Prologue: Good Night Sweet Prince

Part 2

Tselatra threw the hammer bar on the side of the Electrum panel.

Immediately, all the lights on the twenty-second floor went out. Now that the circuit had been closed, she could touch the batteries without being electrocuted. Even so, the fur on her fingers still stood on end inside her glove as she yanked the first one free. The active battery produced enough of an ambient electromagnetic field that it stuck to the magnet in her glove, though the attraction was weak and it came free with a firm tug. After pocketing the last of the batteries, Tselatra stepped back into the hall.

It was very dark now, but her eyes started to adjust as she moved. The city’s ambient lighting outside meant that a building with this many windows wasn’t completely dark, but it was still dark enough that she tripped over a potted plant by the wall. She awkwardly hopped the next couple steps on one foot, and barely kept herself from falling over. Each flash of lightning only brought a burst of illumination as she moved forward, like trying to navigate using the flash of a camera.

Ahead, she saw the telltale orange flicker of Firum torches. She could hear a whispered exchange from down the hall, but wasn’t close enough to pick out any words. A pair of torches rounded the corner ahead, and Tselatra barely had time to duck into a nearby office.

“What was that?” one of the guards asked in a nervous hiss.

Booted footsteps approached with slow deliberation. “I…don’t know. But—you know how to fire that thing, right?”

“The gun? Of course I know how to fire the gun, Jax, I made it through basic training. I’m not a security Native.”

Tselatra bristled at the word, despite herself. Native. It came out so casually for most people. She’d grown up in Ciphus, so one might think she should be desensitized to the term by now. It was a sign of the city’s eternal unwillingness to recognize her people as…well, people.

“If something jumps me, you’ve got my back, right?” guard one asked.

Tselatra quietly slipped a pair of cartridges from her belt, one Firum and one Aquam. Clutching them in one hand, she rubbed her thumb along the uneven crystalline surfaces, other hand grasping her bismuth catalyst in a firm grip.

Flickering torchlight was spilling into her doorway now.

“If you’ve got my back, then why’s your safety still on, genius? You sure you’re not part Native?”

The first guard cursed, and the torchlight in the hall whipped off to the side. Seizing the opportunity, Tselatra broke safe practice again, snapping the ends of the cartridges in her hand, like breaking chalk. Acrid sulfur met her nose as her hand was flooded with equal amounts of intense heat and intense cold. Both hurt. She focused on the raw elemental energies swirling millimeters from her glove, willing them to stay cohesive while she gave them direction. An angry hot mist formed above her hand, and she pushed it out into the hall. It hung there, a large bubble of steam swirling just outside the door, glowing with a faint Firum aura.

“Someone there?” one of the guards called.

Hand still slightly numbed from the shock of proximity to both extreme heat and cold, Tselatra removed several Aurum cartridges from her belt. She popped one into her mouth. Her teeth ground sand as she bit down, air trying to escape her mouth in all directions. This time, she let it out almost immediately, willing it to travel down the hall. It caught the bubble of scalding steam, washing it over the two approaching guards. They both screamed in surprise and pain, and Tselatra launched herself into the hallway.

Lifting her catalyst, she aimed at the closest guard and fired. The hammer cracked into the loaded Electrum crystal, and Tselatra snatched onto the reaction’s energy with her mind. Then she focused it into a bolt of concentrated electricity that slammed into the guard’s chest. His fur immediately poofed out into a grey and white dandelion puff, and he fell to the ground convulsing.

The other guard was still clutching his face and waving an arm, though the steam had already dispersed. Tselatra ran straight for him, crushing the next Aurum cartridge in her hand. Her fingers tried to blow open right away, wind energy from the Aurum reaction desperately wanting to disperse. Focusing her will, she used more Prism to keep the magic condensed at her palm. Opening her fingers, she grabbed the second guard’s face by his stubby feline muzzle as she passed, pulling him off balance. As he fell, she released the Aurum energy which slammed against the man’s face like a shockwave. He was flung downwards, head hitting the floor with an audible crack. His gun clattered beside him, safety finally off.

Tselatra reloaded her catalyst with another Electrum cartridge as she ran. Then she popped an Aurum cartridge into each cheek. She could get away with storing those in her mouth as wind magic wouldn’t run the risk of scalding or freezing her tongue in the same way Firum or Aquam would. The only thing you had to be careful of was the pressure change that came from an Aurum reaction. If you set off an Aurum reaction in your mouth with empty lungs? You were likely to burst them from the sudden influx, even if you got your mouth open right away. The key was to take a deep breath and maintain pressure.

Or, you could be a normal sane person who followed proper alchemical safety protocols and not start any of the seven major alchemical reactions in your mouth. Most alchemists used catalysts for their reactions. Tselatra didn’t always have time to utilize that luxury, but that was also part of the thrill of alchemancy. If the innate danger didn’t get the blood and adrenaline pumping, was it even worth doing?

 She reached the sitting room with the elevator to find the other three guards still there. The two by the door remained at the door, but the third one had abandoned his cigar and was now nervously looking her way. All three had Firum torches fixed to the bottom of their rifles, though the orange flickering light did little to help illuminate the darkness blanketing such a large open space.

Tselatra ducked her head and entered the room. She had taken only three steps when a flash of lightning burst into the room like a Firum flare. The guard closest to her cried out in alarm as he spotted her in the flash. Lifting his rifle, he opened fire.

Tselatra threw herself to the ground, crunching one of the Aurum cartridges between her teeth and using the wind magic it produced to push herself behind the nearest couch. As the reaction’s energy died, she spit the empty cartridge out, her tongue feeling caked with sand by this point. She replaced it with a fresh Aurum cartridge a moment later. The guard fired a few more shots into the couch, bullets tearing through the leather like paper. One bullet exited mere inches from her shoulder, ricocheting off the floor and embedding in a nearby wall.

“Come out where we can see you!” the guard ordered.

One of the guards by the elevator growled, “You’re supposed to say that before you start shooting, Ghern. Now you’re gonna owe the boss a new couch.”

Peeking under the couch, Tselatra could see that all three guards were facing her now. She had no doubt all guns were trained on her. Well, why make the poor guard liable for the couch? If it was going to need to be replaced anyway…

Reaching into her alchemical pouch, Tselatra grabbed a Firum crystal the size of her thumb. This was the kind of thing with enough energy to power an incendiary grenade. Did she need to use it now? Probably not, but she needed the guards to keep their distance and she was dying for the chance to test it anyway.

Gripping the dark orange crystal in both hands, she twisted it with a loud crack, starting a very volatile and dangerous reaction. She reached out to the energy with her mind, willing it to stay in the crystal for just a moment longer. The leaking sulfur smell told her it wouldn’t stay in long. Even through her glove, the heat was intense. Reaching under the couch, she focused the energy upwards. She dropped the crystal as soon as the fire erupted, but it still singed her glove. Then, the couch burst into flame.

Tselatra’s hand was already back in her alchemical pouch as the guards cried out in alarm. She withdrew a large Aurum crystal—one of three she kept on hand in case she needed it to help recover from a freefall. The energy of the wind magic inside had more than enough force to throw multiple people off their feet.  

The horrid smell of burning leather and couch cushion assaulted her nostrils, and the couch fire lit up the room far more effectively than any of the guard’s torches had. Gripping the tan Aurum crystal in both hands, she slammed it down into the tile floor. The tile cracked, but the crystal did not. She struck it again, then again. On the fourth hit, a crack formed, and the crystal filled with a warm light. The wind energy inside screamed for release as the reaction began. It needed an outlet, a way to bleed off the instant increase in pressure.

Tselatra focused, willing the energy to wait inside until it received her command. The crack spread. It wouldn’t wait long. With a grunt, she tossed the crystal over the couch, like a grenade. In a manner of speaking, it was a grenade, just not a traditional one. Ducking back behind the couch, she screwed her eyes shut and used her hands to pin her long ears flat to her head.

The shockwave rolled over her as the crystal exploded. The magic within instantly changed the pressure in the room with a force that still threatened to pop Tselatra’s eardrums, despite covering her ears. It would be substantially worse for the Snepard guards, who had far more sensitive hearing than she did. Besides that, it had landed at their feet, not hers.

The wave of high pressure pushed her along the tile floor, even causing the flaming couch to skid several feet. Nearby doors were flung open, and she heard objects and hopefully guards hitting walls. The pressure wave dissipated quickly as the Aurum components were consumed by the reaction. It still left a weight that pressed against her eardrums, dulling her hearing.

She pushed to her feet, raising her catalyst and peering over the couch. All three guards lay slumped on the ground. One had left a dent in the elevator door. Another had hit the wall, his rifle embedded in the drywall itself. The third had hit the floor, skidding to a stop before hitting any walls. This one groaned, clutching at the ears atop his head uselessly. Tselatra shot him with an Electrum cartridge as she passed. He convulsed, fluffed out, then went still.

Swiping a badge off the guard nearest the elevator, she called it down to this floor. The door creaked as it arrived, opening to an empty elevator. Electrum light spilled out from inside, a brighter hue than the light of the couch fire. Stepping inside, she hit the button for the thirtieth floor.

Cheery music played through speakers embedded in the walls. It was simplistic, repetitive, and a little too dependent on brass instruments; nothing like the soothing strings her husband used to bring to life.

A mirror to the side showed how much of a sopping mess she was. In the moment of forced calm, her senses started to catch up to her. Her ears were still sore from the localized microburst she’d formed. Her hand had definitely burned through the glove with the couch fire stunt. And she’d bruised her shoulder diving behind the couch in the first place.

With a sigh, Tselatra dumped the spent Electrum cartridge from her catalyst. Checking her belt, she only had three of those left. Plucking a Curum cartridge instead, she loaded the catalyst and pressed the barrel to her shoulder.

The familiar warmth of healing magic washed over her shoulder, easing the pain out of the muscles. Healing magic was the slowest burning of the seven main alchemical reactions, but thankfully this treatment didn’t take long. It was a light bandage to a light injury. She just didn’t want the bruise to distract her if she used the arm. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to fix her hand. She had a feeling she was going to injure it worse before the night was through anyway.

The edges of her vision were losing their sharpness. She’d used most of the Prism in her system for directing the two reactions behind the couch fire and the microburst. From a materials perspective, tonight was proving to be expensive. Still, she’d been instructed to make a scene, so the extravagant use wasn’t completely unwarranted. Dangerous and wasteful, yes, but certainly memorable.

Why had she lit the couch on fire?

The scientist in her provided the answer. To see if she could.

Letting out a snort at such a youthful response, she fished another bottle of Prism from the pouch pocket where she kept them. Biting into the tip, she breathed in another concentrated dose. The mental muddiness slipped away, and she discarded the empty bottle.

Horrific grinding railed against her still muffled hearing as the elevator shuddered to a stop. The display read “28”.

The elevator’s cheery music and internal lighting both cut out. Reaching up, she felt around where she’d remembered spotting the access hatch. She found it, and swung it open a moment later. This might have been the first time she’d ever been glad something had been designed with Snepards in mind. It meant a Mnolf like her could reach the hatch without jumping.