Chương 53: 52-Bottlenecks

"Immortals sometimes share some of their abilities with their Champions, including that of reading system logs," Paul told her. No, not this again. Jenna had been dreaming this same dream for months—no matter how hard she tried within the dream, it would slip from her memories as she woke up. She was revisiting her one-on-one duel with Paul, so many months ago. It was the first time she had defeated him. She knew her mind was trying to warn her.

Something significant had happened during that duel, and she had missed it. Her dream-self took a knife and carved words into her forearm: Paul—the duel. REMEMBER IT. Paul went on, ignoring her, like an actor following a script.

"I can't read yours, though. Something about you being an Abomination, or however Irony calls you three."

"So I read those of your friends and coworkers. Nice stunt you pulled on Rosita. I laughed a lot when I read it," Paul continued.

"She did not appreciate it as much, though. She killed herself, you know." Jenna's breath caught in her throat. She was no longer in the dreamworld. She was back in her bed. She turned around, trying to wake up Billy.

"Billy, do you remember when…?" The bed was empty. She had to smile. Ever since he became Lawman, the only way he could rest was by roaming Babylon at night, making it safe. She had to tell him…something? What was it? With a smile, she fell back to sleep, scratching her left forearm. Pity about that itch. She woke up one hour later to the smell of freshly made coffee. Billy was back, thankfully, not as Lawman.

"How did your night go, O crusader of the law? Did you arrest many evildoers?"

"I had to reprimand Mr. Osborne for not correctly putting his garbage in the required container. There was a line of vigilantes waiting to do so. Living Weapon was arguing with a guy who throws cards—calls himself Get Well Soon. Typical vigilante spat. I saw him first, blah, blah, blah. You know the drill. I had to pull rank for them to leave Mr. Osborne alone."

"Poor Mr. Osborne."

"Not really. He was kind of a jerk. Kept threatening to complain to Dignity."

"Typical, we are going to get attacked by some fanatic religious terrorist organization, and people act like idiots towards the ones trying to protect them."

"Anyway, he must have made good on his threat, because Dignity has summoned all the vigilantes this morning to set some common rules. She has asked me to attend too, as Lawman. I was thinking I could make a dramatic entry, diving off the glider."

"I am sure the vigs will love that—Dignity, not so much. That means I have the morning all to myself?"

"I am sure Bob could…"

"We both know Bob is now probably cooking a palooga ball, while standing on his head and reciting an epic poem, somehow managing to train four or five perks at the same time. I will be okay, dummy. I also need some alone time to check something," she said, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Jenna fondly watched him go. He became Lawman as soon as he went through the door. She knew Billy loved that form—because of the vehicles. He would never admit it, but he had a blast driving the Executioner.

She sat down and drank the rest of the coffee. She had to face the elephant in the… damnit, not again. She had to face the fact that her powers were not developing at the same speed as her companions'. She was a fundamental part of the group: tactician, front-line fighter, healer, and booster. She was probably the closest thing the team had to a cleric, not those of video games, but the original, steel-encased, D&D ones.

She was incredibly versatile, but you had to pay a price for versatility down the road—you became obsolete. She had to explore the boundaries of what she could do. The discovery of Luck as a tertiary stat, something done under pressure, was a step in the right direction. She drew out a set of five six-sided dice and started testing her luck, trying to get a feel for the new stat. One hour later, she had enough material to draw conclusions.

Luck was a charisma effect tuned towards the whole cosmos—it made the universe love you more, and that love came in the form of lucky breaks. It was one of the subtlest and most nuanced stats she could work with. It had diminishing returns. With high Luck values, she could make tens of rolls, getting perfect sixes in all of them, but if she kept at it, worse rolls would start to creep in. It was like exercising a muscle—you had to stop, sooner or later.

If you lowered your luck to your previous rank, the universe was not done with you. You had a debt to it, an unpaid debt. Bad luck would follow until the scales were balanced again. The trick was not relinquishing Luck at once, but doing it slowly, point by point, over the course of minutes. It reminded Jenna of diving: if you went too deep, you had to decompress before surfacing. The speed at which it was gained or lost also played a part in how it manifested.

A huge increase or loss of points in an instant would usually result in, respectively, a stroke of phenomenal luck or a disaster. A thought occurred to her: could I use Connection to increase or decrease someone else's luck? The tactical possibilities were immense if she was not the one to suffer the consequences. She could give a moderate boost to a foe's luck during a fight, only to take it away at the crucial instant. Enough of that. There was something she had to do.

She had dreaded doing it ever since that fateful night at the Inside-Out palace—she had to face the Compendium inside her mind again. Or Lore, as he was called now. She invested heavily in Visualization and Introspection, and plunged into the depths of her own mind. She manifested just outside Lore's house. The garden was wild and unkept, and the door was open. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Come in, no need for niceties, mother," Lore said, his voice slurred and dripping with sarcasm. He was drunk. Jenna entered the house of someone who had hit rock bottom. Everything was disordered and dirty. The floor was covered with empty pizza boxes with strange names. Buy three of our Schroedinger's pizzas with n ingredients and get n+1 on your next reincarnation. Jenna looked away. It was never a good idea to pay much attention to details while in Lore's home. Lore was sitting on the couch, watching the game.

He no longer looked like that stern, dignified man with polyhedra for eyes, but was back in his potato-head form. Her mind, her rules.

"I can no longer understand it," he complained morosely, as a player used a shovel to dig his own tomb in the middle of the playing field.

"Most of the rules make no sense now." The real Compendium had accused Lore of becoming too human. Jenna realized she was witnessing the effects.

"I have been disavowed by the Compendium. A Compendium that no longer exists. You have come to see if you can exploit the situation to get greater insights into your powers from me," Lore said.

"Cynical, but basically correct," Jenna admitted.

"You caused this. You brought me to an impossible life. There was no other end for me. I am alone because of you."

"You are not alone."

"Oh, yes, sorry, forgot about that idiot Elf and you. What can you possibly offer me? What could we have in common?"

"We were both abandoned at birth. We are both orphans." Lore stayed silent for a moment. Then he screamed angrily: "Get out! Get out! Never come back! I will never help you. Never!" Jenna answered quietly.

"I do not need your help, Lore. Whatever I want from you, I can eventually take, with or without your permission—you are in my mind. But I have decided not to. The Compendium disavowed you because you were too human. That makes you a person in my book."

"And you were right: I have a responsibility to you. I will always come back, Lore, no matter how many times you throw me out. Always." Then she left the house. She met the Chant in the garden.

"That went well," he sang.

"Not you too, please. I can only keep up with one plucky teenager at a time."

"What are you doing here?" she asked. The Chant was carrying a plastic box in his arms.

"I came to watch the game with him, and I brought mango salad. Do not worry about him. He will eventually get over it."

"Seems you two are getting along better."

"Well, there is not much choice inside your mind. I can either talk with him or with those dorky highlanders with enormous mustaches you fantasize about," he chuckled as Jenna's face grew beet-red.

"You did not ask me how to use my powers," he added just as Jenna started to wake up.

"I inspire. There is strength in inspiration. I grant it to those who follow the truths expressed in my codas." Then Jenna woke. She massaged her temples while she mused on the Chant's last words. She had meant to ask the Chant for his help too, but had decided against doing both on the same day. She had the impression she would not have obtained more information than what she already had—he liked to speak in riddles, that one. She went out for a walk. It was a beautiful late-summer morning.

There was a constant influx of people in the streets; Amazons, Avatars, and Citizens mingled with the newly arrived Vigilantes. Babylon was a living city, even amid chaos. Jenna briefly wondered how things were going in the rest of the world. The Federation had managed to maintain a semblance of order in Milwaukee. The Answer had done something similar, even if it was based on fear and a cruel lie—the ones supposed to protect you from monsters were monsters themselves. Monsters of the worst kind.

Perhaps there were other Federations and other Circles in remote parts of the world. The bardic web told the same tale of horror: all the great cities had fallen, and only isolated communities survived. But the world was big. Perhaps others had discovered the secret of taming dungeons and secured their cities, much as Babylon or the Federation had done. There could be allies out there, potential new members of the Circle.

Jenna knew Dignity intended to invite Voria into it as soon as the Imperial dungeon upgraded and got an extra slot for a new permanent gate. The wiser, more cynical part of her reminded her that there were probably new foes out there, too. She stopped when she recognized a familiar figure strolling down the street: Sergeant White. He was the recruiter from the Federation whom they had rescued from Milwaukee. The Sergeant nodded respectfully at her as he approached her.

"Sergeant White?" she asked carefully.

"Call me Elias. I am no longer either a Sergeant or a Reclaimer. I renounced my class and my rank, and Dawn helped me get rid of them. I am starting anew."

"What do you intend to do? Are you going to Belona with the rest of the refugees?"

"I am staying here and joining the Circle," he sighed.

"I am choosing a class, a Babylon class this time, and swearing the Oath of Babylon. It is the only way Dignity will accept us. Many of the boys have chosen the same path. We are not going to roll over and let those monsters take this planet." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Elias found the strength to keep talking.

"We were wrong, Jenna. We told ourselves we were protecting our country, but we were just surrendering to enemies."

"You were soldiers. You did what you were told to do."

"And that is what we did wrong. Sometimes you have to do what is right. God, I have lost so many friends. I can't even tell myself that they died for a good cause." Jenna noticed the Blood Seal etched into Elias's left hand. He had done it, after all. He had bound himself to Babylon. She felt a moment of pity for him. He had dedicated his life to serving his country, only to be manipulated into doing the opposite.

No matter how well Hawking spun it, or how much you believed in pragmatism, the Apocalypse was the Coven's doing, and by making deals with them, you were giving the country to invaders. As she focused on the blood seal, she noticed that Elias's body was covered with scars. Thin, white scars, as if made by a whip. Her mind detected an evil energy lingering inside them. Elias smiled when he realized Jenna was staring at them.

"The kiss of Mary Beth, the zealots call it. Unhealing scars that never stop hurting. Immune to all types of healing magic. Once you get them, they are forever."

"It is the only good thing the Answer ever did for me. I deserve those scars." I inspire. There is strength in inspiration. I grant it to those who follow the truths expressed in my codas. The Chant's words resounded in her mind. Jenna knew all the Codas by heart. Elias did not. He had no way of knowing that he had, by chance, used the same words that Belan, the villain of the thirty-second coda, uttered when asking Goron the spellsinger for forgiveness.

Jenna poured all her freebie points into Healing and Transference and linked her spirit to Elias'. Then she answered, using the words Goron had said when forgiving Belan: "We all do. We will carry those scars together." They were living the Coda, not merely repeating its words, but letting its truths guide their actions. A jolt of pure magical energy erupted from the Chant and entered Jenna's mind, granting her power. For an instant, she did not have five freebie points to create her stats. She had eight.

She increased Elias' Body stat, bringing him to +6 in Healing for an instant. One instant was enough. All the scars disappeared from Elias's body. Elias looked amazed at his own hands, searching in vain for the old scars and unable to believe he had been forgiven. There was no pain anymore, not even in his soul. Jenna felt the extra freebie points vanish, returning to the Coda they had come from. She had broken through a bottleneck—the first of many.