Kael cursed again, turning his attention back to his work, more out of stubbornness than hope, only to notice sothing strange.
When he tried to snuff the fla from his hand, he accidentally hit one of the scales.
And it turned darker.
The change was minor, subtle enough that soone not looking for it might miss it, but Kael had been staring at these materials long enough to notice differences like they were neon signs. The hatchling-green deepened. The surface looked slightly more glassy. It resembled the adult basilisk scale a bit more, still not obsidian-black, but closer to it.
"So it can be heat treated..." he thought.
He glanced from the altered scale to the rune, now finally cald down, no longer flaring, no longer in that violent active state. It sat there like it hadn’t just tried to turn his hand into roasted at. Like it was innocent.
Kael’s eyes narrowed.
He thought about how to use it best without harming himself.
’I rember seeing a few fools who used runes back in the day,’ he thought, mind flicking briefly to the normal tower, to the climbers who strutted around like they owned the world. ’But they all wielded the runes on top of staffs...’
Staffs. Handles. Distance. Sothing that let you channel without hugging the danger to your palm.
Still... those runes didn’t do this much damage. Or show this much of an effect. The fire rune in his hand had behaved like a tantrum. Like an entity that didn’t like being told what to do. Or like a power source that didn’t care what it burned as long as it burned sothing.
The idea grew in his mind the way panic sotis grew into invention.
He looked around, searching for anything, anything at all, that could create space between him and the rune if he wanted to use it. A pipe. A stick. A proper tool handle. Sothing that wouldn’t roast his skin off just for asking politely.
There was nothing worth using. Just broken debris and stale tal that looked like it would crumble if he depended on it.
So he turned to his own items.
’The crowbar...’
He pulled it out, feeling its familiar weight settle in his grip like an old friend that had already been through too much. Then he grabbed Brokk’s hamr and began hamring. The tallic tok echoed in the room, clean and sharp compared to the dull hum of the server boxes.
He started by reshaping the curved end of the crowbar. Each strike made the tal morph and change, as if it had been previously heated in a forge. The transformation was wrong in a way that made it beautiful: steel obeying without fire, bending like it had forgotten it was supposed to be rigid.
Brokk’s hamr seed to work in a way that could mold steel without needing heat. A cheat, in a sense. A master craftsman’s shortcut carved into reality.
He was grateful for his pick back in the Hall of Burdens.
He flattened the curved end, then struck right between the split at the crowbar’s end. The split gave, opening sideways. The tal groaned, not like damage but like compliance, like it was reluctantly making room.
Kael picked up the rune carefully this ti, not with bare faith. He held it just long enough to place it on top of the split, and realized he had enough tal to work with. He tapped the sides of the split tal, shaping a hold, and fitted the rune in it.
Thankfully, it fit snugly in the first attempt. Tight enough that it didn’t wobble. Secure enough that it felt like it belonged.
***
[You have created a crude Fire Rune staff]
[Crude Fire Rune Staff]
1 Int
[Conflagration]
Lore: A diocre attempt at creating a fire staff. Made with a basic rune and a non-mana item.
The channeling ability of this Crude work is extrely low. Highly unaccepting of mana and extrely volatile. One would have to think twice before trying to use such a shoddy item for survival.
***
[Congratulations, you have unlocked the title [Magic Maker]]
3 INT
[You can now create magical tools using your craftsmanship]
Kael stared at the notification, surprised despite himself. He didn’t expect the system to recognize sothing he’d cobbled together from a crowbar and a rune, especially a crowbar that wasn’t even originally a Tower item. Yet there it was, stamped into existence with a na and a warning that felt like an insult.
"diocre," Kael muttered under his breath, and it ca out with the tiniest edge of offended pride. "Yeah, well. Let’s see you make one then."
But since it was registered as an item, a new notification appeared in front of him.
[Would you like to use [Crude Fire Rune Staff?]
Kael hesitated.
The lore on the item felt a bit too ominous, like the system itself was raising an eyebrow at him. And since he didn’t have any healing potions now, none, if the sa thing repeated, he wouldn’t be able to save his hand. Or his face. Or whatever part of his body decided to be close enough to the explosion.
He wasn’t eager to learn how it felt to burn without an undo button.
Looking around for materials to protect himself was his first idea.
One of the massive servers in the room that seed to not have any electricity running through it felt like a good start. It had a steel door with a small window for operators to look inside. The window was the size of a mail slot, narrow and rectangular, with reinforced edges like it was designed to keep hands out and eyes in.
The slot was made of glass.
Kael walked over with Brokk’s hamr in hand. The server doorfra was locked shut, and for a mont, he missed not having the crowbar free. The irony wasn’t lost on him; he’d just turned the crowbar into a staff, and now he wanted the crowbar to pry things open.
But he still had the hamr.
He struck at the joints, controlled hits, not rage, and the tal gave with each blow. Not exploding, not shattering, just... coming apart as if the hamr spoke a language tal couldn’t refuse. He pulled the server door free with his other hand and held it up, testing its weight.
It was solid. Heavy enough to matter.
Once he made sure of its sturdiness by giving it a few light taps, Kael broke the small window. The glass cracked with a brittle pop and fell in pieces. The sound was sharp, ugly, and it made him instinctively glance at the doorway of the room, as if a monster might have been waiting for an excuse.
Nothing ca. The underground stayed quiet except for its hum.
He went back to the table and grabbed so of the leather that remained from the black basilisk. Not the treated jacket, he wasn’t insane enough to waste that, but leftover scraps. He wrapped it around his hand like a crude glove, layering it until it felt thick enough to matter.
Then he grabbed the staff and passed it through the slot in the steel door.
"Let’s pray this works..."
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