Rise of the Living Forge-Chapter 387: Necrohammer

Eleven stepped into the waiting room. A lone figure sat in a chair in its center, the members of his team nowhere to be seen. The healers still had them. It would be quite some time before they were brought back, which suited her just fine.

Her arrival had made no noise. No scent lingered on her skin and light filtered through her body as if nothing were there. She may as well have been a wraith, a specter of some overactive imagination.

The figure turned in her direction.

“Come out. I know you’re there.”

Eleven slipped from her invisibility. She was unsurprised that she had been discovered. If anything, she would have been disappointed with any other outcome. This tournament had been considerably more exciting than she’d originally expected.

That information would never make it to One, of course, but Eleven couldn’t help it. Her expectations had been raised. There had just been too many things happening.

The number of people that possessed the ability to see through her magical cloak was few. Sure, there were ways to detect Eleven in certain circumstances. Magical wards and preparation were always the best and most effective.

There wasn’t much she could do when her mere existence set off some alarm. But this room belonged to the Secret Eye. Nobody had time to lay down magical defenses when the tournament had only started recently.

Eleven knew of only two ways that the man before her could have known she was there. The first was that he was working with — or a member of — the Secret Eye. That would have given him access to any information-gathering systems they may have had.

But that couldn’t have been the case. The Secret Eye did many things… but they did not interfere in the results of their own tournament. While many of the matches were set to be as interesting as possible, their goal was still to gauge the abilities of the teams that participated within it.

They would not send their own into the tournament.

Which meant that the second option was the only one that remained. The man sitting before Eleven was either strong enough or had gear strong enough to detect her on his own. And that was a rare thing indeed.

“Impressive,” Eleven said. “And fast, too. It’s been a while since that last happened.”

The man let out a dry laugh. “What guild are you with? Assassins don’t normally show themselves when asked.”

“I am not an assassin.”

“Then why not announce yourself?”

“In most circumstances, there is no need for it. There is little that most people can say in words that I do not discover faster from their actions.”

The man rose from his chair. He was short, even standing at full height. He fully turned to face Eleven. Even through the helm atop his stout features, she could see immense weariness in his eyes.

“If you have come to kill me, you will find the task more difficult than you thought. I will not allow myself to fall until my actions have been righted.”

“I am not here to claim any lives,” Eleven said. “I believe you may have taken me for another, though I am unsurprised one such as you has enemies. It is not often that a Dwarven Smith makes themselves known in such an… upfront manner. Necrohammer, was it? Does the Dwarven Council not look poorly upon such things?”

The smith let out a grating laugh. “You aren’t from the Guild, then. All of them would know the Dwarven Council is frothing at the bit to claim my neck. Well, the ones of them that still believe I live. They’ve lost their way. All so focused on keeping our secrets that they forget our purpose. We exist to push the world farther, not keep it as it was.”

“A dangerous mindset,” Eleven said quietly.

“Nobody ever accomplished anything by being calm and respectful,” Necrohammer replied through a grunt. “Tell me why you’ve come, spy.”

“Eleven,” she corrected.

Necrohammer’s head tilted to the side. He reached up to his helm and pulled it off, revealing a grizzled face covered with burn scars. His features would have been rough, even if not for the extensive damage to them. There was no doubt that this man was a smith to his core. His were not the wounds of war, but of the pursuit of his art.

A small smile pulled at the corners of Necrohammer’s lips. “You’re with Setting Sun.”

“You know us?” Eleven raised an eyebrow. “How well?”

“Well enough to know what you’ve come here to offer me. Well enough to know you are trustworthy… and well enough to deny you. You want me to Sunset my class.”

A flicker of surprise passed through Eleven. This tournament really was full of surprises.

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It’s rare that I meet anyone that knows of Sunsetting, much less before they’ve joined up with us. The information about it has been suppressed incredibly effectively. Arguably for good reason.

“I would offer you a path to it, should your heart be right,” Eleven said. “You have skill, and a manner of smithing I have never seen before.”

“All true Dwarven Smiths have a manner of smithing unique to them,” Necrohammer said with a chuckle. “I am nothing different. I am uninterested in your offer, but I am relieved you are here. It puts my heart at peace.”

“Why?” Eleven asked. “Do you fear Sunsetting your class? It is a difficult, arduous procedure, but—”

“No.” Necrohammer shook his head. He looked down at his left hand, then let out a sigh. “I don’t fear it, girl. But my smithing is a technique that should die with me. Not everything in this world is healthy for it. Some things are a plague, and a plague may only be cut out.”

“An interesting attitude for a necromancer to have,” Eleven said, arching an eyebrow. “Though it only makes me even more curious. You don’t seem very proud of your work.”

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“My work?” Necrohammer snorted. “There is only one piece of work I am proud of, and it crumbles at the seams. Everything I have made since then has been a vile perversion. Glittering gold plating rancid filth.”

“Then why make the daggers? You know what they are. What they do. But you do not sound proud of them.”

“Proud? No. I am not proud. I have brought horrible things into being, and all because of hope.” The smith blew out a long sigh. “She is a cruel mistress. Give a man in the shadows a shimmer of light and he will dream himself a kingdom. I thought I could create something that goes against the rules of this world. To steal life from the beyond.”

“Didn’t work?” Eleven asked. It was not her purpose to judge or concern herself with what Necrohammers answers were. All she saught was information. The rest was One’s problem.

“No. It worked.” A smile crossed Necrohammer’s lips. “I did it. After much research, I discovered a way to truly bind a soul to a corpse. A true reanimation. But it was flawed. When something dies, it cannot ever completely return. I reclaimed much… but one tiny piece was missing. A miniscule crack in a beautiful glass mirror. One that will eventually shatter it, should it not be repaired. And I found that way.”

“Stealing power from other beings,” Eleven finished. There was more than a little awe in her voice. Necrohammer’s weapons, evil as they were, were nothing short of incredible. “Something that should have been impossible. It goes against the very rules of the Mesh.”

“Yes. The Guild aided my research. They knew what I sought. I believed that they wanted it as a way to defeat the promise that we all face at the end of life. To escape death. But I was wrong. They only seek to bring death, not dodge it. The moment I created the first of the daggers… the guild abused it. They seek to create a monster.”

“And so you made another?”

“Weapons of power cannot easily be broken. I continued to work for them, pretending to be making them a new weapon. They believed me… but I left as soon as it was complete. Hid my presence until this tournament. Until I could have a chance to deal with my creation.”

“So you came here to destroy it and try to make a name for yourself to keep the guild from striking back?”

“Not exactly,” Necrohammer said, the corners of his lips curling upward. “I have no delusions. I will not survive this stunt. It is not the world’s attention I seek, for such a thing could not protect me. It is the attention of a single man… and as of the last fight, I have it. As it turned out, he decided to enter the tournament. How amusingly simple.”

And just like that, everything clicked together in Eleven’s head.

“The bandaged man with Phoenix Circle. He was your first creation.”

“A dying one. My closest friend,” Necrohammer said. “One who I could no longer save through my former methods. I had two purposes in this tournament, spy. The first was to shatter the first dagger that I had made. In the process, I would summon attention to myself. My name would resonate through the Kingdom, until it reached the ears of Phoenix Circle. And then I would execute my second purpose. To—”

“To finish your creation,” Eleven said. “You want to use the dagger.”

“I wish to spend it for its intended purpose. The punishment for my creation has already been wrought. I may as well ensure that I achieve what I first set out to claim,” Necrohammer said with a shrug. He looked over to the arena as the crowd roared at the result of the fight.

Idly, Eleven noted that the Setting Sun’s prospective members had won their round. That was hardly a surprise. She didn’t particularly care at the moment.

“Does he know?” Eleven asked.

“No.” Necrohammer shook his head. “It would hurt him greatly. Elias… he is a kind soul. He would refuse what I do. I have already abandoned Phoenix Circle. To them, I am dead.”

“You do not consider his own desires?”

The dwarf’s eyes darkened. “I do not. I am Necrohammer, named Revenant Flesh by the Dwarven Council. The creation does not choose the manner of its forging. My life has always been spent in the creation of my weapons, and he will be no different. I have decided that he will live. My daggers will be broken, and their power will be spent in purchase of his life.”

A rumble of power roiled within Necrohammer’s words. The smith was powerful. Eleven had no doubt he had the strength to defeat even her in a fight, Sunsetted Class or no. There were few things more terrifying in the world than a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“I will not stand in your way,” Eleven said. “I see that your mind is set, and so long as the daggers are shattered, balance will remain. The continued existence of Elias should not matter in the grand scheme of things.”

“Good. But standing on the sidelines is not sufficient.”

Eleven blinked. “What?”

“You will help me, spy.” Necrohammer’s lips split into a cold, deadly smile. It was the kind of smile that could be made by only a man who dared steal from the Mesh itself. “I will deal with the daggers. But when the time comes, and the Guild attempts to stop me, you will stall them.”

“Why would I do something as exhausting as that? It sounds like far more work than I have any interest in taking on.”

Necrohammer reached into his pocket and pulled something free. He turned his hand over, letting his gauntleted fingers unfurl.

Sitting upon his palm was a glossy black gem.

“Because of this,” Necrohammer said.

Eleven’s face paled. “I… suppose we may be able to help each other.”

“I had thought you would be amenable to my terms,” Necrohammer said. He returned the gem to his pocket, casting his gaze back to the arena. “Thank you, spy. You give me peace. We will not meet again. But… if you would, do not tell Elias of our meeting. Let him think that Norman was a good man for as long as he can.”

Eleven didn’t respond.

When Necrohammer turned back toward her, she was gone.