The Hand We're Dealt - Chapter 8 (Patreon)

“Master, if you're not terribly busy, may I ask for clarification?”

The question, coming at a time when Professor van Beek was reading rather than actively conducting an experiment, brought an only slightly-irritated glower at me rather than a shouting chastisement that would send me hurrying from the room.

He looked at my Sacred Gear, open as it was, and grunted. “Why not look it up in your God-given artifact rather than pester me with the wonderings of an inept pupil?”

I felt I was a bit better than that descriptor deserved, but shrugged off the insult with the ease of long practice. “I have, but some of the material is... contradictory.”

I received only a particularly expressive snort in response while I mulled over the issue internally.

And the headache it had caused.

Because I'd realized that my Sacred Gear, which I'd taken to calling The Encyclopedia, had one small... well, it wasn't intentionally a defect, but it had manifested as one. In effect, recording each and every written record ever put down by humanity meant...

Well, let's put it this way.

Say you heard about this thing called 'Scientology.' So you looked up its body of works. Then you read them, all of them, and internalized that knowledge. Only afterwards, though, did you read about and begin to learn psychology and psychiatry and, given that you already knew knowledge which contradicted the new stuff you were learning, well... which one were you more likely to dismiss as some sort of weird pseudo-science?

In short, I'd learned that the information I gleaned from my Gear could be wrong.

And wasn't that a terrifying epiphany?

Now thankfully, I didn't have to deal with the doctrine of Scientology cluttering up my attempts to learn about the secret inner workings of the universe.

Sadly, though, humanity had come up with some truly batshit models of metaphysics over the past ten thousand years or so, and many of them directly contradicted each other. Now normally, I'd just skip the middle man and do some creative investigation of this on my own, design some experiments, and continue shaking the rust off my memories of the scientific method.

Normally.

Except, well... I wasn't too enthused at the prospect of figuring out how to vivisect a living creature's soul, let alone actually doing it.

Which was about what I'd need to do if I wanted answers to the Big Questions.

That in turn meant that the only semi-reliable resource I had to find some stable jumping off point was my mentor in the mystic arts.

Hopefully, the Professor turns out to be a believer in the Darwin school instead of Lysenkoism.

“Very well, ask,” van Beek commanded, straightening from where he was leaning over a thick volume of arcane lore. “Be quick about it.”

“I've been researching metaphysics and cosmology to try to understand where magic comes from and how it's manifested and given form through our souls,” I explained in a rapid tempo. “I don't understand the differences between human magic, holy power, demonic power, and the power of pagan deities.”

The Professor frowned at me, then sighed and stroked his beard. “Get me a tankard of that juice you pressed while I order my thoughts. It's the least you can do for interrupting my studies.”

“Yes Professor,” I stated, hurrying off towards the storeroom.

Soon enough, I came back with a large tankard of fruit punch, something that the older man who had taken a liking to unexpectedly. I would have poured myself a cup as well, but I'd also learned that the man considered it disrespectful to eat or drink while he was lecturing unless it was a conversation specifically being held over a meal at the dining table

“Where magic comes from,” van Beek began, taking a long pull from the wooden mug and wiping his beard with his sleeve. “Is a subject that is hotly debated in the halls of magical learning. It is a question without a singular answer, though. Many so-called scholars would have you believe there is one wellspring from which all magic flows forth from. They are either idiot children taken in by charlatans or the charlatans themselves.”

I nodded, my pen scratching away.

“The truth is that many different theories are at least partially true, though none I have seen captures the whole of the matter as I am given to understand it,” van Beek stated, his eyes staring into the middle distance as he began talking more to himself than me.

Which I was fine with, as long as it got me the information I wanted. He was probably the only person he truly enjoyed sharing a conversation with anyway.

“First, one must understand where we, in the material world, stand in relation to the immaterial and what that means for how magic is formed. The simplest answer that most console themselves with is that different beings – Angels, the Fallen, Devils, Humans – each of these varieties of life have different physical makeups, even if they look similar. As such, even if the immortality of the soul, damned or not, is respected, it falls to common logic that as a soul interlinks with a gestating child in the womb of its parent-”

Here, van Beek held one hand aloft as he said 'child' and another as he said 'parent,' interlacing the fingers as if demonstrating the emergence of life from the bonding of cells into a recognizable independent life.

“-means that the soul will be... oriented differently in an angel or a devil than it would be in a human.” The Professor stopped for a moment, taking another drink. “This is why the blasphemous power of the Devils to 'reincarnate' members of other groups into their own is so unsettling. They, in their corrupt knowledge, have found a way to temporarily unseat the soul from the physical form, change said form to another, and then reconnect the soul with such utter seamlessness that continuity of the mind and self is preserved.”

Which... yes, that's a 'bad thing.' And not a phenomenal feat of metaphysical bio-engineering. Heresy evil, not cool.

Even if most denominations of Christianity held a pretty dim view regarding magic-users in general and no one sane would blame me for not giving too much of a shit about their doctrine.

“So the differing manifestations of magic are a result of both the shape of the soul and how it interacts with the flesh of the material world,” I stated, risking a summarization of his monologue.

The Professor glared at me a moment before nodding. “There is more to it than even that, though. Herein we come to where our current discourse crosses with the complexities of metaphysical cosmology, the deeper study of the worlds outside the material plane.”

I resumed my scribbling.

“Different orientations of the immortal soul endowed by the Creator draw power from different origins as well as focusing it in different ways, that is the core of the less which you must learn and a cautionary one at that. It is not for a mortal soul to attempt to draw forcefully upon the energy of the divine realm of Heaven and it poses a different kind of danger to attempt to steal energy from pagan gods,” van Beek continued his lecture, leaning forward now with a speculative and thoughtful look in his eye. “Those of the cloth have received the blessing, and therefore the permission, of the Holy Father to request the intervention of the Most High.”

The message there was pretty clear and I wasn't about to try stealing power from God, even if it was just his Holy Corpse sitting on an otherwise empty throne. If nothing else, I didn't want the pissed off Archangel Michael showing up at my door demanding an explanation. Even if that scenario didn't end with an immediate execution, and the angels I'd seen were generally pretty cool about things, it almost certainly resulted in me being remanded to the custody of someone more responsible than van Beek.

And, frankly, I very much preferred the lack of oversight I was experiencing at the moment.

The Professor gave me chores, he assigned me magical studies, and he loaned me out to any of the college staff who needed a helping hand so he could reap the favors he would be owed from such generosity. Perhaps it wasn't a traditional childhood, but as far as contemporary childhoods went, it was certainly in the top ten percent, if not higher. Once all of my assigned tasks were done, the (admittedly meager) time remaining in the day was my own to use however I saw fit.

Provided, of course, I didn't do anything that distracted, made trouble for, or drew van Beek away from his work.

If I did transgress against that commandment, well... I obviously needed more work!

Idle hands are the devil's plaything, right?

I'd only tripped that punishment once, thankfully, when I'd been experimenting with using magic to produce heat and accidentally flash-boiled a few gallons of the liquid in a large metal cauldron. I'd been observing proper safety protocol – protocols I'd created from whole-cloth – so I wasn't injured, but there had been a small explosion.

Needless to say, I'd learned an important lesson about triple-checking my math.

Why couldn't I have been reborn in the world of Frieren? Magic there works on imagination and willpower, not calculus.

Come to think of it, the world of Frieren would probably be less dangerous, too.

But chores and studies aside, I actually had a great deal of freedom day-to-day in how I chose to take my meals, spend the hours I had to myself, and I'd made some serious advances. Or, rather, I'd developed a lot of personal projects that I prioritized because they allowed me to get a better handle on the foundational principles of both a magician's style and sorcery.

The sound of wood impacting on wood drew me from my thoughts to see that my teacher had set his mug down once again.

“Aside from cautions regarding drawing energy from unknown or unwelcome worlds, there is the simple matter that every being draws magic from something. Even the most basic creatures such as insects and worms can, if one is pressed, be used to fuel ritual sacrifices. The amount of energy in their... well, they do not have souls, they are too simple of creatures for that, but perhaps their spirits... it is nearly-insignificant. Occasionally, though, if you are working a truly delicate piece of art, then you may look to them for the spark you need.”

I switched columns as I kept writing, taking notes on a parallel thread of thought that had crept into the lecture intrusively.

I wish I could say that it was a rare happenstance.

But, if it was, then I wouldn't have had an immediate plan to deal with it.

“The important matter here, though, is that the metaphysical energy which our souls consume from other realms is what the various peoples and creatures of this world term as 'magic.' But from whence does this raw energy flow into our souls, you ask? The simple answer is that we do not know. There are many races which use magic and an even greater number of regions beyond the material world that one can draw from, either purposefully or instinctually.”

Seeing the man go for another drink, I seized my chance and hoped he wouldn't get irritated and send me away before answering my question. “Master, as I further my own research into the subject, would it be possible for you to tell me what some few of these places are known as?”

Marteen van Beek narrowed his gaze at me. “First, you will give me your word. You will not look to draw upon the energies of these places while you remain my student. Should you wish to cut your life short after the grave has taken me, that is your own stupidity. If I tell you of these things, though, you will not meddle in them. Do you understand me? Doing so is worth more than your own life should you try.”

I nodded, completely seriously. “I promise I will not tamper with places or beings outside the material plane, Master. At least not until it is only a matter of my own responsibility.”

The Professor stared at me a moment longer, then nodded. “We have already spoke of one. It is the Heaven of Abraham, attested to by the angels. There are lesser, pagan realms beholden to the gods of the old world such as the famed Mt. Olympus of the Grecian Gods. Although there is a physical mountain which one may travel to, atop it is a realm which is not within the bounds of the material world. Instead, it is a manifestation of their power, a world beholden to their will in the most absolute sense.”

He took a moment as I caught up to his long stream of magical theory.

“These palaces of the pagan gods and their afterlives are often the closest to the material world, both to facilitate travel by the gods themselves and to allow their worshipers souls to find their way to whatever lesser paradise they believe they have earned. Similarly, the great shadow of the material world, the Underworld, exists on this level. It is the demesne of devils and monstrous creatures forsaken by civilization and driven from the sunlit world.”

Hmm... okay, makes sense, I guess. 'Godly Realms' or whatever and the Underworld immediately outside of the physical world. Heaven included. But beyond that-

“Beyond those...” van Beek hesitated, seeming to chew on his words for a long moment as his jaw worked. “Our knowledge is... uncertain. The most compelling arguments I have heard theorize that there is a... a world, of sorts... that is more loosely bound to what we think of as the physical laws of Newton. The energies of these places, this world, are less constrained and flow more freely... more wildly. It is still within the power of the skilled magician or sorcerer to make their way there... though seldom does it seem they are able to make their way back. I have heard it said, too, that these are the places that the Fair Folk might call home...”

He trailed off for a moment and I fought against the urge to open my mouth before he continued.

“...which might align with their weakness towards the bindings of agreements. If they truly are creatures of that place, existing in a freer world, they would not have developed natural resistances to the concept of laws.” The Professor rubbed at his beard contemplatively and it was only after an extended period of introspection that I allowed myself to interrupt him.

“And beyond that, sir?” I asked tentatively.

His dark eyes cut to me, his face showing momentary surprise at my presence. I'd only been here eight months or so by this point, so I wasn't surprised that a man who was so used to living alone still occasionally had moments where he wondered who had invaded his sanctuary.

“Beyond that... your Sacred Gear will know more than I,” he stated firmly. “I will say this, though. The material plane is one bound by rules and laws of the strictest sort, the kind that will run themselves like the divine clockwork they are. The divine realms of the pagan gods and the Underworld, from what I know of them, function much the same, but remain slightly malleable and responsive to the will of their creator. The Wild Lands beyond that... they are more loosely constrained still. So it would follow that moving beyond these boundaries would produce something even more fluid from which something might draw power.”

I finished the last sentence of my notes and allowed the metal tip of my quill to leave a few errant drops at the edge of the page as I tapped the paper thoughtfully.

It's like the atmosphere.

It was an odd thought, but one that had a certain weight to it. At sea-level, the atmosphere possessed a certain level of density, but climbing a mountain would make it thinner as you rose out of the highest concentration and heavier elements of the air. This would be transiting from the 'material world' with its comparatively dense laws and constraints – gravity, time, space – into the divine realms or the fae wylds.

I really hope I don't have to deal with Dresden-verse fae courts. That would be a pain in the ass.

But further? If you were able to soar above the mountain? You had a very long way to go before you hit space and, presumably, the Dimensional Gap of DxD lore. At least, if things held true to what I knew, and I'd seen the gap referenced a few times in some of the more esoteric texts that referred to the time before the God of Abraham started binding the great supernatural predators into Gears and kicking the rest out of 'his' creation.

Not that I wasn't thankful for either of those. Ddriag might have been cool as a drinking buddy, but he was also an enormous fire-breathing monster willing and able to wipe out towns accidentally.

More relevant to my current issue, though...

“Wilder power that responds less to structure and rules...” I muttered, frowning. “That sounds like what I've read of devil magic.”

“Their demonic power,” van Beek growled, slamming his empty tankard down with a surprising amount of force. Thankfully, he did not seem angry and me, staring at one of the walls of the underground laboratory with a scowl. “I have heard whispers, Boy... whispers of ancient creatures from before the time when the Morning Star fell. Yes... you might be onto something with that thought. My master once mused that some of the elder creatures referenced in the Holy Bible might not be devils at all, but things that were less bound to the forms we think of...”

Unwillingly, the words came to mind.

Be Not Afraid.

That... certainly was a thought, one that I dared not speak. The Professor had obviously meant it as a reference to the more abstract and terrifying monsters of the Old Testament, like the Four Beasts of Daniel. But... I couldn't help but think of the old descriptions of angels instead.

That was some professional blasphemy, though.

...and what would I say, if I could anyway? That I thought angels might have originated in the far-flung near-void of raw energy and almost non-existent laws? That, in theory, I might know where God came from? And, oh yeah, that would go over just great with anyone who heard that theory. God being... what? Effectively a demon, but one who... won and decided to just take over reality and lie about creating it? Or who actually did create it? Was that somehow worse?

I took all of that and shoved it into a little box in the back of my head.

Maybe I'd write it down later and burn the paper so that the only way to access the record would be through my own Sacred Gear.

Which... actually isn't a bad idea, really. The ultimate unbreakable code.

“Thank you for your guidance, Master. You've given me much to think about,” I stated, completely honestly, and stood before dipping my head in a short bow.

The old man grunted and waved me off, his eyes already clouding over with a look of intense consideration.

Instead, I went upstairs to the ground floor and retreated to my room.

It had changed a great deal from when I moved in, all those months ago.

The first thing I'd bent my mind to sat against the wall opposite my bed, and was the source of, primarily, my clean drinking water. While I was reasonably confident in the safety of well water, I was more than familiar with the story of John Snow and the Broad Street Pump. The college was less populous than a city like London or New York, but I would almost certainly have to travel to one of them at some point in my life, and it was better not to draw attention to myself by spamming the magician's water-creation spell. It was simple, but scaled poorly with the cost of magic, quickly becoming prohibitively expensive unless you had a significant elemental affinity for water. Which I didn't.

“...and, it's not like it's awful to get used to the practicals, either,” I mused idly, twisting a knob and letting the carved wooden cup fill up underneath the opaque wooden box. “It's not like it’s anything impressive, anyway.”

Professor van Beek had sniffed when I'd finally presented my first practical effort at sorcery. He'd declared it a 'passable effort for a child's first attempt.'

Really, all it did was draw ambient magical energy in from the environment and use it to produce a trickle of sterile water until its repository filled up. Along with a secondary magical tap that chilled the water it conjured. Draining the cup, I exhaled in relief. Nothing made me thirstier than watching someone else drink. The gratifying sound of a trickle of water beginning to refill the canister up top was just icing on the cake.

Reflexively, I popped a magic circle out of the tip of my pointer finger and cast a spell to clean the cup. It wasn't quite the sterilization that I wanted, but the lack of germ theory meant I was forced to engineer a new spell from the ground up for that, which was a back-burner project at the moment. A priority not at all influenced by the complex math necessary for the magician's style.

“In that regard, at least, I have to admit I like sorcery quite a bit more,” I sighed, stripping out of my clothes for the night and placing them in a small wooden chest covered in complex sigils in a repeating pattern.

This was slightly more complicated. Instead of an automated set of magic circles that absorbed energy passively from the environment, this one needed to charge up in order to cast the spell I'd engraved into it. I pressed a finger against one of the runes dotting its surface, feeling the magical circuit complete and activate. A moment later, I opened the box and an immaculately clean set of clothing was revealed.

While I couldn't sterilize things, I could apply a general fabric cleaning spell that had been refined over thousands of years across a dozen civilizations and then gently steam it.

Complex sorcery, this wasn't, in any way, shape, or form.

But it was imminently practical.

Even if it only earned a look of mild derision from the Professor.

“But that's another good thing about him, I guess,” I muttered as I stepped over to one of the corners of my room where a wooden box without sides was waiting. The bottom and top were only about two feet square, which was the largest solid plank of wood I'd been able to find so far. It was barely enough room to stand in, but it got the job done as I started channeling magic into one of the long vertical edges roughly five feet tall.

This one, contrary to the others, needed me to actively power it.

Nearly-invisible screens of force manifested, forming the 'walls' of the box and reflecting the water that began streaming down from the top. The etched spellwork took the brunt of the expenditure off me, regulating the magic and easing the amount of focus I needed to expend to keep things running. A magician's spell would be portable and variable, true, but it was also more taxing by several factors, devouring your magic reserves to produce relatively simple effects.

Which wouldn't have been a problem were I born a high-class devil.

Or an angel, or a yokai, or even a fallen.

As much as they were creatures of flesh and blood, they were also undeniably manifestations of pure magic as well. As a result, they had consequently-large magical reserves when compared to your average human. One of the few remarks from van Beek that had been complimentary, was an observation that my own reserves were large for my age.

I was, in fact, a very impressive specimen of humanity, eclipsed only by those who were born with combat-focused Sacred Gears, Reincarnated Heroes, or the rare natural sage or ki-arts prodigy.

“Realistic expectations,” I muttered to myself, taking one hand off the mechanism that powered the magical shower and scrabbling through my hair. “My strength is the long game. It doesn't matter if I can only cast five magician spells before exhausting my reserves. It only matters that I exhaust my reserves as much as possible every day.”

Cast spells and use magic before breakfast to prepare for the day.

Let your reserves refill during the morning chores and errands.

Take a break, clean yourself up using magic and cast whatever spells you want to.

Eat lunch, do afternoon chores, and allow your reserves to refill.

Then, in the late afternoon, exhaust yourself fully doing formal practice, experiments, and study.

Do that for a month and, if you've got the native talent, you might just rank up into one more spell slot. If not, then you'll have to settle for two or three months of practice. Thankfully, I appeared to have the talent, at least. A natural inclination towards magic ran in my blood, apparently, allowing me to gain experience and power just that little bit faster than your average person.

Which makes me wonder about my parents, honestly.

The thought that I was a cast-off bastard of some rich playboy who got lucky with some dark-skinned former slave, prostitute, or servant. More cynically (and realistically), I could have been the product of rape through a slave.

But magic talent in the blood?

That wasn't the product of a 'new' household, that kind of trait took generations to build and maintain. It was also highly coveted in heirs and secondary bloodlines that could serve as retainers. Or, at least, that's what the gossiping diaries of attendants to the old magical pseudo-nobility of Europe.

Look at me, so starved for entertainment that I'm indulging in century-old court intrigue like they're daytime soap operas. Ugh.

Absently, I touched the leather strap around my neck and followed it down to the gold ring hanging at the top of my breastbone.

The fact that I had a talent threw a wrench into what I thought I knew about my biological progenitors. A Sacred Gear could be random chance, but... had I been discarded to keep me safe instead of to get rid of me? Being a retainer to a family with magical legacy could be a good thing... but it could also be a very, very bad thing.

Matou Sakura is a living testament to that fact, somewhere out there in the multiverse.

And while the world I knew of DxD was never quite as casually cruel as the world of Fate, it wasn't precisely kind to those who lived in a cutthroat shadow world where magical might often made right regardless of custom and tradition.

I cut off the flow of magic fully to my shower and allowed the enchantment on the bottom, where it was turned into harmless steam by the most basic of transmutations. Although one could create water easily... getting rid of it was something else. It was just easier to phase-transition it into a gas and let it evaporate.

One last spell to dry myself off and I was ready for my night-robe and bed.

With a flex of power and focus, The Encyclopedia appeared in my grasp.

“After a bit of light reading,” I commented, heading towards my last 'invention.' Instead of a mattress made of scratchy hay, rough-hewn sheets, and a hard wooden wooden structure... when I laid down it was on a bed of warm air bound together by magic. The blanket still wasn't all that awesome, but with a soft enough bed I could overlook that.

Once again, Professor van Beek's scathing look of disapproval echoed in my mind.

My lips twitched into a frown as I opened up where I'd left off on the personal notes of John Dee. “They might be wastes of time to you, but only an idiot doesn't understand a material increase to their quality of life consequently increases the quality of their work.”

The sound of pages turning under a tiny magical light eventually lulled my tired mind and body to sleep.

~~~

As selected by the... one person who both joined and cast a vote on the new Awesome Tier, here is the extra-long chapter for this month. 5k of The Hand We're Dealt. This is largely a worldbuilding chapter and breather to space things out properly. It also covers some of the things Henry has been doing behind the scenes while the war in Florida & Cuba is carrying on.

Hope everyone is having a great weekend and I'll have Marvel Industrious and the last chapter of Winning Peace out this week.