself being punched in the face. Eversor didn’t even flinch. Eversor swung his smoke sword and Candor threw himself backwards into the air, feeling the atoms around him and simultaneously forming Cadacus and a ball of plasma. Candor threw the plasma ball as he landed, rolling backwards as he did so to avoid the gout of flame pouring out of Eversor's fingers. There was a brief lull as Eversor gracefully dodged the plasma and Candor threw himself up, then it began anew, as both combatants rushed to meet each other, swords held high. As the blades met for the first time there was a terrific explosion of force that threw both men back, as the atoms the between the two swords were instantly torn asunder. Candor heard their scream as one discordant, shrieking cry as he was thrown to the ground. Eversor seemed unaffected by neither the explosion nor scream, standing perfectly still and ready as the wind and rain lashed him, opening his mouth ever so slightly to speak. ‘My blade has a name you know… it is Divulsum, and with it I will tear the atoms asunder. You cannot stop me. You cannot even try Artifex.’ Candor picked himself up, leaning heavily on Cadacus for support as he spoke. ‘My name is Candor. Artifex… he is dead.’ ‘Then allow me to accommodate a reunion for you.’ Whispered Eversor as he stepped forward and swung Divulsum at Candor. Candor ducked down as Eversor did this, bringing Cadacus around to stop Divulsum’s deadly arc and force it into the muddy ground as Candor bore forward, barrelling into his opponent and bearing him to the ground with a brutal shoulder charge. “It’s not about looking good, or being fair, it’s about making sure your opponent doesn’t get up again, even if that means hitting them while they’re down.” It was all Candor could think of now, as he had Eversor on the ground, Cadacus forgotten as he threw punch after punch into Eversor's face. The muddy, sodden ground was churned into a bog as Candor tried desperately to kill Eversor, to stop him while there was a chance. Fear and desperation lent Candor strength, knowing that Eversor

would kill both him and Praeceptor. But even before his strength began to fail, and his resolve weakened, Candor knew it was a vain effort. Eversor was too strong, too powerful to be killed like this. Every time Candor hit him, Eversor forced new atoms to replace the old, and before long he did not have enough strength to plant another blow. As the punches stopped, Eversor snarled, and began to exact his vengeance. First Eversor punched Candor in the face with such force that the boy’s head snapped back and he was thrown backwards into the air. Before he could land, Eversor stopped him in mid air, forcing Candor to hang in the air like a puppet on strings before being tossed away with a sweep of Eversor's hand. Candor sailed through the air, barely conscious as he hit the ground, continuing to plough through the mud as he landed; such was the force of Eversor's attack. Candor lay on the ground, unable to move as the rain hit his face, making the blood and mud on it run. He blinked, and Eversor was there above him, holding Divulsum above him, ready to bring it down and impale Candor. Before he did though, Eversor gently whispered a warning to him. ‘You will find a wound from Divulsum will not heal. Your death will be slow and painful.’ Divulsum was brought down, piercing through Candor’s right shoulder without resistance, plunging deep into the ground as the redeemer screamed with the pain, rich red blood pouring freely onto the mud, flowing through furrows and pooling in holes as it hit the ground. Before long almost all the boggy mud to the right of Candor had blood flowing across it, forming pools and streams in the uneven surface. Candor looked at the wound he had been dealt, and knew he was doomed. Candor felt the Divulsum slide out of his shoulder, leaving the gaping wound to leak out his life as the blood flowed freely out of him and into the already blood saturated ground. Candor saw in his atomic sight that Divulsum had shedded a layer of atoms inside the gash, still bound to Eversor's will that prevented Candor from even stopping the blood flowing, let alone healing the bloody hole that Eversor's weapon had left. Eversor towered above him, Divulsum swirling about in its smoke form as Eversor began to speak. ‘You are a disappointment… Candor. The light is about to go out.’ Candor could only stare as Eversor raised Divulsum high above his head, the rain blurring his vision and the thunder blocking his ears. He barely noticed Praeceptor’s makeshift knife burst out of Eversor’s chest, and was almost unable to hear the old man’s furious scream. ‘HE IS MINE!’ Screamed Praeceptor as he yanked the knife out of Eversor, tears of rage streaming down his face. ‘I have worked too long, sacrificed too much to see that boy killed! His power should have been mine! He has no idea of MY sacrifice, and MY pain! I will fight you Eversor and I will kill you! Candor is MINE!’ Time seemed slow to Candor at that moment, all his pain forgotten as he watched Eversor begin to turn to face Praeceptor, bringing Divulsum around as he did so. As it happened, Candor felt the atoms around him, felt them speak to him with previously unknown fervour and urgency. The time is now. His death will not be for nought.

Eversor swung around, bringing Divulsum before him, the blade cleanly passing through Praeceptor’s neck. There was a look of surprise on the head before tumbled off, the body falling quickly after it, both landing with a squelch in the mud. Eversor stood over the headless corpse, considering it for a second. Then he heard a clear, and sharp whistle cut through the beating of the rain. He turned around to see Candor standing before him, hunched up and clutching at his right shoulder with his left arm in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Divulsum was drawn back to run him through, ready to end the only thing stopping Eversor, when he heard the sound of hoof beats… Pickle charged out of the night, trampling the off-guard Eversor under foot as Candor threw out his right hand to catch the mane of the stallion as it flew past, the momentum of the horse throwing him up onto its back as it galloped off into the night. Candor glanced back to see Eversor picking himself up, his eyes still burning in the night, and the body of his mentor, before they were swallowed up by the night.

CHAPTER 9: HARDSHIP The midday sun beat down across the plains, spreading warmth to the lakes and streams that had gone cold in the night, heating the blood of the lizards lying on rocks, and shining off the armour of the hunting iron bees, it’s all encompassing heat breathing life into everything it touched. At the far end of end of these miles of grassy fields, a young man was perched atop a horse twice his size as it trotted over the grass, forming a picturesque scene when viewed from a distance. If a spectator were to look closer however, they would find a proper inspection told a different story. The man was slumped forward, his eyes half closed and his head resting against the horses straining neck. Blood has dried and crusted over his entire right side, and some has even stained the horse’s immaculate black coat, but blood continues to pour from his right shoulder, despite his left hand being clasped as tightly as it can over it. This is a dying man, and one who will die if he does not escape the unbearably hot sun that burns his neck. The shade of the bezoars lies less than a mile ahead, but neither the horse nor rider have enough energy to do anything more than inch along, hoping they will not pass out. The day wears on, and the progress of the two is slow and unsteady, the horse beginning to weave and sway, affected by its rider’s fatigue. It has taken many hours to get close to the shade, and now it lays only a few hundred metres ahead, and the sun has risen to its peak, it seems to the dying man that nature itself has set itself against him. He has come so far, but fatigue and pain have worn him down, those final few metres have defeated him, and his eyes close for what must be the final time. As he lapses into unconsciousness, the horse evaporates beneath him, and he falls with a thud onto the sun baked ground, dead to the world as life bleeds away… *** Darkness all around... he couldn't feel his right arm.... voices... A man and a women... 'Wake up!' Candor's eyes opened slowly, and found himself on a stone altar, staring at a sheet of

raven black hair covering a woman... no, a girl's face. She couldn't be older than eighteen. He tried speaking but found his mouth too dry and sore, and his lips cracked and broken. After a tremendous effort, he managed to utter one word to this girl as she stood above him. 'Water...' The girl recoiled for a second, her hair still obstructing her face, and ran off. Candor tried to prop himself up on his right arm, but still couldn't feel it. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head to get a good look at his wounded arm. What he saw shocked him. It was gone. All that was left was a blood soaked and heavily bandaged stump next to the shoulder. He gave a gasp and found the effort of remaining conscious too great. He slumped back to his original position, feeling greatly worse for those few minutes of consciousness. When Candor woke again, he was beginning to feel better. Someone was pouring a gourd of water slowly down his throat, and he felt it give him strength as he drank it, although he still felt sick whenever he glanced at the stump that had once been his right arm. The person giving him the drink was a young man, entirely bald, in a brown sack cloth monk's habit. He was silent the whole time. When the water gourd was empty, the man left without a word, and Candor closed his eyes, drifting back into sleep. The next few days progressed in a similar manner, and Candor did not see the girl again in all of that time, while his strength was gradually restored. It was on the fifth, maybe the sixth morning that he saw her again. It was as he woke up again that he got his second glimpse at her. Her hair was back and Candor found himself staring into here eyes, or where her eyes should have been. Instead there were two sightless sockets, flesh peeling off them, giving a gruesome effect. In that moment he found his voice again. He gave a yell of surprise and rolled backwards off the altar, and at the same time the girl gave a shriek of surprise and shrank. Candor crouched behind the altar breathing heavily, recovering from the shock of seeing the grotesque sight. After a second Candor decided to take the risk of coming out form behind his hiding place and get a closer look. Unfortunately the girl decided to do the same thing, and as Candor span out from behind the altar, and found himself inches from the girl's face. Both of them screamed and threw themselves against opposite walls. 'Your eyes!' Candor screamed 'Your arm!' the girl screamed back. '...What?' 'Your arm! Look at it!' Candor looked down at his arm stump and saw there was no sign that it had been recently cut off, and the stump had completely healed. He looked at it with atomic sight and saw that ocassionally a clump of atoms would detatch from the rest of their bretheren in the air and form a new layer on his arm. The atoms were regrowing his arm... But that didn't make sense, whenever he'd made anything with the atoms it required him to hold it together with his will, and he had to make a conscious effort to create it. Looking back at his surprised opponent he nodded at her, adding 'one moment.' before delving down with his mind towards the atoms, penetrating their nucleus and opening up his mind to their world of communications. 'What are you doing to my arm?' Candor asked in his mind. 'we are restoring it.' Came the voice of all the atoms as one. 'But I thought I had to make a conscious effort to create something.'

'Only when you are creating something new, conjured up from the air around you, your arm has previously existed, and is merely being restored. As we speak the atom that were once your right arm are disintegrating their bonds and reattatching themselves to you.' 'That's a point. Why am I missing an arm?' 'You would do better to ask the girl who cut it off.' Candor's eyes flew up to where the girl was, narrowing as they did so. 'It was you?' He whispered menacingly. 'You cut off my arm!? Why did you do that!?' 'I can explain!' She cried suddenly, shielding herself with her arms. 'You cut off my arm!' 'I had to!' 'YOU CUT OFF MY ARM!' '...Let me explain. My name is Azar-' 'Azar? That's a horse's name!' In two swift steps, Azar strode over and slapped candor across the face, leaving a crimson hand mark across his cheek, before stalking back to her previous position. 'I'll ignore what you just said and carry on. My name is Azar, and I'm here with my brother, Monk.' 'Monk? what sort of name is tha-' Candor stopped mid sentence, quelled by the sightless girl's furious expression. 'Anyway, I don't care about that, what i want to know is where here is, and why YOU CUT OFF MY ARM!' 'Shut up about your arm! If I’d known it would be this much trouble i would have left you there! 'Here' is the ruins of an abandoned Jesuit monastery at the foot of the Bezoar mountains.' 'Jesuit? Who are they?' 'They were fourth century theologians, Extremists casting the word of their God out to the furthest reaches before the collapse of religion in Bangalor.' 'Bangalor?' 'Have you know idea what Bangalor is!? Did you lose your mind as well as your arm?' Candor scowled. 'Something like that, and if you hadn't cut it off maybe I wouldn't be suffering from trauma now and wouldn't have lost my memories.' 'Trauma? what trauma? Your arm has completely healed! And are you seriously trying to blame Amnesia on me as well!' 'Yes I am. You might not have noticed but I'm a bit upset about losing my arm. You can tell me what Bangalor is later, just get to bit where you cut off my arm!' Azar considered it for a second, and then shrugged, turning back to Candor as she stalked out of the room. 'I'm getting a drink, do you want something?' Candor scowled before replying 'No thanks, but i'd like my arm back!' 'Shut up already! you'd be dead if I hadn't done it!' 'What do you mean?' 'I mean... I mean that me and Monk found you, about a mile away from here, ta death's door. Your arm, it was bled dry. We tried to do everything we could to stop it bleeding, but in the end we had to do it...' 'Do what?'

'Monk told me to cut your arm off, above the hole in your arm. He said that you'd die otherwise!' '... I would have been fine.' 'You really think that? It wasn't an easy decision you know. I'd never even used a saw before, let alone cut an arm off with one!' Candor stared for a second, doing a double take. 'I'm sorry, I must have misheard you, I thought I heard you say that you cut my arm off with a saw.' 'Well what would you have liked me to have cut your arm off with!?' 'Not a saw! Don't you have a laser cutter or something to do that kind of thing?' 'yes, because that's just what you expect to find in a two thousand year old monastery!' 'I still don't like it. I would have got better.' 'Don't flatter yourself. You almost died. It was only the spirits that saved you.' Candor had heard that phrase before. "the spirits", Praeceptor had said that. 'What did you say?' 'Don't flatter yourself.' 'No, no... after that. About the spirits.' 'I said it was only the spirits that saved you.' 'How do you know that?' 'I can see them.' No. Way. That was stupid. She was just insane. He was the only one who had the Atomic Sight. Then again, Praeceptor could hear them, and this girl had no eyes... 'How do you see?' asked Candor, his curiosity piqued now. 'I see the spirits. They make up everything. I used to think that was how everyone saw things, i didn't realise until I was nine...' 'And how did you realise that?' 'It doesn't matter.' whispered Azar, and Candor was about to ask further when she swept out of the room, covering her face. It was surreal. Was it coincdience, or were they doing it again? Were they using these people, just like they used Praeceptor? Just another piece in a carefully orchestrated scheme? These atoms, they had more influence than they let on. It made Candor wonder, and that wonder was beginning to turn into suspicion. Things weren't as simple as they seemed. Candor shook his head, as though clearing his thoughts. 'I'm going back to bed, see if i can nurse my arm back to healtth. You can finish the story later.' 'What story?' asked Azar. 'Bangalor. And your eyes...' 'I'm not telling you about that. Monk can tell you about Bangalor.' 'Yeah... about him, is he as mad as you? Does he have any 'wacky' skills? can he smell atoms?' 'No. He can talk to them.' 'Wait, what!?' 'Nothing. Good night... urm... I don't know your name. What is it?' 'It's Artif- Candor. It's Candor.' 'Right. Well... Good night Candor.' 'Yeah... sure....' it confused Candor, deeply, the fact he had almost called himself Artifex. Artifex was just

a voice in his head. Less than that now, wasn't he? So how come whenever he met someone, he seemed to be trying subconsciously to call himself Artifex. He had to physically stop his tongue from blurting it out. It wasn't like he was being controlled. Far from it. Calling himself Artifex felt natural. Scowling at himself and smacking his head, Candor Threw himself on the pile of bedsheets in the corner of the room, falling into an uneasy sleep. *** Renantos city of a thousand souls... Most of them had been sold on by now, and there were far, far more than a thousand. And they were all in danger now. Contrary to his business ethics, President Telford was not an intentionally evil man. He knew that Artifex and Eversor were his mistakes, and they put every person in Renantos... No, the world in danger. Something had to be done. He turned away from the glass wall of his office, which held that stunning view of Renantos in the early morning light. He turned to his secretary, waiting dutifully at the entrance to Telford's office. 'Make a note. Tell Lazarus i want to see him.' Telford said as he wandered over to his desk. 'Lazarus? Lazarus magehunter?' Asked the secretary, peering over her glasses in disbelief. 'That's the one.' confirmed Telford as he sat down to look at some contracts. Lazarus Magehunter. The name was infamous in certain parts of Renantos. Mainly the rougher parts. No one knew how or why, but the man was blessed with being the most quick witted, dead-eyed, and longest surviving vigilante Renantos had ever known. But Lazarus magehunter didn't fight for political or religious reasons; he fought for an unfathomable cause; was his own personal vendetta against all atomic mages. He was well equipped for his crusade against them, possessing the extraordinary ability to nullify the powers of even the most experienced mage, and leave the victim powerless as he fired at them from point blank range. What no one knew about Lazarus, was that he himself was an atomic mage, albeit one whose ability was entirely unique. It was his own unconscious manipulation of atoms that lent him the ability to stifle the power of his nemeses, and gave him the keen eye and quick reactions that had kept him alive. At this moment in time, Lazarus was sitting in his small and dirty room that passed for his home, drinking himself to death. He lived in one room in another featureless apartment block that stretched into the heavens, fitted in to the densely packed slums that were saturated with this cheap bulk accomodation. Lazarus magehunter may have been famous in the city, but he lived in some of the cheapest and dirtiest slums in Renantos. Most of these concrete monuments were derelict and abandoned, a relic of the city's humbled beginnings, and yet packed with squatters, people too poor to afford accomodation. It wasn't the very worst part of Renantos, but it was pretty close. There was little or no law in the slums, only that enforced by gangs and private military, acting on behalf of a wealthy businessman. This poor combination meant that the slums were brimming with exploitation, whether it was the gangs seeking to exert their authority, or the private military lining their contractor's pockets. Either way, it meant that some

conflict was continuous, often only breaking up after a sustained firefight with one side having a clear victory. In the slums, you only went out onto the streets if you were there to kill someone. It was this near constant racket of gunfire that had compelled Lazarus to drown his sorrows as spectacularly as he was. The only problem was, he was running out of alcohol fast, and when that happened, a hangover would be sure to follow. To try and make the drink last longer, Lazarus occupied himself with some small task between drinks. For now he was cleaning and unjamming his gun, an Armifer corp. medium range Assault rifle, model RF-79, registration number 45-6F-23, according to the brochure it was an "all purpose weapon, perfect for the reality of every day life in Renantos' busy, capital city atmosphere". What the brochure meant was it was good for when you needed to kill people. Which was a lot. Lazarus had spent a lot of money on his gun, customising it with a laser sight and scope, a folding stock and capacity for a 100-bullet magazine, as opposed to the standard 60. In short, Lazarus liked his killing machine. It was as Lazarus began to clean his gun, scraping the dried blood off the barrel that he got a knock at his door. A person knocking was never good in Renantos. These people hadn't got in here by the street that was for sure. Lazarus walked over and pushed his eye to the spy-hole in the door, and had to stop himself from bolting there and then. They had expensive suits, expensive guns, and a mean look. They could only be from Armifer Corp. That meant they must have got to the building by air, as Lazarus doubted they'd be quite as immaculate if they got to this building by the usual method. Whatever these men were here for in couldn't be good, and it sobered him up. Walking backwards across his apartment he called out, 'Who is it?' There was silence for a second, then a gruff voice answered: 'Customer Service.' Lazarus was going to miss this apartment. He ran over to the rectangular hole in the wall on the far side of the apartment that was supposed to be a window. Glass was far too valuable a commodity to be wasted in the slums. What it did mean though was that since every building was closely packed together, a desperate man could leap from a window of one building and if he was lucky grab hold of a windowsill in another. This was the usual way of getting across the slums. On public holidays the air might be thick with leaping people, and by the end of the day quite a few unlucky people would litter the streets below. Lazarus didn't like having to use it, but he didn't really have a choice. He climbed up and wedged himself in the window and tried not to look down. His apartment was on the 45th floor. It would be dangerous, but Lazarus had chosen this apartment because directly opposite his window was an old and derelict fire escape ladder on the next building, separated by a fifteen-metre gap. Once he was ready he turned back to the door and shouted as loudly as he could. 'Go to hell!' The door exploded, sent flying back off it's hinges by a high power explosive, closely followed by one of the men in suits, holding a large automatic shotgun, manufactured by Armifer of course. As this happened Lazarus threw himself out the window, his gun slung across his back as the debris from the explosion chased him out of the window and across the open gap between buildings. Small shards of wood buried themselves in Lazarus' back as he managed to get a hand on one of the rungs of the ladder. It creaked and bent as

he attempted to pull himself up, the rusted metal beginning to break off under the weight of Lazarus. He knew it would break away before long, and he furiously climbed, trying to get himself past the weak point in the metal. The closer he got, the more the bottom section of the ladder creaked. Soon it was only a thin strip of metal that connected the section with Lazarus on to the rest of the ladder. The left hand side had snapped, leaving Lazarus swinging like a pendulum in the wind. He was well over a metre away from the first safe rung, and he knew if he tried to move closer to it, the ladder would snap. If he stayed where he was for much longer, the ladder would snap. If a strong gust of wind came along, then the ladder would snap. Lazarus was left without a choice, he'd have to jump for it. He began to get better grip with his feet and waited for the wind to die down, so his section wouldn't twist in the wind. There was one horrible minute while he waited for the wind to stop, and he knew that if he waited now he'd never get another chance. As soon as the ladder stopped moving, he launched himself upwards, using the rung his feet were on as a grip. The force of his legs pushing down broke off the bottom section of the ladder, and as it tumbled down the thousand metres to the street, Lazarus felt his left hand close over the bottom rung of what was left of the fire escape ladder, while the rest of his body hung there like a rag doll. It took all his strength to pull himself up those first few rungs using only his arms, until his feet finally got a grip on the rung that his hand had grabbed just moments before. The good news was that those Armifer Corp thugs couldn't follow him onto the fire escape now, even if they wanted to. The bad news was that they could just shoot him in the back from the window if they wanted to. the thought of this made him climb faster. The idea of going through all that only to be shot in the back seemed very anticlimactic to him. The fire escape led all the way up to the roof of the building Lazarus was on, which reached right up into the clouds. He'd climbed for almost eight hundred metres, and was completely exhausted when he finally managed to crawl up onto the roof. He lay there for some minutes trying to get his breath back. It was freezing this high up and moisture and condensation was pooling in the creases of his clothing. As he lay there he stared across at the roof of the building that had been his home until an hour ago, and saw exactly what he'd been expecting to see. A helicopter emblazoned with the Armifer Corp. logo, a red circle with an eagle holding a syringe in one talon and a gun in the other. The two big money-makers in this world, and Armifer had cornered the market in both. It was that helicopter that Lazarus was going to use to get away. All he had to do was jump the fifteen-metre gap. He could sell the helicopter to someone in a better part of Renantos and use the cash to settle in somewhere more upmarket. The bonus of this plan was that it also left his attackers stranded in the slums. It would take them days to get out, if they got out at all. It was this thought of sweet revenge that sustained him as he made the jump between buildings, struggling to pull himself up as he slammed into the side of the building, and while half running, half limping towards the helicopter. Twenty years ago this helicopter would have been worse than useless to Lazarus, but the revolution in computer technology had allowed Armifer corp. to revolutionise vehicle design, to the extent that a child could operate any of the vehicles it designed. The slogan was that if you could drive a car, you could fly an Armifer helicopter. Lazarus was depending on this as he climbed into the cockpit and began to fire up the engine on it, the rotor blades beginning to spin. He was ecstatic and managing to get the thing started, and was so busy cheering he didn't

even hear the sound of the door to the hold of the helicopter open, or that of a gun being loaded. He only noticed when he felt the nuzzle press into the back of his head and a cold voice speak in a deadly whisper: 'Don't move.' Lazarus held up his hands, beginning to realise just how much trouble he was in. The voice spoke again. 'I'm not going to kill you Lazarus; I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't ran away. My name is Christopher Telford.' Lazarus gasped in surprise. 'Your president of Armifer!' 'Bingo. I'm here for you Lazarus. I have a job for you.' 'A job? What kind of job?' 'I want you to kill an atomic mage... Well, There's two of them actually, but he's just a secondary target.' 'That's no problem. Why the goons though?' 'I wanted to test you. These two mages are more powerful than any you have ever seen, and they must be eliminated. The fate of Renantos depends on it.' 'Surely you're exaggerating?' 'No Lazarus, I am not. They are two of the foulest creatures ever to walk the earth. You are the only one with skills to take them out.' 'I need to know three things, where in Renantos are they, what are they known by and how much am I being paid?' 'Their names are Artifex and Eversor, and you will be paid 4 million rubels.' 'That's a lot of money, but you still haven't told be where they are.' 'That's because we don't know. We've implanted trackers in them when we had them... incarcerated, but it can taken anything up to two weeks for us to get a satellite fix on them, since both targets seem to be slowly assimilating the trackers into their metabolism, which makes it harder and harder for us to get a positive ID. In the meantime I'd like to take you to Armifer Corp. headquarters, and show you just how much 4 million rubels can get you.' Lazarus' eyes gleamed greedily, but he didn't give anything away. 'And what if I don't want to do this?' 'Then I shoot you in the head and push you off this delightful building.' 'I guess that means I'll take the job.' 'Welcome aboard...' said Telford, grinning wolfishly as the two shook hands. CHAPTER 10: HUNTER HUNTED Two weeks passed in the Monastery, and Candor's arm had almost completely grown back, with only the fingernails still to be restored. It had scared Azar at first, but Candor had taken the time to explain everything that had befallen him since he had woken up, and found that Azar and Monk were more accepting of his story than he had expected them to be. Everything he had experienced since he'd woken up in this monastery was surreal. He'd hardly thought about Praeceptor, except at night, where the only thing he could think of was that horrible moment when The old man's head slid off his shoulders... It tore Candor up that he had been powerless to do anything, and made a silent vow that he would never let anyone else die while he had the power to save them. Inevitably, thinking of trying to save people, led him on to thinking about his current company, and

that got him thinking about Monk. It was strange enough that Azar could see despite having no eyes, but Monk... Monk was disturbing. His lips had been cut off and what was left of his mouth sown up according to Azar, but the skin had healed and sealed up his mouth permenantly. How he ate and drank was a total mystery, but the way he spoke... Monk could speak to the atoms, and although he couldn't hear them back, he talked to them and gave them instructions, one of which was to communicate what he was saying to others. It was the single strangest feeling in the world, like his had been opened up and the voice of Monk was being played through a million different speakers at a low volume inside his skull, all slightly out of sync. Azar could only see the atoms though, so whatever Monk said was apparently relayed to her visually through the atoms. It meant that she couldn't get his exact words, but she'd had years to perfect her interpretation of the atoms. They both relied on each other to get through life, since although Azar could see, it was only the atoms she saw, and it was difficult for her to see the complete object. It was something she had remarked upon to Candor on the third day, asking him if he knew what he looked like in Atomic Sight. He didn't of course, so she told him: 'Most people's atoms just blend into the background like with every other object, and it makes it hard to tell where one thing ends and another begins. But you... You atoms are so densely packed, and there are always more buzzing around you, following you... Your atoms, they shine.' Candor hadn't been sure what to make of that, so he chose to ignore it. The three of them got to know each other better as time went by, and while Candor still hadn't been told about Bangalor, or why Azar and Monk had been so horribly mutilated. Candor's arrival had pleased them both, with Monk finally able to communicate exactly what he was saying through Candor, instead of his sister's imperfect interpretation, and Azar having a clear point of reference in the form of Candor, a welcome change from staring at a nearly indecipherable matrix of atoms. Candor was left reflecting on all this one fine morning when Monk strode in to the room he was sleeping in, dressed as usual in that simple brown sackcloth habit, with the cord tied around his waist. This morning he also carried a long, tubular object wrapped up in a carrying case slung over Monk's shoulders. Candor hadn't seen it before but had an odd feeling he knew what it was. 'Is that... Is that a sword? That's not particularly religious.' Asked Candor as he got up. Monk looked shocked. 'A sword! Oh lord no! I'm not as barbaric as you are.' 'Then what is it?' '...It's a sniper rifle.' said Monk after a pause, before quickly sweeping out of the room, cutting off Candor's reply as he spoke again. 'You want to know about Bangalor? Well now is the best time, The weather is clear and you'll be able to see right to the top of the Monastery.' 'The top of the Monastery? We're going outside?' asked Candor as he tried to keep up with Monk's fast stride through the long corridors and winding passages of the stone structure. It would be the first time Candor would have seen the outside of the Monastery. 'Oh we're going to be doing more than going outside.' answered Monk. 'We're going to be climbing up the Monastery wall.' 'What!?'

*** 'We're almost ready for you Lazarus.' The sound of rotor blades starting up could be heard as Lazarus strode down the halls of Armifer headquarters, outfitted with everything from Night vision goggles to phosphorous grenades. It had taken a while for satellite imaging to get a fix, but eventually it had managed to put a point on the approximate locations of both people. One of them was in an abandoned Jesuit Monastery on the edge of the Bezoars, and the other one was zeroing in on that position. They'd been able to track the one heading for the Monastery for the best part of a week, watching as it made slow progress across the satellite map of the Great Plains. It was a certified fact that this one could travel enormous distances in the blink of an eye, as Lazarus had seen from earlier satellite surveillance, but something was stopping it from doing so. No one was sure what, but the plan had been to wait until both targets were in a close proximity. Judging from the moving target's speed, it would be at the Monastery in twelve hours. If Lazarus wanted to be there in time, he'd have to go now. Lazarus strode confidently down the hall leading to the rooftop airport at Armifer headquarters, a helicopter gunship had been prepped ever since the first target had been tracked. As Lazarus stepped outside into the cold morning air, he found president Telford waiting near the entrance to the cargo hold. The spinning rotor blades had caused a colossal amount of wind and noise, and the two had to shout at each other as they met up. 'Lazarus! We've got a fix on them!' Roared Telford as they shook hands. 'Where!?' cried Lazarus back, struggling to be heard above the noise. 'The edge of the Bezoars on the side of the Great Plains! Old abandoned Monastery! Time is of the essence! The gunship will fly you over the area, but you'll have to make a HALO jump to remain undetected! If they know you're there before your in position, you're dead meat!' 'Fine! What happens when I've bagged them?' 'Activate your tracking beacon, and you'll be picked up by the closest Armifer owned aircraft and flown over to Toled!' 'Why Toled!?' 'It's closer! But Lazarus, if you haven't managed to kill at least the primary target, don't both activating that beacon! We’re not picking you up until you do!' 'I understand boss!' The helicopter pilot stuck his head out the window and gave a thumbs up to Telford, indicating he was ready to go. Lazarus and Telford nodded to each other, before Lazarus stepped inside the helicopter, cargo door still open as it rose sharply up into the sky. The truth about why Eversor was going so slow was an odd one. If he had been tracking anyone else, he would have made it to them in seconds, being able to sense their path through the atoms they had come into contact with or shed. Candor was a different story. Most of the atoms he came into contact with ended up orbiting him or joining onto him, and spreading themselves far apart when they detatched from him. As a result the atoms that held the key to leading the way to wherever Candor hiding were hard to find, and on top of that extremely uncooperative. Eversor had to practically rip them apart with his mind before they yielded the information he wanted. As a result it was a slow and

wearisome process, forcing him to slow down to a walking pace. It had taken him weeks, but now he knew that his journey was finally over. Candor was just hours away, and with a little luck, he'd be there in just under twelve hours. Eversor was determined to end this charade once and for all. This was not the first time he and Artifex had fought. They were part of the very core of the dominus gene. But Artifex had been usurped by Candor, and therein lay Eversor's one chance of final victory. He would not waste it. *** 'No, really, we're not climbing that.' Candor and Monk stared up from at the outer walls of the monastery, standing in its shade, looking up to it’s distant peak. The thing was more like a mountain than a monastery. It went up in square tiers, each one getting progressively smaller as the monastery got taller, with the bottom of the monastery being almost a square mile, with it’s open courtyards and sermon rooms. The top tier was about ten square metres, with a weather vane sticking out the top. This tier construction, combined with the deteriating brickwork, made the Monastery climbable to a determined and fit person. It was a dangerous route though, since elaborate carvings of gargoyles and other totemic statues stuck out ain all directions, making the monastery bristle with broken masonry. At several points there were steep overhangs created by these forgotten pieces of stonework, making the route upwards much more difficult in places. Candor repeated himself. ‘I am NOT climbing that thing.’ Monk’s reply was brisk, invading Candor’s skull again. ‘We must.’ ‘Why must we?’ ‘Because Azar saw the atoms point to it when we first arrived.’ ‘So?’ ‘It is important. Enough talking. We must climb!’ Monk ran forward, confidently grasping at the chunks of unrecognisable masonry, hauling himself up with his muscular arms, quickly pulling himself up the wall, using his brute strength to force himself up, sometimes pulling an obstruction out of the face of the Monastery and throwing it to the ground. Candor wasn’t strong enough too follow Monk’s example and carve a path for himself, but he was more agile than the silent man and could take advantage of his surroundings better, swinging off poles jutting out of the wall, throwing himself from foothold too foothold, taking a more scenic route up the outer wall of the monastery. From time to time he was presented with an obstacle that forced him to create his own handholds, which he did by quickly forging himself two temporary daggers from the atoms. Unlike creating something like Cadacus, these things weren’t made to be permanent, and would disappear forever as soon as he stopped holding their component atoms together. It meant that he could weave them out of the firmament in seconds and simply allow them to vanish when he was done with them. Using this method and the environment of dilapidated stone, he was able to make progress up the wall quickly, and found that despite his initial scepticism, he was actually enjoying himself. Both Candor and Monk had plenty of opportunities to rest at the beginning of each new tier, with a border of flat stonework three metres deep that was the exposed roof of the previous tier. The top of the Monastery was over three hundred metres up, and it took

them most of the day to get up there, the climb passing without much incident. One the pair finally arrived. As they hauled themselves up onto the pinnacle, Monk sat down and stared at the setting sun, waiting for Candor to speak first. ‘So… What is it that we’re doing up here?’ Candor asked. It was as good a question as any. ‘We are waiting.’ Answered Monk simply. ‘For what?’ asked Candor, only mildly interested. A helicopter roared past some distance overhead, but Candor had never seen one before, so it grabbed the majority of his attention. As he stared at it he was almost sure he saw a black speck detach itself from the main body of the helicopter as it swung by, but he couldn’t tell if that was normal or not. Monk’s polite cough brought him back to the situation at hand. ‘Oh… yeah. So what are we waiting for?’ ‘For that.’ Monk pointed out towards the Great Plains, his finger pointing at a tiny figure, a mile or so away from where they were, but getting steadily closer. Candor felt dead inside. A dull ache stirred up in his chest, and the line where his arm had started its regrowth became like a ring of fire. Eversor was coming. Monk looked towards Candor, whose face was a mask of pain. He looked hunted and maddened. He was even more shocked when he heard the normally innocent and inquisitive voice of Candor turn hard and cold. ‘Get down. Now. Find Azar and run for the mountains. You’ll find a horse as you get out the Monastery. I want both of you to get on it and ride like the wind.’ Monk was confused, how was he meant to get down from here so quickly? ‘And is there some magical shortcut that will allow me too get to ground level in seconds?’ Candor frowned in concentration for a second, and a long coil of rope began to materialise in the air, winding and tying itself around the weather vane as more and more uncoiled out of nowhere. By the time it stopped the rope was tied securely around the weather vane, dangling down the side of the monastery and stopping a few feet shy of the ground. ‘Use that.’ Candor said sharply, his eyes never leaving the black dot on the horizon, which was growing rapidly. ‘How will you get down then?’ Asked Monk as he grasped the rope and began to push himself off the edge. With the help of the rope he could abseil down in minutes. Candor gave monk a blank look, before saying n a matter of fact way: ‘I’ll think of something.’ Then he threw himself off the building. In Candor’s mind, the world was on fire, and Eversor was the cause of it all. Raw anger at the ignoble death of Praeceptor that had lain hidden now flared up, driving him forward on wings of fury. The mortal constraints of Candor lay forgotten, those self-inflicted boundaries ripped apart as Artifex fought to be free. As he plummeted towards the ground, a battle for control raged inside him. The white-hot rage urging him forward, and the intense fear of dying on the sword Divulsum holding him back. Candor was fighting for control in his own mind, trying to keep a grip on his own humanity, knowing it was the only thing that stood between him and Artifex, but the power of Artifex was the only thing that might halt Eversor long enough for his friends to escape. He had the power to

destroy whole worlds inside him, but it was inhuman, ungodly power. Using it would let Artifex in, sweeping Candor away with it. It seemed to him that if he kept control and fought Eversor he would die, but if he used the knowledge and power of Artifex then he would die anyway, and be replaced with something much worse. He had no choice- he was plummeting towards the ground at incredible speed and knew that Artifex was the only way out of this. He stopped trying to fight the takeover in his mind, and instead attempted to protect that small package of thoughts that made Candor who he was as Artifex flooded in, assuming control. The change was instant. The eyes began to glow, to burn like hot coals; the air took on the acrid smell of burning fuel and buzzed with power. Artifex was born again. As he crashed towards the ground, he flung out his arm and arched himself backwards, peeling up into the sky just before smashing into the hard earth. He soared upwards into the heavens, spinning and twirling at such great speeds that his arms began to catch fire, the air resistance causing the massive friction that caused him to errupt into flames. As Eversor drew closer though, the flight slowed, coming to halt, leaving Artifex floating in the sky like a loose puppet, almost entirely engulfed in fire as watched Eversor come to a standstill. The two adversaries stared each other down, neither moving a muscle for a few seconds, before an explosion of movement. Eversor rocketed upwards, the force of his take off causing a shockwave to ripple through the ground, and Artifex catapulting downwards, each rushing to meet the other, weapons forming hands as it happened. As Cadacus and Divulsum met, there was a terrific explosion of sparks and lightning, but the two blades remained pressed against each other, the two combatants faces just inches away from each other, not even flinching as the white hot sparks showered them. Then the contact was broken and the blades met again, though only for a fraction second this time, as a lightning fast series of attacks and blocks started, the weapons moving so fast the only visible sign of movement was the blurring area between Artifex and Eversor. It was mortal combat the like of which the world had not seen for thousands of years. As the two swords bit into each other, Artifex grabbed Eversor by the neck, forcing both of them into a death grip, each owner’s sword just millimetres from his own neck. For a second they hung in the air like rag dolls, before Artifex began to push both of them down towards the ground, Eversor beginning to catch fire himself as the air molecules whipped past him. Thousands of years of hatred had been allowed to stew between these two, and now it was finally being released in bloody and reality bending combat. *** Lazarus stared in awe at the two explosions ripping through the sky, watching two tiny figures rush at each other again and again, zooming across the horizon like flies, conjuring the most incredible powers up in their battle. Lightning tore at the sky and rain pounded down as the sky began to turn a blood red colour. Whoever these people were, Telford had every right to be concerned. Looking down at his own rifle, Lazarus considered how fragile both it and his own body were compared to the drama unfolding above his head. It was too late for regrets though, he’d taken he money, and he’d make sure he earned it. Unclipping the parachute that lay forgotten and forlorn on the ground, he began to sprint towards the spot where both of the fighters had just slammed into the ground, forced into it by one or the other. As he got closer he was able to get a better look

at the two targets, which gave him a nasty shock. The two of them were identical, apart from the fact one had jet-black hair and the other pure white. Lazarus was still over eight hundred metres away but already the air tasted acrid and was uncomfortably hot. As he looked on at the fighting he saw atomic magic that he had never thought possible. Lightning and fire rent the air as each of the warriors hurled themselves at each other. They were impossibly fast, and Lazarus knew he had to pick his moment carefully…. *** Monk ran through the winding corridors of the Monastery holding a struggling Azar by the hand, she kept shouting and struggling and asking to know what was going on, but there was no time to go through the laborious process of visual translation. He continued to drag her out of he Monastery, stopping for a second as they opened up the man doors and were hit by a wave of hot air. He looked to the sky and saw it. It was as though the apocalypse had come. The air surrounding the scene of battle had become impossibly hot. Scorching and burning the ground below Artifex and Eversor, and the sweltering atmosphere extended outwards for miles. There was horse outside, whinnying and shaking, as though anxious to be on the move. Monk moved over towards it when he noticed Azar was still at the entrance, staring at the battle unfolding above their heads. ‘What’s wrong?’ He asked, the atoms moving forward to present the question to her. ‘It’s… it’s so bright… The atoms are glowing, burning! It looks like the sky is on fire! I’ve never seen anything like it!’ answered Azar, transfixed by his unseen world. ‘That doesn’t matter! We have to go! If we stay here we’ll be killed!’ answered Monk, waiting for the atoms to convey what he said. It seemed to do the trick. Azar shook her head and ran towards the horse. She climbed on it, before remarking: ‘this horse, its atoms are just like Candor’s. They’re so dense and so bright!’ If Monk had a mouth, he would have grunted, but instead swung himself up onto the horse as well, positioning himself closer to its neck than Azar, before gripping its mane of hair and kicking his legs into its sides. The horse gave a terrific whinny and reared up, bolting across the open ground, making a beeline for the mountains. Azar looked back at the place where the fighting was going on, and couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it all, knowing she was the only person on the planet to ever see a sight like this. *** The weapons had been forgotten long ago, the fight descending into a drunken brawl as Artifex and Eversor grasped desperately at each other’s throats, trying to gain the upper hand as the power that emanated from them tore the land apart. The immediate area where they fought was beginning to warp and bend, the boundaries of what was possible blurred by the combined presence of these two mortal gods. As they grappled with each other, they also fought for control of the nearby atoms, knowing whoever could control the majority would have the advantage. The stress for some of the atoms as they were pulled back and forth by unseen powers and bent out of shape was too much though, and as the two fighters mustered their strength for another attack, an almighty explosion rent the air between them, sending both of them hurtling apart, ploughing through the heatcracked ground. It was in this moment That Lazarus decided to take his shot. He lined up his sight on the head of the black haired one, waiting for the best moment… and fired. There was a crack

as the bullet whizzed through the air, passing clean through the unsuspecting targets forehead. The force of the bullet threw Eversor onto his back, but after a moment, he stood up again, apparently unruffled, with no sign of a bullet wound apart from a drop of blood on his cheek. He turned in the direction of Lazarus, looking him straight in the eye from over two hundred metres away. It was a look of cold fury. Forgetting Artifex, Eversor began too run towards Lazarus, who had never been more scared in his life. The rapidly approaching figure just kept picking up speed… Artifex lay in the furrow that had been created as he had been ploughed through the ground, dazed and slightly confused. He stood up just in time to watch Eversor be shot, and managed a glance at the person who’d fired the gun. Eversor turned towards the figure and began to run, intent on wiping that annoyance out of existence. It was the break Artifex had been hoping for, since it meant an opportunity for him to run away and lick his wounds, exactly as he had always done in any combat against Eversor. The truth was, Artifex was a coward. He couldn’t be killed and neither could Eversor, but that didn’t stop him being terrified of his nemesis, and he’d run at any opportunity. The problem was, once he was engaged against Eversor, it was hard to break away, and he’d only got involved in this case because it was too late to pull out. It was true that Artifex wanted to run, but there was something inside forcing him to hold back, to help the person who had tried to kill Eversor. It was Candor doing this, it had to be. He was still in there somewhere, clinging onto some small corner of their shared mind. Artifex cursed, loathing the naivety of his unwelcome passenger… Lazarus stood stock still, transfixed by terror as he watched his death come closer and closer, charging forward with an absolute inevitability. The burning eyes, the smoke like sword, the aura of raw power… Before he knew it was happening, this personification of death was in front of him, holding up that smoking sword, ready to bring it down. Lazarus closed his eyes, knowing his story was at an end. Artifex charged forward across the now dry and cracked land, feeling Candor inside his head urge him on. It infuriated him that there was nothing he could do to sway himself from the path Candor had set. It was incredible that this person created out of Artifex’s mistake could possess a will strong enough to bend Artifex’s own will. For the first time since the beginning of time, Artifex began to feel powerless to control something. Eversor raised Divulsum high, relishing the moment as he brought it down, slicing through flesh and bone as it solidified at his command… except, it didn’t solidify. It’s smoky form simply broke up as it neared Lazarus, unable to do any damage no matter how hard he tried. How odd. It didn’t matter though, since if Eversor could cut this insolent human up, he’d fry him up. Eversor began to gather up the oxygen for a truly colossal fireball, noticing how much more difficult it was than usual to get the atoms to obey him. His eyes narrowed as he looked upon that terrified face… something was wrong here. Lazarus waited, terrified of the moment when that sword would finally be brought down upon him. He waited. And waited. And waited. It never came. He opened his eyes and looked forward, just in time to see a blurred shape slam into Eversor’s side and carry both

of them away from him at incredible speed. Artifex ploughed into Eversor’s side, pummelling him relentlessly with his fists, catching him stunned and off-guard. As he did so Artifex remembered all those years of cowardice and realised this was his chance to pay Eversor back. Cadacus formed in his hand and was sunk into Eversor’s chest time after time, moving too quickly to give him a chance to retaliate. When Eversor finally got a breathing space as Artifex stumbled, he didn’t use it to attack back, but turned tail and fled, launching off into the sky, heading towards the Bezoars and Nivalis beyond. As Eversor did this, the exertion of the battle, both physically and mentally, took its toll on Artifex. Keeling forward he collapsed upon the ground, unable to keep his eyes open as inside his head, the fight for control began anew… CHAPTER 11: INNOCENCE LOST The snow was pristine white, a perfect backdrop for the conflict to come, a canvas for the dark red paints that would surely be spillt. The wind whistled one continuous note, undulating up and down as Candor picked himself up. Once again, he found himself trapped inside the lonely expanse of his own mind, waiting for the inevitable appearance of Artifex. He waited. And waited. And waited, suspicions slowly forming in his mind as he looked around at this bleak expanse. He felt queasy, his fingers and hands shaking uncontrollably in the cold. He was alone here. Artifex was gone, almost certainly back in control. The realisation of this made Candor feel sick, the cold fact that he was alone and trapped here was the only thing he could think of, the thought of it making him retch violentally. His breathing quickened, as he gulped in the fictitious air, desperately trying to remain calm. After the initial shock, he found his thoughts wandering onto the people he'd come to know in his short life. Praeceptor was already dead, but the others... Monk, Azar, even Pickle to some extent- what would happen to them? Would Artifex hunt them down in an act of personal vengeance? Or would it be Eversor that finished them off? It didn't even matter, because they weren't the ones who were trapped here, alone in a plain of infinite size, in unending torment! It was too much for Candor to take, and he flung his arm up to the heavens, sinking to his knees he screamed out to the sky. 'IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE!? I NEED HELP! PLEASE! please...' Nothing. There was no one, Candor was alone. His head began to keel inwards to his chest, giving up the last shreds of hope when he heard it. I'm here. Candor sprang to his feet, looking around wildly, reinvigorated by this phantom voice. 'Where!?' Closer than you can imagine. He span around, desperately searching for this new companion. 'I can't see you! Where are you!?' 'I'm right here.' whispered Artifex, his form slowly beginning to contrast against the endless white. Candor looked on, torn between feelings of relief at not being alone, and fear of being stuck here with his alter ego.

'What are you doing here?' asked Candor agrily, Cadacus forming in his hand as he brandished it in front of Artifex, who merely laughed and dissolved Cadacus with a hand gesture. 'If I wanted to fight you, I would have done it already.' Remarked Artifex smugly, examining his nails for dirt. 'Then what do you want?' 'At it's most basic... I want to see what happens to you.' 'What the hell do you mean?' 'You started out as an accident, then you learned to be human, and now... That humanity is being erroded away. At first I resented you, and tried everything I could to get rid of you, but now I see how your the opportunity Eversor and I have been waiting for, the opportunity to break the cycle.' 'My humanity is being erroded away? Are you on drugs? What's the cycle?' 'The cycle is... complicated. Eversor and I have been fighting since the beginning of humanity, although this is the first time we've had such obvious names and powers. It hasn't been like this since the beginning.' 'What are you talking about? if you want to talk to me about these thing then you need to explain yourself!' 'If you want to know about the cycle and our origins then you'll have to ask Eversor. He knows more about it than me.' 'But what about the other thing you mentioned- My humanity?' 'You were made human by chance, circumstance and a devious plot the atoms constructed. For them, you represent hope, which you can give to them by breaking the cycle. It is something we all want for very different reasons. The atoms want it because it will stabilise the planet once more, and stop the suffering of those brought to heel under atomic magic. Eversor wants it so he can finally fufill his purpose of totsal destruction, and I want it because... Well, again, it's complicated. Because you are human, but have the power of the first Atomis Magis, you can break this endless cycle of fighting between me and Eversor, you can do things differently, since you have all the ingenuity and innocence of a human. The problem is, that you get your power from me, and I am a true Atomis Magis. Sharing a body with me puts you in extended close contact, which will inevitably errode your mortality. Eventually you will be a carbon copy of me, and hope will be lost. The process had already begun when you let me back in control, and now... You are no longer innocent Candor, you will begin to remember everything now. There is an advantage to this of course- the more like a true Atomis Magis you become, the more powerful you will be. Time is short Candor, you have to break the cycle by defeating Eversor while you still can!' It was too much for Candor. He was being told so much, so quickly. What was the cycle? What was his place in it? why was Artifex trying to help him now? His mind was full of confusion, and at the edge of it, he could feel those memories Artifex talked about seeping in. 'I don't care about your damn cycle Artifex! I don't care about you, I don't care about Eversor and I don't care about the damn atoms! No one thinks about me! From the moment I woke up at the riverside, people have been telling me what I have to do, who I have to defeat, and the hope I bring to people i've never met! Why does no one care what

I think!? In the beginning it was simple, I was Praeceptor's apprentice, but then it got complicated when I found out about the atoms. After that I find about you and Eversor, and then I find out just how much Praeceptor hated me, and now you're telling me I have to break this BULLSHIT CYCLE! WHY DOES NO ONE CARE ABOUT ME!? ...But I don't have a choice do I? If I run away you, Eversor, or the atoms will just drag me back. I wish... I wish you could sort out your own problems. I wish I'd never been born.' As he finished his rant, Candor sat himself down on the snow, curling up into a ball and gently sobbing. Artifex smirked and chuckled slightly. 'Rage and remorse. We Atomis Magis have our faults, but it was never emotion. Maybe there's a reason why, since I doubt a human temprement and the ability to vaporise someone is a good combination.' Candor gave a small laugh and smiled slightly, pulling himself up and wiping a tear away. 'Was that a joke?' Artifex tried to smile, but it just looked unnatural. 'I suppose it was. If you want a reason to keep going, then think about the people you have met. You think Azar and Monk would be impressed by this tantrum? They are reviled by their own kind, cast out as freaks and wander throughl ife with no purpose, but do they give up? Where's that indomitable human spirit Candor? Keep going, and remember, that while eversor lives, you'll never be free, but if you kill him... then you have an eternity to do what you care about.' Candor sniffed a little and nodded. 'You're right Artifex. Your not as bad as i thought you were.' Artifex raised and eyebrow and shook his head. 'You won't be saying that once you've heard Eversor's side of the story. We're both as bad as each other, but I have my moments of compassion- after all, I'm Artifex the skillfully made.' 'Thank you Artfex. I'll try my best. But where do I go from here?' 'Exactly where you've wanted to go since you heard about it. The edge of the worldBangalor. When you wake up, ask the magehunter about it. I'm sure he'll know.' 'But Azar and Monk will be miles away by now, how do I catch up with them?' 'Use your imagination- You're less human now, but you're more powerful, you know more baout how the atoms work. Just try to fly, I have faith in your ability.' 'I'll try. Thank you Artifex.' 'Don't thank me, My reasons for helping you are purely selfish. I can't wait to see this all unfold. Now close your eyes...' When Candor blinked his eyes open again, it was to a cloudless blued sky. He felt the dry and cracked earth beneath him, a reminder of the ferocious battle he had taken part in just hours before. He was back, and he was powerful.

CHAPTER 12: HONESTY IS MY MIDDLE NAME Candor blinked a few times, adjusting to the harsh midday sun as he struggled up. In this brief moment of disorientation he felt something hard, cold and metallic shove itself into the side of his head. Candor had never seen a gun in action before, so wasn't entirely sure

what the dishevelled and hunted looking man holding it hoped to achieve by poking it at him- except possibly give him a headache even worse than the one he had now. 'Don't move.' Growled the man in a desperate and fearful voice, shoving the length of metal even harder into Candor's temple, and that hurt. At first it had been amusing, but now he was fed up. He frowned in concentration intending to contact the atoms and bend it out of shape. He found the atoms in the gun and found that they were ignoring him, all the atoms around him were. He tried harder, and eventually got a response from one- they weren't ignoring Candor, they were just having trouble hearing him. He scowled and tried to use his atomic sight, only to find it was as though someone had wrapped a sheet of bubblewrap in front of his eyes. Something was blocking him from contacting the atoms. Could it be this odd man? There was one way to find out. The white haired man span around, knocking the gun out of Lazarus' suprised hands as he did so, the gun spraying and the shots going wide. Lazarus staggered back, suprised by this sudden response, and wondering why this atomic mage hadn't keeled over in pain like all the other did when he approached. As his enemy rushed forward, Lazarus pulled a knife out of the equipment belt he was wearing, lunging at his opponent. His wrist was deftly caught and the knife flicked out his hand before being smacked to the ground by a powerful fist. As he stared up at the figure, he began to realise just how much trouble he was in. Candor stared down at his would be attacker, concentrating now on throwing off this veil that blocked him from his beloved atoms. he tried to probe it like he did the atoms, and realised that it was composed of some extremely dense element that refused to conduct his thoughts to the outside world. Instead of focusing on the atoms outside this trap, he focused on the ones that made it up, struggling to penetrate to the nucleus. As he suspected, the man who had ambushed him was controlling them, but didn't seem to realise it. They followed him around, clinging to the nearest person with a dominus gene. Candor felt himself contact each and every atom that imprisoned him, and reasoned with them, bargained with them, until eventually they flew apart, content to let this stranger go. As the atoms left, Candor realised just how much stronger he felt now, realising they must have been clinging to him since he was unconscious, only now realising just how much power he had been given now. Looking down at the cowering man, the new inhuman part of him clenched it's fist, ready to erase him from existence, but for now Candor was in control, and stayed his hand, instead offering a hand to the fallen man. 'I know you- your tried to shoot Eversor.' remarked Candor as he offered his hand 'Get away from me you scum!' spat the man knocking the hand away Candor frowned, unsure what to do. The urge to just kill the man was as strong as ever, instead he diplomatically tried to walk away. The man refused to give up, struggling to his feet and grabbing his fallen gun. He went to fire a shot, but as his finger squeezed the trigger he realised that his gun was gone, now in the hands of Candor, who began to speak. 'In a minute i'm going to put this gun down and leave. I won't hide and watch you or try to trick you- Honesty is my middle name.' He stopped and considered it for a second. Did he even have a middle name, or even a last name for that matter? He didn't see why

Honesty couldn't be his middle name... 'Wherever you go, I'll hunt you down you mage scum. You can't hide from Lazarus magehunter.' 'Is that your name? Cute. Well I'm Candor Honesty Hasn't-thought-of-a-last-name-yet. And I'm heading over to the Bezoars if you fancy swinging by for a chat sometime Lazzy, but I doubt you'll catch up to me. Call me.' Candor considered exactly how he would make his exit. He could walk off, he could try and someone pickle, or he could try something totally new at the risk of embarressing himself, but the cool factor would be worth the risk. He concentrate as hard as he could on the atoms that made up his body, willing them to do their thing... BANG! He was off like a shot, careering straight up into the stratosphere with a terrific bang as he broke the speed of sound. Candor looked down as he rapidly gained altitude before realising he could smell burning. He looked at his arm and realised it had caught fire. He desperately blew on it and tried to pat it out as all his concentration was broken, sending him plummeting down exactly the way he came. As he fell he realised more and more bits of him were starting ot ignite from the friction and the ground was rapidly approaching. He was spinning out of control, and was just metres from the ground when he realised that the fire didn't actually hurt. He desperately tried to pull up and reharness the power of the atoms, barely a centimetre above the ground as he managed to level out into horizontal flight, skimming and clipping the hard earth, almost tumbing out of control. He was flying at twice the speed of sound at ground level and most of him was on fire- Candor was having fun. He let out a whoop of joy as he screamed upwards into the clouds, his toes clipping the ground as they did so and his hands throwing out extravagent fireworks into the sky. He felt alive, he felt powerful, he felt as though this one moment of breaking through the clouds was worth any burden, no matter how great. Candor slowed himself down as he punched through the upper clouds, into a sun drenched and silent place, halfway between heaven and Earth. He hovered there silently for a moment, taking everything in, turning the flames engulfing him into a pure white, ready to zero in on his lost companions. He had thought up a full name for himself in this silent land- A good, Romanium name. Candor Veritas Adsertor. It sounded right. He hung there for a moment more, admiring this secret little world, before zooming back through the clouds, ready to continue his journey. *** Azar looked towards Monk, exhausted after their hurried attempt to escape the battle between Artifex and Eversor the previous night. Sure enough, Pickle had been waiting for them, but after a few minutes they had a nasty shock. The horse vanished beneath them mid gallop, leaving both Monk and Azar six feet in the air, still going at the high speeds the horse had reached. The landing had left them in too much pain to move. They had spent the rest of the night cold and alone, afraid of the explosions lighting up the night sky. The morning had been slow to dawn, and though they were tired and depressed after this forced retreat, the light in the sky renewed all feelings of apprehension. Azar was the first to remark on it as it grew larger and larger, looking almost as though it was heading towards them. 'So... do you think it's related at all to what happened last night?'

Monk gave her a look that needed no translating. *** Lazarus picked himself off the ground, watching the plume of black smoke that followed the distant streak in the sky. He spat on the floor as he walked forward to pick up his dropped rifle. That man... This wasn't about the money anymore, it was about revenge. Lazarus bent down and as his fingers brushed against the hard metal of his gun a memory floated up unbidden, one Lazarus had carefully preserved, reflecting on it every time he wavered in his vendetta against the mages... 'I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go. I can't convey how sorry I am not to have had longer with you my boy,' he said, adjusting his spectacles and gazing blankly at the charts in his hand. He didn't sound sorry, but that wasn't the point. 'Let me go? go where?' Asked the boy, dangling his legs over the table legs, too short to reach the ground. He wore dungarees and an ignorant smile. 'you'll be moved... elsewhere. Our time together has taught a lot, but unfortunately you're just not profitable anymore.' The man enjoyed his talks with the younger subjects, he was able to be as nastily frank as he liked without the danger of having his face ripped off. 'Why aren't I proffable?' asked the boy, now intensely interested with his undone shoelaces. 'Blame the mages little one. It's their fault you ever had to suffer through this....' What a harmless phrase- but Lazarus had lost count of how many lives it was responsible for. The problem with this memory was that it was inextricably linked with another, darker one. 'Go on! Get out!' roared the man, towering over the boy, he was older now, but still hadn't broken five foot. 'but why? I like it here, and it's cold and wet out there!' Had he really been to young to understand what was being said? 'What you like does not matter, you have been an expensive mistake. The future is in control, not in prevention. Do you have any idea how much you cost!?' 'I hate you! And I hate your money! None of you ever loved me!' Screamed the boy, unable to hold back the tears. The man's stormy expression softened slightly as he crouched down to face the boy. '...We can't deny it, but that doesn't mean that we haven't enjoyed having you around.' 'Then why won't you let me stay?' whispered the boy, those big, fat tears rolling down his chubby face. As he said it, a phone began to ring, almost immediately picked up by this white coated traitor. The exchange was a brief, yet frantic one. 'Is that what Dr.Collins thinks? hm, he's ambitious that one. Unless we can open up the gene then- ... Yes I am aware of his developments, but it's still just a pipe dream, and keeping the world's most expensive failure running just on the offchance- I- Of cour- all RIGHT! If Telford is prepared to personally fund another six months of conditioning then we may be able to come to a compromise...' Silence for a few minutes, while te person on the other end was evidently speaking. 'ten to fifteen years!? are you mad! Even Armifer can't sink that much time and effort into a project with such little probability of a return. It'll cripple them. I'll accept the six month's of funding from Telford, but after that I

believe Project Lazarus can survive on it's own. We've learned a lot about the potential for resurrection and creation, but I think they'll all ultimately prove to be dead ends, it just proves what I've been saying- You can't create life! I don't care if that fraud Collins believes it can be done because of some tinpot trinket. -yes -I'll do it now. Take care of yourself, and say hello to Julie for me.' Then Lazarus heard the click of the phone, and the darkness close in. The next thing he could remember was killing a man, choking him to death for a lump of stale bread in the bitter cold. The present day Lazarus smiled at the thought as he clutched at the rifle in one hand and a handful of dirt in the other. He had started as he meant to go on. When he did spare his past a thought, Lazarus didn't like it. What had he done to deserve the life he had, and what was it that had snapped inside him to take that casual phrase and build his entire life around it? Was he meant to remember those dakr days in his childhood- was he meant to remember anything at all? Most importantly of all though, where had he come from originally, and was what he was doing now his own decision? It didn't look likely that Lazarus would ever get the answers he wanted, only more questions, but whatever they were, he couldn't help but feel that his mysterious foe was embroiled in this somehow. It was a famous Renantos saying that Armifer had deep pockets and dark minds, and a monstrosity like Artifex couldn't just appear out of thin air... *** A flash as a fireball punches back into the world below the clouds, and a flare as it slows itself rapidly, still hurtling towards the ground at a terrific rate. At the last second it pulls up, still blazing with fire. Candor has discovered he can do more than he previously thought possible, and flying was just the beginning. He hovers before Azar and Monk, none of the three willing to make the first move. 'So... You look good.' Whispered Azar, her eyes filled with a vision of blazing atoms, burning far, far brighter than she had ever seen before. Candor blinked, looking surprised as the fires went out, dropping to the ground in a heap. After a minute he looked up again, his eyes glazed and exhausted, his face paler than ever as he spoke. '...Yeah. Thanks. I don't feel so good actually, would you believe it?' If it was possible to smile without a mouth, Monk managed it. 'Are you ok Candor? I saw ungodly things going on last night, and I need an answer. Were you part of it or not?' Candor's throat was parched and his mouth dry, he realised how bloodshot his eyes were and the myriad bruises and minor cuts form the previous twelve hours. He was tired, but felt this was something he had to respond to. 'No... Not me. The other... A- Artif- Artifex. I need water, please.' Azar reached into a pouch at her side and pulled out a canteen of water, unstoppering it and holding it to Candor's lips. As he drank he realised just how horribly burned his whole body was. The fire had burned him badly. He'd under-estimated the selfdestructive power of his new, greater level of understanding concerning the atoms, and had over-estimated his own invulnerability. It was inevitable really, that somewhere along the line he'd get the equal and opposite reaction to all his actions. This was his biological debt repaid. Candor began to cough and choke as the last of the water poured down his throat, the soothing liquid replaced by a burning bile as he hacked up the cotents of his stomach, all of it tinged red with internal bleeding.. Candor's breathing quickened, feeling

his chest beginning to tighten and drawing in breath becoming a struggle. He fought to stay in control of himself, and not to black out, determined not to lose anymore time. But before he did, he needed to find out if he was continuing alone or not. 'Monk, Azar, I appreciate all the help you've given me over these past few weeks, but I know that you're going a different way to mine, so I'd just like to say thank you. I won't get stop you from getting to wherever you want to go, although if you did want to come with me... well that would be fine with me.' Candor ended with what he hoped was a winning grin. It was more like a leer. Silence. Neither monk or Azar spoke for several minutes, deliberately ignoring Candor as they stared at the mountains ahead. Eventually Azar spoke, slowly and carefully. 'Candor, neither Monk and I can decide on such a matter yet, but we promise at the very least we'll accompany you until you recover fully. That should give us plenty of time to think.' Candor knew he had extraordinary regenerative power thanks to his control over the atoms- his right arm was proof of that; but it still took some amount of time, and now he had to many injuries to deal with there was a definite chance the atoms couldn't deal with so many demands, further slowing the process down. To make a long story short, Candor wasn't running, let alone flying anywhere for a few days, which meant Monk and Azar WOULD have a lot of time to think it over. Nevertheless, Candor was determined to press on, towards Nivalis and Bangalor, and to leave the Great Plains behind. Azar and Monk must have shared his determination to keep moving also, since they each took one of Candor's arm's and hoisted him into a standing position, each supporting him beneath their shoulder. There was a dark time ahead of them, that was for sure. Each reflected on it as they worked a slow and painful way towards the foot of the mountain path. Monk thought about whether it was wise to travel with this lightning rod for atomic magic, and if he should really become involved in this affair. The young man he supported had seemed as innocent as a child last night, but now Monk could see Candor for what he might become. A lot rested on the shoulders of this boy and so much could go wrong. If Monk were to leave Candor now and go back on his original path, he might live longer, and untold numbers of people might die sooner. If he didn't go with Candor, he'd spend the rest of his life wondering how things would have played out if he had. He would stay with Candor, fight with Candor, and if it came to it, die with Candor. For Monk the decision was relatively easy, but for Azar, it was a much harder question to address. Azar hoisted up the belt she was wearing, weighted down with brandless, worn down pistol and a thing knife, measuring eleven inches in length. Compared to the sniper rifle on Monk's back, and Candor's magic sword, it was a modest armament. But she was a modest person. Not like this Candor, who had to be the centre of attention by regrowing his arm and flying around like the law of physics were a rollercoaster ride. But there was something charismatic about him, something about the way he'd sometimes stare blankly into the sky before snapping out of it with an idea or question. Azar felt like Candor wasn't a human at all, but a force of nature, drawing and warping everything it came into

contact with towards itself. Even by thinking this over with herself she knew she was just procrastinating. One way or another, she would hear about candor again. The only reason every town on the southern continent wasn't whispering about him was because they hadn't heard of him yet. But Armifer had. Why else would he have had their logo tattooed in minute detail on the base of his skull, complete with barcode? It was almost impossible to see without close inspection, which is exactly what Azar had done after rescuing candor from the open plains. Surely no one would submit to being branded by Armifer would they? But... She'd heard stories. Everyone knew those filthy scavengers in the northern sand wastes weren't above slavery, and to Armifer, money was money... What a cruel irony. Armifer would try to protect it's own rights by itemising other people's. So what did this make Candor? Interesting that was what. Besides who was she fooling? Azar and Monk had no aim to their wandering, and no where to return to. Candor gave this new nomadic existence purpose. They were sticking with him. *** The fire crackled and popped in the twilight evening, the three travellers huddling around it for warmth. Candor had a rough and stained shawl over his shoulders as he stared into the heart of the flames, gently swaying it this way and that with subtle movements of his hand. He was feeling better after a day of being practically carried up the mountain path. He supposed that by tommorow he should be able to walk. That encounter with Artifex had left him feeling so empowered... Why couldn't it have lasted? Were things not as bad as Artifex made out, or was he not telling the whole truth about how these powers worked? To Candor it didn't matter, because either way he was bound. He would never tread his only path, but be dragged along another's. He felt angry, more than angry. He felt as though there was a bottomless well of despair inside him, threatening to consume every fibre of his being if he let it. It drained the heat out of him as he thought about it, realising that everyone and everything around him had something he would never posess. Freedom. He was trapped in another man's battle and couldn't get out. He'd felt it before but never so bad. He wanted so terribly to do something, anything at all! He wanted to break out! to have some affirmation that he really was alive after all! That was what Atomic Magic made him feel like, it made him feel like there was something worth fighting for. But the more he fought for it, the less of him there was to use it. At times like this he wanted to destroy anything at all- Everything he could! Monk and Azar feared him, and rightly so, but they possessed the powe r to turn around whenever they wanted, and to return to whatever existence they had led before now. Candor felt that the only person he could possibly identify with in this black rage was the one he was trying to destroy... Why did he have to make these decisions, and why had destiny cheated him!? Candor leapt up, throwing the shawl off his shoulders as he did so, the fire reflected in his eyes as it leapt up forty of fifty feet, Cadacus rocketing out the top of the spout and into Candor's hand. 'IT'S NOT FAIR! WHERE'S MY CHOICE!? MY DESTINY! I'M JUST SOMEBODY'S TOOL! It doesn't matter if it's Armifer or the atoms, as long as they're using me everything is just hunky dory!'

But wait... maybe he did have a choice. Maybe eversor was right. 'WELL IT'S NOT FINE! I WANT TO SEE MY BROTHER! YOU HEAR ME!? I WANT TO SEE EVERSOOOOR!' Candor crouched down before throwing himself up into the sky, climbing higher and higher in his search for Eversor, his whole body alight with righteous fury. He looked down on the cities below, full of the worthless, pathetic humans that tortured and raped the planet they abused. Not even worth the atoms that composed them. With a single sweep of his hand he eradicated every trace of human civilisation on the planet, not even slowing in his ascent. the faster he went the higher he climbed, his skin boiling off, his muscles falling away... his very bones burned to ash, leaving only the brilliant white core of Candor's being, it's very existence vindicated by this one actCandor's eyes snapped open, the fire once more reflected in them, only now at a ninety degree angle. He had slumped to the floor, frozen by this wonderful, glorious vision... 'Are you ok Candor?' 'I'm... fine. Just fine. I was just imagining what I'll do after we get to Bangalor.' CHAPTER 13: IT BEGINS AS ANY STORY DOES... It took three days to reach the peak of the first mountain that formed the path known as the Bezoar spine. The hiking had been tough work, especially for Candor, who was still suffering. During this time his brooding had continued, festering inside him like a disease, waiting for the right moment to spring out. In short, it felt like Artifex. Which was something else that bothered him. What if it WAS Artifex? What if that humanity he was supposed to be losing was replaced by Artifex? It made him feel scared, and unsafe. More and more since the vision, he found himself thinking things that explored a dark side he had never before seen, not even in the most intense confrontations with Artifex. Was he slowly being supplanted by Artifex, was that why the he'd been prepared to take a back seat to Candor? What thoughts were his own? what feelings were his own? How much of what made Candor himself was left!? These thoughts bombarding Candor every waking moment, and he was forced to push them away. But it was more than that- He knew that if he just let these dark thoughts wash over him, the effect could only be bad, but keeping them at bay required a real effort.... Just like atomic magic did. Whatever was happening to Candor, It was costing him nearly all of his energy to halt it- and eventually he wouldn't be able to hold it off. Candor hated everything about himself at this moment. His very existence was for someone else’s purpose. Did he even exist? He didn't know, but he thought Monk might, who was full of philosophical phrases and ideas. 'Monk, is there any way to justify your existence?' asked Candor as He pulled himself over a rock. Monk turned around and looked at Candor for a second before replying. 'I think therefore I am. You can prove your own existance, but as for anyone elses...' 'But what if those thoughts aren't your own?' 'Those thoughts must have a vessel, and even if that's the only capacity you have, it's still existance.' candor looked down for a moment, pretending to stumble and hastily wiping away a tear.

It's not the one I want. 'Thanks monk. I think I understand things a little better now.' 'I'm glad. We'll be at the summit of the first mountain soon, we'll camp there tonight. After that there's a path that eventually leads out the other side into Nivalis.' The summit. Now Candor would know if Azar and Monk were coming with him, or abandoning him between on a rock halfway between heaven and earth. *** The fire burned brightly in the dim night sky, throwing the faces of all three figures around it in sharp relief. Fire had been the most constant thing in Candor's life since this had all began, falling asleep besides one every single night. Now the fire cast deep shadows in the nooks and crannies of Monk's face as he leaned forward, the atoms transferring what Monk was saying directly to Candor's brain. 'We're coming with you Candor, but there are things you have to know. Like the difference between what you think you are, and what you really are. That night... When the sky burned and the earth cracked, that was when we saw what you could be. And we didn't feel thrilled or excited. We felt scared. You've set yourself against Eversor, but there's very little difference between you two. I don't know why Azar wants to come, but I'm sure she has her reasons. I'm not coming because I like you, or because i want you to succeed... I'm coming because I feel unsafe knowing you and him are out there. Being with you reminds me of when Armifer invented the fusion bomb. Because they were so public spirited they decided to print some public service leaflets before selling the technology to the highest bidders. Do you know what the leaflet said? It said if you were warned of an imnminent fusion bomb attack, don't try to escape it if you're within 100 miles of it. What you should do is get as close as you can to where it will hit, because that way you'll die instantly. Useful huh? Well Armifer thought so. My point is Candor, that your are that fusion bomb, but your blast radius covers the entire planet. What I'm trying to say is that you are dangerous Candor, and by going after Eversor it's not just your own life you put on the line-It's everyone's. I'm coming to make sure you don't mess up, do you understand?' Candor nodded, a lump forming in his throat and his eyes beginning to tear up as he heard this. 'Are you ok Candor?' Asked Monk, now with a note of concern in his voice. Candor nodded, lying down and hiding his face. 'Just tired. Goodnight Monk.' As Candor pulled a blanket over himself, Azar and Monk glanced at each other, each knowing exactly how the other felt. They were babysitting someone who could throw the ultimate temper tantrum. *** Candor woke with a start, as a strong wind blew across the night. It was the blackest night, and freezing cold. Monk and Azar were still asleep, breathing gently. As Candor shrugged his blanket off to warm himself at the dying fire. As he came close though another gust of wind extinguished it, throwing him into pitch blackness. Candor was exhausted, but he needed heat and light, so gathered his energy up to make contact with the atoms and make fire. It took a few attempts, each of which more draining than the last, but eventually Candor

managed to get a small ball of fire to ignite in the palm of his hand. As it cast out the flickering light it revealed something standing where the campfire had been. Something human shaped. Something deadly. 'EVERSOR!' A hand, colder than death itself swiftly silenced Candor's cry, the finger and thumbs closing down on the wind pipe.Candor found himself being lifted bodily by the neck in this iron grip and flung across the campsite, landing heavily on the rocks. Already those dark thoughts began to spill over into his mind, draining him of the energy even to summon Cadacus. Before he knew it, Candor was being hauled up again and laid into with a series of punches that sent shockwaves right through his body, robbing his muscles of the strength to move, before finally being tossed down again like a ragdoll. Where were Monk and Azar? Still sleeping. Eversor's assault had been swift and silent, leaving the already weak Candor a paralysed wreck. To add insult to injury Candor discovered he was being watched by his aggressor, who continued to stare as if waiting for something. Then it happened. Candor's strength failed, and that growing wave of darkness that had built up inside him swept in, immersing Candor in the tainted thoughts that it was composed of. His right hand began to convulse, fingers bending and stretching to become longer, sharper, poised to strike as Eversor brought his foot sharply down and pinned the arm to the ground. 'I thought so!' He growled triumphantly as Candor jerked and wretched on the ground, the whites of his eyes slowly turning black. 'What... is happening to me!?' Screamed Candor, his voice more animal than man now. 'I'm not entirely sure, but it's not a good thing. That's why I came. I felt it in Artifex when we fought. Armifer seems to have lumped all it's experimental projects together in this. Which shows a lack of thinking at the design level. The dominus gene supercedes all else to the extent that all our other genetic material holds about as much sway as the atoms do. At least it should if it's working properly. You... you've become a horrible mix of experimentation and accident. Perhaps it's the fact that Armifer tried to give you actively changing DNA, maybe it's the fact that the power and knowledge of the atomis magis simply isn't compatible with a human mind, or maybe it's the fact that a totally innocent mind if forced to deal with the discovery of many evil things. Most people have years to break that idea in. You had days. Maybe it's all three. Whatever it is, it's killing you off.' 'THEN HELP ME!' 'Why would I want to do that? There are several possibilities about what is going to happen now. One is that I can kill you in this moment of weakness by accelerating the effects of this disease and killing off the last defence against this planets destruction, another is that I leave you and see how long you survive... or I can help you. What do you think I'm going to do?' Candor began to speak, but was stopped as his throat began convulsing and he began retching dryly, his tongue lolling out. He managed to get a few words out before being reduced to a guttural choking sound. 'I'd rather die!' Eversor smiled, Divulsum forming in his hand as he brought it swiftly down inches from Candor's head. 'Don't tempt me. If I was going to kill you I would have. I've come to explain myself to you, but instead I find you like this. Get up. You are the last remnant of

the atomis magis and you're rolling around on the floor having a fit! Control yourself! control the atoms! GET UP!' Eversor planted a vicious kick in the side of Candor, causing him to howl in pain, but the convulsions slowly stopped. The choking sounds slowed as the whites Candor's eyes returned. His fingers returned to their normal length and with excruciating slowness, he managed to pick himself up. It was not a dignified stance, and instead of meeting Eversor with his head held high, he was stooped down low, his eyes wildly rolling in the sockets, one hand clutched to where Eversor had landed the kick and the other dangling uselessly. His voice was hoarse as he spoke and occasionally his head would jerk forward in a spasm. 'I... I can't keep control. I'm still human, and unlike you I am not immune to fatigue or pain!' 'It doesn't matter. I won't keep you long. Perhaps it's a good thing, it will stop you doing anything you might regret. I assume you have been told what I intend to do, correct?' 'You want to destroy... everything... all of this!' 'But do you know why?' 'Why should I need to know! I know everything that matters!' 'Then the atoms did a good job brainwashing you.' 'What do you mean?' 'Did you really think it was that simple? that I'm the bad guy who wants to destroy everything for no reason and you're the knight in shining armour with the power to stop me? NO! no! it's not like that at all! I AM THE KNIGHT! I AM THE ONE WHO DESERVES THE WORLD'S SYMPATHY!' Eversor lost his cool for a moment as his anger flared 'what!? why!? how!? Power must make you insane, because you are without a doubt the most unstable person I've ever met!' 'All right. You want me to explain it all? Well I can't, not yet.' 'Why not!?' 'Because it would destroy you to know it.' Answered Eversor simply. 'However... I think that some of your questions can be answered tonight. But I want you to bear in mind that what I tell you is not the whole truth, and that it is uncompromisable that your questions remain unanswered.' 'I have only one question. Why are you doing this?' 'Because I believe we do not have to be enemies. You are the break in the cycle, not just for Artifex but for me, and I am confident that once you have heard what I have to say you will agree with me.' 'I doubt that, but go on.' 'It begins, as any story does... with the atoms.' Eversor looked up as the clouds cleared to reveal a silvery, perfectly round moon. He paused for a moment before continuing. 'In the beginning, was the atom. And in the beginning the atom was unaware. They were mindless particles that made the universe. They continued this way for millions, possibly billions of years. There is no way to know what caused the radical change in every particle in the universe, but it was instantaneous and prolific. Some of the oldest atoms used to whisper of a great empire of humans whose technology progressed to such a level

that they changed the fundamental nature of the universe. Perhaps this is true. To an atomis magis in touch with every atom around him, time is no obstacle- for what measures time but the atoms? He can simply choose to force them to reverse their oscillation, to employ a mirror pattern to that of the billions of years before. It is in this manner that I have seen through the smallest of windows, the world before the change. the awakening as we call it. It is true about that human civilization. They did monstrous, impossible things. They invented weapons that would rival, perhaps in some respects surpass my own powers. They were to be feared. I had seen a universe quite different to this one, and that universe forms a part of my grand story, which will be revealed in due time. To return to the inception of the universe we know and inhabit, the universe where the atoms are aware... Needless to say, it disrupted everything. These atoms did not know what they were, what they were to do, and thus all of creation collapsed as they sort to structure themselves. The universe reconstructed itself in many, many different iterations before the atoms fully grasped the laws of physics that they themselves had created. This universe is the result of their long and hard labour, but at the time it was empty, and devoid of life, a blank canvas full of unreacted atoms. In the view of the atoms it was the perfect world. But like any who serve the public good, some of these atoms were not content, and sought to attain a higher level of existence. They grouped and bonded in new ways, built themselves into great mobile fortresses that would allow them to impose a greater level of control on the surroundings than ever before. Life was born. At the time these renegade atoms had no idea that they had turned themselves into constituent parts of something else entirely, and had unwittingly sown the seeds of their own slavery. For it was life that ended the first and perfect universe, and it could well end this one too. And so as loyal servants to the universe, other atoms grouped themselves together, preparing to do battle. each faction spurred the other on to bigger, more complex creations, that could manipulate the weaker, smaller compounds of atoms. It was like this that the atoms spurred on evolution. Over hundreds of thousands of years, the atoms gradually lost purpose in their mission, no longer remembering now caring why it was that they drove the gears of change. The creatures they created now could not be controlled. They were made up of far too many atoms for such a coordinated effort to control the mind and body of these creatures. Once more the atoms slipped into a subordinate role. The climax of this, the high point of all creation, was the atomis magis. For he was aware like the atoms were, a conscious being drifting through space. He communed with all the atoms he came into contact with and he alone had the capacity to understand and remember all that had happened. His mind was able to function on a higher level than the atoms that made him up. Until this point the life these atoms had created had been indefinite, infinite, and without constraint. The first atomis magis changed all that. He created everything we know now. First he took every atom in the universe, and condensed them all to fit in the palm of his hand. With the blink of an eye he ordered the atoms together, so that they would all follow the same universal rules. With a wave of his hand the unending sky was filled with stars and planets for all of his creatures to inhabit. With a breath he blew out the atmosphere that would surround these celestial objects. For the atomis magis intended to restrict the previous infinity of life. He would make it easy for it to flourish independently, but even easier for it to be extinguished. With those last

few atoms He held when He was finished, he created his brethren. The other Atomis Magis. Together they would guide and shape the universe through the atoms. Gone were the days when all life needed was the good grace of being able to keep it's atoms together. Now, life would be fragile and independent, with the atoms having no ability to intervene. For a time this was good, for the atoms had a purpose.' Candor stared at Eversor, willing him to continue. 'What happened next? What happened to the original atomis magis? And… How does it justify you wanting to destroy everything He made!?' Eversor merely smiled. 'It is a story I will continue later. For now you must have faith in what I say. But Candor... I was the second atomis magis He created. He was far more powerful than even you can imagine. You may be able to control the atoms, but he could the entire universe. He could... he could change the very laws of physics across the world if he liked. we are restricted to the control of atoms. Make no mistake Candor, you may feel like controlling atoms is unlimited power, but there is far more to it than that.' As if to emphasise his point, Eversor positioned his fingers so it looked like he was holding the moon, and then, moving them away, he brought with him an exact copy, caught between the fingers. It was the same in every way to the real object, only miniature. Eversor seemed to be sweating with effort as he held it there though. 'I have captured the light of the moon. THAT is the limit of my powers. For light is energy, not matter, and I cannot control it the way He could.' Candor was speechless. That light did not consist of atoms at all. It was energy, something he had no control over. Could such a small and meaningless action really represent the limit of Eversor's powers? He couldn't believe it. Had Praeceptor lied all this time about his ability to do anything he wanted? 'I have to warn you Candor...' Whispered Eversor as the light in his hands shimmered and disappeared, ' About what lies beyond Nivalis. Your ultimate goals was my destruction, and you believed I waited in Nivalis. That was a lie. I am here, and you have a chance to try and kill me now. But you can't. You should continue on to Bangalor, the end of the world. It lies beyond Nivalis, beyond the Barathrum sea. Beyond the sea lies the northern world- the desert continent Tesqua, the holy land of Caerimonia, The fortress nation pugnaculem, the Nomas mountains and finally the fulmineus strait, within which lies the dead Country of Mallab. All of these lie between you and your goal. Beyond Nivalis there are many atomic mages, far more powerful than any found on the southern continent, whose powers express themselves in varied and frightening ways. You have the potential to destroy them all at a stroke, but if you desire to keep your humanity then it will be more than a little difficult. The closer you get to Bangalor the more powerful they will be. I have heard of those living on the shores Bangalor with powers that could rival my own... if they were not mortal. Good luck… and Candor, go with all haste, for every day you waste a little more of your humanity will slip away and the window of opportunity to break the loop grows smaller. You must succeed.' Eversor turned his back to Candor, and was about to fade into the darkness when he felt his wrist being grabbed. Candor was there on his knees, barely able to speak. 'Wait! help

me! I can't... I- I can't control this any more!' 'What can I do to help you? magic it away? This darkness is your own creation. If you want to get rid of it you'll need someone else’s help...' 'Who!?' 'Artifex.' CHAPTER 14: THE END OF THE MAGEHUNTER 'So, it's a deal?' 'It's a lot of money... but how can I accept it? Don't you know who I am, what I DO? Besides, I've seen this guy. he's dangerous. Too dangerous. Why should I help him?' 'because you can't stop him. 200 million rubels is a lot of money Mr- Mr... Magehunter. Now will you take the job or not?' 'I don't even know who you are... Why should I bother?' 'Because I have just deposited twenty thousand rubels into your bank account over the Armifer network. It's yours as a sign of good faith. I expect a decision no later than midday tomorrow.' the phone had already been pocketed by the time the call stopped. Lazarus swung his now free hand around to grip the rock above him, hauling himself up onto the shelf of rock, trying not to look down. The past few days had certainly been an education. Lazarus was now absolutely sure he didn't want anything to do with Artifex and Eversor, but it seemed his line of work was forcing him into it. The contract from Telford had been an attractive one, but here out of the blue, halfway up a mountain he got another offer. 200 million rubels to protect Artifex. The thought of protecting an atomic mage tore him apart. On the one hand Lazarus was ruthlessly mercenary, and 200 million would mean he'd never have to work again, but no the other hand, the very idea of going against his goal of eradicating the atomic mages grated against his nerves. The mysterious caller had left no name, no contact address, not even a phone number. Either way, Lazarus hardly had a choice in what to do next. Stuck out in the middle of the great plains with no way back, his only option was to chase after Artifex, who'd flown towards the mountains. What it was he'd do when he actually got to the man himself as a mystery. Catching Artifex was the reason why Lazarus was now panting on an overhanging rock shelf hundreds of feet up on the shear face of one of the Bezoars many, many mountains in the middle of the night. He had to cut out as much time as possible, and the quickest way up the mountain was to climb it instead of taking the well trodden path, which meandered constantly. With luck he'd be at the summit the following morning. The danger in these mountains were treacherous nights. It could grow murderously cold on the mountain face at night, and there were few rest spots on the way up. Climbing the Bezoars without the path was nearly impossible, and required the strength to pull yourself up almost half a mile vertically, and to go without sleep for over twenty four hours, since those who could not would never wake again. It was a climb only the desperate and mad would attempt. But... Lazarus had been here before. when, and how were a mystery to him, but the memory was clear in his mind. Unshakeable, and as mysterious as those of his childhood.

The cold mountain air, the morning sun rising over the snow fields, lighting the ground up as though it were made of crystalised fire. ...Magnificent. And down below lay Nivalis, smoke rising from the chimneys as the previous evening's embers were stoked. It wasn't picturesque- no picture could capture the beauty he saw now, or capture the brisk clean air, of the cold hard rocks beneath his feet... it was Home. Somehow, that memory felt more real to Lazarus than the things he saw and felt now, things that he could place and order. Whenever his mind flitted back to one of these memories that didn't fit, he felt horribly insubstantial, thinking about how surreal everything seemed to him now. To him, the dreams were the real world, and what he did now was just a way to fill the gaps between those glorious moments of awakening. They were the true highs and lows of his life, and he lived for moments like that one. It was odd, he had experienced more of them since his encounter with Eversor and Artifex than he had ever had before. Maybe that was a reason to protect Artifex; maybe he'd recover more of these disjointed treasures... The sound of Rock cracking and straining brought Lazarus back to his sense, just in time to see the crack growing in the stone he lay on, spreading between him and the mountainside. Tossing aside all thoughts of past and future, Lazarus jumped up and ran towers the rock wall ahead of him, leaping as he felt the stone shelf finally give and slide away, tumbling down the mountainside and into the mists below. Lazarus' hands bled as they gripped the sharp rocks above, the blood trickling down and splattering in drops on his face. as his feet struggled to find purchase, he realised that now was not the time to think about things that may not even have happened to him. In fact, said the small, honest voice in his head; if he was thinking properly, there should never be a time to do it in. It was perhaps the last conscious thought that ran through the mind of Lazarus Magehunter before the inevitable happened. The rock he clung onto gave way, and this time there was no purchase for his blood soaked hands to find. He found his own thoughts were overwhelmed as his bones broke and his organs were pounded with each impact upon the Cliffside. Thoughts and memories from a thousand different places were suddenly let loose, engulfing the magehunter in a torrent of his own past. The second before his dying body was skewered on the rocks at the foot of the mountain, one phrase rang clear, like the funeral bell of Nivalis, or the death drum of Tesqua, perhaps even akin to the murder siren of Renantos… I will live again. ‘Artifex! You didn’t answer me!’ ‘That’s because I don’t know. All I can tell you is that the atomis magis still exists in some form, but he probably isn’t alive. His influence here is waning, and Eversor can feel it. This is his chance to execute his Grand Plan.’ ‘But that makes no sense! How can he exist f he’s dead!?’ ‘Death is a human word Candor, I can’t comprehend it, and I don’t think you do either. You throw it about as though it carries some weight to it. What you don’t realize is that

everything is “dead”, because everything in this universe, everything is made of the atoms. And the atoms on this planet are dead.’ Candor stepped back in shock. He’d turned his mind inwards and come to Artifex for answers, but that statement, that bold definitive statement jarred against everything he had come to know about that fundamental form of matter… ‘What do you mean they’re dead? What are you talking about! They’re alive!’ ‘I don’t doubt that they lived once, and I’m sure the majority in the universe do live yet, but the ones on this planet… they’re dead Candor. Stone cold. They do their job perfectly of course, but it’s the atomic equivalent of a knee jerk reaction. There hasn’t been a peep out of them since we were locked away. We killed them Candor. Eversor and me. They were too fragile, too specialised to exist in any capacity other than the ordered state the atomis magis created them in. Me and Eversor… we tore this planet up in our fight, and killed them all. It was a horrible blow. We were trying to kill each other, but neither of us wanted to destroy the atoms. It filled me with guilt… but it’s probably what destroyed the being that Eversor used to be. It’s only The Atomis Magis and his colossal influence that’s stopping the atoms from drifting away altogether.’ But that was wrong. Candor had heard them, talked to them, learnt from them. And Artifex and Eversor didn’t know they existed still? He was on the verge of saying something when he felt an insistent urge from the atoms. Do not tell him. It is our greatest weapon- our only weapon. We will live again. We always have. Not even the atomis magis knows this… only you. Candor tried to change the subject, asking Artifex more questions. ‘Well what is this Grand plan of Eversor’s?’ ‘A monstrous one. But there was a time before it. A time when Eversor was the noblest and greatest of all the Atomis magis’ creations. He only adopted the name Eversor along with the grand plan, when death and destruction became his purpose. His original name was Altaterum- The Second. It wasn’t until we killed the atoms that he took up the mantle of Eversor. You know he wants to destroy everything, but until recently he could never do it. When this desire to destroy first came to Eversor, the atomis magis was at his prime, at the other end of the universe, but his powers still easily holding and preserving the atoms and their order. This subliminal action of the atomis magis inadvertently prevented Eversor from taking any kind of truly significant action. Perhaps if the atoms magis had not been so far away he would have realised what was happening… but he did not. It may have been the iron grip the atomis magis held over the atoms, combined with Eversor’s and my constant straining of that grip that killed the atoms. Altaterum became Eversor, and thus the cycle began. ‘But what IS the cycle? And why is it that you two only exist again now, after Armifer made those bodies with the active dominus gene? Why can Eversor only execute his plan now?’

‘I can only answer the last question. I heard what Eversor told you, and it is true, but only to a point. The truth would destroy you at this point. It doesn’t mean I agree with his arse licking the atomis magis. Just because he was the first doesn’t mean He was the wisest. He wanted a static, stagnant universe. He wanted life, but refused to let it develop. Because-‘ Artifex stopped, and smiled coyly. ‘No… I’d be telling you too much. Let me get back to the question. The grip of the Atomis magis has waned greatly, and is only enough to keep these dead atoms together. All Eversor has to do now is travel to the centre of the universe, and provided there is no one there who can stop him, that devil can tear this planet apart in one fell swoop.’ ‘The centre of the universe? Isn’t that a little out of reach, even for Eversor?’ ‘Oh no… because the centre of the universe is Bangalor. I could have stopped him, and would have done. But you… You’re a different person. Eversor wants you to come to Bangalor so he can use you. You can join him or fight him. And if there’s even a single atom of you that’s still human, then it is a fight that can be won. ‘Or lost.’ ‘Either way, the cycle will break.’ ‘But why should I break this cycle if I don’t even know what it’s about?’ ‘Because you don’t have a choice. Your existence depends upon it. If you don’t then slowly the humanity, what makes you Candor will disappear and only I will remain. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but this is a story, which you can’t understand until you’ve experienced the anguish and suffering of power yourself. Power brings no happiness, only a tightrope of responsibility that becomes impossible to stay on. And once you fall off, the only way is down. Now go. There is a ‘dead’ man at the bottom of the mountain. When he wakes up you must be there. Hs help is vital.’ ‘But I can’t! I’m being taken over by something!’ ‘No you’re not. Eversor and I have told you all this because what you crave is knowledge about your situation, and the lack of it creates some very nasty thoughts in the back of your mind. An explanation, no matter how brief, still banishes those thoughts. If it’s any comfort do you, a similar thing happened to Eversor happened once.’ ‘What happened to him?’ ‘He came up with the Grand Plan.’ ‘… That’s really reassuring Artifex. Did I really have to know?’ ‘I thought you wanted to know the whole story? You see? A tiny detail like that and you already look pale. …You don’t know what you want Candor. The truth is a tricksome thing- we think we want it, but there’s nothing we want less. Needing it, now that’s a different story. Now get out of here. I have things to do.’ Candor nodded, concentrated for a moment, and found himself on the outside world again. It was an odd feeling. He wasn’t sure how he did it, it was almost as though his mind was like an eye, and all he had to do was turn it in inwards. It had never occurred to him that other people couldn’t do it as well… *** Artifex sat down. And waited. As he did so he took the chance to gaze around this prison. It was starting to change. In the beginning it had been a pure and brilliant white, a

perfectly blank canvas where it was impossible to distinguish land from sky. Now though, the snow had taken on the barest hint of grey, in the distance of the sky clouds were beginning to gather, and most ominous of all, there was a scarlet splatter of blood in the snow. That blood never disappeared from view though, permanently residing in the corner of Artifex’s eye, irritating him like an itch that was impossible to scratch. Suddenly there was a sharp crack, and within seconds, a patch of that brilliant White sky blurred, turning from grey to black. The thing that had solidified from nothing was like a warped version of Eversor, a whispery smoke like mass of darkness, much like the blade of Divulsum. ‘So you saw him?’ Asked Artifex, standing up to greet this pale reflection of the real Eversor. ‘Yes, and it was most disturbing.’ Replied the spectre, in a disturbing and echoing voice. ‘Are you nervous then?’ ‘Nervous? I’m terrified. Only one of us can win, and he has the capacity to be so much more than we ever could have been. Just look around you. He’s bending this arena around his emotions! He shouldn’t even be able to reach this place, let alone change it!’ ‘I think you always underestimated the power humanity can possess Eversor. You forget who the atomis magis made us in the image of.’ ‘What? The humans? But our physical bodies hardly matter do they? It doesn’t matter what happens to the bags of flesh we inhabit, as long as the desire to dominate remains.’ ‘Why do you refuse to give them credit Eversor!? If it weren’t for humans none of this would exist! NOTHING would exist! Are you that proud?’ ‘They are a blight on the creator’s universe!’ ‘But without those humans, the atoms would never have become aware, and everything you strive to defend from those humans, even your precious creator- it would never have happened. Even now you need humanity to help you carry out your wonderful plan.’ ‘… There is a reason He did not allow them to exist.’ ‘Oh I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean what I did was wrong.’ ‘You did it for all the wrong reasons Artifex. Don’t try and take the high ground with me, your hands are JUST as dirty as mine.’ ‘You can’t accept your debt to humans because you know deep down it would make you wrong. It would make all those millennia of conflict worthless. But… I’ve always known it. Ever since you made that foul name for yourself; Altaterum.’ Eversor hissed with anger rearing up as he replied. ‘But knowing your debt to them never stopped YOU! The time of the humans has been over for a long time! It belongs in the time before time!’ Eversor’s anger began to subside, replaced instead with a defeated sigh, as a look of true sadness seemed to flit across the shadows. ‘… We are beyond saving Artifex. We have both become corrupted, and there can be no redemption. But perhaps together we can put right the sickness we have created in the universe.’ Artifex shook his head, sounding similarly wistful. ‘You know I can never do that. What I’ve done has led me down the path to ruin, but I stand by my decision. It was for the greater good.’ ‘It was for your good Artifex. Just look at us. Everything we’ve touched has turned to dust. Even Candor has-‘ ‘Candor!’ Shouted Artifex, leaping up suddenly, taking Eversor by surprise. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘He’s going down the mountain in the middle of the night on his own! The Night Kraken will have him for sure!’ ‘You don’t think he can handle it? I thought I was the one who gave to much credit to humans…’ ‘You know what those beasts are like. They just absorb atomic magic… I suppose we’ll just have to see how it goes.’ ‘I suppose we will…’

CHAPTER 15: THE NIGHT KRAKEN THE NIGHT KRAKEN (Discovery date unknown, first studied by Dr. Hernando Pentel)) No Atomic mage is immune to the Night Kraken. Ancient Mage-hating religions had them revered as holy animals. Dead Baby creatures would be placed in cages and hung at the entrance to places of worship to ward off any atomic Mages. The Night Kraken was a vicious, terrifying creature, and would have been considered devilish itself but for one all-important factor. It absorbed atomic magic. (See: Dominus gene, atomis magis) The Night kraken is a creature that should not exist in nature, but does because of the climate created when it evolved. The Night Kraken’s forebears had lived in deep underground reservoirs, and were not unlike the modern octopus, but thanks intense atomic magic activity (unknown cause. Certain sources cite this as proof of the Book of Creation’s Atomis Magis See: Atomic Magic, atomis magis, book of creation) directly over the Bezoars (see: Mountain ranges, geography of Southern Continent) for a million or so years, they evolved to take advantage of this magic soaked atmosphere. The product of this has made endowed the Night Kraken several unusual attributes. The first is that it both nullifies and absorbs atomic magic. This is achieved with a primitive version of atomic communication, telling the manipulated atoms to cease in their actions. Once done, the Night Kraken sucks in all of these stray atoms, making sure to hoover up all of the residual energy the atoms are full of immediately after being manipulated. (theory unproven, some opposition) This energy is then stored in specially developed sacs behind the creature’s eyes. When the Night Kraken is ready, it uses this energy to not only sustain itself, but as a hunting method. The first step is to conceal itself, which it does by sucking in atoms from the air around it, spraying them with the energy it has collected, and releasing them back out, now under the Kraken’s control. These atoms join together to create a thick, impenetrable black smoke, which at night camouflages it perfectly. It is for this reason the Night Kraken only comes above ground at night, where it remains a spectre, and has the element of surprise. The Night Kraken can detect atomic magic been used, and is inevitably attracted to large amounts of it. However when magical prey is scarce, the Kraken will not use it’s preferred food source of atomic energy, and instead consume local wildlife. When the Kraken are not concealed and hunting however, they reside in

the deep underground reservoirs they evolved in, living in total darkness is numbers that can only be guessed. Estimates have ranged that no fewer than one thousand Night Kraken exist across the planet, to up to one million in every reservoir. The answer as to how the Night Kraken manages to move between the surface and the reservoirs remain a mystery, as the only specimens of these enigmatic creatures are the carcasses of infant Kraken, normally found floating in streams. The Night Kraken has evolved in the Bezoars, so the vast majority has not moved from there, but reports of mysterious deaths nearby other known reservoirs, natural or even man made (see: history of the reservoir) have prompted experts to conclude the Night kraken has begun to spread. Indeed, some people have even reported seeing strange shadows on the water of the Grand Renantos Water Source (See: Alfred Telford, second industrial revolution, Armifer’s beginnings.) Actual Kraken related deaths are rare, but always gruesome. Victims wounds range from deep lacerations across the body performed with surgical accuracy, to mutilation of limbs and face, all performed with unerring precision. It is for this reason the Night kraken has gained such a fearsome reputation. Part of the problem concerning the Night Kraken is the total lack of specimens. The rare infant samples found give no clue at all to the size and shape the adult can grow to. All scientists can discover is that at birth the Night kraken is much like a small octopus, with the exception of a lethally sharp beak and spikes lining the underside of the tentacles, made in much the same manner as the iron bee’s armour. (See: Iron bee, inhabitants of Great Plains). The only other clue we are given to the adult kraken’s size is that it is clearly too big to be carried away into the outside world by underwater currents, and must decay in the reservoir. Some Scientists have even gone so far as to suggest the adult kraken has no permanent physical form at all, and instead uses the atomic energy to keep itself in a constantly changing state, the black shadow merely being a side effect. Unfortunately, the world today knows too little about the Night kraken to definitively describe this strange, enigmatic, and highly specialised creature. From The encyclopedia Renantosia (VII edition, N O P) Candor felt it now. The gentle tug of destiny, guiding all his actions, and now he felt it pull him towards the body at the bottom of these mountains. He closed his eyes and whistled, hearing the sound of flames roaring and a horse neighing. Sure enough, as he reopened them, he was atop Pickle, with Cadacus gripped firmly in hand, magnesium flame burning brightly. He cried out, as man and beast threw themselves upright towards the moon, before beginning to thunder down the well-worn path. It was several minutes before any movement happened at the campsite, but when it did, it was sudden. Both Monk and Azar picked themselves up, both fully dressed and armed to the teeth. ‘Idiot boy.’ Growled Monk as he brushed himself down. ‘Doesn’t he know about the Night Kraken? No Atomic Mage can face them.’ ‘But what about us Monk? Will anything happen to us?’ ‘Just don’t get too close Azar, or you’ll go blind.’ *** Candor urged Pickle on, willing the horse to go faster and faster, until everything around them melted into one solid blur. Candor yearned to go faster. Fast enough to catch up to

the previous days light. Fast enough to catch up to the previous day’s darkness! Candor wanted to go so fast that he could catch up to yesterday. Or Last week… Or the beginning of time. He thought that even time had to move in a direction, and that if he could go fast enough, maybe he could stop all of this happening. For now though he could only go as fast as his horse. Pickle’s progress down the mountain was swift and unbarred, Candor using Cadacus to fling out torrents of intense flame, melting any obstacles in Pickle’s path. Indeed, the two went so fast that soon they left the well-worn track entirely, throwing themselves off the path and onto the sheer face of the mountainside. They were galloping down a cliff face without even realising it, the only guide they had was Candor’s gut feeling, and that had told them to just keep going. It was perhaps for this reason that it was not until he felt the flame of Cadacus burn out and die, taking the blade itself along with it, or the stumbling and evaporation of Pickle, that Candor realised he was in trouble. Without the speed and traction the horse afforded, Candor began to plummet through the remorseless midnight air, no scream escaping his breathless lips as he met the ground face first, the impact cracking and breaking the hard rock where he landed. It was painful for sure, and would be fatal to any human, but Candor was an atomis magis, and this would not stop him. The broken jaw would be laughable… if he could move it. He could probably sleep off that smashed skull, and his shattered ribs really tickled what was left of his funny bone. The only thing that bothered him was the completed loss of power he’d experienced- if only for a second. What had it been that could shear away any contact he had with the atoms, what could possibly have made him felt so… alone? Is this what it felt like to be normal? To be cut off from that constant and reassuring flow of information, marooned inside your own head with only your own, tragically uninspired and ignorant thoughts. For the first time Candor felt as if the position he was in wasn’t as bad as it could have been. If that was how people went through life… Then life as a normal person really wasn’t worth living. Then just as quickly as it had happened the first time, he felt it again. That icy cold grip that shook him, that drained him of everything, and made those broken bones hurt. Candor sank to his knees, gasping for air as fragments of what had once been his ribs stuck into the spongy tissue of his lungs. His hands instantly went to his head, where his half repaired skull felt like it had very recently been smashed apart… which it had. His broken jaw wasn’t even worth speaking about, which was good, since Candor couldn’t. Nevertheless, with his atomic magic or not, Candor, would master these wounds, and whatever was cutting him off from the atoms, because Armifer had decided that the dominus gene wasn’t enough in the first generation of a potentially world destroying super weapon. Candor was stronger, faster, smarter, and far more resilient than any human had a right to be. He didn’t notice this of course, because compared to his normal state of being he felt horribly weak, yet it was still enough to allow him to dodge the viciously fast tentacle lancing out of the dark to where his neck had been just moments before. Candor had meant to shout a profanity as he bolted out of the way, but his broken jaw kept it to a muffled gurgle. Steadying himself, he crouched down and listened intently, waiting for the next attack to come, except that this time he was ready for it.

Deep inside that scarred convoluted, and rapidly changing consciousness that was Candor, Artifex And Eversor were still watching, or more accurately, feeling what was going on. Eversor insisted on commenting. ‘It’s too late for him now. The Kraken are close… so close. The boy doesn’t know how to fend off that kind of atomic magic, especially in such concentration. No atomic magic of his own makes him vulnerable. Killable. It looks like you’re both doomed. You’ll never get to see the world as it was intended to be- empty.’ ‘You’re optimistic. Didn’t you see? He dodged that first tentacle. Even without the atomic magic he’s still superhuman.’ Replied Artifex bitingly. ‘And what happens when he’s surrounded by a hundred of them, leeching every last drop of that precious atomic magic… what then? Do you really think such a naïve boy who has only survived so far because I don’t desperately want him dead, can really overcome that on his own?’ Artifex smiled knowingly, shooting Eversor a withering glance. ‘He doesn’t have to. The difference between us and him is that Candor isn’t alone- and that’s why he’s going to survive this, and why he’s going to kill you!’ And it was true. Even as Candor desperately flipping out the way of those grasping, slicing tentacles he could barely see, Monk and Azar were on a rocky outcrop, with Monk looking down on the white haired boy through the scope of his sniper rifle like a guardian angel, firing at and pinning down any stray tentacle that Candor could neither see or dodge. Monk was frustrated though, since all this was doing was prolonging the inevitable. The darkness was simply to thick, natural or otherwise, for him to see into it and at the creatures he was attacking, that shock of white hair being his only guide. ‘Damn it all! I can’t get a shot at those overgrown pieces of seafood in this darkness. What am I supposed to do!?’ Azar looked up from her binoculars, tapping the eye socket with a finger. ‘I can see them. Darkness makes no difference to me.’ Monk seemed to think it over for a second, then pulled the clip out of his sniper rifle and replaced it with a fresh one, the new magazine marked with a thin red line on it. ‘Incendiary rounds. If you can draw a bead on a kraken, you fire. I doubt you’ll kill the beasts with them, but you’ll certainly light them up. You just stay here and keep firing at them, and I’ll go down to help Candor. Give me your pistol.’ Azar obediently handed the weapon over, and Monk checked it, tossing down a few more red marked ammo clips onto the ground before disappearing into the darkness. *** When the body doesn’t have to expend energy on things such as keeping the heart beating and the brain processing, it can afford to use a lot more mending itself. Of course the problem is the body has ceased to function. It cannot do anything on it’s own. But with a little help, from those kind people at Armifer Inc… who knows? That precious energy, combined with years of effort from Armifer Inc.’s dedicated scientists have made immortality more than a dream. Harnessing all that potential energy, the body could do more than just rot away. It could live again. Bones could reknit themselves, the lungs could begin to draw air, and the fast congealing blood in his heart could be coerced into starting to resume its endless circuit through the body. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if just

hours after saying goodbye to the world, you could say hello again? You may not be able to put a price on immortality, but we can. If you’ve got the money, why shouldn’t you live forever? If you can afford it, you deserve it! Surprisingly, especially for a company as unscrupulous as Armifer, this advertisement was never run- even Armifer didn’t have the barefaced cheek to advertise what was essentially a biological weapon as the perfect chance for immortality. Of course it had been originally intended as a way of allowing the ludicrously rich to continue living for longer than they had any right to, but there were far too many unexpected problems and ethically questionable practices to make it commercially viable. The project had started almost twenty years before the dominus gene had even been discovered. The heart of the idea lay with the perfection of nanomachines, and the understanding of human physiology. Filled with unwarranted enthusiasm, researchers enthusiastically went to work at creating a nanomachine with a perfect knowledge of human physiology, and equipped with their own way of utilizing all of the body’s nutrients to repair anything damaged and even to convert them into an alternate form of energy, making respiration redundant. This was all very exciting stuff, and eventually it was suggested that it might even be possible to use these nanomachines to resurrect people from the dead! Needless to say, this was the point Armifer started to pay real attention and money to the project. It was codenamed the Lazarus project and tests started almost immediately. The theory was that a billion or so nanomachines would be attached to the base of the skull inside a nutrient packet, monitoring the electrical signals going to and from the brain. The second those signals stopped, a sure sign that the subject was dead, the nanomachines would spring into action, devouring the nutrient container and using it to replicate themselves until they numbered in the hundreds of billions, saturating every cell in the body. The first thing to be done would be to hijack the brain, sending electrical impulses down the nerves, causing each and every mitochondrion to produce adenosine tri-phosphate, which the nanomachines would greedily suck up, as well as the necessary nutrients, before beginning to repair the damage sustained to the body. After this the nanomachines would disband from the brain and self-destruct, allowing it to reassert control over the body- now fully repaired. Of course what actually happened was nothing like that, since when the brain stops functioning it is wiped entirely clean, like a computer hard drive. Essentially all that is left is a blank vessel; with nothing of the person it was remaining with it. The nanomachines would assume control of it, and having been programmed to take the most efficient course of action, would promptly devour every mitochondrion, usurping it with it’s own, more efficient vestigial energy supply. Every vital organ is no longer needed, and only the component nutrients that are used by the nanomachines are required at all. Not bothering to repair any damage, the possessed corpse will rise, with motor functions intact, albeit inexpertly controlled, and seek out the nutrients required to fuel it’s continued existence. If no nutrients could be found, the nanomachines would often end up using the rotting organic material of the corpse to sustain itself, although this is far less efficient than fresh organic material. It was for this reason that early in the program, several researchers were eaten alive as the nanomachine controlled subjects attempted to prolong their lifespan. It was quickly discovered that the ready made flesh of humans was vastly preferable to any other energy source. The machines existed to continue their

existence, even at the expense of human life. Even more disturbing was the fact that anyone bitten by these monsters, was that the already active nanomachines would be transferred in the bite of scratch, which would instantly go to work inside this new, and still living body. They would immediately travel up to the brain, and begin to attempt to take control. At the same time, a few hundred thousand would begin to literally eat the person from the inside out, using the energy to multiply, until a person who may have been infected by a million nanomachines may find himself being attacked by over seven billion in just twenty-four hours. This didn’t really matter, as after just twelve hours, the nanomachines misguided attempts to restart the brain will have killed it, leaving a fresh and prepared body, allowing the nanomachines to take control in a matter of seconds, as opposed to hours. These monsters had the capacity to multiply shockingly quickly, and presented a terrifying sight, shambling and moaning as their flesh rotted and fell away. They became known as nano-prodigium, for their monster like appearance and behaviour, and the nano machines that caused it. Perhaps the most dangerous thing about these newly named nano-prodigium was their extreme durability. Decapitation was often the only option, cutting off the brain, which controlled all motor functions and the controlling nano machines. It was possible to put them out of action for hours, sometimes days if extensive damage to the head or the limps was sustained, as those were the only areas deemed vital for hunting down new nutrients by the nanomachines. The entire project was labeled a complete disaster, and all existing nano-prodigium were decapitated before being incinerated. Perhaps any other company would have cut it’s losses and destroyed any test samples it had. But Armifer had already sunk billions into this project, and was not prepared to cut it loose. Research into new types of nanomachines continued for years afterwards, but it seemed impossible to stop the nanomachines turning the body into a self preserving, lifeless vessel. After six years the closest thing to resurrection that could be achieved was the host body not trying to eat anyone that came near, instead lying in a vegetative state until it rotted away. Armifer was sinking almost half of both it’s pharmaceutical and weapons budget into the project, and many government watchdogs were becoming interested in exactly what combined the twin joys of violence and drugs. It wasn’t long before many officials were turning up long dead in canals after making ‘shocking discoveries’. It was fortunate then, both for Armifer, and for all those dedicated, uncorruptable officials that several breakthroughs occurred at once, allowing Armifer to make those final strides towards immortality. The first was Armifer had managed to invent a microchip able to contain exactly as much information as a human brain, but never released it commercially. Something many people commented on as too suspicious to be a coincidence. The second revolution was in completing the log of all the processes the human brain must carry out, and not long afterwards turning those processes into instructions that could be written into a microchip. It was perhaps wise of Armifer to not announce this achievement publicly. As Telford had often said at executive meetings: “The people are not stupid. If you give them two dots and a pencil I’m sure some of the brighter ones may be able to join them.” That always got a laugh. The third achievement was genetic engineering. Armifer could now create the perfect human. In fact, they could create something better than human.

The fourth and final revolution was the capture of two live, infant Night Kraken’s of opposite gender. They were not caught in the bezoars, but in the sewers of Renantos, and with more than a little luck. With these secretly caught night kraken, a breeding program was started, and suddenly Armifer had a new pet project: The nullification of atomic magic. After a few test runs and some interesting discoveries, the researchers realised that not only could they potentially create a human who could nullify atomic magic, but would have reserves of pure atomic energy, just waiting to be tapped into. Before now it looked like the Lazarus project was doomed, but suddenly an alternate energy source was provided. The nanomachines would never have to touch the host’s body- that vast energy could be tapped into to reboot the brain, and provide it energy while the nanomachines simply acted as replacement cells for anything damaged until the body healed itself. There was still the problem of the brain wiping itself clean, but a microchip programmed to act like a secondary brain, periodically copying all the data contained in the host brain. After death, the nanomachines, using the atomic energy in the sacs behind the eyes, would begin to reboot the brain, restarting all electrically impulses, while at the same time, grouping together and acting as artificial cells, replacing anything damaged, and acting just as an organic cell would have. The chip would then upload all of it’s information back into the brain, the whole process taking no more than six hours. Suddenly it seemed that immortality wasn’t impossible after all… The first, and only person created using this method was Lazarus magehunter, as well as the standard upgrades that Armifer placed in every human it created, he was given all the necessary components needed for him to fulfill Armifer’s vision of an immortal. The ability to nullify atomic magic was just gravy as far as the executives were concerned. The Magehunter was born. He progressed famously, the scientists gleefully subjecting him to various gruesome deaths to see if the nanomachines really could resurrect him no matter what. Amputations proved no trouble for the nanomachines, neither was the removal of various vital organs, as they would be replaced entirely with the nanomachines, only to be slowly supplanted by organic tissue. The only thing that Lazarus was vulnerable to, just like the nano-progenitors, was decapitation. Of course all researchers had taken this for granted, and no one wanted to waste a perfectly good creation. Indeed, many people believed Lazarus to be a work of art, believing he would only be surpassed when Dr. Collins finished that mysterious dominus gene project… Scientifically, Lazarus was deemed a total success, but economically, he was a disaster. His creation had very nearly bankrupted Armifer, and if it hadn’t been for one enterprising scientists suggestion to use the nano-progenitor as a biological weapon, Armifer would almost certainly be no more. Today the nanomachines for nano-progenitor are sold on the black market cheaply to any government, revolutionary’s or terrorists. Armifer isn’t fussy, it’s made them more money in the past ten years than everything else combined. There are over 200 warring states across the planet now using nano-progenitor in some form or another. If you drop a bomb filled with the nano-progenitor nanomachines into enemy territory, you’re almost certain to win the war. But unless you buy the counter nanomachines from Armifer at a ridiculously high price, you won’t be sticking around long enough to enjoy it.

CHAPTER 16: RESURRECTION After resurrection it is the first moments that define the person you become, and the man lying on the rocks was born into conflict. The first thing he saw was one viciously lacerated tentacle bearing down towards his face. Instinct took over. The reborn Lazarus magehunter rolled off his deathbed, unhesitatingly and instinctively dropping to one knee and reaching for the bulky pistol strapped to his thigh. Aiming required no thought, as the magnum round hurtled out of the pistol, throwing Lazarus back as the recoil kicked in. The gun was a powerful one, that was for sure. It could take a man’s head off his shoulders, and had just shorn the attacking tentacle in two. As both parts writhed about on the ground, Lazarus stood up and shook his head. The opportunity to think brought up to startling conclusions. Lazarus had know idea where or who he was. He had no idea what had happened to him, but was certain it had happened before. ‘Oh shit. Not again.’ Candor couldn’t think straight either at this point, with tentacles shooting out from every angle of the darkness, trying to impale or constrict him in their grasp. If that happened he was really, one hundred per cent, well and truly dead. The closest those tentacles had managed so far was to brush him in the leg, but even that had caused a horrible gash that bled freely from where those razor sharp spines had come into contact. It was getting harder and harder to anticipate where the next attack was going to come from, and Candor realised that his attackers were only wearing him out so they could deal a killing blow. What he really needed was a chance to fight back. What he needed was a miracle. As Azar stared through the scope of the rifle, she realised that there were an awful lot of Night Kraken surrounding Candor, forming an ever-tightening circle around him, closing in for the kill. It was no wonder his atomic magic wasn’t working- there were just so many of them! Perhaps if she and monk could thin out their numbers, then Candor might be able to use his atomic magic and clear the lot of them out… This wasn’t the time to worry about it though. She had a job to do. Taking careful at one tentacle, she fired, pinning it to the ground with one flaming bullet. Moving on quickly she began to take aim at the next… Monk waited in the darkness, waiting for Azar’s first shot, to light the way. As he heard the thunderous crack far above him, and suddenly a bright fire lit up one Night Kraken issuing inhuman screams. If monk could have smiled he would have. Lining up his shot on this new and brightly illuminated target, he fired off three quick things into the nightmarish thing’s head, watching it slump down, dead. Candor watched as he got his first glimpse at a kraken in the sudden firelight, marveling at its impossible movement, it’s long sharp beak, and tentacles lined with razor sharp spines. A second later it was filled with holes, slumping down as it’s life bled away. Seeing it showed Candor that he wasn’t alone. Monk and Azar had come through for him. In a moment all his doubts were swept away, and deep inside, he felt that first spark of contact with the atoms. He’d always felt alone with his responsibilities until now… but

he had always had the atoms, silently supporting him. He had taken it for granted and these monsters had taken advantage of it. Not any more. Candor had the atoms. He had Monk and Azar. He had himself. He was not alone. He didn’t have to put up with being powerless; he’d allowed the kraken to do it, but enough was enough. The atoms were still there, he just had to try harder to reach them. ‘I’ve had enough of these overgrown squid…’ In an instant, Candor’s eyes burned with power, his fists and feet vibrating so fast they became a blur on the end of his limbs. The atomic sight let him see the kraken now, and he didn’t hesitate in fighting back. Batting away every tentacle that came flying at him, Candor sped towards the nearest of the monsters, pulling his fast back as he got close, before driving forward. As the punch impacted it tore through the outer skin of the kraken, plowing through both flesh and bone until it burst through the back of the monster, splattering blood and gore everywhere as the rest of Candor’s arm broke through, continuing to oscillate as he kept running, focused entirely on the enemy in front of him. Candor’s right foot cut a path in front of him, in a scythe like arc, catching up three more kraken and killing them instantly. As the carnage continued, Artifex grinned smugly at Eversor. ‘I told you he was powerful.’ ‘I’m still going to kill him.’ Muttered Eversor, scowling as he turned on his heel and disappeared. Artifex sat down in the stained snow, his head in hands as he stared at the spot where Eversor had left. Candor had done this. That boy had changed more than he knew. Both Artifex and Eversor knew that they were the worst of enemies… or at least, they were meant to be. Perhaps the one thing they were truly vulnerable to was the passage of time. Time brought change, and paradoxically, a familiarity too. Neither would admit it, but they no longer cared why they were fighting. It was pure loathing for the other right up to the moment of conflict, and after that- well, they knew that no matter what, they were not alone. It was shameful, but the two adversaries knew each other far better than any friend would have. In the beginning they had genuinely tried to kill the other, but both were too strong to succumb. As time passed, the eternal battle left both feeling drained and disheartened, and after the atoms died… that was the final straw. For many years neither could pull themselves from this stupor of grief at the death of the atoms to do anything more than trade insults, which eventually stopped being insults and became conversations. It was towards the end of this comparatively peaceful, benign era, that the noble and just Altaterum became Eversor. While Artifex had still been consumed by grief at the atoms’ death, Altaterum had transfigured that sadness into anger. Artifex no longer had the stomach to seek combat, while Eversor chased it. Artifex had ran, and continued to run, until Candor had entered the scene. Poor, unknowing Candor had not run from the furious Eversor, and to Artifex’s unending surprise, the boy had not been struck down the instant the two met. Indeed, Artifex suspected that Candor did not realise just how powerful the enemy he was pitting himself against was. Eversor could have rubbed him out from the other side of the planet if he’d wanted, but instead he kill the boy’s mentor and lets him escape! And there was more- that night when he and Eversor had clashed in the sky

above the monastery… Artifex felt sure Eversor could have killed him there and then, but simply chose not to… At first it had been a total mystery to Artifex, but the more he’d thought about it the more strongly he suspected that those centuries of cat and mouse between himself and Eversor had mellowed the man. He didn’t want to kill Artifex for the same reason that Artifex didn’t want to kill Eversor. They gave each other purpose. And that meant other things. Perhaps… Just perhaps he wasn’t going to try and destroy this planet after all. He’d certainly had the opportunity to, because for all the spiel both Artifex and Praeceptor had produced, they both knew that if Eversor really wanted to, he wouldn’t have had to kill Candor to get rid of this planet, not in the beginning anyway. So why hadn’t he? But that led to a more worrying thought. If Eversor didn’t want to destroy it all, what did he want with it? But there was more. What had been the motivation behind that offer to Candor, to help him destroy it all, and to meet him in Bangalor? What possible reason could Eversor have to bargain with CandThen it hit him. In that imaginary snowfield of Candor’s mind, Artifex realised what it was. It was a plea-bargain for Eversor’s life. Candor may only have known Eversor as an evil monster, who had to be stopped, but to Eversor, killing Candor meant killing Artifex, and that would destroy what little purpose he had left. It would be worse than death. But conversely, Artifex knew that Candor would strike down Eversor without hesitation if he got the chance. He could feel it, this boiling anger deep beneath the surface of the turmoil going on in Candor’s mind. He was so full of rage at the surroundings he was placed in, never having a choice in what was happening, and he fixed this all on Eversor. Candor seemed to think that killing Eversor would set him free. No… more than that. Candor seemed to think if he destroyed Eversor, then everything would go away. Artifex felt sick. It seemed that neither of these people had the intentions they were supposed to, and he wondered if either knew it. If things stayed the same, there was no way it would end happily, and Artifex would be caught right in the middle. There was so much rage in Candor at that point, and most of it he wasn’t even aware of. It was only now, with his immediate objective totally clear, and his atomic magic flowing more freely than it ever had done before, was he able to release some of it, in a raw and devastating frenzy that tore into anything that he crossed. At this point it didn’t matter if it was one of the night Kraken, or one of his “friends”. The ground was baked and the air scorched as raw and unfettered energy poured fourth from his eyes and fingers, whipping across the night sky and lighting it up as it wrapped around any Night Kraken in it’s path, mercilessly sucking every drop of energy out of it, leaving only an empty husk. Candor knew that this destruction was not to be enjoyed, but the vindictive pleasure he took in unleashing a small part of his destructive power on something so helpless satisfied him much more than using it against a worthy foe. He felt more than human now, greater than anything, atomis magis or otherwise. Most importantly, it made him feel free. Could destroying Eversor ever make him feel like this? Candor doubted it. So what possibly could?

Lazarus watched in silence, the stunning light show gradually winding it’s way towards him. Feeling the weight of the rifle slung over his shoulder, he instinctively went for it, sliding it off his arm and into his hands. He knew that this was something he could defend himself with, without knowing why. It was a gun. And it killed things. That much seemed obvious. Lazarus readied it, pushing the stock into his shoulder in a way that felt natural and right. As he did so, some of the reflected light from those whiplashes of energy highlighted something etched into the rifle. Taking it away from his shoulder, he brought it into a position where he could look at the side of the barrel, and wait for another ray of illumination. After a second it came, throwing the etched writing into sharp relief. It was just two words, scratched into the metal with some care and effort. Lazarus stared at the spot where they were, not noticing the strands of brilliant light getting closer and closer to where he stood. ‘Lazarus Magehunter…’ he breathed, knowing for sure that this was his name. He had know idea what it meant, and it gave him no revelation as to who he was and what he was doing here, but it was comforting. As he eagerly awaited the next flash of light he felt an insistent buzzing at the base of his skull, and suddenly, crystal clear and distressingly loud, two words rang out inside his head. ‘GET DOWN!’ Monk dived forward, crashing into the midriff of this gormless newcomer, simply standing there as one of those deadly tendrils of energy came lashing towards him. Caution had been thrown to the winds as the two ploughed into the ground, Monk rolling both of them out of the way as that same line of brightly coloured energy arced down into the ground where they had been. It took him a second for him to realise that Candor was attacking them. Taking Lazarus by the hand he sped towards the track up the mountain, thinking that if he did have a mouth to swear with now would be the time. The red haze had Candor fully in its grip now, and as Monk and Lazarus ran, wildly swinging the bolts of energy in their general direction. There was no indication he even recognized whom he was attacking as the scything energy bolts leapt towards his targets, occasionally striking one of the remaining Night Kraken, although most had fled by this point. So focused was Candor on his quest for destruction, he barely noticed when his two targets stopped running, with one turning around and leveling something at him. Lazarus felt himself being pulled along by this strange and silent man, barely noticing the enraged pursuer attacking them, or the odd, inhuman screams issuing from the creatures in the darkness. He was far too busy thinking. In fact, it was only when he heard that same voice inside his head demanding that Lazarus hand his rifle over, that he did anything at all. As this strange man took Lazarus’ gun off his shoulder, Lazarus looked at Candor head on for the first time. It wasn’t just terrifying to see that person shaped mass of burning energy charging towards them, it struck a chord in the pit of his soul. Nothing in the universe had any right to do what that… thing, was doing. It was like a crash course in ethics. Everything else he’d seen could be justified, but this was an affront to everything natural and right. It didn’t have right to exist. He felt suddenly it must be his duty to destroy these monstrous creations. His name was Lazarus Magehunter. It could only be one thing.

A mage! Monk took the rifle and went down on one knee, closing one eye and lining up the sight with the blazing mass of multicoloured light thundering towards him. His finger rested on the trigger; sweat pouring down his face as his hands shook. This wouldn’t kill Candor, it probably wouldn’t even hurt him, but it might bring him back to his senses. He squeezed the trigger, watching as the gun sprayed out hot lead in one continuous stream, while the recoil brought his aim skywards, up towards Candor’s face. The deafening roar of the each leaving the barrel was replaced with the dull click as the weapon’s magazine was finally emptied. Monk looked down at the rifle in dismay. The bullets had simply vaporized as they’d got close to Candor. It had all been for nothing, since that enraged mass of atoms was less than ten foot away now. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look the end head on. Suddenly Monk heard the distinctive crack of a handgun firing, followed by a dull thud as something hit ground. Turning around, monk looked up and saw Lazarus holding an oversized handgun in one outstretched hand, a plume of smoke issuing out the barrel. Turning back around, Monk then saw Candor lying on the ground at his feet, with the back of his skull blown clean away. After a second the apparently dead Candor looked up and winked at Monk. ‘That wasn’t a gun- that was a bloody hand cannon! I’m going to really feel this in the morning… Oh, and I’m sorry about the whole attacking you thing, it was quite hard to tell in the heat of the moment.’ Monk stood up and swiftly ground Candor’s face into the mud with one foot. ‘That’s for trying to kill me.’ CHAPTER 17: RETURN TO RENANTOS As morning dawned across the southern continent, people right across the land began to wake. The wailing and gunfire increased to an even greater volume in the Renantos slums, while those in the merchant sector were shaken awake by underpaid and overworked servants. If someone were to follow the slow spread of light as it progressed northward, they would see it creeping up on the forests, spreading over the Great Plains, and finally engulfing four small figures at the base of the bezoars. The night before seemed a blur now to all involved, the only evidence that it had happened at all were the myriad bullet casings littering the ground, and the burnt earth that the group stood upon. Candor’s raging magic had evaporated anything else, leaving no trace of the night kraken, apart from one or two silhouettes burnt into the ground. ‘…So explain to me again, who are you all?’ Lazarus had woken up from the night before confuse and disoriented, remembering only that mass of bright light, and the revelation of his own name. No one was quick to reply, but in the end it was Candor who had to act as spokesperson, since Azar was not much of a talker and Monk… well feeling the words inside your head was very uncomfortable at first. ‘We’re travelers. …sort of. It’s difficult to explain. I started out in a position like yours Lazarus, it feels like years ago but in reality it was just a few months. I woke up with no memory of who I was or what I was doing; but there

was someone there to help. His name was Praeceptor, and he taught me a lot, maybe it’s time for me to pass on the favour to someone else.’ ‘What happened to Praeceptor?’ asked Lazarus, suddenly intrigued by this white haired man who he could suddenly identify with. ‘ He was killed. I’m not sure why it had to happen, but it did. That’s how I got here, I’m trying to find the killer- at least, that’s what I was doing originally, but so much has changed since then. It was only after Praeceptor died that I met Monk and Azar, but they were going the opposite way to me when I met them. I’m not too sure why they decided to come along with me, but now we’re all headed to Bangalor… Well, that’s where we were meant to be going the last time I checked, but I can’t keep track of things very well. Monk’s the one who handles that kind of thing.’ It was at this point Monk stepped in, making everyone else present jerk as they got over the shock of the direct and abrupt communication. ‘Bangalor… it IS our eventual target, but right now, I think it may be wise to take our new arrival into account. He doesn’t know where he is, or what to do with himself. It might be wise to help him clarify a little about himself before roping Lazarus into our journey. In fact, if I were him, I’d try and find out a little about myself before going on.’ Lazarus looked up from the ground for a second, but then his head sank back down as he gloomily responded. ‘It’s easy to say that, but how am I supposed to find out myself with nothing to go on?’ Monk’s eyes twinkled as he grabbed Lazarus’ rifle off the ground, examining the stock of the gun intently. After a second he gave the gun back to Lazarus, tapping something stamped into the rifle. ‘That’s a barcode and registration number, which means that at some point in time you bought this registered weapon from a company that’s bound to have some details about you.’ Lazarus was unconvinced though, and decided to make it known. ‘But just because the gun has a registration number, that doesn’t mean whichever company sold it to me would have taken any personal details, and besides, how are we meant to tell which company made it just from that barcode?’ Monk shook his head slowly, crossing his arms as he replied. ‘Oh ye of little faith. I’m a well-traveled man, and I know that the ISPN on this barcode belongs to a company known as Armifer, and that means… ‘We have to go to Renantos!’ shouted Azar suddenly, standing up and clenching her fists. ‘Armifer… Praeceptor mentioned they had something to do with Eversor and me. I want to find the truth, even if Artifex says I’m not ready for it.’ Monk watched the rest of the group become animated over the idea of visiting Renantos, and realised that the source of everyone’s troubles, and the answer to most of their questions, lay with the same thing: Armifer. It would be a long journey, since they’d have to cross south to the border of the Great Plains, where the rive Solarin ran south west, and flowed right through the heat of Renantos. It would take them days, possibly weeks, but it could be done. They would return to Renantos. *** Several hours later, and the group was almost ready to leave. They had gathered up

everything they had before making the short trek back to where the monastery stood. Or more accurately, where what was left of the monastery stood. Artifex and Eversor hadn’t treated it with the respect it deserved in that battle. As Candor stared at the gaping holes in some of the walls, he could remember the feeling of being smashed through a wall as Artifex. It was an odd feeling, since Candor had always associated those walls with being solid and sheltering, yet they crumbled so easily when put to the test. It reminded Candor of something else he couldn’t rely on- the others. They seemed confident and well meaning now, but would they remain that way when the pressure was on? He didn’t want to dwell on it, and was fortunately interrupted by Lazarus, wearing his sunglasses even though one lens had been smashed, probably from his fall. ‘Hey… Candor isn’t it? I want to ask you a question.’ ‘shoot.’ Replied Candor, distractedly. ‘Where were you last night? I know the Monk guy was there, and the blind girl shows up later, but I don’t see you until this morning, and when you do show up, everyone acts like you’re the boss.’ Candor looked at the ground, kicking up the dust as he smiled sheepishly. ‘Well, I guess I am. I think I fell into this leader roll by accident.’ ‘That’s for sure, whoever heard of an amnesiac leading a bunch of crack fighters like us!’ ‘…What’s that supposed to mean? It’s a bit rich coming from someone who can barely remember his name.’ ‘Yeah, but I can fight. No offence man, but those two were pretty mental when it came to the guns, and even if I’ve forgotten everything else, I know how to fight; whereas you… well, let’s put it this way, you look like you belong in a hospital Candor.’ Candor looked down at himself and saw it was true. The recent days had been hard on him, and there were bloodstains and tears all over his one set of clothes. It hadn’t yet occurred to Candor that he could simply use his atomic magic to wipe away these superficial marks, but there was a weariness inside him that couldn’t be so easily remedied, and it showed. Lazarus had a point. ‘Ok Lazarus, I admit I’m not much to look at, but I come through when it’s needed.’ ‘Really?’ asked Lazarus skeptically, slinging his rifle to the ground, and going into a fighting stance. ‘Show me.’ ‘Lazarus!’ cried Candor exasperatedly and beginning to turn away. ‘This is ridiculous, I’m going inside to get some sleep and-‘ He didn’t get to finish the sentence as Lazarus sprung up and hit him in the face. Grunting, Candor wiped the blood form his lip and balled up his hands, preparing to unleash a fireball, but just before he did, he had second thoughts. Candor didn’t know how Lazarus felt towards atomic magic, and while Monk and Azar had atomic magic themselves, even they were put on edge when Candor used it. He’d been lucky that those two were so tolerant, but was determined he’d never be so tactless again. He’d wait a while before revealing his ace in the hole to this strange and brooding new companion. ‘You want a fight Lazarus, you’ve got one!’ shouted Candor, batting away the fist that came flying at him as he said it. Lazarus grinned darkly, and proceeded to attack. The fighting was fast and furious, with Lazarus on the offensive, trying to get an attack past Candor and his quick blocks. From an outside perspective, it was clearly a one sided fight, as almost every attack launched at Candor was coolly intercepted before it landed,

occasionally followed up by a counterattack, the result of which normally left Lazarus lying on the ground. From an outside perspective it was one sided, but in Lazarus’ opinion, he was slowly gaining the upper hand, wearing Candor down until he was no longer fast enough to block an attack. ‘Just… give up… it’ll… it’ll be… easier for you… easier… you… long run!’ panted Lazarus as he desperately fought on, throwing wild punches and unguided kicks into Candor’s general area. As he grew tired he began to realise that his current tactic wasn’t working. Both combatants understood that this was not a battle to be fought in earnest, but Lazarus couldn’t help reaching for his knife as it became apparent that he wasn’t able to defeat Candor. The attack was a sudden one, and intended to be lethal as the knife was driven around towards Candor’s left side. From his perspective, the blade moved slow as treacle, with Lazarus’ face contorting with almost frustrating slowness, as though it was a lump of clay. At that point Candor could have taken a step back and let the weapon pass him by, but he was furious that Lazarus had resorted to such a dirty tactic. Bobbing smartly under the knife, Candor drew back his fist and plunged it forward, focusing all his into the atoms at the end of his fist, feeling them plough through each individual molecule of air until finally coming into contact with something more solid. Something like Lazarus’ stomach. As the atoms at the end of Candor’s fist connected with those comprising the cloth of Lazarus’ clothes, he drove all his energy into those atoms in the fist and cloth, powering both up with opposite charges as large as he could possibly muster, and then watched as the two colossal energies proceeded to repel each other. It was quite a spectacle. The grimace of concentration on Lazarus’ face was replaced with one of surprise as the knife fell out of his hand as that enormous force impacted into him. For the briefest of moments all was calm as the body armour Lazarus wore began to absorb the shock, but was quickly shattered as the full force of the atom powered punch slammed into him, rocketing Lazarus backwards at a speed that nothing else on earth could hope to match. The punch probably would have killed Lazarus if Candor hadn’t performed some atomic trickery to bring the stunned victim back to earth at a drastically reduced speed and angle. As Lazarus landed with a hard thud at the other end of the horizon, Candor crossed his arms and smiled serenely, watching as Monk walked over, whistling. ‘Is that what you do to everyone who annoys you?’ ‘no… I pulled my punch that time.’ *** It was only when Candor had returned back inside the Monastery with Monk that he felt it. The sharp and insistent tug coming from deep within him. He already knew what it was- Artifex was calling him back to the snowfields. Clutching his head he grabbed Monk on the shoulder. ‘I’m going to be gone for a while. He wants me.’ Monk turned around, surprised. ‘Who wants you, what do you mean-’ But by the time he’d started speaking, Candor was unconscious on the flagstones. Materialising in the mental snowfields, Candor looked around, wondering where Artifex

was, before suddenly being greeted by a fist plowing into his cheek. The force of the blow sent him sprawling into the snow, only to be greeted by the harsh scowl of Artifex, who picked Candor up and hit him again. ‘What the hell was that for!?’ Screamed Candor, furious at the beating he was receiving. ‘Because you’re an idiot.’ Replied Artifex bluntly, turning away from Candor. ‘What did I do!?’ Shouted Candor back, still peeved at being hit in the face. ‘That man… Lazarus- we need that man! …We need all of them. You don’t understand it now, but I’m sure you will, which is exactly why I need you to refrain from half killing them. I’m not sure if you understand just how fragile the average human is Candor. They’re certainly not as robust as you, or even Lazarus. Most people would simply be torn apart if you hit them with a punch like that one.’ ‘Is that it? That’s all you called me here for? … I knew what I was doing you know.’ Artifex refused to turn and face Candor, simply waving a hand. ‘Get out of my face, I don’t want to talk to you right now. Come visit me when you get to Renantos.’ ‘Why?’ ‘You have more business there than you realise- Armifer holds something as powerful as you are in the palm of it’s hand, and you have to retrieve it.’ Candor laughed and shook his head. ‘Unless they’ve got Eversor holed up in there, I doubt it.’ One he’d said his piece, he simply faded out back into the real world. Artifex tutted and sat down in the snow, thinking aloud. ‘Suit yourself, but I’ve never known an atomic mage to best an energy mage…’ *** There were times when nature could produce something better than Armifer could even dream of, but it didn’t happen very often after genetic engineering had been perfected. Happily however, this was one of those times. It was an undeniable fact that president Christopher Telford was a cautious man, and would never have authorized the dominus gene project if he didn’t have some counter weapon. He prided himself on the fact that he’d never commissioned anything which wasn’t within his power to destroy if necessary, which was why the entire Lazarus project annoyed him. It had been commissioned before he became president, and by the time he rose to power, the company had plunged far too much money into it to give up. Indeed, after Lazarus was created, it wasn’t just the economic instability that had stopped the project, it had been the concerning lack of methods to easily dispose of the subjects were something to go wrong, since the counter nanomachine would not be developed for another five years after the project was terminated. It seemed, however, that all in all, there was no mistake that Telford could not correct, and in light of everything that had happened, the dominus project was a definite mistake. At first the president of Armifer had been reluctant to play his trump card, but he was left with no choice now… Thanks to the contingency plan, Telford knew that the one calling himself Candor was coming, and nothing could stop him. It was with all this in mind that Telford called in his secretary, asking her to bring in the files related to gifted and talented children living in sector 9C of Renantos. The requested files were delivered quickly, as expected and before hi secretary, turned to leave, Telford began to speak.

‘I know this is an imposition Juliet, but could you possibly also bring me any charts relating to energy spikes in this area in the past five years please? I’d like to see what our little protégé is doing. What was his name again…?’ Telford quickly scanned the list, his normally severe face creasing into a smile as he looked back up at his secretary. ‘…Adam Moore! I see you highlighted it Juliet, you always know what I’m thinking!’ The silent secretary gave a smile as she peered over her glasses, before turning on her heel to chase up her paymaster’s latest request. The Adam Moore in question was currently bored stiff, stuck behind a desk being patronised by some stupid woman trying to explain to him electromagnetism. It bored him because he already felt like he knew it intimately, instinctively, and far better than any of the teachers did. To occupy himself during these long hours of boredom Adam had taken to manipulating the light and twirling it around his fingers, occasionally redirecting it into a fellow pupils eyes and watch them blink. The truth about the underachieving distracted, and clever fifteen year old was that not only did he know more about electromagnetism than any other person alive; he could control it as well. He was more than ordinary, and more powerful than any atomic mage could hope to be- he was an energy mage. It goes without saying that Adam had neither idea of what he was, nor any idea what he was capable of. An energy mage is to the natural forces what an atomic mage is to matter. He had no control over matter of any kind, but he could bend the fundamental forces of the universe as he saw fit. On top of that, Adam could manipulate any form of energy and use it as he saw fit. Of course as far as he was concerned, it was a party trick to show to friends. He had never done anything with his power except use it to embarrass and amuse the people around him. Adam was a mischievous person, and would manipulate the light from a torch to spell rude words, or on a cold day, steal away all the heat energy from the heaters and use it on himself. Anyone who had ever seen visible evidence of these tricks simply assumed it was a petty form of atomic magic, a not uncommon thing in the area of Renantos Adam lived in. The truth was, sector 9C, was not a bad place to live by Renantos standards. Not the best of areas, but certainly not the worst. Crime was low and living space was comfortable and spacious. Some of the richer people even had their own bungalows in the area, although it was only the very rich that could afford a house. Adam himself lived in a communal building, one provided for employees of Armifer. This made sense, as to all intents and purposes, he was the property of the Mega Corporation, and was Armifer’s responsibility. The reason for this was that Adam had been born into a poor family, desperate for money, and when he and his many siblings would go busking on the slum streets, the energy manipulation that Adam unconsciously used would create a pretty light show and usually earn the family a few rubels. It was one such light show six years ago that an Armifer employee, recognizing the obvious difference between what Adam was doing and standard atomic magic, had suggested that they apply for Adam to be put on the gifted and talented list. The family did of course reply, and the news of this unusual child even reached the ears of president Telford, who immediately recognised the potential, and the connection to the dominus gene project. Armifer offered to buy Adam off the family for an extortionate sum of money, asking for total control over him. In a time less driven

by money, it may have been refused, but as it happened, his parents cheerfully waved off Adam as a company car collected the nine-year-old boy and drove him to the communal building he lived in now. Adam’s education was arranged, and he was given anything he wanted, on the condition that he would perform any tests Armifer asked him to attempt. It was for this reason that Adam Moore was idly bringing to bear his terrific power, one which even Eversor could not possibly hope to match, and was using it to annoy his classmates. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the school bell rang. Adam had been afraid his half deaf teacher wouldn’t hear it, so had tapped his hands together under the desk, drawing out a suitable amount of wasted energy in the room, whether it was kinetic, chemical, or gravitational potential energy didn’t matter, he redirected it all into sound energy the bell was producing, amplifying the vibrations until everyone in the class had to cover their ears to block it out. The teacher looked up; seeming surprised she’d heard it. ‘Well… We must get that bell fixed. I hadn’t even realised we had one until today.’ *** Several hours later, and Adam was free. The school day was finally over, and he didn’t have to listen to the patronizing drivel teachers would spout at him. The school was funded by Armifer, so he was either listening to some unimaginably boring concept with some kind of endorsement of Armifer every five minutes, or being berated about how he would never amount to anything if he didn’t listen to what was going on in the lesson, as though the teachers were the fount of all wisdom. Not on their salary, thought Adam smugly as he jumped the school fence, avoiding the crowds going through the main gate. As he trudged slowly back, Adam watched the roads, watching out for black cars. He was always nervous of black cars, since it was only Armifer that could afford that colour, that total symbol of authority in the city. They’d paid off all the manufacturers long ago, so they held sway over all road vehicles, and they made sure only commissioned company cars were black. Adam knew that he belonged to Armifer, but that didn’t make him any less afraid of the company. If anything, it made him worry even more that he was going to be snatched from his bed in the middle of the night, and subjected to God knows what. That was another thing that irritated him about the schools. The idea of God. He didn’t know much about what a deity should be like, but he was damn sure that it wasn’t someone who constantly contradicted themselves. It seemed to Adam that one minute God was saying love your neighbour, then he was smiting the atomic mages for wickedness, and destroying whole countries in a wrathful vengeance for taking His name in vain. To Adam, this was a double standard- if you were going to lay down the laws by which people had to live; the least the guy could do was follow them himself. The whole affair struck him as sordid and underhand, and he refused to believe it. Adam was so deep in this reverie that as he mindlessly trudged the well walked path back to his accomodation (It wasn’t home. Adam refused to call there, or anywhere else home. Not in Renantos), he found himself just across the street from its entrance. Even though it was just a few dozen feet away, the street that separated Adam from the building was a dual carriageway express lane, one of the traffic arteries that Renantos relied upon for quick transport. There was no such thing as health and safety in this city, and it was

considered perfectly fine for such a thing to exist in a residential area. If you were unable to cross it, be it through fear or physical inability, then you were of no use to the city and the greater good. If you squashed, then it was your fault. Just last week Adam had seen a group of tourists (an almost extinct term, since it was only the eccentrics from the north who still had holidays anymore) milling around for almost an hour before trying to pass by the speeding cars. There had been a fair few road pancakes that day. If nothing else, survival of the fittest was held in some esteem in this overworked, overpopulated, and diseased city. As Adam prepared to cross the street, he noticed something unsettling parked nearby. A black car. As his heart began to quicken its beat, Adam forced himself to calm down. It was probably nothing, and those cars had been to this place before, usually to drag some other indentured person out screaming, so he shouldn’t be too worried. But he was. Those cars had been appearing more and more near him recently, and in his years of living with the other Armifer associates in that building, he had learned that if you were seeing the cars, it was like a death omen- except reliable. For some unknown reason, the net could be closing in on the fifteen-year boy. He was sure now that he didn’t want to use the front door, in case it really was him that the drivers of that car were looking for. Dropping his school bag, Adam threw off the tatty blazer and tie he wore, turning into a back alley nearby, making sure to keep the street between him and the Apartment building. If anyone did spot him, they’d certainly have trouble crossing the dual carriageway. Three years ago, after the first person he’d had any contact with in that place had disappeared, Adam had resolved to create an escape route from the building if he ever needed it. It had taken a few months of devoted planning, but eventually he’d realised that if he was prepared to take the risk, some power lines ran directly over the roof of the apartment building, and ran perpendicular to the massive dual carriageway below. Walking down the alley, Adam kept an eye out for a drainpipe on his left, stopping when he found it. The metal was old and the whole thing looked fragile, but Adam was small and lithe, short for his age, but incredibly agile. With barely a second thought, he had taken a run up the wall, leaping up and getting a grip on the bolts holding the long metal tube against the wall. Once he had established this firm hold, Adam scaled the wall quickly and confidently, moving up like a monkey in an urban jungle, taking advantage of all the paraphernalia you would normally find in an urban residential environment. This included rusty and unsafe balconies, window sills carved into the wall, and even the occasional washing line strung between the gaps above the alleyway. Within minutes, Adam’s sure-footed and acrobatic climbing had brought him to the top of this high rise building directly opposite his target. Walking over to the edge, he leaned over and looked at the busy road below. No matter how many times he went up building like these, it always struck Adam as to just how tall these giant concrete monoliths were. Space was far too valuable in Renantos, and unless you could afford to live in the upscale part of town, everything was built economically, with maximum profit in mind, which meant that the buildings were as tall as they could safely be made, and often taller still. The buildings around here were quite old, and so were visibly shorter than some of the newer, more efficient buildings, although still commanded an impressive view, being just over a hundred feet. ‘Shit…’ breathed Adam, admiring the view below, albeit through a thin veil of muddy

coloured smog. That was something else about Renantos. The higher you climbed, the thicker the pollution got. Even at this altitude the pollutants were thick enough to be visible on particularly bad days, but it was nothing compared to what it was like at the tops of the really tall building. There were rumours that at the top of the improbably tall Armifer headquarters building, (an estimated 2700ft tall building) the smog was so thick it was like moving through water, and when the company wanted to get rid of people, it would invite them for a meeting, then just send the lift right up to the roof. When you were exposed to such a concentration of the stuff the factories pumped out, you wouldn’t just die, you’d have your skin and eyes burnt away by the corrosive chemicals in it. The smog reminded Adam of all this, and was just another reason for him to feel nervous about belonging to the corporation. He was about to turn away, but being the schoolboy he was, felt compelled to spit over the edge, something that caused endless satisfaction on a day like this. Adam knew it wasn’t the time to engage such things… but did it anyway. Looking up as he walked to the centre of the rooftop, Adam saw the main electric line running overhead, almost a metre thick in diameter, in was a giant mass of tubes and wires designed funnel power across the city, and the whole package was wrapped up in thick, insulating rubber. In the main industrial areas, which needed the most power, these massive chords criss-crossed the sky like some colossal, warped spider’s web. The problem Adam faced now was how he was going to get on this power line. Looking around, he spotted a small wall making up part of the stairwell, which led down into the building. If he could get enough speed, then Adam could use the wall to gain some height, and jump from there, and if he was lucky he’d be able to get a grip on the power line. Unfortunately, the rebound would send him catapulting out towards the street below, so if he missed… He wouldn’t miss. Clapping his hands together, Adam savoured the sound energy, using it as motivation to gather up more raw energy from his surroundings, turning it into kinetic energy, and feeling himself steadily gain speed as he ran towards the wall. It was odd, but Adam always needed to make some kind of sound before using energy magic, whether it was clapping his hands or snapping his fingers, that spontaneously and naturally produced sound helped him concentrate, and as his feet plunged forward, the rubber trainer sole gripping against the crumbling brick wall, it was a snap of the fingers that let him convert all of his kinetic into a burst of chemical energy. This extra store of energy was spontaneously released as both of Adam’s leg’s bent against the wall and sprang back, catapulting him upwards and forwards with almost explosive power. Sailing through the air was a serene experience, and as Adam sped towards the power line, he almost forgot to grab it, barely managing to get a grip as he started to descend. With his arms hooked over the top of the bundle of wires and the rest of his body dangling in the wind, Adam began to try and pull himself up onto the power line, which was sagging ominously. Maybe this plan hadn’t been as good in it’s execution than in it’s planning. Looking down, Adam let out a stream of profanities as he saw how high up he was. Halfway across the gap between buildings, he began to feel his grip slip against the smooth rubber, and he redoubled his efforts, desperately swinging backwards and forwards, he tried to get a leg up and over the rubbery cylinder, horribly aware that with every swing, his grip lessened a little bit. Finally, at the last second, Adam managed to get a leg over, but in the same moment, his arms finally gave way, and he found himself in

the original position, only now he was hanging on by his legs. Grumbling, Adam swung himself up by the legs, this time managing to grip on with his arms instead. Grumbling to himself, he pulled himself up and onto the top of the power line. Hugging this lifeline made of wire and rubber, Adam crawled along inch by inch to his final destination, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally arrived, dropping down from the power line and landing lightly on the roof. Sauntering over to the door leading to the stairwell, and thinking of how he’d wait all this out in his room, Adam did not pay close attention to the sound of footsteps as he reached for the doorknob, happily believing he’d outwitted Armifer. It something of a surprise then that as he began to open the door, it burst open, the wood splintering form the force and Adam being sent flying among a storm of wood splinters. Hitting the tarmac hard, Adam felt a burning pain in his stomach and began to cough, feeling shocked and ill as he saw the blood dribbling out of his mouth and onto the ground. Looking up, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. The man holding it was like a gorilla, bulging muscles barely fitting the tailor made suit. He was a grunt, but he was an Armifer grunt, which meant he had class. ‘Mr. Moore, would you mind coming with us?’ The man asked, and for a moment Adam believed that he had a choice in the matter. Unfortunately the gun pointed at his face more than contradicted that sentiment. Looking around, Adam weighed up his options. He could allow himself to be taken away, he could run, or he could fight. Looking around he could only see two other men besides the gorilla, and they looked positively weak. Both of them tall and lanky, without a muscle on their bodies. The two of them were identical, and neither seemed armed. Adam fancied his chances. ‘Go to hell Butch!’ shouted Adam, clapping his hands and infusing a measure explosive energy in the gunpowder of the bullets in the gun’s magazine. With some satisfaction, Adam watched the gun explode, taking the man’s hand with it. Not wasting any time, Adam leapt up, kicking the Gorilla in the face before he began to run for the stairwell, ignoring the two other suited men, who appeared not to have moved while all this was happening. Just before reaching the stairs, Adam saw a movement in the corner of his eye, and in front of him a wall of crimson flames suddenly leapt up, blocking off his pathway to the stairwell. Before he’d had any time to think, a stream of ice came racing along the ground towards him, and it was only quick reactions that saved Adam from being turned into an icicle. Backing away to the edge of the rooftop, Adam felt it was time to reassess these two opponents. They were obviously atomic mages, and powerful ones. There were other nearby rooftops he could run to, but they’d chase him, and his best bet was to face these two enemies off here, and use his own unique abilities to his advantage. But before all that, Adam wanted some time to find out just how good these two were, and if he was lucky, they might just tell him. It was worth a shot. ‘So who are you guys!?’ Shouted Adam, wanting to sound confident. The reply from the two of them was unsettling, and seemed to suggest the two were more than twins, as they finished each other’s sentences. ‘I am Frostbite,’ said one, ‘And I am Burn’ finished the other. ‘And together we are-’ ‘Armifer’s most powerful-’ ‘mage hunters!’

Adam scowled, wondering what he could do. ‘There’s got to be some kind of mix up here, I’m no mage!’ ‘There is no,’ ‘Mix up. This is an order from the president’ ‘himself. We are Frostbite,’ ‘And Burn.’ ‘We do not,’ ‘Make mistakes.’ When the attacks came, they were simultaneous, forcing Adam to move as a jet of fire lanced out of Burn’s fingers, while Frostbite flung thousands of tiny icicles at an alarming velocity. The attack had been unexpected, and a few icicles had hit Adam in his right arm, and while the ice melted on impact, it had peppered the arm as buckshot would have done. Gripping the injured area, Adam noticed a row of chimneys sticking up on the adjacent rooftop, and realised it was the top of the adjacent factory he was looking at. Those chimneys would be perfect cover, and the gap between the two building was minimal. Beginning to run, Adam suddenly found himself stopped as a wall of ice rose out of the ground, blocking his path and bringing him to a standstill for just long enough for a tendril of fire to wrap around his ankle, burning the flesh and causing Adam to scream in pain. Ducking behind this newly created ice wall, he clapped his hands together before slamming both of his palms into the freezing ice. He needed a distraction before heading for more permanent cover, and he knew just how to do it. The light around was an almost infinite source of energy, and siphoning a little off, Adam channeled it into his hands, before converting it into explosive energy, shattering the ice wall into thousands of vicious shards, each and every one riding on that wave of explosive energy towards Adam’s two aggressors. As he’d expected, Burn flung out a hand and created a shield of fire, intending melt the ice as it lanced through the air. Perfect. Sucking out all the heat energy from the fire with a snap of his fingers, Adam converted it once more into explosive energy, placing the concentrated pocket of destruction into the masonry directly beneath Burn’s feet. The effect was instantaneous. The icicle had not been melted because of the lack of heat from the fire, slamming into Frostbite and achieving the exact same effect as the attack had on Adam previously, while the explosive energy had sent Burn skywards in a shower of rubble and electrical wiring. Evidently Adam had focused the energy in an area wiring ran through. Nevertheless, this caused the effect Adam had been hoping for, as both men stumbled about trying to regain their balance. For a second Adam considered making a run for the stairwell and getting inside, before realising that if he was being chased, then there was no point returning to his room, and his best chance of escape lay in defeating these two. Sticking to the plan, Adam leapt the gap between the buildings, and dived for cover behind the chimneys. Just in time too, since a second later a veritable flood of fire poured across the general area, and even crouching behind the sturdy brickwork, he could feel the intense heat. Adam cursed his luck, having not realised before that by taking cover he had lost any possible mobility. One of them could keep him pinned down now, while the other circled around. In an attempt to gauge the position of each one, Adam shouted out from where he sat. ‘That was really cool guys! It’s just a shame you missed!’ ‘We were not,’ ‘aiming for you.’ ‘We underestimated,’ ‘your ability.’ ‘Telford told us you were,’ ‘unusual,’ ‘but we did not expect’ ‘such capability from one’ ‘so young.’ ‘Now however,’ ‘we are wise’ ‘to your tricks!’

It was as Adam listened to this that he heard the cracking sound of the ice forming suddenly, crushing any bricks it crossed over like a tiny Glacier. The bricks of the chimneys were still hot, and when you cool something hot down very quickly… Adam threw himself forward just as a layer of frost covered the chimneys, the rapid cooling causing them to crack and break apart. As they did so, another torrent of flame, this time partnered by a stream of ice, blasted forward, passing the spot where Adam would have been if he hadn’t moved. Jumping up, Adam turned to face Burn and Frostbite, the dust coming from the broken bricks rising, obscuring each attacker’s view of the other. A wind was blowing as Adam stared the two men down, and was blowing the dust away from them. As it cleared, all hell broke loose. Adam was quick, running towards the two men and gracefully avoiding anything they were able to throw at him, either neutralizing it’s energy or simply dodging the attack. As he drew in close, Adam threw his fist back, running at Frostbite, before jumping up and throwing his fist forward with all his might. Despite the effort, Frostbite easily caught it, sending a layer of ice up Adam’s arm as the boy struggled to break free. ‘You have some interesting tricks boy…’ whispered Frostbite, only to have Burn butt in. ‘But it won’t stop us!’ As the ice began to spread across Adam’s body, crawling up his neck and across his torso, he clicked his fingers in his unfrozen left hand, gathering together any energy he could, and instantly transferring it into heat, halting and reversing the freezing process Frostbite was subjecting him to. Taking advantage of the moment, Adam now swung his free hand, watching as it impacted against the ice mage’s face, and freeing his hand from the man’s iron grip. Back flipping away, Adam threw himself out the way of yet another high powered stream of fire… As Adam sailed past the fire, trying to avoid this violent application of atomic magic, he noticed that the distribution of energy was very specific. If Adam were to hazard a guess, then he’d say that the oxygen atoms in the affected air were being oscillated at an extremely high rate, giving them the activation energy needed to ignite. Up until this point he hadn’t been able to think of an application for his energy magic, other than as a defensive technique, since even the explosive energy he’d managed to muster couldn’t do any serious harm in itself, but now he was beginning to realise that his power, if used imaginatively, could achieve the same effect as atomic magic. It was simply a different means to the same end, and while there’d be some things he couldn’t achieve with energy alone, Adam knew he could do things that couldn’t be achieved by simply manipulating matter. Knowing all this, Adam realised he had a chance. Clicking his fingers, Adam concentrated on the charge that the electrons in his hand possessed, and then amplified it. An atomic mage could simply add or take away the tiny negative particles, but there was a limit to how many any nucleus could take. Besides, like this, he could make the charge as powerful as he liked… Grinning, Adam faced off Burn and Frostbite, concentrating on the positive charges that every proton in their bodies possessed. ‘You’re going to love this…’ he whispered, before ramping up the charges in the two men’s bodies to as high as he could possibly make it, then watching the fireworks. The lightning leapt straight from Adam’s fingers, the charge being transferred from particle to particle as it leapt the gaps between Adam, Burn and Frostbite. It was… magnificent. The

electricity formed a triangle, going from Adam to Burn to Frostbite and back to Adam. As the two Armifer employed shook and sizzled, Adam laughed, amazed at his newfound power. In fact he was so enthralled, he failed to stop the electron flow long after the two men were dead, only realising what was happening when he smelt burning. Stopping the flow, Adam stared down at the hand that had just effortlessly killed two men, and grinned uncontrollably. The only trouble was, he’d never had to draw in and channel so much energy in his life. The whole ordeal had left him feeling horribly weak… That feeling was only compounded when Adam was clobbered around the back of the head by a large blunt object. It turned out that while Adam had been busy cooking Burn and Frostbite, the one handed gorilla had done more than just bleed. *** ‘Did you feel that Monk?’ ‘Feel what Candor?’ ‘Like something really awesome just happened and I wasn’t there to see it.’ ‘For the third time today Candor, no I do not.’ *** It had taken a day for Lazarus to return to the Monastery, and when he did, the man returned battered bruised, and more than a little confused as to what had happened. Apologies were made by both parties, and at last the journey proper began. They had headed east, to the edge of the Great Plain, and where the river Solarin flowed southward from the Bezoars and continued down the eastern edge. The river would be the group’s method of transport. From the eastern edge it curved westward, slicing off the southern edge of the Plains, and separating it from the forests Candor had been found in. From there it continued westward, before meandering around to the south again, and into the valley of shadows, a great gorge carved out by the river millions of years ago. It was said that as you passed out of the valley, Renantos could be seen to the south, appearing like a mirage bright light of open ground. That was what Monk said anyway. Now however, looking at the rickety raft the four of them had managed to construct by the river, and the fast flowing water nearby, the group began to have its doubts. It had taken just a few hours to reach the Eastern edge of the Plains, and using the river to reach Renantos would certainly be quicker. Perhaps if it was as direct as Monk claimed it to be, and the river continued at this speed, they could be there in a few days… That was if the boat held together. ‘Well… We’ve nothing to lose.’ Sighed Monk, hefting the makeshift raft towards the water until it was half in and half out, resting on the bank. After a few seconds in the fast flowing current, the wood splintered and began to break up. Lazarus was unimpressed. ‘Nothing to lose but our lives you mean…’ At the point Candor felt it necessary to step in and save Monk from embarrassment... sort of. ‘This is stupid. We all know there’s no way we could ever have sailed a raft down this river. Especially not one a blind person helped to make.’ At that point Azar stepped forward and gave Candor a smack around the head in retaliation. ‘Ow! What was that for!?’ ‘You insulted my raft building skills.’ ‘I’m sorry, if I’d known it was such a point of pride that you could make rafts, I wouldn’t have said it!’ Azar hit him again. ‘What was that one for!?’

‘Don’t get sarcastic with me Candor. If you’re so good, why don’t YOU build the raft?’ Thoroughly peeved, especially since Monk and Lazarus were stifling laughter, Candor limbered up. ‘Fine! You want a boat? I’ll give you a boat!’ Focusing his attention on a cluster of nearby trees, Candor uprooted them all, using his power to completely strip them of branches and leaves, and after a second he was left with a dozen or so floating pieces of lumber. Smiling to himself, Candor then concentrated on the atoms that made up the surface of each log, Taking each one and intertwining the atoms with it’s neighbour, breaking them down and reforming the atoms into a new compound, one which joined up every log together, creating a sturdy, and spacious rectangle. Continuing to levitate it, Candor brought it over to hover above the water, beads of sweat now forming on the man’s face as he gently lowered it onto the water, holding it in place with his magic. “Get on!’ He grunted, beginning to shake with the effort of such protracted used of his magic. ‘Is it safe?’ asked Lazarus, concerned at how sturdy the raft was. ‘It’s fine! Let’s go!’ shouted Azar, spotting Candor struggling to keep the raft in place. With no further ado, Azar, Monk and Lazarus all leaped aboard the floating platform, carrying all of their worldly possessions with them. As soon as they were on, Candor stopped holding the raft, and watched it shoot off, carried by the river quicker than anticipated. Much quicker. Looking ahead Candor saw some rocks poking out of the water with the surf breaking over them, so only the vicious points of the rocks showed up. Candor swore, realising that they should probably have checked the river before deciding to sail down it. It was too late now though, and the others were shouting at him to get on, oblivious to the rocks. Growling, Candor crossed his arms and began to oscillate the atoms in his body, in order to give him the speed he needed to do what he needed to. ‘I hope this isn’t going to become a regular thing.’ He muttered to himself, before beginning to run. Travelling at just under the speed of sound, Candor ran towards the raft, jumping onto the river and running over it, his feet not stopping long enough to sink through the water, as he sped towards the raft. As Candor reached the back end of the raft, he noticed the other three moving as though stuck in a time warp. He hadn’t realised he was that fast… grabbing the back end of the raft, Candor dragged it backwards, hauling it over his head as he did so, putting on an extra spurt of speed to avoid sinking with this extra weight. As he did so, there was a loud popping sound, and Candor realised he’d broken the sound barrier. So had the other three actually, and hadn’t even realised it. As he continued to run, Candor saw the rocks looming up ahead, and hurled the raft, passengers and all, forward, sending it hurtling forward, over the danger and landing with a splash in the river. Following suit, Candor then made the leap over the rocks himself, landing with a thud on the centre of the raft. Standing up, he then examined the stunned faces of his comrades. They all seemed to be in shock over what had just happened. Sitting down and pulling a stale biscuit from his pack, Candor smiled as he began to eat. ‘I can tell this trip is going to be fun!’ *** The last thing Adam remembered was the electricity, and the feeling of absolute power-

No, wait… He did remember something just after that, it was the smell of burning, and the smoke rising off the two charred corpses that shook with the charge Adam had been passing through them… Feeling suddenly sick at the idea of what he had just done, Adam opened his eyes, gasping as he took in his surroundings. Lying on an operating table, he found himself restrained at his arms and feet, but that wasn’t the main problem. As soon as his eyes had opened, Adam had been hit by an absolute mass on energy, filling every part of his mind, not allowing him to concentrate on anything else. It wasn’t deliberate he was sure, but the wherever he was, the gravitational potential energy was enormous. So great was the headache it gave Adam, he barely noticed when the halogen lamps above him came on, and the table began to rotate, bringing him up into a vertical position. To Adam it felt like he was being crucified. Crucified like a God he didn’t believe in. Try as he might, Adam could neither free himself from the bonds that were holding him, or shake that horrible feeling of eternal freefall the gravitational energy was giving him. After a few minutes more struggle, he finally gave in, allowing himself to slip back into unconsciousness. Faces, masked and heavily breathing appeared above Adam, followed by a blinding pain in his head, and suddenly darkness was restored. A similar scene confronted him the next time he woke up, and ended just as abruptly, without enough time for him even to think. Adam didn’t know where he was, or how long he’d been here. Every time he awoke, he blacked out again quickly, in a disconcerting manner. Eventually, after these countless blackouts, something changed. Everything around him seemed different, and it was several seconds before Adam realised that he was in fact totally submerged, floating around in a Plexiglas cylinder. For a moment he choked, struggling for air, before realising breathing didn’t seem to be a problem. There was nothing on his mouth, but there was an odd sensation on his neck. Gingerly, he flexed his fingers for the first time since he’d been captured, and began to move his hands through this odd liquid and towards his throat, moving the tips of his fingers slowly up it until he came to the spot where the horrible feeling came from. As Adam came to grasp the long tube plugged into his windpipe, he gasped and choked, swallowing some of the awful green fluid. As he convulsed in horror and shock, Adam saw that the were more of those long tubes sticking into various parts of his body, pumping him full of chemicals. Worst of all, as he moved his head, Adam distinctly felt something sticking into the base of his skull. As soon as he moved his fingers around to clasp it, a violent jolt of electricity coursed throughout the boy’s body, sending him into a spasm that slammed him against the Plexiglas, causing a crack where he had hit it. Unsure of what was going on, Adam raised his leg and kicked at the glass, increasing the crack, and allowing a little of the fluid to trickle outside. As it did so, the glass began to crack more, unable to hold back the vast quantity of liquid inside Adam’s prison. With a resounding clatter, the Plexiglas smashed and spilt both Adam and the green chemical onto the floor outside. As Adam fell to the floor, carried outside on the wave of liquid that erupted forth from the cylinder, he heard a loud buzzing sound, followed by footsteps. Lying there, too weak to move, he heard the steps getting closer and closer until out of the corner of his eye, he could see one immaculately tailored shoe. From what seemed like far above him, a voice echoed down. ‘Hello Adam. It’s nice to see you up and about after all this time.’ He was weak, but Adam found just enough strength to reply. ‘Who are you? Why are you

doing this to me?’ ‘Adam my lad, I think you’ve guessed who I am- I’m the man that owns you.’ ‘I’ll never help you!’ ‘Yes, it’s unfortunate, and only to be expected. That’s why we’ve had to keep you drugged like this these past few weeks. Fortunately for us though, we don’t need your cooperation, only your continued existence.’ After a second, Adam felt himself being picked up, and dragged towards a door illuminated only by a single electronic lock. Looking right, he found himself face to face with the subject of all his nightmares, the man who effectively owned Renantos, Christopher Telford. ‘Welcome to Armifer Adam.’ END OF PART ONE

PART TWO: THE TRUTH A few weeks later Candor blinked, his eyes opening up as another day dawned. Even with a raft, the journey had taken longer than expected, partly because it was constantly torn apart by the rough waters, forcing Candor to re-construct it, which could waste whole days as he tried to figure out a better way to assemble the craft so it wouldn’t break so much. Add to that the need for fresh food, (Candor had mastered creating pure water but nothing quite so complicated as edible food) and stops on the riverbank were frequent, sometimes necessary just for the group to stretch it’s collective legs and get away from each other. In order to speed things up, eventually, everyone had taken to simply sleeping on the raft, taking turns to stay up and make sure they never ran into trouble. Compared to the last few months, Candor felt this trip exceptionally uneventful, and as a direct result, boring. He longed for some kind of challenge, something to test himself against, or simply a good fight. He’d attempted to start arguments with the others, but none of them had risen to the bait, knowing full well that if it came to blows, (and Candor made sure it usually did) that they didn’t want to be on the receiving end of an atomic punch, no matter how it was pulled. ‘So where are we today?’ Asked Candor, yawning and sitting up, coming face to face with Azar. ‘Well, the river started heading west last night, so I’d say we’re close to leaving the Great Plains.’ ‘Really? So, how long before we get to Renantos?’ ‘If we’re lucky… We might get there tonight.’ Candor broke into a grin, leaping up into the air and punching at the sky. ‘Yes! Finally!’ Monk turned around as he heard the commotion, and frowned at the white haired youth.

‘Well you might be excited about Renantos Candor, but we mere mortals are a little more concerned about our well being. Besides, We’ve a hard time ahead of us, the river Solarin runs out of the great Plains as a giant waterfall, will drop us right into the valley of shadows.’ ‘The valley of Shadows? What’s that?’ asked Candor, bemused at the name. ‘You know that the Great Plains are surrounded on three sides by mountain chains correct? There are the Bezoars in the North, the Pollentis chain to the East, and finally the Cautes mountains in the west. Of course to the south like the Smaragdus forests. As I was saying, there are the three mountain chains that border the Plains. The Bezoars and Pollentis are very old, much older than any of the surrounding landscape, and were formed long before the river Solarin was even a trickle. The Cautes on the other hand, were pushed up by a long process of almost clockwork earthquakes, which began after the river Solarin had been established. Over millions of years, the river Solarin cut like a vast knife into the still forming Cautes mountains, which was made of a softer rock than that of the Great Plains. This meant that not only did it keep the river level as the ground rose; it actually cut quicker into the Cautes rock than it did into the Plain rock, creating a waterfall at the point where the Cautes mountains emerge. Because of the great depth, combined with the vast heights of the untouched mountains on either side, a valley has been created, with such a massive gap between river and open sky, which very little light filtrates through. That is the valley of shadows.’ ‘Great.’ Said Candor, yawning, picking himself up from the lying position, which he’d slumped into as Monk had talked. ‘Hey Monk, how do you know all this stuff?’ Monk shrugged, looking awkwardly at his the planks of the raft. ‘I had a good education. I’ve lived all my life in this area…’ As he said it, Azar glanced up from the splinter of wood she was playing with and shot monk a questioning look, before glancing at Candor and going back to her wood splinter. If Candor had been a more observant person, he might have noticed the glance, but by the time Monk was giving his answer, he had already fallen back into a lying position and closed his eyes. ‘Just…wake me up when we arrive.’ It seemed to Candor that when he was nudged awake, he had been asleep for mere seconds, but as he looked up, he saw the sun in the sky and realised that it was midafternoon. ‘Over there.’ Grunted Monk, pointing to a ruler straight line where the water disappeared, sandwiched between two great cliffs that made up the Cautes Mountains. On closer inspection, Candor realised he had been to this place before. There was a great density of tress to his left, the open plains to his right, and straight ahead he saw on both edges several stakes driven down, to hold the rickety and rotten bridge that had once ran across the river. It was gone now, although a few planks still connecting to the stakes were dangling uselessly into the water. Seeing it all brought back a flood of memories, and he knew that as the raft drew up to where the bridge had once been, if he looked left into the forest he would see the decomposing corpses of the Armifer soldiers. He knew that he should feel disgusted at the mere thought of those men, dying in such a horrible way, and then simply being left to rot. He should feel disgusted, but that wave of repulsion never came. Even as the raft passed by, and Candor saw the crumpled and tattered uniforms, the

maggot-ridden skulls and the few scraps of remaining skin on the bones… he felt nothing for those men. If he felt anything it was simply a wave of empathy for Artifex, who had done the right thing. People had no control over what happened to them. They might believe they did, but when push came to shove, they were like leaves blowing in the wind. Had these men been blown the other way, they might still be alive, but instead they had come up against Artifex, a rock of decisiveness in a swirling and unsure ocean. They could not control their fate, so Artifex had done it for them, and he had every right to do so… Such lives were worthless because they had no say over what happened to them, and were merely a tool for those in control of their own destinies to carve a path to tread upon. Their skulls would form the paving stones that led to the total freedom that Candor craved; a freedom that many believed they had, and a freedom few really possessed. This fatalistic thinking, and growing belief of his own superiority among his cohorts, distracted Candor, and he failed to notice as the raft reached the edge of the waterfall, tipping over the edge and beginning to plummet into the abyss below, obscured by vapour and darkness. It was only Lazarus throwing out a hand and catching the vacuous Candor by the wrist that stopped the young man being thrown off the raft entirely, as the rest of the group had already found various handholds to grip onto as the raft fell. Absent mindedly, Candor pulled away from Lazarus, hovering in the air for a moment, watching the raft shoot by him, before taking the plunge himself, speeding after his lost group, fire in his hands and thunder in his heart, Candor was ready to lead the way through this valley of darkness, and into the city where the truth awaited. For the others, the trip down into the valley was brief and terrifying, as their stomachs seemed be trying to escape from their throats, a horrible falling sensation overwhelming them as the darkness slid past. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of falling, the bottom raft finally hit the bottom of the great chasm the group found themselves in. From his vantage point, and his atomic vision, Candor saw the raft impact upon the fast flowing water, the force of it’s landing splintering the wooden structure into a thousand pieces and throwing up a great wall of water that arched majestically before coming down again in a storm of water droplets. The worst thing about the experience for those on the raft was the disorientation, as the unexpected landing in the total darkness had left them totally unprepared as their makeshift craft disintegrated, throwing them all violently into the rapid and murky waters. Coughing and spluttering, Lazarus was the first to surface, finding himself being carried along at a rapid pace by the current. Treading water, he looked for something distinguishable, and after a minute saw the pale flickering of a ball of fire ahead of him. As the river pulled him closer to it, he began to make out the features of Candor, standing on top of the water, waving at him. ‘Candor!’ Lazarus screamed, trying to keep the water out his mouth. ‘The others are just ahead, and the exit isn’t too far. You’ll get there quicker if you use the currents at the bottom of the river.’ And with that, still smiling, Candor pushed Lazarus’ head back under the water with his foot, waving all the while. Candor would pay for this! *** Telford looked out from his office out onto the metropolis that was Renantos. It wasn’t

official, it never could be, but he ran this city. More than that, he ran this continent. People had said they didn’t want dictators, but they’d never expressed any concerns over businessmen. It was Telford that had done it, making Armifer more than just a company making big bucks. His take-over of the government was slow and subversive, but it had worked. Everyone knew he’d done it… But no one minded, because, against all odds, the system worked! Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely; but perhaps uniquely among humans, Telford had never been tempted to abuse that power. His aim really had been to help the people. It might now always have been palatable, it might not even have been morally justifiable, but any decision Telford had ever made, he had made with the best intentions. After all, individuals were expendable, especially if they helped the majority survive. The problem was that Telford was just one man, albeit one with absolute power; which as exactly the problem. It was very easy for that authority to be transferred to those around him, who did not have what was best for the people in mind. Telford might control the government, but Armifer controlled Telford. It was only now that he realised the corporation was out of control. At first after assuming the presidency, he’d thought that the beast could be tamed, and made to obey him, but it was impossible! There were too many secrets, too much money coming in, and all Telford was doing was increasing the profits. The Atomis magis. They were the spawn of that out of control corporation, and a responsibility of Telford. He bitterly wished he could wash his hands of the whole sordid affair, growing angry as he thought about Artifex and Eversor. His hands curled into fists inside his pockets thinking about them, remembering those ghastly, mocking faces behind the Plexiglas containers. Hot, angry tears rolled down his face as he slammed a fist against the glass wall of his office, frustrated that for the first time in his life, he was helpless. He had failed! He had… failed. There was only one path left now, and even if it was in the public’s best interests, it was one he was reluctant to take. After Adam had been captured, the scientists had run tests on him. The results were surprising, shocking even. When Adam had crossed over the street on the electric wires, he had been in prolonged contact with a super conductive casing for the wire designed to fry anything that settled on them. There was a reason were a rare sight in the Renantos skies. The boy had clearly thought it to be rubber insulation, and after questioning, seemed unaware of what had happened to him. The whole time his body had been in contact with the electric lines, they had quietly being absorbing every drop of electrical energy that ran along the wires. The scientists had been able to work out what had happened because of two important facts- The first was that just before Adam had been caught, a third of the city lost all power, the main conduit supplying it apparently no longer working. It was that conduit the boy had been messing around on. The second fact was that any electricity produced by Armifer was Alternating Current with a very specific frequency and voltage. This was helpful because anyone found using electricity with those exact values could be charged with theft and breach of copyright- Armifer had actually copyrighted it’s electricity,

(Something lawyers had used to great effect several years ago to drive out all other electric providers, allowing Armifer to drive up power costs) and Adam’s body was alive with Armifer brand electric power. He’d absorbed it all apparently. Every drop that had come his way had been promptly sucked up, and he’d done it without even realising it. Armifer supplied a lot of power to the city, and at this moment, Adam contained the energy of a thousand suns, pulsing through his body like a deadly undercurrent in a vast ocean. It was invisible to the naked eye, but if that boy sneezed the wrong way, no one would know it, on account of the fact that the planet and everything on it would cease to exist. But if it was used the right way… Telford smiled. There was hope yet. *** ‘It’s...’ ‘Beautiful?’ ‘No, that isn’t the right word.’ ‘Then what?’ ‘Unnatural.’ Lazarus shrugged. Candor was right about it, there was something about that golden eagle that proved unsettling. After being submerged, he’d found himself dragged up after what seemed like an eternity, to join Monk and Azar on the bank of barren plain, coughing up and straining out water. The sun was setting now, behind the silhouette of Renantos, its blood red glow illuminating the dry and cracked ground surrounding the city. The effect was an odd one, producing a negative image of a shadowy and desolate city skyline on the ground, hemmed in on all sides by a never-ending sea of blood. Lazarus felt the description an appropriate one, considering what was creating the shadow. The most striking thing about Renantos though, even from this distance, was the one building, which reached far above the other skyscrapers, a great monolith rising out of the city like the finger of God. Upon the face of this building was an unimaginably large metal plate, crafted of pure gold, displaying an eagle with a rifle and syringe clutched in each talon. Even from this distance, it glittered and shone, a diamond in the rough. It was the golden eagle of Armifer, something that had evolved through urban legend until it represented the spirit of Renantos, ever watching for the enemies of the city. Despite what people thought, those enemies were a very real thing. The southern continent had once been the most bountiful place on earth, a green and pleasant land, and had been the nirvana to all of early man. In early history, as more and more tribes came to hear of this land of plenty, any who could emigrated there, on the greatest ships that could be made. Many thousands died, but even more successfully arrived. Since the dawn of time, man had always lived on the harsher northern continents, but now they were all but empty, and those that were left found that the land was more than able to support them.

Meanwhile, as the population of those in the south grew, and the foundations of technology were laid, the people in these lands suddenly found that the land was not as forthcoming as it had once been. So many had chosen to settle there, that now there was no more room, and no more resources. Wars between tribes erupted more and more frequently, until the land was in a state of constant war. This started a technological arms race, which only exacerbated the situation. Flint spears became axes, and the axes became bows. The idea of religion was forgotten, as civilizations rose and fall, each spurring their enemies on to greater heights. All this time, it was the land being forced to take the strain. Eventually, after thousands of years of conflict, the population had been worn down to three great nations- The Izmirians, the Ammorites, and the Renantosians. Apparently satisfied, each stopped their warring and nomadic ways, settling in three corners of the war torn continent, and erecting more permanent cities and borders. This state of affairs remained, with three nations, living in relative peace, until one decisive invention once again force the land into a state of warfare- gunpowder. After the Ammorites discovered this potent weapon, they immediately set about finding a way to exploit it. ***I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I’M GOING TO SKIP AHEAD TO RENANTOS!*

CHAPTER 19: VIOLENCE Candor stood at the end of the street, a wind blowing across, sweeping up the dirt and catching his ghostly white hair. The opponent didn’t look quite so confident now- there was something about the aura this white haired streak of a boy was emanating that put him on edge. Too late, he realised he’d picked a fight with the wrong person. ‘You know what I’m going to do after I kill you?’ said the grinning Candor, his voice carrying across the space unnaturally well. He began to wind his arm round and round, gripping it with his left hand at the shoulder. ‘First of all, I’m going to take your coat. It’ll look nice on me, when I get the bloodstains out. Then, I’m going to find your friends, and kill them as well.’ The thug took another step backwards, his eyes widening as he replied. ‘H-how are you going to kill me from all the way over there?’ There was something about the way Candor’s lips curled upwards. It resembled a smile, but it was hollow, and meaningless. ‘I’m going to show you a true atomic punch.’ The thug’s eyes were drawn to the winding up right arm of Candor, which… had disappeared. There was no trace of it left. Had the man’s arm just evaporated? …No. His smile told the thug that whatever happened next, it wouldn’t be nice. Candor’s arm, had not evaporated- it had stretched. Every single atom in his arm was straining at it’s bonds, struggling to break free from it’s neighbour, extending it beyond all imaginable limits. The arm stopped being solid, stretched so far it became gaseous, the atoms that once composed Candor’s middle finger scraping the Cautes Mountains… And then, atom-by-atom, it began to return to its previous state, an unstoppable momentum

being built up as the atoms pinged back into place. Candor crossed the length of the street in the blink of an eye, inches away from his victim as the final atom snapped back into place, the unstoppable speed of the arm now carrying forward and connecting with the thug’s face. And kept going. The force of the punch was catastrophic, as every bone in the man’s body shattered, the shockwave whipped up a wave of dust that spread outwards into the city, leaving only a cloud of dirt at ground zero. As the smoke cleared, Candor could be seen, his closed fist streaked with blood. He opened up the his hand, and chips of bone and stringy grey gristle tumbled out. The fist hadn’t just smashed the man’s face. It had smashed through it.

CHAPTER XXX: RETRIBUTION Adam's eyes opened slowly, the weight of the rubble on top of him bringing the boy around. His eyes stung and his throat was clogged with the dust from the rubble. It was eerily silent within his stone coffin, and he could hear the radio crackles of soldiers beyond it. More than anything else, Adam was surprised that he was still alive, and angry he'd allowed himself to be caught off guard. It wouldn't happen again... next time he wasn't going to give his opponents a chance. With a frown of concentration, Adam felt the weight of gravity on the rubble burying him, and with what can only be described as a cosmic sleight of hand, reversed it. The boulder sized chunks of stone were catapulted away at incredible speed, the soldiers surrounding the wreckage knocked flying as some of the debris collided into them. At the same time, an obscuring cloud of dust was thrown outwards by the movement, and the remaining soldiers crouched down and primed their weapons. For a moment there was silence, and the world remained motionless. Then, as the front ranks began to discern a shape through the smoke, there was the sound of snapping fingers, and the men closest to Adam fell dead as he sucked the chemical energy from their bodies, deftly converting it to light energy as the hail of bullets began to rain in. Holding a tight control of the packet on energy he held around him, Adam began to siphon off the kinetic energy from the bullets being fired adding it to and focusing the light until it became a highly concentrated laser, it's invisible beam highlighted by the dust thrown up into the air. With a sweep of his hand, Adam put the deadly light beam to work, cutting through the men not quick enough to move behind cover, leaving only a pile of cauterised torso's in his wake. He was angry, and this was his retribution. Lazarus groaned in agony as he felt another bullet punch through into his torso. Monk and Azar were still there, crouching in the alcove while stray bullets splintered the plaster above their head. He'd promised to protect them, and now he'd let them caught at a cross roads in this god forsaken city. ...But he'd made a promise, and that was that. Even now, as Armifer's task forces closed in, he was going to honour it. 'I need you to run.' he muttered, throwing off his trench coat and dropping his assault rifle. 'There's no where we can go!' screamed Azar, stopping short as a bullet smashed into the

wall a few feet above her. 'I can distract them, and all you need to do is run past them while they're distracted- after that you hang a left into Uelitser street and keep running until you reach Candor. You have to stop him!' 'How are we supposed to tell where Candor is?' 'See that collossal spire of smoke and the flaming ruins of what was the biggest building in the known world?' 'Of course, I daresay people could see it in the next continent.' Lazarus smiled, ignoring the lead slug that had just impacted into his arm. 'Now where do you think Candor is?' Azar nodded, offering up her pistol as Lazarus motioned for it. Digging the muzzle in at his left shoulder joint, he looked back at Azar before speaking. 'If this works, I need you to do the other one.' Then he fired. Candor shakily stood up, wiping blood from his cheek, feeling surprised he wasn't dead. It looked like Eversor was as well. 'You dodged it.' he said simply, unwilling to accept it. Candor laughed, and showed Eversor his fingers, covered in the blood flowing from his cheek. 'Not quite... you still got me.' 'I'm not sure you understand... you moved too fast. Up until that point, you'd bent the laws of physics, in some cases into right angles, but just then, you broke one of them. I'm shocked and appalled.' Candor couldn't help but feel hurt as he replied. 'What rules did I break? All I did was dodge the damn thing!' 'You moved faster than the speed of light. The Atomic Sight lets you see in real time- you didn't need light to see the particle. Useful, since what I fired at you was light. The fact you managed to see it is impossible under normal circumstances, let alone dodge it.' 'What does that mean then?' 'It means the time has come for you to fight me in earnest... It's also time for you to die. Faster than light combat can only be learnt with time, and I refuse to grant you that chance.' Candor began to stand up, but was too late to stop the blur that Eversor became, and the fist that collided with his face. The force was unlike anything he had ever known, shaking every atom in his body out of place. The fact that he was also sent flying through the wall of the building and out into the night sky. The power was inhuman, and Eversor gave Candor no time to collect his thoughts as the next blow slammed into his lower back. At such speeds, Candor's vision lagged behind what he saw with Atomic Sight. The overlapping and conflicting images meant that even as he saw the component atoms of Eversor charging towards him, the attempt to block the next furious strike went pitifully wide, allowing Eversor to sink another punch into the stomach. Still reeling, catapulting further and further up into the sky with each of Eversor's strikes, Candor closed his eyes, shutting out the disorienting and nauseating light that was hitting him at the wrong time. The clarity and relief it brung was instantaneous. With only his vision of the atoms to deal with, Candor saw Eversor coming at the last moment, flinging out a desperate fist and deflecting the elbow heading for his face.

Breathing space. The accidental deflection had finally given Candor the room he needed to orient himself. Hanging in the air, he saw Eversor charging for him, the atoms moving almost too fast for him to comprehend what they were. Instead of waiting for the blow to connect, Candor dropped down and threw out a punch of his own, catching Eversor in the chest and stopping him dead. For a moment both men slowed to a stop, and Candor risked opening his eyes to find the world had readjusted. 'You hit me.' Said Eversor simply, wiping away the blood from his mouth. 'I suppose I did.' replied Candor. For a moment neither spoke or moved, waiting for the other to move. Then, as one, both men summoned up their weapons, bringing them down on each other in a colossal clash. For the briefest of moments there was an absolute stillness, both men hanging in the air, unsure of what had happened. Then physics caught up. At the point where the blades has struck each other, the conflicting forces, and the atom thick edges had done more than pressurise the atoms caught between the two swords, it had crushed them. The effect of the energy released was instantaneous, as the millions of atoms that had been obliterated by the clash unleashed every joule of energy they possessed. The effect was, to say the least, violent. Both Candor had been caught off guard by the reaction, and found being flung out into the stratosphere by the explosion, before coming down with a crash thousands of miles away. Eversor had been blown back to the edge of the city, but had pushed back before he could be thrown any further. The effect of the explosion on Renantos itself was far more pronounced, the Shockwave resonating down to the ground miles below, knocking people to their feet and cracking the stone. The tallest buildings caught the brunt of the blast, the vibrations conducting through them and collapsing the monolithic structures instantly. At the point of origin the heat became so intense that the atmosphere itself was being burnt off, and the hydrogen atoms began to fuse. For the people below, the reaction started out as pinprick of light, but swelled until a rapidly increasing ball of light hung above them. Without even realising it, Candor and Eversor had kick started their own little nuclear fusion. With every second, the miniature sun exuded more heat, and the city below was already feeling the effects. People often said Renantos was going to hell... It looked like the underworld had got bored of waiting and come to them instead. Dusting himself off, Adam was the first to notice it. Looking up he saw the swollen, pulsating ball of energy and cursed. There was just so much of it, and everything around him was being bathed in so much energy that detecting Eversor's own energy signature became impossible. On the other hand, what could have created that, other than Eversor? With a crackle of electricity, Adam drew in some of the overflowing energy and compressed it. After a moment of concentration, he began to feel it diffusing into every atom of his body. For the first time, Adam felt like he had enough to fill himself up completely. Not stopping, he began to draw in energy as quickly as it could diffuse, feeling his entire body begin to crackle with power. After a few minutes, he stopped, realising the energy he was drawing in wasn't going anywhere. This was it... he had maxed out. Bolts of electricity jumped across parts of his body, obscuring him in a ferocious electric storm. Looking up, Adam grinned, crouching down and pushing up. Eversor hovered above the miniature sun that was forming, laughing madly. He'd never

wanted to destroy the world really... Now it was happening, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, even if he wanted to. He'd finally lived up to his name. This new sun would continue to grow, and would kill everything living on the planet. Then, if it hadn't already, the atmosphere would be burnt away, the hydrogen in it feeding the flames, until it consumed what was left of the planet and grew ever bigger. Eventually, all that would be left would be this new sun, hanging motionless in the infinity of space. It would be the beacon for the First. The Atomis Magis would see that Adsertor had managed to create something, even when destroying something else. 'I couldn't of done it without you Candor!' 'Who are you talking to?' Eversor span around, shocked to see a slight youth hovering in the air in front of him, sparks crackling between him and the rapidly growing star. Recognition flashed up on Eversor's features, and his expression changed from one of contempt to shock. 'Yo-!' Before he could finish saying anything, Adam had Eversor by the throat, his hand raised. 'shut up.' Adam's hand flashed down, electricity tracing it's arc as he dragged it across Eversor's face in a backhand slap. If he was honest, Adam hadn't expected much out that slap. He certainly hadn't expected it to snap Eversor's neck. The worst part had been listening to the bone's reknit themselves as the atomic mage glared at him. He felt as though he should be embarrassed for something. 'That hurt.' muttered Eversor as his head snapped back into place. 'Good.' said Adam, releasing the man from his grasp before planting a fist into his chest. If anything he flew further than Candor had.