Adamant Blood

Mark had only left his room to eat. Isoko and Eliot, David and Orissa and Lola, had all visited, but Mark had not gone out to do a single thing. He was busy.

He was ‘bodybuilding’. Astral bodybuilding, to be specific.

And now, four days after getting the pellets from Addavein, Mark felt accomplished.

He held up a hand and 7 droplets of blackest ‘water’ melted into one big drop that Mark then split into 8 pieces, to become 19 pieces, to become 37 pieces. His control over the exact form of the droplets was less than perfect, but it was good enough, for now. The drops still pulled at his black astral veins, but the pull was a lot less today than it had been when he first started. It was as though his astral body was stronger.

Because it was.

As the liquid drops floated in his astral body they deformed his black astral veins just a bit, and only when the drops swirled close to his veins.

It was harder to make them liquid than it was to just use them as-is, so Mark released his deep hold on the drops, and suddenly they turned as solid as, well, adamantium. They rolled across his skin like tiny marbles, in several lines of control, not deforming Mark’s black veins at all.

Like he was moving a whole lot of fingers he didn’t know he had, Mark moved the marbles into lines around his wrists, and then he turned them briefly liquid, joining the ‘strings of black pearls’ into bracelets. He released his control on the adamantium, not moving it around at all with his adamantiumkinesis… but the adamantium was still firmly embedded in his astral body. To shake his hands, in an attempt to shake the adamantium bands on his wrists, was like… well. Like shaking his hands. His hands were still firmly attached to his body. The adamantium was still firmly attached to his astral body.

Sure, it wiggled some, but only because… Mark wasn’t sure why it wiggled some, actually.

With a tension in his astral body (which was still weird to think about, and which was very different from using Union) Mark held the adamantium solidly in place, and wiggled his arms. This time, the bangles just held there, without falling any sorts of ways either up or down or this-way-and-that his forearms. It was like he had ‘tensed his muscles’, or something.

With a twist, Mark turned one of the bangles into two long needles, and then he poked the air, as though jabbing with a punch. He stepped left and right in his room, jabbing the air with his fists, and then with the adamantium spikes—

He accidentally pulled back too far, and one of the spikes crashed into Mark’s shoulder, while the other slipped through his shirt, to impact his ribs. Briefly, Mark panicked, but there was no pain, because of course there was no pain. Mark sighed a little, and then he looked at the fresh set of holes in his shirt, and also at the bent black spikes, hovering in the air.

He couldn’t hurt himself with adamantium, but it was still kinda freaky to hit himself with it and not be injured at all.

Mark reformed the bent spikes into solid metal… He grinned.

He looked at the floor.

Carefully, very carefully, Mark made four ‘coins’ of adamantium, each two inches across, and then he pushed against the floor. It was like trying to do a handstand, but with his astral body, and not like a handstand at all. Mark tilted left and almost fell but he concentrated on his weird ‘new muscles’, and he balanced himself out.

“Hehehehehee.”

Mark lifted into the air, just an inch, and that was almost too much. His astral body tired, his adamantium felt almost outside of his control. But Mark’s heart beat with resilience and weakness, and Mark lifted himself off of the ground.

A full 6 inches!

And then a full foot!

Mark giggled maniacally as he hovered on legs and arms that were not legs and arms, but was more like an amorphous blob of astral body that was not his maximum distance at—

Mark faltered a bit, flopping back down to the ground, feeling exhausted. He smiled and laughed and gathered his adamantium back up into bracelets.

… But were bracelets really the best form to keep it in?

It took concentration to change the shape, and was actually kinda hard to change the shape. It had taken Mark two entire days to realize how to make the stuff liquidize and become something other than pebbles. That whole process made what Addashield had done with the rapid transformation of a droplet of adamantium into a whole bunch of different shapes that much more impressive.

Actually moving the stuff around was as easy as moving an arm, or a hand, or whatever. It wasn’t like the adamantium couldn’t actually pierce his body unless Mark really tried to do exactly that. There was a reason that Addavein used big spikes of adamantium; they were weapons when they were shaped like that. Mark transformed the bracelets into spikes that he…

Well.

Where was he gonna put spikes?

Behind his ears? Might help to protect his head, some.

Could he turn them into a bunch of spikes and hide them in his hair? That would be better for protecting his head than ear-spikes...

Mark made six needles and he laid them on the insides of his forearms. They sat pretty flush with his skin there, so that seemed good. Mark practiced moving around the needles with fast deployments and more methodical defenses, and kinda just had fun with it—

Mark had a moment, looking down at the adamantium that touched his skin.

This was technically like… 36 million goldleaf worth of adamantium, wasn’t it. Mark wasn’t sure what the current going-rate was for adamantium, because the dragon had certainly crashed some of that economy. But this was still a lot of adamantium.

… Mark just stared at it for a while.

He thought of Mom, and Dad, and Dad’s fish yank, and Mom’s cleansing waters.

Mark concentrated on all of his adamantium to turn a black blob into a fish. Making the body of the fish was easy enough, but delicate features proved to be impossible. Mark tried to make fins, and he ended up pulling blobs away from the main body. He tried to make scales and he divided the fish in half. Eventually, he managed to make short, stubby fins and attach some blobs of black to make exaggerated eyes. He couldn’t make the scales with his own sense of pressure, or touching, for he wasn’t that refined yet with his kinesis. But he could use a fingernail to press crescents into the adamantium, to give the little fish some ‘scales’. That worked quite well, so he proceeded to sculpt the rest of the fish with his actual fingers.

Soon, he had a perfect, tiny little fish. Like a bait fish. Like one of Dad’s fish clips.

The tears came, and they didn’t stop for a while.

Mark held onto that little fish in his hands and curled up around it, crying. Eventually, he lay down on the carpet and stared at the ceiling as he floated the fish above him.

- -

It was Christmas, and Mark was a kid, watching Dad decorate the tree, while Grandpa made popcorn for the movie, and Mom sat with Mark, trying to figure out which movie they were going to watch. Mark remembered looking over and watching Dad finish off the tree. He had done most of the decoration two days ago, but he had found some tinsel and he wanted to put it up.

Little fishclips swam through the colored lights, though the air, fluttering with collections of streaming silver tinsel among the green boughs and hanging decorations. The fishes landed here and there on the tree to leave their streamers behind, while the air smelled of popcorn and cheese, and Mom said something about this or that movie being a good one.

Mom saw Mark looking at Dad decorate the tree.

Mom called out to Dad, “Markus! Curtain Protocol!”

Dad had just smiled and said, “What! He’s all the way on the other side of the room.”

Grandpa had come in with all the popcorn, floating on little disks of water, saying, “Popcorn! Popcorn! Popcorn~”

And the conversation about the fishclips flying around the tree had never finished.

- -

Mark watched a black, adamantium fish float above him, solid and inflexible. It did not glint in the light at all. Mark tried to make it move using just his astral body, to flex and shake its tail as though it was actually swimming, but he just broke it in half. One crudely-made fish broke into several differently-sized clumps of black.

With a sigh that was also a breath of Union, Mark cleansed himself of his drying tears.

Mom would have been happy for his cleansing/healing/protecting Union, and Dad would have been proud of his kinesis.

He wanted to talk to them so much.

…Which is probably why Addavein had spoken of both resurrection magic, and elves, and also how he wanted to explore Endless Daihoon eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t have spoken of those if Mark hadn’t asked. But…

“Chasing the dead, or moving on…” Mark whispered to himself, as he tried to remake a fish with just his sense of kinetic touch. It did not go well. He managed to make a crude fish… which was just as well. Mark turned the fish into needles and held them against his forearms, and then he sat up. “I need to sign up for the Slayers, anyway.”

Mark got up.

He had not really known it before it had happened to him, but there was only so much pain he could think about before those bad feelings just started rolling away from him. He was absolutely sure that Union was helping him cope with the hardest hitting parts of his feelings of loss, too. But was that okay? Was it okay to start feeling good about… about anything at all?

Mom and Dad were dead.

They would want Mark to be… happy… right?

His parents were dead because he tried to help out an archmage, and all of the world thought that the outcome was a good one.

For a while, Mark just lay there, thinking about emotions and motivations and the future.

Mark had promised himself that he wasn’t going to turn villain because all the world was pointing him in that direction, to be consumed with vengeance, but… Shit.

“… I need to sign up for the Hero/Villain Program, too.”

Mark lay there for a while longer.

And then he got up.

He’d sign up for the Hero/Villain Program soon enough, and the Slayers, too.

But first! A trip to the Healing classrooms, for a Scan.

After a walk in the sunshine and a little bit more cleansing magics applied to himself to wipe away a stink of despair, Mark stepped into the Healing Hall, walking past acolytes and professors who were headed this way or that way.

Not a single person who got within ten feet of him ignored him. There were small glances. Bigger glances. Double takes. One woman dropped her books when she saw Mark, which was quite odd. She gathered them up fast enough, though. Mark didn’t even get a chance to help her pick them back up.

Mark made it to the scanning closet just fine. The lights lit up inside, and soon, he got his readout.

Body, Healthy Body: 056

Shaper, Adamantium: 077

Mind: 41

Natural, Union: 068

Soul: 39

Arch: 32

“Neat!” Mark said, dismissing the glowing lights in the air.

Healthy Body was more than double what it usually capped at, which was bound to introduce some weirdness…

… Why had people been looking at him funny?

Mark left the room and went to a nearby bathroom, with a big mirror.

“Ah. That’s why.”

His complexion had changed.

He used to have brown hair, brown eyes, and with a pretty normal white-guy kinda coloring. His skin had remained the same… probably. His irises had turned from brown to silver and black, though, while the roots of his hair were turning black. Darker than black, actually. Adamantium-black.

So that was the dragon’s fault, probably.

Mark would complain to him the next time he saw him.

Mark’s face looked… Hmm. That was his face. Yes. But also a bit… Hmm.

His body looked… Hmm. The same? ish? He lifted up his shirt. Still had great abs. His clothes did feel a little tight, though, so maybe it was time to get a larger set of basic browns. Maybe Healthy Body was increasing his mass and size, like most brawny Powers did. Healthy Body didn’t have a strength modifier, but Healthy Body usually didn’t go above PL 25, and yet Mark’s Healthy Body was already at PL 56.

Adamantiumkinesis was barely at the minimum required level to work on adamantium, which was a PL 79 Shaper material. Adamantium was also partially Body and Arcane… And, actually, Mark needed to research that more, to find out what, exactly, adamantium was, and if different sources of adamantium had different properties, or if it was all the same. It was a biometal. Surely there was nuance to it.

Union had actually fallen behind Adamantiumkinesis, because a person needed to work their Power against a PL-equivalent or stronger opponent, and Mark wasn’t doing much of that right now, but Mark had been using Union to recover his astral body faster, so he could lift the adamantium better. So that still helped there.

Mark’s Mind, Soul, and Arch levels were all raised due to the other three growing stronger.

… He hadn’t changed that much?

“Do I look that much different? … Not really. You can’t even tell the eyes are silver without… Well. Actually. Yeah. You can tell— Oh.”

Mark was probably a little famous, or something.

Yeah.

Mark walked out of the bathroom, and then out of the Healing building—

He caught sight of a scale and a height measuring stick just inside of a classroom, to the right. It was an empty classroom for the moment, so Mark went and checked himself out.

Three minutes and a few double checks later, and Mark was now absolutely sure that his clothes were probably too tight. They were meant for someone who was 6’3” and 220 pounds, but Mark was now 6’5”, and 252. Which was a lot higher than it felt like! Even his shoes felt tighter now that he was really paying attention to that. The adamantium was only half of a pound of the stuff, too, so that wasn’t much of anything at all.

Mark walked, a little self-conscious, toward the tram. He got off at Citadel of Freyala Resources, the main depot.

Half an hour later, Mark walked out into the sun once again, wearing looser basic brown clothes that felt a lot better. People still eyed him, but not overmuch. He looked more or less like a brawny, and not one that was trying to show off, or something weird like that.

… He kinda wanted to go to the gym and see where his other numbers were at.

No no no. Work first. Get it done, Mark.

Mark rode the tram to Central Citadel, to the offices of the Slayers and the Hero/Villain Program, and tried not to wonder how much he could bench press now.

Maybe 375? I had been pushing 310, but… Maybe 350?

Maybe a lot more!

That’d be neat!