Technomancer: Birth of a Goddess

They arrive back at the outpost where Emily and her squad left their truck as the sun starts setting over the horizon, lighting the sands with a warm orange glow. The energy generated by the news of Emily’s triumph hasn’t left the mercenaries, but it’s muted by the strong winds picking up and battering them with sand, blocking most conversation.

The group disperses, some to return to their posts on a detection array and others to stow their gear, as Oil Slick leads Emily into a sturdy central building, reinforced with several overlapping enchantments.

The moment they step inside, the scratching howl of sandy winds dies, leaving the room so quiet that Emily can hear her guide’s steady breath.

“It’s getting dark and feels like a storm’s on the way,” Oil Slick says while pulling the fabric from his face and brushing the sand from his shoulders. “Hopefully, it’ll have cleared up in the morning. I can send one of our squads to escort you back then if you want.” 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

“I’ll be fine alone thanks,” Emily says as he leads her into a small storage room with several locked shelves lining the walls.

“Thought so,” Oil Slick chuckles, unclipping his helmet and letting free his shoulder-length black hair that compliments his dark, charcoal-grey eyes.

He pulls a small key from one of the pouches on his armoured chest rigging, formed from several plates of metal bound together with tough, enchanted leather straps, and scans the drawers thoughtfully. After a moment’s hesitation, he slots the key into one of the available holes, flinching back almost instantly as if shocked.

“Whoops,” he says before sliding the key into the drawer below, turning it with a click and sliding the drawer out. “This is like my second time using one of these.”

The artefact he lifts from the drawer is a chunky metal plate the size of Oil Slick’s head with twisting runes tracing the outline of a handprint in the centre. He holds it out towards Emily and, after she places her hand on it to inject a burst of mana, its surface is covered in small words formed from glittering light, detailing Emily’s mercenary profile.

“Perfect,” Oil Slick says, dropping the artefact back into the drawer and pulling out a new key before heading towards another drawer with purpose. “Just have to report your survival, then we can go join the others. I might even crack out the Lebard Blood Wine I’ve been saving if you ask nicely.”

Emily’s brow raises at the mention of one of the small island nation’s only exports, a rare magical alcohol said to increase the consumer’s vitality and strength, but she still shakes her head.

“I don’t feel the need to celebrate a failure. Enjoy your festivities, but I’d rather not.”

“The failures are exactly what you should celebrate,” the older mercenary replies, glancing over his shoulder as he removes the base’s communicator from the drawer. “You may not have been one of us for long, but here we drink to our fallen comrades.”

Emily doesn’t respond, so he continues with a grin.

“Tell you what, I’ve changed my mind. You don’t need to ask nicely. Come along and have a glass of Blood Wine with me at least.”

“Fine,” Emily finally agrees with a nod. “I admit I’m curious.”

***

They join the other free mercenaries in an open mess hall, finding them enthusiastically downing alcohol with plates of steaming meat and vegetables sitting between them.

Everyone cheers upon Emily’s arrival, clearing room for her and Oil Slick near the centre of the room.

Are they even allowed to get this drunk between watches?

A few men and women look eager to ask her questions, but Oil Slick waves them back, drawing most of the room’s attention as he dramatically waves his hand over the table. The ring on his pointer finger glows, and a large, black glass bottle appears.

It’s covered in glowing red lines, depicting images of twisted beings with horns and fangs dancing around the bottle.

A few people gasp, recognising the bottle, and more people join them as they hear whispers of Blood Wine.

“I got lucky a while back, when I first reached third circle,” Oil Slick starts explaining, speaking loud enough for everyone watching to hear him over the faint bubbling excitement filling the room. “I was on a mission to defend an outpost in the Woods, and we got attacked in the night.”

More people are drawn in with curiosity as he produces two clear crystal glasses from his ring.

“The Denrosi scum had an artefact to help cover their advance, and they hit us while we were still in bed. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t think I’d be there!”

He grins proudly, raising his hand and pointing at the bottle’s cork. His fingers flicker black, and a small tendril lashes out, ripping the cork out in an instant before drawing it back into his grasp.

The crowd cheers at his display, while Emily’s eyes widen, and she focuses her magical senses on the spell still wrapped around his fingers.

Darkness magic. Uncommon.

Her attention is stolen by a sickly-sweet, metallic fragrance drifting from the open bottle, leaving only a few threads to continue analysing the oozing black mana as it fades.

Oil Slick fills the two glasses with rich, crimson wine before sliding one across to Emily.

She accepts it, raising the glass in sync with him and most of the surrounding mercenaries, who mimic them in a toast.

“To Emily, the mage who rid the world of the shitty Pampered Prince!” Oil Slick announces as the room roars in approval. “And, to her comrades who fell along the way.”

Everyone falls silent immediately in a sombre display of solidarity before they all bring their glasses to their lips.

Emily blinks, the display inspiring a strange blend of emotions bubbling up, stronger than before her severance. She silently mimics them in taking a sip, feeling the wine slip down her throat smoothly and bring warmth to her chest.

She can feel it spreading out to her muscles, attempting to encourage their growth to little effect, but she barely pays attention to the disappointing result, instead relaxing and letting her emotions wash through her. She shuts her eyes for a moment, blocking out everyone around her as she does.

Emily tries to pick apart and understand the odd mixture of loneliness and enjoyment hitting her at once, but it sparks a few memories from the dome that bring an unwanted crush of other feelings with them. She cycles her machina, forcing everything back before opening her eyes again and taking another sip.

The wine tastes nice: a fruity body with a slight metallic tang.

“It’s lovely,” she says, watching Oil Slick set down his empty glass with a satisfied sigh, reaching out to fill it again. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ve been looking for an excuse to drink it really!”

“I can tell,” she mutters, watching him down another glass without even savouring the taste, his cheeks flushing pink in an instant. “So, I’m curious. Why do you keep calling him The Pampered Prince?”

“You don’t know?” the tipsy mage asks with an excited grin, filling his glass again and this time taking only a small sip. “Back before our liberation, when that scum was still a member of the royal family, it was basically an open secret that he was Daddy’s favourite. The king never said it publicly, obviously, but every noble in the country and their servants knew that Everette was barely a mage, and they were pouring resources into him anyway. So, we called him the only thing appropriate: The Pampered Prince.”

Emily can’t help but chuckle at the nickname that only reinforces the man’s ineptitude, surprising herself as happiness bubbles alone in her chest for a moment.

I haven’t felt this good, other than in a fight, since my cortex’s changes…

The bitter thought infects her happiness with another rush of self-hatred and anger, forcing her to wipe her mind clean with machina again.

Goddess, I need to fix this.

***

The next day, Emily leaves the outpost alone into a shroud of sandy winds, gentle enough not to bother her truck, but chaotic enough to limit her visibility.

She drives along, charging the humming steam engine with machina and feeling out her surroundings with the glowing brown magic circle of Earthen Detection holding in place beneath the moving vehicle.

She reaches the closest city, Basenon, a little past midday. The city guards confirm her identity without her Signature before she heads straight for the city’s Silver Moon branch to request a ship back to Liberte.

Within an hour of arrival, she’s already in the air again, sitting in a private room while working on blueprints in her virtual notepad.

***

A few days later, her ship touches down in Liberte.

Reluctantly, she heads first to the Sliver Moon headquarters to report.

Stepping into the open entrance hall, she once again draws the usual attention. This time, the fearful gazes falling on her are tainted by a touch of pity as they notice the empty sleeve flapping uselessly at her side, but she grits her teeth and ignores it.

“Hello, Miss Emily,” the petite woman behind the counter says with a polite bow as she approaches, quashing her own surprise to put on a professional mask. “How can I help you?”

“I need to fill out my mission report.”

“Of course.” The clerk nods before quickly checking her mission details and preparing the sheet for her to fill out.

Emily’s hand blurs as she uses a borrowed pen to write out everything from Pretty Boy’s betrayal to Everette’s arrival, missing out her communication with the dungeon.

Afterwards, she produces six aquacillis fruits and places them on the desk for the clerk to collect. Her eyes widen a little, but she keeps up her professional mask as she takes them, covering her interest far better than the nearby mercenaries that Emily can practically feel dripping with greed as they eye the valuable bounty disappearing behind the counter.

“That’s all finished,” the clerk informs her with a smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with right now? The company leader will probably want to speak with you about this mission soon, but he’s currently unavailable.”

Emily doesn’t miss the woman’s glance towards her left arm when she talks about the company leader, but she ignores it.

“Actually, yes,” she says. “I need a new Signature.”

“There would normally be a small fee,” the woman lets her know while turning to gather the tools to make another identification card. “But you won’t need to pay it given your contribution.”

***

Emily finally leaves the headquarters with her new Signature safely tucked into her storage amulet and heads for Earnie’s workshop.

As uaual, none of the guards stop her entering, though a few she recognises give her change in outfit curious glances as she passes.

The workshop is filled with the hum of gunfire as she steps in, and cracking muzzle flashes draw her attention to a floating platform, hanging from chains above the open testing area with a mounted turret holding four shotguns pointing down into the scrap below. Each of the guns has a slightly different shape to its main body, but all of them have a straight magazine protruding from the side.

Their shots ring out in sync, cycling repeatedly until their magazines empty and one of them jams.

“Top left is your best design,” Emily says as she leaps from a fixed walkway to the platform. “It sounds far smoother than the others.”

“Of course you can tell by sound,” Earnie scoffs, glancing over from reloading the guns to continue his test.

His brow furrows immediately as he takes her in, his eyes scanning her Denrosi robes with disdain.

“The hell happened to you?”

“A traitor,” Emily responds with a growl, raising her stump. “I want your space to make a replacement.”

Earnie’s eyes widen in shock, though not a trace of pity passes through his gaze.

“You’re not getting it healed?”

“I keep most of my scars for a reason,” Emily responds, shaking her head. “I want to remember this mistake.”

“Losing a limb seems a little extreme, but hey, who am I to judge?” Earnie turns back to his shotguns, slotting a filled magazine into place and racking the front slide. “Make yourself at home. I’ve got nothing important out, so just toss anything out of your way.”

“Thanks.”

Emily steps off the platform onto open air, catching herself with a small platform of wind before kicking off and sailing towards the main working area.

The workbenches are scattered with tools and random, half-finished gun pieces. Emily sweeps metal filings off a stool and drops down in front of one of the main workbenches.

A wave of machina clears the scrap away, leaving her with a bare surface to place her magical storages on.

“Let’s deal with this first,” Emily mutters to herself, looking down at the loose fabric hanging from her arm.

She taps the storage amulet, drawing out a small, simple dagger. She lifts part of the sleeve and places it between her teeth, holding it taut as she carefully slides the dagger around the remains of her bicep.

Dropping the blade, she tears the fabric free, leaving her stump unimpeded.

Her mana bubbles from her skin, glowing silver as it stretches out to form a new limb in place, mirroring her right. The runes covering the magic circles around her heart pulse, and the mana condenses into shimmering liquid metal.

Her digits separate from a single flowing mass at the end of the arm before solidifying, leaving the joints flexible as her fingertips rap against the metal workbench with a satisfying clack.

Nodding at the temporary work aid, Emily opens her new arm’s blueprint and spreads the virtual notepad above her workspace. The design surrounds her, requiring her to turn her head if she wants to track her creation from untested nerve connection to reinforced alloy fingertip.

“This is the most complicated single item I’ve ever made,” she mutters, spinning her stool around to take it all in as a growing excitement suppresses the churning negative storm in the back of her mind. “Let’s get started!”