Technomancer: Birth of a Goddess

A week later, Podrick follows Emily through the front doors of the Silver Moon Mercenary Headquarters as she walks purposefully towards an empty counter. He chases after her, his gaze scanning the room and the countless pairs of eyes following them.

“Savage Moon?” he mutters in a questioning tone, picking up on several whispered conversations at the tables they pass.

“Not my choice,” Emily replies with a dismissive shrug. “It stuck after I broke a few bones sparring on my first outpost deployment.”

“I think it fits.”

She glances over at the grinning boy beside her and decides not to respond, turning her focus to the waiting receptionist before them.

I guess I am a little violent.

“Hello, I’m here to sign him up and administer his entrance test,” she says to the man waiting with his hands politely folded in front of his waist, gesturing to Podrick with her metal thumb and watching the man try to school his surprise.

“Of course, Miss Emily,” the clerk says with a small bow of his head, turning to pull a registration form from a set of drawers behind him. “Is he an awakened applicant?”

“No,” she lies.

“In that case.” The man turns back around and hands Podrick a sheet of paper and a pen. “Please fill out this form.”

Podrick nods and starts covering the page with his details as the receptionist retrieves another sheet to hand to Emily.

“This covers the basic entrance requirements. Please just test and mark his results against this, before giving your rank recommendation in the box at the top and handing both forms back to a member of our staff to process.”

“Thank you,” Emily says, taking the sheet and reading over the basic tests, ignoring any related to magic.

“It’s my pleasure to help.”

Emily taps Podrick on the shoulder before leading him over to an empty table to finish filling out his form.

“There you go,” he says proudly after a minute, placing his pen down and handing the sheet to Emily to check.

Codename: Pod. Moderate hand-to-hand combat and shooting ability, light scouting… I guess his alarms count. Sixteen?

“When’d you turn sixteen?” she asks without looking up.

“About a month after we separated: nineteenth of the fourth.”

“Huh,” Emily hums in thought, tucking the forms into the remade utility belt around her waist and standing up.

She doesn’t need to say a word as Podrick slips out of his seat to follow her further into the building.

“So,” Emily says as they pass through the double doors Muscle Mountain led her through for her own evaluation, glancing at her companion with a raised brow. “Pod?”

He meets her gaze before looking away and scratching his head sheepishly.

“It’s what everyone on Calypso called me, and I couldn’t think of anything better.”

“It’s fine,” Emily reassures him, leading him into the shooting range. “Better than something stupid like Pretty Boy.”

They only have to pass three training groups to set up in an empty lane. Emily wraps the entire thing in a silencing barrier to remove the sound of irregular gunfire from the nearby mercenaries before turning to face her eager apprentice.

“Prove those aren’t just for show,” she commands, gesturing to the pistols at his hips with her head.

“Okay!” Pod grins, turning to face the targets.

His hands drift down to sit on the polished wooden handles of his revolvers as he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

His eyes snap open and he draws a weapon, firing a shot in almost the same instant. The hammer of the gun in his right hand slams home, releasing a bullet that sails down the range and embeds itself into the head of a dummy target.

A crackle of machina bursts from his skin, wrapping around the end of the hammer and pulling it back as his other hand draws.

A second shot rings out, thudding into another target dummy’s throat as the first hammer clicks back into place and the attached cylinder rotates the spent casing out of the way.

Emily watches his movements closely as he adjusts and fires, aiming one hand at a time but switching fast enough it wouldn’t be noticeable to a normal person.

He fires twelve shots and hits twelve targets, aiming for their heads, throats, and chests, before popping the cylinders on his guns and dropping the empty casings to the floor. Pod crosses the revolvers in the small of his back and uses a spark of his machina to open the ammo pouch waiting there, pulling a new set of bullets into place with a few tendrils of energy.

“Your machina control has improved a lot.”

“Thanks,” Pod beams, going to holster his guns and pausing when Emily gestures for them.

“And your shooting would definitely qualify you for high-rank shooting ability, so you were modest there,” she says, taking the guns out of his hands and running her thumbs along the grips as she turns to the targets. “However, that’s only because their standards for shooting are… human. We can be so much more.”

Emily tilts her arms, lining up her first shots before squeezing both triggers in sync. A single crack rings out as both guns kick.

She relaxes her wrists, letting the recoil guide her hands towards their next targets. The hammers on both revolvers click back into place, and in an instant, a second crack sounds as two more bullets flash between the barrels and the target dummies.

Her arms cross and her wrists spin with unnatural speed and precision, lining up two more shots that kick the guns back towards their original places.

Three more shots ring out, the first and last trigger pull coming so close together that Pod struggles to follow them, and Emily’s arms flick out to her sides. The cylinders to the guns pop open, scattering spent casings as she pulls twelve fresh bullets from the pouch on Pod’s back with a crackle of machina.

“Just because you’re using two guns, doesn’t mean you have to handle them separately. Your method will work fine for you, especially when you ascend and gain more threads to use, but you should train your parallel processing sooner rather than later if you can.”

She hands the revolvers back to him as he distractedly stares down range, trying to burn her display into his memory.

“As for the rest… Well, that seems like it was enough for now,” Emily says with an approving nod, turning around and removing the sound barrier around them. “Come on, physical combat next.”

Pod doesn’t respond, trapped in his own mind as Emily leads him to the environmental training hall. He only snaps out of it when Emily takes his spear from her belt and tosses it to him. He looks up in shock and catches the bronze and silver metal rod before it can hit the floor.

“Careful!” he gasps in panic, checking on the weapon head and sighing in relief when he sees it hasn’t gone off.

“Pay attention,” she responds with a cold tone that immediately calls him to attention.

He looks up and sees Emily standing with her right arm behind her back. Her left is held out with the blade he made extending from her palm, and she’s staring at him with a calm, predatory glare that sends a shiver down his spine.

“You know the drill,” Emily says, raising her blade and dropping into a comfortable stance. “Come at me like your life depends upon it.”

Taking her words as a cue, Pod springs forward, grasping the shaft of his spear and sweeping it towards her face without hesitation.

“Good!”

Emily slips her blade past the bulky head of his weapon, catching the shaft and using the contact to harmlessly redirect the swing over her head. The spear keeps spinning, maintaining its momentum and sending the butt of the weapon arcing towards Emily’s chin.

She meets the metal pole with her metal elbow, not even flinching at the impact as Pod winces from the vibrations running up his arms. He quickly withdraws his weapon and rolls backwards as Emily slashes where he once stood, rising to his feet before slowly circling her, watching for an opening.

Emily slips back into a relaxed stance, not bothering to follow him with her gaze even as he passes behind her.

Pod takes the only chance he can see, thrusting his spear forward in a sudden jab the moment he leaves her peripheral vision, but her left arm extends out backwards, flexing the wrong way at the elbow. The blade in her hand once again hits the spear’s shaft, sending Pod’s thrust into empty space.

This time, instead of slashing at him, Emily retracts the blade from her palm and grabs the shaft of his spear.

“Shit,” Pod mutters, abandoning his weapon and leaping back.

“You’ve made an interesting weapon here,” Emily says, turning to face him as she raises the spear over her shoulder in a throwing motion. “But you need a way to refill the explosive tip on the fly if you want to use it in a fight like this. Then you can use it as a distraction, not just as a finisher.”

Her arm buzzes with machina, the internal pistons firing at nearly full force, whipping the limb forward and sending the spear out in a blur. Pod dives aside the moment she starts moving, but the spearhead slams into the dirt in front of him before he’s clear, activating its internal detonator. The buried head of the spear explodes, releasing a spray of sand and smoke, and sending Pod and the weapon tumbling in opposite directions.

“See,” Emily calls after him, relaxing her stance and walking over. “If you hit the floor around me with a few of those, I would have been forced to take you a little more seriously.”

She stops above the boy lying on his back covered in sand with his trousers lightly scorched and his hair ruffled.

“I’ll think about it,” he grumbles, wincing as he pushes himself off the floor.

Emily offers him a hand and pulls him to his feet before turning to collect his spear. She lifts it from where it rolled after the explosion, finding the head slightly blackened but otherwise unharmed, with barely any visible wear, even around the vents that release the explosive payload.

“It’s smart though,” she says, tucking the weapon back into her belt and making a mental note to make Pod his own spatial item later. “I do like the design.”

“Thanks,” Pod grins, brushing the sand from his top. “Did I pass the combat test?”

“Your spearmanship is shoddy at best,” she responds, making him flinch at the poor evaluation. “But you haven’t had time to adjust to that weapon yet, and your basics are solid, so I’ll pass you for their standards.”

Pod breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing before she continues.

“You need more practice though.”

“Of course!” He nods without complaint.

As Emily turns to leave the training hall, she notices a small group of four mercenaries approaching them.

“Hello there,” their leader, a short woman with a pair of daggers at her waist, says, greeting Emily with a respectful bow of her head. “I couldn’t help but hear you mention a lack of practice. Would you be interested in a spar with another spearman?”

The woman steps aside, gesturing to a lanky man standing a little behind her with a steel spear clasped in his grip.

Emily’s evaluating gaze scans the group, not detecting a trace of mana coming from any of them except the woman speaking.

“That would be very useful, thank you,” Emily replies with a polite smile before turning to face Pod.

She pulls out his spear and places it back into his hand as the smile vanishes from her face like it never existed.

“You’re allowed to take three hits,” she whispers quietly enough for only him to hear, patting him on the shoulder. “Any more and we do combat drills tonight.”

A shiver runs down Pod’s spine, but he steps up to face his new sparring partner regardless.

***

That evening, Emily gives in to a request from Pod. They head to a small pub at the far end of Merc Street with the squad they met earlier to thank them for their time and to celebrate Pod successfully joining the company as a D rank mercenary.

Emily buys everyone a round of drinks before settling down with them in a private booth tucked into the corner of the dimly lit bar, sipping from a glass containing a mix of several mild magical poisons.

“So, you’re both weaponsmiths?” Beanpole, the spearman of the group, asks Pod, his cheeks flushed red as he sips from the glass of ale in his hand.

“Mechanics,” Pod corrects proudly, taking a swig from his matching glass. “We make a lot more than just weapons.”

“Still,” Flying Dagger, the leader of the small group, mumbles, sipping her ale. “It’s weird to think The Savage Moon makes things.”

Emily doesn’t respond to the nickname, quietly sipping her drink and tasting an earthy blend of plant-based ingredients.

The venom bombs I had in Ashdon were nicer.

The conversation continues around Emily without her input as Pod questions the group on their own names, listening to the others recounting the tale of the party that got Flying Dagger hers when she drunkenly threw one of her blades at a captain of the Defence Force.

The unawakened mercenaries end up slumped over the table less than an hour later, with Flying Dagger barely holding on as she tries to drag her friends to their feet. Pod laughs at them, sipping on the magical concoction he switched to after his fourth beer of the night with a deep flush colouring his cheeks.

“Hey, Pod,” Emily calls to the boy softly, drawing his attention away from the fumbling drunks.

“Yes?” he responds while meeting her eyes and doing his best to suppress his giggles as Flying Dagger trips over and falls face-first onto Beanpole’s back.

“Why do you want to follow me?”

He tilts his head in confusion, as if he doesn’t understand the simple question.

“Since you met me, I’ve been violent, unstable, and dismissive. If I were in your place, I’d never trust me, let alone try to sell myself to me in return for some teaching.”

Pod crinkles his face in deep thought for a moment before shrugging and downing the rest of his drink.

“I don’t know. You don’t seem that bad to me.”

She raises a brow, finishing her matching glass before setting it down on the table.

“I mean, sure, you’re a bit violent and unstable. But I wouldn’t really call you dismissive? Even when I asked you to make me a mage out of nowhere, you took the time to point out what was wrong with my request. That’s nice!” Pod grins, flashing her his teeth as he works hard not to slur his words.

“Besides, I’ve never felt like you actually want to hurt me… I trust my heart… mum always told me to… she likes you too…”

He completely brushed over the instability and violence…

“Psycho,” Emily mutters under her breath as Pod yawns, shutting his eyes and letting his head rock back as he slips into incoherent mumbling.

He never sees the small smile that cracks Emily’s cold mask as she stands up and slips an arm under his to carry him back to the workshop.