The Capital looked gloomy by nightfall. The city's thick clouds of grey smog gradually dissipated towards its outskirts, and the people in the campus's lecture hall were wearing only simple cloth face-masks to protect their lungs. The building itself, of course, was so rigorously warded that even the smog had trouble getting in. An eerie beam of evening sun shone in through the improperly-sealed skylight, momentarily supplanting the pale light of humming electric lamps as the auditorium's main source of illumination.
A sudden gust of air somewhere to their left disturbed the lecturer. Something similar had happened in this building a couple of times over the course of the past few weeks. This time, they'd finally, reluctantly been able to dismiss it as the result of some inscrutable structural flaw, after having interrupted four previous lectures to investigate it. They forced themself to remain calm.
"As you might expect", the Architect continued their lecture, tapping their top right arm against a diagram, "introducing magic-suppressant materials to a vessel item during the enchantment process generally prevents the intended enchantment from taking hold. On the other hand, significantly altering the physical structure of an extant magical item, particularly one that's actively in use, is often a dangerous, unpredictable process."
Their lower, metallic arms were gesticulating rapidly, parsing their words into sign language. They took a few steps to the left, moving to another diagram. "Therefore, anti-magical properties in reusable items have hitherto generally been limited in scope - something along the lines of a singular abjuration tied to a simple activation parameter."
With another arm, the Architect drew a few illustrative symbols in the space to their right, leaving them to hang in the air. "However, by using a localized magic-void to temporarily impose mundanity on the item to be modified, warding materials can safely be introduced as long as the Stahl-Xivilarth procedure is followed. This 'double negative' process, in conjunction with the novel material--" They saw a few heads turn and a murmur go through the room.
Surmising there was simply some irrelevant commotion outside the lecture hall, they paused for a moment, then called their students to attention. However, the murmur soon devolved into a hushed panic, and the lecturer reluctantly called for a break. "What's all this, then?" They asked no one in particular, some annoyance audible in their voice.
One of the attendees near the front spoke up. "There's a lich on the way here!" She exclaimed, quickly adding "Uh, not at all like you, professor. A truly despised individual, cast out even from the undead territories. They say that..."
The Architect's arcane reactor sank. Over the past dozen weeks, they'd began to notice something pursuing them. They couldn't think of any lich who would voluntarily act as a hired killer. Desperate times... still, it'd be downright suicidal to attempt to get to me here, wouldn't it? Ach, but this other lich probably has an external soul vessel... Prime contingencies [anti-spell pattern].
✓
Over the past semester, the Architect had began to notice signs of being watched. The aberrant leyline pulses had greatly decreased in quantity, but decidedly not in strength. Then, one day, their office in the College had been disturbed - minutely, but still. A single missing pen, a minuscule difference in the position of a stack of papers. Nothing alarming, per se: they'd happily blamed that nosy Guarded mage. However, before they could even think about gifting hir a set of cadmium-painted mugs, the incidents worsened.
Not long ago, in the middle of the night, their Spire suddenly deployed its defenses. For naught: it'd been a false alarm. Then, next week, twice more. Then three, then four. An almost taunting pattern emerged. They sharpened and re-sharpened their divinations over those weeks, but found nothing substantial. One day, when they left the Capital to attend a graduation ceremony in the nearby suburb of Concord, their other mind-partition began throwing out bogus reports: ridiculous conditions mismatches in the crowd; the flaring of a nearby leyline; and, most alarmingly, a hint of the unmistakeable semantic presence of a vampire.
Panic had taken hold of them, there, in that town hall, as the usually grounding presence of their other partition jumped to assassins as its most feasible conclusion. It seemed they weren't being watched - they were being stalked. They'd teleported away and secluded themself for sixteen days. During this time, no more proximity alerts fired, and they'd begun to see fit to attend to their academic responsibilities again. For weeks, everything had seemingly returned to normal.
The Architect's musings drowned out the rest of their student's response, but the sudden clatter of the hall's doors slamming open interrupted both it and their train of thought, anyway. They'd half expected to see a pale undead creature ready to begin flinging spells at them, so the squads of paramilitary soldiers filing into the room came as quite the surprise.
They recognized one of the people coming in after the rest of them as their regular contact within the Vigil. They waved mechanically, preparing for another awkward conversation. "Captain Fargrave!" They exclaimed. "What is the occassion for this unexpected visit?"
He gave them a curt nod, beret sliding imperceptibly forward. "We're here for your protection, Lady Architect."
Their annoyance at his insistence on the secondary title when speaking in public almost took their attention away from the ridiculousness of the preceding statement.
He continued. "We've evidence of the imminent presence of an enemy of humanity that's been making moves on our city. A chimaeric undead who calls herself the 'Reaper of Reality'..."
The Architect stopped paying attention to him after the title. Chimaeric? That would explain why I'd thought I'd sensed a vampire. The vampirism must have come first, right? Or is this a person somewhat like myself, 'undead' in name alone? Myriad branching thoughts formed in their mind, assisted by bursts of information from their external cortex. Vampirism is one of the basest, clumsiest forms of undeath, so I can't imagine an extant lich would embrace it. Even the most relatively-unique bloodline powers should be easily replicable by anyone powerful enough to achieve immortality... Their cortex gave the Architect an odd warning, which instantly cut their contemplation short.
conditions mismatch [humanoid] | category [physical, quantity;]
Lens-apertures whirring, the automaton took a quick look around the room; it was still just them, their increasingly panicked students, and Fargrave, as it had been since he'd come bursting into the hall. Still, a sense of unease stuck with them. Unusual for him to have come without first gathering backup. He must truly consider it a dramatic situation. Query database [subject:Reaper]?
Instead of the expected summary of properly vetted, verified information, their cortex returned an emergency warning.
!! spell detected !! target within [6] meters !! class [mental, perception;] !!
Oh, for-- Someone's trying to mind-control Fargrave? Hm. Well, I suppose there's more ways that could make him worse than better. Query degree?
0.8 effort-equivalents | nonstandard | targeted
Damn! Must really be that 'Reaper' figure. What a showoff... Fine, fine. They reluctantly expended the arcane energies needed to counter a spell of the indicated magnitude, and their lower arms created a potent ward around the hapless Vigilant's aura.
It had been 16.6 seconds since they'd stopped listening to what he was saying, and now it looked like their cortex wasn't even going to be able to provide them with a good recap of the Vigil's superstitions and half-truths about the dreaded chimera. Not that it was particularly likely to be necessary anymore, considering the person he'd been trying to inform them about was probably a bit too close for comfort already.
Sliding a special lens into place over their right optical aperture, the Architect watched the clash of energies behind Fargrave: the shadowy waves of the mental spell's energy broke apart satisfyingly upon the bright-grey cliffs of their abjuration.
Now is not the time to get lyrical. As the final part of the sigil their lower arms had just completed, they put a hand on Fargrave's shoulder, ready to push him out of harm's way, thinking to themself: You're very lucky, Captain, that your successor would probably be worse.
"Ugh, Martyr's..." The officer's speech was still somewhat slurred, and they noted that his eyes were gazing right past them, as if he'd been partially affected despite their seemingly-flawless counterspell. They noticed that the few students who hadn't done so already began fleeing the hall.
The construct inwardly cringed. Oh, that's not a good sign. Init procedure: emergency teleportation!
status unsuccessful/incomplete: procedure aborted [nonstandard inter--
!! proximity alert !! 166X -23Y 1.5m !!
They spun around in the indicated direction, optical shutters whirring to lock on to the almost idiosyncratically well-armored person behind them. Little horns, large wings, smug face; that was all the Architect had time to take in, as an oversized glowing scythe was already en route to their body. Though the set of arms directed via their cortex tried moving to deflect it, it passed effort- and harmlessly through them, going straight through the construct's core.
Their soul vessel.
The Architect's shawl fluttered placidly in the gust generated by their attacker's forceful scythe swipe. Everything went black, except for those glowing eyes - both visible at once, in this illusory space. Even with their subdivided mind, they found it difficult to focus on anything else. A voice resounded within their mind, resonating with their soul vessel like a tuning fork.
Bow before me!
They vaguely parsed the fact that they'd fallen to their knees, putting them a bit below eye level with their assailant. Much to their surprise, they were physically unharmed. What kind of. Assassin...? The compulsion they were under, for all its strength, didn't even strike them as that impactful. Why? How... irritating? Re-init. Emergency...
Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as did communication between their mental partitions. With no other options left, they tried to blank their mind in avoidance, halting their mental queue entirely. The action the Reaper had queued for them was harmless in and of itself, but they sincerely doubted that making them move a little was all there was to it.
It seemed like all of eternity was going to pass there, in that void of perception. Unprepared as they had been, this subjective eternity was going to wear them down to their breaking point, eventually. The Eternal City seemed so far away, with the metadimensional 'bridge' of their other partition now stretching seemingly to infinity. Still, for the longest time, they neither bowed nor did much of anything else.
Alas, 'eventually' did come, eventually. The Architect's resolve faltered, and the luminous purple gaze they'd been forced to meet so unceasingly was superceded by a familiar-green warning.
!! consciousness boundary failure [source:spell] !! firing 'disenchantment' protocol !!
First, it shunted their volition, allowing their secondary partition to remote-control their body. Other than their legs having given out, this allowed them to remain statuesquely immobile.
With a flourish, the Reaper swept her scythe to the side and clacked its pommel into the floor. She laughed at the hapless form of the "rival" ""lich"" """kneeling""" in front of her like a marionette with its strings cut. Tch! This might be the worst I've seen anyone do at bowing.
The Vigil's inspectors had finally taken the bait and provided an easy distraction for her, but she was still a bit disappointed that the infamous (?) 'Permissible Lich' had let themself be defeated so easily.
Stupid aviticrats. Ha! What did I expect? 'Dangerous' is just their word for 'different', after all. Oh, well. The hunt was diverting, even if its conclusion was a bit anti-climactic. She smirked as she noticed the array of green lights that still played behind the now-motionless eye-shutters of the construct in front of her. Well, now... how should this victory be celebrated?
Rachise began, of course, by gloating. "Tsk. Architect, Architect..." She was immediately cut off by an antimagic field radiating out of the slumped-over form in front of her. With a surprised hiss, she put both hands back on her scythe.
The Architect's main partition awoke as if from a coma, right as their contingency had imposed its harsh restrictions on the lecture hall. A large part of their field of view was currently occupied by a matte black jacket and shiny dark-grey armor, and they vocalized their confusion with a panicked "Mvuh?"
Why is that suit of armor wearing...? Ah, of course, there's someone inside. Someone who was menacingly holding a scythe. Not even a war scythe? Just a crop-cutter? Is there a peasant revolt going on? I suppose plate armor has gotten more widely available, in recent years. They quickly examined the suit of armor. Many Vigilants chose to wear a breastplate underneath their grey coats, but a complete panoply was unusual.
Almost complete, they thought, noting the lack of a helmet. They studied the helmetless figure's features, immediately noticing: Horns? Hm. You could design a helmet to fit around those, but I suppose a peasant leader wouldn't have time for that. They kept looking, but quickly realized they had no idea who this was. I feel like I should have slightly more of an idea. Query [subject:in front of me]?
With a shudder, their exorig returned to partial functionality. It immediately began swinging at the (enemy?) scythe-wielder. Eh? How did I end up on the wrong side of a peasant revolt? Oh, whatever. With their other two arms, they attempted to take hold of the scythe's wooden part. Handle? Pole? Snath? That's not a word, is it?
Cognizance gradually returned more fully to the Architect. They began sorting through their working memory. Location: lecture hall. Subject: Reaper of Reality. Event 1: counterspell. Event 2: scythe. Event 3: panopticon. They felt a stark absence in their mind as they tried to query their other partition. Ah, this is merely a pre-configured routine. What's disrupting my connection to my better half? Hm. Contingency zero? Must be; I feel dreadful.
Nonetheless, the Architect stood back up, two heads taller than the undead in front of them once more, and caught a glimpse of the bodies strewn about the edges of the room. Oh, so that's what that conditions mismatch was! An illusion that affected my working memory rather than my direct perception... How subtle.
Their foe grinned at them. The powerful, hydraulic slams of their lower arms futilely glanced off of her seemingly impenetrable black armor. Oof, I'm not getting through that, am I? Perhaps it's time to call a truce.
"Never!" The Reaper yelled at them immediately, eliciting a surprised auto-adjustment of their auditory perception thresholds. She wasn't sure why she was hearing their thoughts, but she'd appreciated the context it granted to the minute changes in expression on their glossy face. "I will not accept anything short of your complete surrender, you--"
Hm. Quite squeaky, compared to her telepathic voice. The Architect thought.
Her appreciation abruptly came to an end. She scowled at them, redoubling her efforts to regain control of her weapon. "Give back my scythe, you hopped-up statue!"
Why does she seem to be responding to my thoughts? Uh-oh - that brief moment of... mental interference must've counted as asymmetrical acceptance of my telepathy. I'd better put a stop to that before I inadvertently think any other things at her that could be misconstrued as rude. They ended the telepathic link, then began to say aloud "Sorry about--"
"Make fun of me, will you?!" Rachise interrupted, her inflection just a tiny bit too different to pretend the Architect's earlier thought hadn't affected her. "I'll tear you to shreds!" She snarled, wildly shoving the construct's limbs aside to lunge at them.
She bit into the side of their torso, just above the brass-like metal of their exorig. The polymer of their actual body was decently yielding to her sharp fangs, though it was texturally very different from flesh - surprisingly uniform. Belying their marble-like texture, the so-called Architect tasted vaguely rubbery.
More importantly, she realized that her attack hadn't been very effective - her rival's body apparently held no freely-flowing liquids whatsoever, but blood least of all. So warm and yet so... empty! Tch, whatever. Some attacks are more about sending a message than anything else.
Fargrave stood there, perplexed, watching two immortal beings of nigh-incomprehensible power have what looked like a playground slap-fight for nearly half a minute. Then, he remembered that one of them, being a decidedly hostile undead, had "kill on sight" status. He looked around the room - the leader of the Guarded squad was groggily starting to come to, but sie looked just as drained as the others still lying on the floor. He started cautiously backing away, then drew his specially-issued pistol.
The bullet within was theoretically supposed to be capable of imploding a lich's disconnected soul vessel through some kind of spatial feedback mechanism, though he had no idea how it would interact with the magic-void permeating the room. Even if it worked, he wasn't entirely confident in his ability to affect the right vessel - the unwieldy prototype pistol was intended as an ambush weapon, last resort, or field execution method, and certainly wasn't designed with the possibility of one "friendly" lich engaged in melee combat with another enemy lich.
He had to try, right? The Architect was a resilient sort. Plus, despite the Vigil's official stance that they were a type of undead, he doubted a weapon designed purely to vanquish undead could truly destroy them. Finally, he consoled himself: If it does, I'll certainly go down in history. Probably as an idiot, but...
Having gathered his resolve, Fargrave decided to give it his best shot.
The Architect wasn't really sure if this was ever going to go anywhere. Why doesn't she just run away and teleport back home? I'm not giving her this "Firmament-Flayer" weapon back; I'd love to take a closer look at it. Their perception of time suddenly slowed to a crawl again. A trigger began to be pulled 9 or so meters behind them, just as their exorig completed its emergency reset.
bbbbbbbbane de00easurede00easuredetected | effect [subject:self] minimalmoderate t30 [disorientation, temporary disunity; 9X% confidence] | effect [subject:Reaper] maximalfatal t0 [irrevocable mental displacement; XX% confidence]
...XX%? In the absence of better guesses: query action?
unclear [db [subject:Reaper] incomplete] | bane measure trajectory 8X%
A feeling of intense nausea came over them. This was Eternity's most direct way of letting them know that, according to its long-term divinations, an unfavorable outcome was at risk of occurring. It took them off guard, this time. Urgh. Alright...
It would be possible, the Architect surmised, to move their upper right arm through the trajectory of the incoming anti-lich bullet, though they'd have to let go of the scythe with that arm. Yes, I suppose 'fatal' anything is unacceptable, even if she did try to do something to me. Foolish Vigil! I'd have turned this clumsy, pointless ambush around eventually, and then they could've... executed her. Oh, fine.
Rachise had ignored the least-shoddily uniformed Vigilant entirely after he'd played his role in her distraction maneuver, and didn't care too much when he ran and pulled out an absurd-looking gun. Wretched little mortal! If I had my way, he'd be suffering an aneurysm of cosmic proportions right his instant as a reward for his futile defiance. Whatever. He may yet serve to distract the Architect, and then I'll get my scythe back, and then I'll get out of this stupid antispell field of theirs, and then my vengeance will be glorious!
The automaton inexplicably fumbled a dodge against her viciously spiked gauntlet, leaving them off-kilter and having to take a hand off her scythe. Ha! Even mundane as it is right now, I'll still be able to rend them limb from limb with Firmament-Flayer, just as soon as--
A shot rang through the room. Somehow, the Architect began convulsing alarmingly, their shuttered eyes going haywire with minute readjustments. They maintained a jittery approximation of eye contact with their adversary, arms briefly twitching upwards as they lilted to the side. Even as it folded in on itself, their rig allowed them to keep their balance for another second or two, but they fell over entirely as its complex mechanisms collapsed back into a simple protective shell around their waist.
Rachise saw the officer with the gun cringe slightly after her rival had finally stopped blocking her line of sight to him. Still, he wasted no time in drawing a replacement ampoule for the odd armament. As more of the paladins in the background started to recover from being drained and made an effort to form up around their assigned leader, she saw herself forced to retreat, bursting through the lecture hall's skylight with a few flaps of her bat-like wings.
With no conscious lookouts left, the Reaper's dark silhouette blended perfectly into the smoggy evening sky. She left unhindered - albeit still bereft of her scythe.
Meanwhile, the Architect was lying on the floor, twitching haphazardly. Though afterimages of glowing purple eyes yet lingered in their mind, a seemingly unending cavalcade of static intruded upon the automaton's senses. Every part of their body felt like it was being turned on and off again separately, and their cortex had somehow been decoupled from the main part of their mind entirely - including limbs #5 and #6. I'm going to put this one down as "moderate". Maybe I should've just let the damn nothing sequence unfold flowing void luxiforma... six?
The Architect had come to rely mostly on their external cortex to guard against mental drift brought on by effects such as this one, and its absence made it all the harder to bounce back from it. They focused their magic inwards, attempting to bolster their reactor's attempts to overcome the disconnect between body and mind that'd been brought on by the good Captain's device.
A droning voice cut through the static of lights. "--itect? Lady Architect? Shit. Shit! No, don't get to close, I don't think they're in control of all of their arms..." They perceived several humanoid forms making a highly flawed demicircle around their body at variable distances.
e. 1/6 00
Yes! Eternity, yes! The Architect rejoiced as their other partition made contact with them once again, and their rig began to realign itself with their soul vessel. They shakily made an effort to get back on their knees. One of the silhouettes had gotten closer, and was holding a hand out to them.
7/6zzzzidcontext? [take / refuse = forgive / chastise]
The automaton "blinked", completely closing the diaphragms in their eyes for a moment. Their vision got a little better. Oh, some social advice? Interesting. I must not be in any physical danger, then! Well, I'm nothing if not forgiving. Let's-- One of their rig's arms rapidly unfurled and smashed the lectern to their left, causing the figure in front of them to recoil.
Fortunately, that bit of property damage did lead the cautiously approaching person to inadvertently evade the scythe-blade passing through the space where their neck had been just a second ago - unbeknownst to themself, the Architect was still clutching Firmament-Flayer. They misstepped and came to their feet staggering left, following behind the momentum of their accidental furniture annihilation for a moment before the same thing happened on their right side, albeit a bit less violently.
As the Architect's vision returned, they saw that the "helpful" person they'd nearly decapitated was a student - the Vigil's core people, in so far as they were conscious, were still staying well back. Awkward. I should say something reassuring. A horrible crunching noise filled the room for a second before the Architect's vocal modulator returned to something approaching functionality. "Excuse-se me I'm - finnne thanggg - kyou." They tried to smile warmly, but it came out looking almost just as stilted as their words.
!! bad impression !! deflect blame !!
"Ca-a-aptain Far-grave, do you mmmind - telling me what ex-actly that was just now?" Though they were still leaning on the Reaper's surprisingly long-handled scythe for support, the Architect was regaining more and more of their usual practiced grace with every word. "If my rig had not expended its contingency procedure on that antimagic field, a more lethal contingency might have fired when you... shot me." Though his face was still a blur to them, they saw his stance begin to waver.
Alright, the Architect thought, just one more little push... They modulated just the right amount of indignation into their voice. "Please stop pointing that thing at me, by the way."
Though most of the lecture's attendants had fled, and some of his paladin colleagues had already left to try and track the Reaper, Fargrave still saw a few more heads than he'd like turn his way. "I, uh... forgive me, Lady Architect." He holstered his weapon, content that he'd at least been correct to assume it wouldn't end the automaton. "I'm not at liberty to disclose the nature of this lich-bane..." Wait, am I even supposed to describe it like that in public?
He looked over at the paladins' squad leader. Sie was still observing the recovering automaton, but gave him a brief look that made him think that maybe he shouldn't have. He fell silent for a moment before continuing "...weapon. I'm, ah, not at liberty to discuss the specifics right now. You were out for several, um, several seconds - are you... feeling alright?"
downplay + advise = natural ✓ | grandiose ✓ | charitable ✓
Yes, I understand. Resume full focus on physical scans. "I am mostly nominal again, yes. I would advise your engineers to rethink targeting the seat of consciousness itself - there are a lot of points of failure inherent to that approach." The Architect let their knowledge of the Vigil's bane weapon sink in for a moment, surveying the hall before off-handedly finishing their statement with "Not to mention the allegations of hypocrisy that line of research could net your Vigil."
A murmur went through the ranks. The antimagic had dispersed enough at this point for the Guarded mage to begin laying hands on the still-motionless Vigilants. Two of them were technically fully deceased, but the automaton's necromancies managed to surreptitiously pull them back across the threshold, just before hir stasis-magic would have kept them that way all the way to the morgue.
"Noted." Fargrave sighed. He awkardly coughed, knowing that the next question was basically just a formality - the Architect somehow always found a reason to keep noteworthy magical items for themself. "May we have the attacker's weapon? As evidence?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea." They replied, between self-diagnostic spells. "My assaillant seemed very possessive of it, after all - it would be much safer for you if I were to keep it in my Spire. I will let you know the nature of its enchantments post-haste, of course."
"Yes, that's. Acceptable... Thank you." Fargrave grumbled, already turning away. This was going to look mediocre in his report, and atrocious in tomorrow's papers.
The Architect turned to face the few students who had remained in the hall. "I'm afraid I have to interrupt this lecture. I'll make a transcript available in the library, as per usual." They teleported back to their Spire without waiting for any further replies, questions or well-wishes.
I must prepare for an eventual future run-in with this Reaper. Init aggregate summary. They went to put their trophy scythe into their workshop, and initiated a more thorough self-diagnostic procedure aided by the Spire itself. After a short while, they received an unexpectedly burst of information.
summary available | sources almost exclusively aviticratic; contrafactual/propagandistic conjectures omitted despite high incidence
That's it? 'Centuries' of such supposedly-disruptive activity, and that's the only information I have? The Architect thought, irritated. Their other partition confirmed. It wasn't that there was a dearth of information: far from it, in fact. But it was exceptionally difficult to distinguish a pattern of truth amidst all the fear and hatred in which that information was drenched.
Very well, they thought, I'll stick to what I've been able to observe on my own, then. They looked at the scythe. It was still in their top-right hand. I'd meant to put this in storage, but... On the other hand, it might be their most reliable source of information about their would-be assassin. If that even is what she was. Ah, but idle speculation won't get me anywhere! Let's have a look at this 'Firmament-Flayer', then.
!! ideosemantic incursion !! disengage proximity !!
Their exorig's arms tore the scythe from their grasp and tossed it onto the floor before their main partition could fully comprehend what was happening. The Architect felt strangely betrayed, but quickly caught themself. Fuck! How do I know its name?
They had a nearby servitor pick up and carry it for them. It deposited the scythe unceremoniously into a wall-mounted magitech device akin to a large convection oven fused to an even larger crysvac-array ordinator. Into the auto-augury chamber with the fel thing!
The Spire's augury mechanisms revealed a few interesting tidbits. On the surface, Firmament-Flayer was a well-made scythe, decorated but functional. The whole thing seemed like a natural extension of someone who styled herself 'Reaper of Reality'. Its blade was forged from an unusual Shadematter alloy, while its haft was simple (albeit intricately-carved) ebonwood. The augur dated the wood to nearly four centuries old. Slightly older than I, then? Interesting.
Slightly below the surface, it was a powerfully (but not very efficiently) enchanted scythe. Its blade automatically tended (swerved, even) towards weak spots envisioned subconsciously by its wielder. Its inefficiency was almost taunting to the Architect, so used were they to optimizing their own affairs. It's a wonder that a piece of equipment with such a needlessly high Stahl coefficient hasn't developed a mind of its own! What an amateur.
It took the Spire several more augury protocols to confirm the Architect's irritated conjecture: Firmament-Flayer's degree of autonomy suggested a dormant mind of sub-insectile awareness. Despite being about as acute as a sleeping tick, its identity-meaning complex was as firm as that of a human being.
The Architect's eyes darted around the augury monitor in disbelief. Firm enough to exert influence on me?! How could I have been so incautious?
hypothesis: ideosemantic imprint [subject:Reaper]
The Architect frowned. For a mere personality imprint left on an object - even a signature weapon - to be capable of bleeding into their own mind, the difference in force of personality between them and their adversary would have to be a factor of over a hundred. Odd, for someone allegedly so accustomed to magical combat, to paint such a target on her own psyche. Hm... I suppose it stops mattering, past a certain point.
For a moment, they contemplated reforging it into a weapon of their own. However, they quickly decided against it: turning such a sharp blade into a hammer seemed almost wasteful. I suppose I could keep it as-is, but it would be totally aesthetically incompatible with me. And then there's the continued issue of personality bleed...
The gentle humming and clicking of the device was the only thing audible on the Spire's workshop-floor. As they peered into the auto-augur's chamber, a feeling of slight nausea came over them. There was another, far more important reason not to repurpose Firmament-Flayer for themself: It would make for a much better peace offering to my assaillant, of course. What could her reasons have been? Analyzing my logs, it does seem like she could have done far more damage than she actually ended up doing.
With a quick gesture, the Architect cast a ward on themself, then retrieved the scythe from the machine. That said, it's not often that I get the opportunity to work on such a powerful item. Surprisingly well taken care of, too, but I could definitely refine the enchantments a bit. Yes, that'll be a fine demonstration of both power and goodwill.
They glanced at the chronometer integrated into one of their lower arms. I'll dedicate an hour to it right away! Then, I'll re-up my contingencies, make my press statement to the Courier and Verrité, and--
rest timer: 1.4 days
Ah. Right I am. They placed Firmament-Flayer onto a workbench, keeping it firmly in place by tightening a few vices. They placed a quick seal of affirmation upon its blade to placate its dormant intelligence, then began the arduous process of resetting their body to peak performance.
Half a metric hour later, they felt ready to depart for the 'non-safe' location that was Verrité's publishing house. Sometimes, the things we're most excited for are the things that are least important. Oh, well. They had their servitor began polishing the blade and ready their highest-yield enchanting tools, gave Firmament-Flayer a final glance, and teleported.