Grand Saint Alloy

Tristan looked around the back of the room for whoever had lit the lamp. His metal sense still told him he was in a solid block of metal, but his eyes could not see anything more dense than dust particles floating through the air. In the back of this partitioned off area was another knee high pot.

Just because he could not see the person, did not mean that they weren’t there. Dark elementals and those with high enough dark kerns could go invisible in shadow. The fire got rid of most of the cubical’s shadows, and all the ones present were not persistent at all.

The flame contained at the top of the lamp turned blue, “I see, so you’re not impressed.”

Tristan wished he could hear the voice with his ears, then he would be able to pinpoint its location. This telepathic stuff was annoying, “Where are you?”

“I’m right here, can’t you see me?” The person said, “I’m the artifact, I lit on fire and everything. I don’t have eyes, but even I could see a flame in a pitch black pit.”

Tristan stared at the lamppost before him. Sure, a talking artifact, why not? The grand elder had stuffed himself inside one, so why not someone else? At least the grand elder’s artifact, the Abyssal Chalice was mysterious with black smoke floating out of it and always filled with a liquid that gave off a supernatural chill. This lamppost was just a four-foot rod of metal planted into the ground with a bulbous glass container set into a metal cage. The fire within ignored the glass flickering through it like it was an illusion. It was very mundane for what was probably a national treasure.

“Sure,” Tristan nodded, “I can see you, though, it's not every day that I meet a talking artifact.”

He took a step back. The last thing he wanted was for whatever mind inside to decide he had one too many lungs. He only had one left after all, and he was attached to it. Tristan was also sure that this weird template or copy force he had would not stop him from dying again.

“How can I be sure you won’t try to kill me,” Tristan said, “My experience with this kind of thing is less than positive at best.”

“I promise I will not try to hurt or kill you,” The lamp declared.

“How can I take your word, I don’t know or trust you,” Tristan said incredulously.

“That was hurtful. I’m a soul tool, not much different from an elemental, but I was made with achieving a goal in mind, rather than fixing a regret,” The lamp said, “My creator's goal was to get back to his children and provide a means for their protection. To facilitate that I have been given a template of his mind and memories.”

Tristan had never considered that there could be a pattern to how artifacts were created. They seemed random and largely dependent on what a person had done with their life up to that point. Just like creating an elemental, it required the death of the person. It would make sense if tier six was a requirement to make one of these, it also was an artifact with no tier restrictions. The Abyssal Chalice could be used by a tier zero, so long as the requisite essence was added beforehand.

“Are you tier six?” Tristan tentatively asked, he really hoped it was higher. If it was even a single tier higher, it would have a chance of harming Ajax. If it was three higher it could kill him.

“Rude. If you’re going to ask about someone’s tier it's always best to guess high, to show you have a high evaluation of them, “The lamp said.

“So then you are higher,” Tristan said getting excited, he took the advice and asked, “Are you tier nine?”

“Hill Billy’s,” the lamppost muttered, “No, I’m not tier nine.”

“So are you higher or lower?” Tristan asked.

The lamp practically vibrated in exasperation, “Just grab me and I’ll show you.”

Preservation warred with greed as Tristan gazed at the lamp. Most people would back away from the slightly unstable artifact, however, Tristan had long ago thrown caution away. You don’t fight a civil protector in a pit if survival is your ultimate goal.

Tristan grabbed the lamp by the bar and pulled up. He almost fell over. Despite being relatively normal sized for a mace, the lamp was ridiculously heavy. Once he had it in a manageable position leaning against the back wall, he caught his breath. How would he use this artifact, even when he was healed, it would be much too heavy for him to use.

When he looked back up, he was no longer in the cave. Well, he was, but it was rotated ninety degrees, so the interior of the pots was pointing up and the partitions were no longer hanging above his head. There was a sink mounted to the wall with a mirror above it. The room was so alien that he was not sure what to make of it.

“So what do you think of the Numitor Flying Fortress?” The lamp said from behind Tristan.

He whirled to find a big man standing behind him. He had sapphire eyes, a main of blue flame for hair, and dark skin that only enhanced the effect of the colors. He wore gold armor with blue accents, it was overdesigned and if Tristan hadn’t felt the aura of high tier artifacts radiating off of them he would have called it gaudy. A massive sword that could have doubled as a shield was shoved into the metal plating of the tower like it was soft soil. It was also over decorated, but Tristan had to assume it weighed around two hundred pounds, so it wouldn’t even need an edge to be devastating.

Tristan asked the first question that came to mind, “What are the pots on the wall, is this an alchemy lab?”

The lamp man burst into laughter, his hair turning yellow along with his eyes as he doubled over. Tristan tried to figure out what was so funny, but he currently had a book on biological alchemy, and it would be nice if he could concoct or transfer a new heart. The old fortress of hero-level warriors, the very location the book was originally sourced from by Luke’s father, should have good equipment.

When the lamp man came up for air, his hair turned blue again, “That’s funny. This is a latrine.”

“You died while pooping?” Tristan said incredulously. He was skeptical of a man who would take a dump while gods and the Steel Saint were tearing into each other just outside.

“No! It's just the most heavily armored location,” Lamp man denied, then with a somber expression, “I was the only one who was able to survive the blast when Vent was killed. I did my best to shield them, but metal really is not good at stopping lightning.”

The environment shifted, and the two of them were now standing in Ajax’s prison. Only it had a massive window facing the mountain that would soon become the Caldera. Ghostly figures were arrayed before the window but behind the now empty desks. Tristan recognized the original Ajax, and beside him a woman looking at the viewport in trepidation. Several others were arraigned behind a transparent figure of the lamp man.

“I should have had them run,” Lamp man said, “But I was excited, and I thought my uncle was better than he was. Even a newborn Saint can struggle with his lessers.”

Below cyclones of water and glacier spears smashed into a single man. Green lightning lanced down from the sky and boiled the earth and water it struck. Tristan had thought that Furnace hit hard, but he was a martial artist, whereas the other two gods liked to bend nature itself. Something pulled on Tristan, not the whole fortress. Any loose metal was dragged at speed to the Steel Saint, it was torn from the earth and compressed between the man’s hands.

His skin was pure silver from all the blows he was taking. The Steel Saint stood immobile as thousands of tons of ice broke on his body. Parts were glowing red hot from the concentrated lightning being applied. He kept pulling in more metal and compressing it. Tristan could not tell for sure, but there was a lot of metal between the man's palms. More than there was inside the fortress, yet the metallic ball never got any bigger.

“What is he doing?” Tristan asked.

Lamp Man simply made a hold-on motion. The viewport lit up a blinding white before Lamp Man adjusted the view so Tristan could see what was happening. The ball of metal blew apart with enough force to ignite the air around it. It tore apart the water and dragged away the lightning. The now unshielded gods were momentarily defenseless. Ripple had her skull smashed at that moment. So fast that it appeared to be teleportation, the Steel Saint appeared and slashed Vent in half with a blade construct.

Bisection was not instant death. In his last moments, the dying god decided to take the fortress down with it. A tidal wave of lightning smashed into the fortress. The transparent Lamp man made a tearing motion, ripping his fortress in half. In the next motion, he pulled his tower into the path of the lightning. He was trying to stop the civilians from dying.

His skin went from black to silver as he tried to construct a shield to stop the certain death. The shield was melted, one second everyone was alive, and the next, just smoking bodies. They fell, the Steel Saint could have caught the falling fortress, but for some reason, he did not. It confused Tristan to find that the most powerful being he was aware of would treat his own nephew like this. Tristan was reminded of Shadow Fist and Forest, though scaled up.

As this was a vision or a memory, Tristan could not feel the storm of electricity hit the falling spire. He could see the result, and it was messy. Lightning did horrible things to a body. Lamp man’s skin blackened and bubbled while simultaneously turning cherry red. Tristan watched the barely living man stagger into the bathroom. He tried to make another tearing motion, most likely to rip his current room off the side of the fortress. The impact happened just before he was able to. A few seconds later a second object hit the but of the spire, driving it into the ground like a nail.

“So, yeah that’s how strong I am, not quite enough. It's never quite enough,“ He mumbled the last part.

“So, Lamp man, I have seen this from the perspective of one of your passengers before, but it still confuses me. What was the purpose of this fallen nation?” Tristan asked. It was something he had wanted to know for a long time, and the more knowledge he found the less clear it became.

“Lamp man? My name is Vulcan Numitor, and no this was not a fallen nation. It was simply a military vessel designed to get to another plane the long way,” Vulcan shrugged, “The other guys were a high tier cultist organization that worshiped those false gods. If I had to hazard a guess, then I would say that your current population is a mixture of cultist descendants and Imperial descendants.”

“That would explain all the overdecorated temples and the propaganda against silver demons,” Tristan sighed.

“To be fair, you have to realize, we are really good at hurting people. It should not come as a surprise that the most dangerous and least productive essence cultivators would be ostracized,” Vulcan said with a shrug, “Now what do have to say about our deal? A ride home for a tool of untold power?”

Tristan thought about it for a moment. There weren’t any downsides, he had to get a sentient piece of metal home, but in return, he would get a guide, a powerful offensive weapon, and if his assumptions were true a crafting tool.

“So long as you don’t expect me to drop you off right away, I can agree to that,” Tristan held out a hand.

Vulcan shook it with a grin, “You can’t even attempt to go until you are tier six, so it might be a while.”