Lariat woke up with a splitting headache. He felt its sharp tendrils whip behind his cranium with enough force to move mountains. With the spinning world to witness his drunken stupor, he flung his hands to the side, reaching for something. Anything. One cold object brushed against his fingertips.
Like a lifeline, he gripped it tight and yanked. It slid toward him until a dull thud rang out. Something else blocked it. Fortunately, that gave him the much-needed moment to raise himself. He stumbled, knocked over a few random trinkets, and parts of the dismantled microwave. Clanging metal colored the atmosphere with noise that pounded his skull deeper into the throes of the headache. He stretched his eyes, gritted his teeth, and stabilized himself.
Remaining still for a full minute did most of the trick, lashing his mental faculties back to mostly... normal.
Fuck.
Not.
Doing.
That.
Again.
"It's done. Finally. Wish I did a better job," Lariat said, turning his gaze to the repaired suit of his.
Disbelief that he somehow managed to complete the job in his current state didn't simmer for too long. With his level of experience, if he failed, then most of his life dealing with internal energy would forever be a joke. Two steps got him close enough to marvel at the finished job. Minor defects remained, but none would hinder the suit's performance.
Tuesday had to be approached with utmost caution. The suit didn't have enough juice to power him for more than forty-eight hours in efficient mode. And if he counted for combat, that would be at most twenty-four hours. If he wanted to ensure not a single mistake occurred, like the night before, he needed to draw a proper plan along Faraway Bridge.
He took the suit at the shoulders and lifted it toward the ceiling and inspected it just a bit more. Its shape resembled a tuxedo from ancient times of a planet far away, but the subtle alien embellishments in its materials, along with its unnaturally soft velvet touch, made it different.
And it reflected light in an interesting way when depowered. Rainbows rippled from the fabric outward in swirling circles. So many memories were made with it. So many lives taken. And many more would be.
With more than enough energy, Lariat tapped the buttons of the jacket in rapid succession to a rhythm only he knew. It warped into black gelatin that stuck to his fingertips and seeped right in.
With a thought, he could activate the suit now, which gave him a layer of protection. He'd only need a light tap to crack right through Alexandria's magical defenses and kill him. A noticeable improvement that left a lot to desire.
Reconnaissance would have to be done without the suit to keep its faculties in perfect condition. That meant he needed to enter Faraway Bridge undercover. Turns out, infiltration was what he was good at. He had a plan.
Lariat exited the basement with relief settling on his shoulders and urgency gripping his heart. If the book didn't have an answer to his predicament, then retrieving the relics would be suicide. For Beth's sake, he prayed it did.
When he left home and felt the warm sunrays hit his skin, an ill omen struck him. There was something he forgot, something he needed to go about his day. It remained at the tip of his mind, a hair's breadth away from him remembering.
It only brought warnings of another headache, so he left it there and went about his day.
He traced his footsteps back toward Mark Mont Square, this time a mere window shopper. Saint Halloway's statue didn't strike the same way the second time, but a quick prayer to Nightshade didn't hurt.
Whatever happened in the Godly Realms was far above his pay grade even at his best. Faraway Bridge was a good distance from Lortorn. It created an eerie path to Portswood, bridging the Dark Chasm that separated the two cities. Getting there through standard transport took about two hours. He'd use something else entirely. His best bet was renting a flying sword.
They flew fast and required minimal energy to utilize. He only needed a strand to fly one up until he was close enough. Two hundred kilometers away would be enough.
He knew Faraway Bridge like the back of his hand, but it wouldn't hurt to update his information. Fifteen years was a long time, after all.
Quickly, he moved past Mark Mont Square to Long Hills Drive, a special section that still fell under Mark Mont Square with a catch. Only vehicles not under Mark Corp were sold down the district; Mark Twain ensured that no one had a competing chance in the Mark Mont. If it weren't for regulations, he'd own the entire city.
Long Hills Drive traded Mark Mont's sleek design for something more rugged. Car dealerships shaped in robust metallic rectangles, decorated with various bright-colored lights native to each brand, added forced luxury.
In Lariat's opinion, the overabundance of clashing vivid washes of color reflected the messy underbelly that hid in plain sight. Common folk remained forever distracted, and the government, complacent and awakened, remained supreme.
Window shoppers, people that came from the slums, walked around, occasionally ogling the artificial beauty designed through some Awakened's abilities. Honestly, they had it better. City folk walked around as the product being sold to various corporations, unaware. Being forgotten was best in this world. It gave you true freedom.
After what seemed like a minute of enjoying the stroll, Lariat found where he'd rent his flying sword.
In front of him was a sword-shaped building that thrust through the sky. Its upper floors were made from shining glass and metal, perfectly fracturing light in all directions as a sword would. Ancient Sword Abode held a monopoly on sword production at the consumer level and even controlled quite a large stake in the veiled world, too.
Ingenuity belied their motto, and Lariat saw it through the ambitious structure of their buildings. While it used older grav-tech, they managed to support the entire structure on a foundation that wouldn't exceed the volume of a single person.
Suddenly, it occurred to him.
He had not a single carat to his name.