it."
"That makes a kind of sense," Swift said from somewhere back down the tunnel, "But if your great-grandfather is the God-Spear, what's a Neverborn?"
"A what now?"
"Neverborn. Flesh-Thing said something about a Neverborn."
"Ah. Yes, Neverborn," I nodded sagely, "I have no clue."
Son of a bitch.
Figure one thing out, the world goes and sees how many other things it can throw at you to try and ruin your day. One thing was for certain, I was going to have to break out old Henry's journals. He was a prolific observer of the Others; he had compiled multiple volumes on all the different kinds he had encountered over his illustrious career. And, the more I thought about it, the more Neverborn stuck out in my mind. I'd seen it somewhere before.
"Can we do all this ruminating somewhere that ain't a stinking sewer?" Hack said.
That punched me out of my reverie and I nodded, and continued walking out of the tunnel. No time to follow our tracks back to where Uncle Satan's little helpers showed us in, I went for the first shaft of light beaming down from above. It was only a short walk from the junction room where the sewage whirlpool roared, and I grabbed onto the rungs and began to climb. At the top was a good old fashioned manhole cover, thick and heavy and unmoving. I knew that because I didn't notice it until I rammed my head straight into it because I was too lost in my thoughts.
A string of curses shot out of my mouth after I'd added another lump to my already abused skull. Shafts of light were beaming down from the ventilation holes in the manhole cover, and I held tightly to the rungs with one hand and pressed my other up to the cover. It didn't budge. Not even a little bit.
"Need some help?" Swift called from below.
"Nope. I got this."
Despite my body's aches and pains, I figured it would do me some good to flex my magical muscles. I left my hand on the manhole cover, felt the cold metal of it. Even without taking time to prepare something, it shouldn't be much of a thing to get the cover out of my way. Magic, at its core, is dependent on two things, after all: willpower and imagination. A basic understanding of it as a fundamental force, tools, and preparation are big helps, but in the end it's all a matter of how much of your will you can throw at reality, and how far you want to bend it.
The manhole cover, for example, was a circular hunk of solid metal that probably weighed close to sixty or seventy pounds. Even on a good day, when I wasn't already beaten to shit, I'd have some trouble getting it to budge. Exercise and I have never seen eye to eye. The way it stood, I could pound my head against the manhole cover all day and only get a concussion for my troubles. But, if I were to be a clever mage with an understanding of both magic and matter, well, that would change everything.
I kept my hand pressed flat on the manhole cover and began gathering my will, focusing on the currents of energy that underlies all creation, the universal force that magic taps into, and the spark of that force inside myself. I thought of the weight of the cover, the density of the metal, and I imagined it being light as a feather. I sent out my will into the world, gave the cover a shove, and it blew up into the air like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. Light flooded the little hole and I could see the sky again.
Glorious success. Magic wasn't something that anyone who could use it should ever rely on, let it become a crutch, but I'll be damned if it wasn't useful and cool as hell. I mean, it wasn't hurling lightning or turning chalk into comets or anything, but whatever.
"Way to go, boy. Now can you get your ass out of my face?" Hack grumbled.
"Yeah I'm going, hold your ancient horses."
I hauled myself up out of the hole and took a look around while Hack and Swift came up.
We were not in a good place.
It was a narrow section of road, with trailers and rundown houses lining either side, little buildings that looked like
"That makes a kind of sense," Swift said from somewhere back down the tunnel, "But if your great-grandfather is the God-Spear, what's a Neverborn?"
"A what now?"
"Neverborn. Flesh-Thing said something about a Neverborn."
"Ah. Yes, Neverborn," I nodded sagely, "I have no clue."
Son of a bitch.
Figure one thing out, the world goes and sees how many other things it can throw at you to try and ruin your day. One thing was for certain, I was going to have to break out old Henry's journals. He was a prolific observer of the Others; he had compiled multiple volumes on all the different kinds he had encountered over his illustrious career. And, the more I thought about it, the more Neverborn stuck out in my mind. I'd seen it somewhere before.
"Can we do all this ruminating somewhere that ain't a stinking sewer?" Hack said.
That punched me out of my reverie and I nodded, and continued walking out of the tunnel. No time to follow our tracks back to where Uncle Satan's little helpers showed us in, I went for the first shaft of light beaming down from above. It was only a short walk from the junction room where the sewage whirlpool roared, and I grabbed onto the rungs and began to climb. At the top was a good old fashioned manhole cover, thick and heavy and unmoving. I knew that because I didn't notice it until I rammed my head straight into it because I was too lost in my thoughts.
A string of curses shot out of my mouth after I'd added another lump to my already abused skull. Shafts of light were beaming down from the ventilation holes in the manhole cover, and I held tightly to the rungs with one hand and pressed my other up to the cover. It didn't budge. Not even a little bit.
"Need some help?" Swift called from below.
"Nope. I got this."
Despite my body's aches and pains, I figured it would do me some good to flex my magical muscles. I left my hand on the manhole cover, felt the cold metal of it. Even without taking time to prepare something, it shouldn't be much of a thing to get the cover out of my way. Magic, at its core, is dependent on two things, after all: willpower and imagination. A basic understanding of it as a fundamental force, tools, and preparation are big helps, but in the end it's all a matter of how much of your will you can throw at reality, and how far you want to bend it.
The manhole cover, for example, was a circular hunk of solid metal that probably weighed close to sixty or seventy pounds. Even on a good day, when I wasn't already beaten to shit, I'd have some trouble getting it to budge. Exercise and I have never seen eye to eye. The way it stood, I could pound my head against the manhole cover all day and only get a concussion for my troubles. But, if I were to be a clever mage with an understanding of both magic and matter, well, that would change everything.
I kept my hand pressed flat on the manhole cover and began gathering my will, focusing on the currents of energy that underlies all creation, the universal force that magic taps into, and the spark of that force inside myself. I thought of the weight of the cover, the density of the metal, and I imagined it being light as a feather. I sent out my will into the world, gave the cover a shove, and it blew up into the air like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. Light flooded the little hole and I could see the sky again.
Glorious success. Magic wasn't something that anyone who could use it should ever rely on, let it become a crutch, but I'll be damned if it wasn't useful and cool as hell. I mean, it wasn't hurling lightning or turning chalk into comets or anything, but whatever.
"Way to go, boy. Now can you get your ass out of my face?" Hack grumbled.
"Yeah I'm going, hold your ancient horses."
I hauled myself up out of the hole and took a look around while Hack and Swift came up.
We were not in a good place.
It was a narrow section of road, with trailers and rundown houses lining either side, little buildings that looked like
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