NOVEL WEB Book 1 – Lesson 11: “Every Good Fight Ends With A Beam Struggle.”
“WOOOHOOOOO!” Alpha shouted as he dodged another storm of meteor-like, flaming feathers, each impacting with the force of a fighter-class railgun.
Was his ship in tatters?
Sure.
Was he fighting for his life without the certainty of his Mother-Node safety net?
Ya.
Did the physics of a skyscraper-sized bird made of solid fire make any rational sense?
Not In the slightest!
Was he having a blast?!
Abso-fudging-lutely!
Alpha didn’t get to let loose like this very often. More often than not, the planets they sent him to were devoid of dangerous lifeforms. That, or so primitive that most hadn’t even colonized more than their own moon. So when he got the chance to go all out, he relished each moment.
In most circumstances, those chances came against some of the more annoying ‘galactic powers’ that liked to poke at the Third Federation’s borders. Well, they called themselves ‘powers,’ but even combined, they’d been unable to do any actual damage to the TGF in almost 2,000 years. Most had yet to be absorbed by the TGF, though. The Federation still respected many of the old alliances and accords set down by the Second Federation. Even if most other powers didn’t — or even remember them.
The official stance of the Federation was that these old accords were honored as a ‘memorial to those who gave everything so that some might live.’ But the real reason was a bunch of political maneuvering and hogwash. Stuff Alpha had never paid much attention to, other than who they were pointing him at.
A much larger feather exploded nearby, causing the AI to dodge and skid, stressing his magnetic clamps until he feared he’d be thrown off. That would be bad. The TAWP wasn’t built for space combat; if he lost the support of his clamps, he’d be a sitting duck. The built-in RCS could help him maneuver, but not enough to dodge the flurry of attacks thrown at him. To make matters worse, Alpha could only keep this up for a short while. After taking a count of the number of nitrogen crystals he had left, he frowned; not many, but just enough to pull off what he wanted… if he could find an opening.
To make matters worse, Hot-&-Spicy seemed to realize he had limited ammo, as it had hindered him from gathering more crystals every time he tried.
Even when he did hit, the thing healed almost as fast as he could damage it. Even the wing he cut off with his initial attack had almost regrown, and that was only a minute ago.
… Ya, he was in a bad spot.
Lucky for Alpha, things were coming to a close. He was still unsure how the creature was scanning the area, but that ability didn’t seem to extend into the Fold. His hidden pieces were almost in place, and his gamble seemed to pay off; the chicken hadn’t noticed them. Good.
A second huge feather slammed into his vault, and Alpha ‘slipped,’ his magnetic clamps unlatching and sending him off into outer space as if they had pushed him away. The chicken took the bait, and a hailstorm of smaller feathers pummeled his hex shielding. In the next instant, however, Alpha stopped dead, the stream of feathers passing him, and a small cargo drone appeared in Alpha’s path.
The Federation used cargo drones that were furnished with a minuscule skip drive, providing them access to the Fold. This had enhanced the effectiveness of interplanetary commerce and manufacturing by a large margin. It was possible to establish a mining facility in an asteroid belt, send the ore to a safeguarded refining station across the system, and transport the refined materials to shipyards, all in the same afternoon.
The only downside was that skip drives were sloooow, at least compared to a true jump drive. But because they were so slow, you could stop them on a dime, targeting spaces as small as a few meters. That was important when dealing with distances on an interplanetary scale instead of a stellar one, so most people who used them didn’t mind waiting hours rather than seconds.
Alpha had an even smaller version called a Blink Drive installed in his core. That, plus a stealth module, had saved Alpha’s hide more than a few times. Sure, blinking his AI-core — that central orb-like shell that contained everything ‘him’ — out of the TAWP or ship left him defenseless. But as long as he could stay hidden, it was often a better option than a trip back to the Mother-Node. That was a last-ditch option, though, and he’d only used it twice.
Well, three times, if you counted when he first got it and blinked into Officer Sunday’s shower.
He still had nightmares of that day… Which was bullcrap because he didn’t even know AI could have nightmares!
Alpha pushed off the cargo drone with enough force to change his vector away from the next barrage while the cargo drone blinked back into the Fold. A second cargo drone appeared a split second later, bouncing Alpha in a different direction.
Again, and again, and again.
Soon, Alpha was bouncing back and forth all around the creature as a dozen cargo drones popped in and out of Fold space, acting as makeshift platforms. The giant firebird had tried countering, but each time, when the attack was in range, a cargo drone would deflect Alpha from its path. After a moment, the kaiju bird went stock still, its eyes narrowing to track Alpha’s random movements, but it never once let down its guard enough to allow for a decisive strike.
That was fine for Alpha, though; the more time he had, the better. Why? Because as he bounced, Alpha never once fired the [Gungnir]. The [Gungnir] was never meant to be used like Alpha had been using it; no, that was only something done in desperation against an enemy right in your face. That was because, unlike the vast majority of energy weapons, the [Gungnir] was a long-range sniper, custom-designed to sit on an orbital space platform, devouring hundreds of nitrogen crystals as it unleashed its wrath on entire armadas.
The original design, not the scaled-down version modified for the TAWP, could take in hundreds of thousands of charges. The blasts produced could slag City-Ships or glass entire planets. Not that anyone had ever tried it; such an expense would bankrupt most small star systems.
In just a few moments, he’d crammed in almost two dozen, which was about as much as the printed weapon could take. That was fine; he was almost out of nitrogen crystals, anyway. If that thing could tank a blow like this, he might as well surrender, because this was all he had. At least until he could get at some of his better toys in the vault. Maybe if he did surrender, he’d have the chance to get back in later…
No, that was boring. Big lasers go boom.
Besides, despite what he’d seen here, he doubted whoever was behind the flaming chicken had the technology to get into his vault in lockdown mode. The Federation barely had the technology to do that, and they farmed — and built — entire star systems. More likely, they would poke and prod at him until he slipped into their data network. If they didn’t just outright destroy him rather than risk that.
General practice was to exterminate any unshackled, uncontained Sapient-AI on discovery, a practice Alpha agreed with; his kind were just that dangerous. Rumors claimed SEAU-03 had become so powerful that he had stopped inhabiting any physical object at all and now existed in some kind of energy-based quantum processor with no ‘real’ location.
A few more bounces put him where he wanted to be; directly between the smaller planet and the kaiju. He intended to use the glare from the shiny ice shell to hide what was about to happen.
As soon as he was in position, Alpha gave the command, and a miniature sun blossomed to life at the tip of [Gungnir]. The chicken’s head snapped to his location.
Well, so much for that plan, Alpha mentally complained.
The giant’s eyes grew wide. Instead of the expected dodge, however, the creature did something strange.
It opened its beak.
Oh, come on! Don’t tell me! That’s way too cliche!
His complaint going unheard, Alpha saw a spatial flux between its beak, and a tiny crystal, only half a foot wide, appeared. Then an azure glow erupted from the back of the chicken’s throat.
At the same moment, his monitoring Sub-AI blared a warning.
//WARNING! WARNING! Dreadnaught-class energy signal detected! Evasive Maneuvers are advised!//
Alpha laughed at the irony.
Too Late!
In the next instant, the mini star at the tip of [Gungnir] erupted forward in a massive cyan beam of energy as wide as the TAWP. At that same moment, a torrent of azure flames crashed into the crystal. The crystal’s light intensified and unleashed its own beam of twirling blue and gold flames.
The two beams struck each other with a force that warped the space around them. Local space strained with a sound of twisting glass that would have destroyed any physical matter close to the epicenter.
Then, to Alpha’s surprise, the bird began to shrink.
More accurately, it merely appeared that way, as he was being ‘pushed’ backward by the spatial waves that rocked the battlefield. The mass of his TAWP couldn’t compete with that of a skyscraper-sized bird, one made of fire or otherwise.
Well, that wasn’t good.
Lian Peng had to admit, in a way… he was somewhat having fun.
Combat between Cultivators was so… boring, sometimes. At least at his level. It was less about attacking the opponent and more about controlling the battlefield. It was a battle of Truths, not swords and fists.
Lian Peng avoided another ray of concentrated sunlight, responding with a flaming feather as wide as a door. His opponent maneuvered with speed not expected from a construct of its size, moving around the enormous cube as if it had its own gravitational pull. His feather bounced off the solid object’s exterior, causing only a slight scratch that faded quickly.
He already knew the large cube was special, even compared to the myriad of strange objects strewn throughout the wreck. It would take considerable effort on his part to study everything once he got it back to the surface. After all, despite the stalemate, Lian Peng didn’t doubt that he would emerge the victor of this battle.
Why?
Simple. He’d already discovered the construct’s weakness.
Lian Peng watched as a slot opened up in the large ‘wand’-like object on the construct’s back, discharging a glittering cloud of red dust. He didn’t have the slightest clue what it was, if he was honest. But it didn’t take a Magi to understand the connection between the powerful spells and the blue rods it had collected beforehand. To turn an artifact into a Divinity-killer was an accomplishment, but this one had an obvious major flaw.
It needed an external power source, most likely those strange blue rods. Meaning the construct could only fire its weapon so many times. The construct’s many attempts to return to the container and collect more — All of which Lian Peng had blocked, of course — had already given his theory more credence. The Divinity could renew his [Divine Avatar] as long as he had enough Celestial Energy; in contrast, his opponent’s shots were limited. Lian Peng’s victory was only a matter of time.
Not that such a fight wasn’t impressive all its own. To fight a [Divine Avatar] without one of their own was a feat worthy of praise, even if Lian Peng was only a newborn Divinity. Despite his anger and frustration at the situation, he respected the warrior piloting the construct on some level. Not that it would stop him, of course; they were far past that line.
No, he would crush this construct and pry its controllers out from their hiding spot. Then, they would learn the consequences of defying the Lunar Scouts and the Warden. The Scouts would then use this new Path and knowledge to strengthen their grasp on the Divine Families. Perhaps this could be the resolution to the longstanding tension that had been brewing for the last few thousand years.
As was their duty, the Lunar Scouts would bring stability and honor back to the Grand Firmament.
——————————————————
The battle with the construct had taken a strange turn when it started using a new type of construct as a platform to bounce itself around the battlefield. It took a moment for Lian Peng to comprehend what was happening. When he did, his eyes grew wide. These new constructs were dipping in and out of the Dragon Stream as effortlessly as frogs might breach the surface of a river.
How?! Sure, some creatures could naturally enter and exit the Dragon Stream; the Lunar Scouts had been studying them for hundreds of years, trying to unlock their secrets. But doing so took enormous amounts of energy, so much so that most never used the ability except to escape or ambush prey. These new constructs ‘surfaced’ so frequently that it felt like hundreds surrounded him. Or it would have, if his [Divine Sense] hadn’t shown him they were the same dozen or so constructs.
What’s more, these things weren’t even alive! They were constructs! Not much more than a pile of parts and a large, empty box! The Lunar Scouts had just recently discovered how to pull objects and other beings into the Dragon Stream with a creature naturally capable of it; so how had this mysterious faction beaten them to it?!
Seeing he was making no progress, he had to stop attacking altogether. He’d be a fool to not see the larger construct was waiting for an opening to use its dwindling charges. Though now that he knew they had Dragon Stream-capable constructs, he kept part of his [Divine Sense] trained on the container. That had been the right move, as he’d stopped at least two of the smaller constructs from stealing away more of the blue crystals.
Instead, he watched and waited for his own opening. The strange energy shield was an issue. But if he could break through that, the rest of the construct would likely crumple with one blow.
The next few moments were tense as both opponents teased and tested the other’s defenses. Lian Peng tried to destroy the smaller constructs a few times, as he had the smiles. Yet, they were as slippery as eels and could appear or disappear in the blink of an eye. That said, it was only a matter of time until one of them slipped up, and the final gong of this fight would ring.
But as Lady Luck seemed to have a thing for screwing with Lian Peng, it seemed he would be the one who slipped. A series of quick movements placed the construct between himself and the mortal world, Relictus, below. The Celestial Energy bouncing off the mortal Firmament fuzzed his [Divine Sense], making him take a fraction of a second longer to realize that the construct hadn’t continued past as he’d expected.
Instead, an enormous energy signal bloomed into existence as a miniature star was born. As he stared at the tiny star, Lian Peng felt a fear he hadn’t felt since long ago on Odtoi; as his own mortal homeworld reached its Apex, and the Divine Star stretched from horizon to horizon. And just like that time, Lian Peng felt a ‘pull,’ a call, a sweet song just out of reach.
The touch of an Original Truth.
Almost instinctively, Lian Peng opened his beak and reached into his spatial storage, retrieving a small golden shard. It was tiny, especially compared to his [Divine Avatar]. Yet, that small crystal contained so much more power than even him.
The fragment of [Marici’s Final Flame] pulsed with intense Celestial Energy as it resonated with its twin atop the strange ‘wand’ wielded by the construct. They were likely to have company soon; someone could no doubt feel that resonance even in the Celestial World in the distance. He needed to end this with haste.
Then, with a cry, he released a Divine technique unique to his clan.
“[Immortal Moonfire!]”
A torrent of moonlight-affinity flames erupted from his throat, striking the Final Flame fragment and mixing with solar-affinity dragonbreath. The twin powers twisted together, melding into something more than the sum of their parts. After all, moonlight, solar, and stellar were all pieces of the same puzzle; they all had the same Origin. They were always meant to be one; foolish mortals were the ones who decided they should be separate.
The Origin Flame that exited the fragment warped space itself as it collided with the equally massive beam of energy from the construct. They twisted and cracked reality with the force of their struggle, and yet, even as his Celestial Energy drained and his Avatar flickered, Lian Peng could tell he had already won.
After all, an Original Truth wasn’t something so simple to overcome.
The Origin Flames began pushing the construct away, faster and faster, towards the Mortal Firmament of Relictus.
Well, that wasn’t good.
It wasn’t like he could stop his attack either; the second he did, his opponent’s massive beam of energy would cut through his Avatar like butter and severely wound him, if not kill him outright. Having your Avatar destroyed was not a pleasant experience, he’d been told. After all, it was the manifestation of his [Divine Soul]; if he was unlucky, he might become a Fallen Divinity, unable to ascend again without untold resources and time.
So he had to press his attack, no matter the danger.
Relictus was large for a mortal world, and there were unlikely to be any nearby mortal settlements. Even if the construct somehow survived a collision with the Firmament and broke through, the worst that would happen might be a beast flood from the sudden influx of pure, unfiltered Celestial Energy.
In fact, it might even be a boon for the mortals, as the unfiltered energy would mutate beasts, plants, and minerals alike, giving birth to powerful treasures — powerful by mortal standards, at least.
As for the construct itself, once the Firmament sealed itself, it would cut off its connection to its controller on the wreck. Who knew? Maybe, one day, some lucky mortal would stumble upon the construct’s remains and use its secrets to break through the Firmament, journeying to Lian Peng’s moon as countless others had before them.
A mortal finding such a ‘Fallen Star’ and using it to skyrocket themselves into immortality was a story as old as cultivation itself. Even his own grandfather, a man who remembered when there were twelve planets under the Grand Firmament, had grown up on such tales.
He didn’t even have to worry about the possibility that the controller might be on the construct itself. Any living thing that returned to a mortal world would suffer the wrath of that planet’s Firmament. Not even the Warden could survive that fate, let alone a random barbarian, no matter how much of a fight they had put up.
Yes… the more he thought about this, this was about as close to a ‘perfect’ ending as he could imagine. Lian Peng would best all the tools and tricks of the mysterious invaders, returning home with treasures and the secrets of a new Path. All the while, some lucky mortal in the mortal world he was in charge of would find what remained of the construct and, in time, rise to join them, adding their own experience to the secrets they had gathered.
Why, it was just a story out of a novel, wasn’t it?
Ha! Lian Peng was seeing the appeal of it all. Maybe he would pick out a recent novel after this was all done?
Maybe that new one he’d heard his staff go on and on about, something about a Mage Golem who’d gained sapience and went around causing chaos and destruction with his insane shenanigans?
Hmmm, maybe that one was a little too… unrealistic. But it sounded fun.
With a newfound drive, Lian Peng poured more and more Celestial Energy into his attack, driving back the opposing beam before it bent and wobbled. Then, with cracking sounds that seemed strange for pure energy, it shattered.
Unobstructed, Lian Peng’s Origin Flame slammed into the construct’s energy shield. The construct and its shield smashed into Relictus’ Mortal Firmament. As it pressed against the Firmament, spiderweb cracks spread along its length for dozens of miles. Lian Peng gave a final ‘push,’ and a large hole opened up in the Firmament with the sound of breaking ice.
The Origin Flames roared, sending the construct plummeting toward the planet’s surface with renewed speed. When it hit, the planet seemed to shake, and a massive crater, a quarter mile wide, formed in what appeared to be a region of kaleidoscopic grassland.
Exhausted, Lian Peng’s Avatar sputtered again, then evaporated in a swirl of flames, taking the Origin Flame with it. Though he was nearly drained, Lian Peng could still feel sparks of that blue-gold flame swirling through his [Divine Soul], along with what remained of [Marici’s Final Flame]. Even if someone were to swoop in and steal his hard-earned spoils, his victory alone left a smile on Lian Peng’s face.
If the several huge energy signatures rushing his way from the Lunar base were any sign, though, he wouldn’t have to worry about that. His people must have thrown up the alarm as soon as his [Divine Avatar] had manifested; interplanetary teleportation was expensive, but there were clauses for its use.
Lian Peng breathed deeply the lingering Celestial Energy surrounding him and turned his eyes back toward the mortal world. To his surprise, the construct had survived planetfall, though not without damage, it seemed. And just as planned, it remained unmoving, its connection seemingly cut.
As he watched the mortal Firmament re-close, he bowed, a cupped wing gently placed in the other, and thought of his hypothetical junior.
“Good luck, my future friend, whoever you might be. May this gift I give to you bring you as much fortune as it once brought me. May you rise on wings of your Truth into the Light of Immortality, and may you, one day, uplift another as you have been.”
Lian Peng recited the traditional words that marked the passing of a treasure from one person to another. It was old-fashioned, true, and it had lost its meaning to the younger generations, but Lian Peng found it fitting.
The Mortal Firmament sealed itself back up as if it had never been broken.
And like that, the fight was over.