Calvin stopped staring at what he’d done and ran, putting as much distance as he possibly could between himself and the angry Genosians.

Despite the blood-curdling fear of man-eating cannibals chasing him down and making him into a sandwich, Cal’s mind was abuzz with possibilities for his Splitting.

What he needed to pay the most attention to was the usefulness of an object relative to its size. Maximum output with minimum weight. A spark was just a tiny, burning sliver of iron, after all, and it was currently burning down the forest behind him.

What else had low mass and high effect?

Calvin’s mind was awash with new possibilities as he sprinted through the trees, heedless of how much noise he was making. He didn’t have very long before – Eyes on my back – He tumbled forward and slunk low just as a slightly singed Genosian warrior flew past him, his club whistling above Cal’s head.

The two made eye contact for an instant as the bewildered warrior’s Charge ability took him gliding past Cal and forced him to embed his weapon deep into a tree.

Cal put his head down and kept running. He heard the screech of wood and glanced over his shoulder, spotting the man ripping the handle of his club free before snorting and tossing it aside, continuing the chase bare-handed.

The man spent his Bent to activate another Charge, crossing the distance between them in seconds. He wasn’t surprised by Cal’s dodge this time, reaching out a hand and snagging his ankle, dragging the teen along for the ride.

Cal was hauled through the underbrush for a good twenty feet before he slammed up against another wooden trunk. Pain exploded through Cal’s head, causing his thoughts to turn foggy, and sounds to become distant. His vision was filled with bright little worms.

The cannibal hauled Cal up to his feet, snarling something into his face before hauling back and punching him in the nose.

Cal’s tenuous grip on consciousness strained as his head was driven into the wood behind him.

It was thanks to Karen’s brutal training that he was able to weakly lash out with his steel knife, his limp hands unable to deliver the force necessary to disembowel the man. Instead his knife skittered along the man’s hides, nicking him in a few places along his stomach.

The Genosian hissed, dropping him and simultaneously knocking the knife out of Cal’s hands as he staggered away. After checking the damage on his stomach, he grinned at Calvin and started following Cal’s limping at a mocking walk.

He sauntered towards Cal, chuckling and speaking in his bizarre language as Cal looked for anything to defend himself with, head swimming.

Cal felt another’s vision on him, centered on his heart. He glanced up and spotted the bald, ashen skinned bowman taking aim at Cal’s chest.

Cal let the strength go out of his knees, twisting and falling to the ground as quickly as he could while reaching out to the arrow.

Twang!

The arrow came hurtling toward him.

Mass splitting.

Bent 2/7 remaining.

In a fraction of a second, Calvin directed half the swarm of new arrows to appear behind the archer, and the other half on a collision with the unarmed one. He didn’t even know it was possible, but he’d had an inkling. He could direct vaguely where the copy appeared, since when it was a tool he wanted, it appeared in his hand, and when it was an attack, it’d always appeared around the enemy.

This was the first time he’d ever been so specific, about where he wanted the duplicates to appear, and they didn’t disappoint.

The archer fell forward, turned into a hedgehog by duplicates of the arrow he’d fired. The unarmed one seemed to react, glancing at the sound before receiving a volley of arrows across the right side of his body.

Unfortunately Cal wasn’t quite fast enough to dodge the original arrow, as it seemed to bend to match him, tearing through the right side of his chest before he was able to hit the ground.

Dupdomancy has reached Level 6!

Level 6: 36 pounds, 30 minutes.

Cal wanted to scream, but it only came out as a whimper and a bloody cough. Think it nicked my lung. Please gods, don’t let me drown on my own blood.

There were still at least three Genosians out there. He couldn’t afford to lay around waiting for them to eat him.

Cal tried to push himself to his feet, but his right arm couldn’t move without mind-bending pain.

“UUUAGH.” He groaned, trying to sit up.

I don’t have time for this!

Cal reached out with his left hand and tore a pebble out of the forest floor.

Sense-Grafting.

Bent 1/7 remaining.

He bound his sense of pain to the rock and tossed it aside before levering himself to his feet, trying his best not to disturb his wounded lung. He was numb, now, and could only feel where the arrow was inside of him based on the pressure against his organs.

Sense-Grafting has reached level 4!

Sense Grafting Level 4: Sight, hearing, touch, pain, and smell. Self-only, Touch, 20 minutes.

It’s gonna take a lot longer than 20 minutes to get home with an arrow in me. Cal thought, setting himself to the fastest trot he could manage before the pace made him dizzy.

Twenty minutes later, the pain came back with stunning intensity, and Cal missed a step, nearly falling to the ground. He gritted his teeth, leaned his left arm against a tree, and stayed upright through force of will.

He only had one Bent left, and he couldn’t afford to waste it on keeping himself comfortable. If more Genosians attacked, his Bent would be the only thing that could keep him alive.

After another hour, Cal staggered out of the woods to the sight of smoke in the distance. The village was on fire.

What, no, no, no NO!

Cal broke into a sprint, heedless of the burning pain in his chest, or his useless right arm. As he approached the flaming thatched roofs, his stomach turned as he felt the Warp of the carnage wash over him.

Where’s Karen, Jinnei? Baroke?

There were bodies in the dirt paths between the houses, mostly Genosians, but Cal spotted Kahm the carpenter’s wide-eyed corpse resting against a burning hut, a bladed club buried halfway through his neck.

“Jinnei!” Cal shouted before breaking into painful, hacking coughs that brought him to his knees. There was no response.

In the distance, he spotted three Genosians walking through the empty village. They perked up at his shout, loping towards him.

Cal held out a trembling hand and reached into the fire with his mind, recreating more of it around the Genosians with the intention of flash-cooking them.

Mass splitting.

Bent 0/7 remaining.

The air around them shimmered with intense heat, but the lead Genosian let out a guttural scream and the three men’s skin became silvery and reflective. They left Cal’s zone of boiling air none the worse for wear.

Damnit.

He tried to put his feet under him. He needed to lead them closer to the fire, maybe he could drag one of them into a flaming building with him.

Try as he might, Cal couldn’t force his legs to move, leaving him glaring powerlessly at the approaching Genosians.

The one in the lead was tall and skinny, his shaved head decorated with multiple scars and tattoos, lending to his fearsome visage.

He was at least as important as the fat one, because his bone hat was just as big. He approached Cal silently, walking around him and inspecting the arrow sticking out of his chest, his gaze lingering on the fletching for a moment.

“Where did you come from, boy?” he asked in Ilethan.

“Your…” Cal coughed up a bit of blood. “Mother.”

“Hmmm.”

“KAAA!” a voice resounded form the forest, and Cal glanced over his shoulder, spotting the fat Genosian running toward them flanked by two warriors. His grey skin was covered in sweat as he crossed the distance between them. He pointed at Cal, and shouted, his eyes wide, teeth bared, spittle flying from his mouth. The guy was mad.

Makes sense, I killed three of his men, Cal thought, numbly reaching into his pocket and grabbing the flint. It wasn’t ideal, but the rock was barely sharp enough to cut, and could substitute for a knife under the right circumstances.

With Knife-Work, I might be able to make it sharp enough to fight with.

Cal watched the fat one yelling at the skinny one, gesticulating wildly at Cal. Skinny absorbed the yelling for a moment, then gave Cal a contemplative glance, weighing something.

The skinny Genosian stepped forward and placed a possessive hand on Cal’s shoulder before letting out a rumbling growl, like an animal. Cal watched every movement, debating whether or not to lash out at him, but while he had no idea what was going on between the two of them, he did know picking a fight would get him killed.

Fatty was flabbergasted, his chin wobbling in disbelief for a moment before he pulled his hand up and summoned another tiny man.

Skinny raised a brow and held his hand up, palm down, black Bent traced the veins of his arms before erupting from his palms as a billowing green mist that contracted into a skeleton, then sinew, flesh, and skin.

The person Skinny summoned was bald like the other Genosians, but sported a big black beard with streaks of white.

He was also six feet tall.

Fatty staggered backwards, his expression fearful. He gave one last look at Call before biting out something that was surely hurtful in their language, turning and leaving. His miniature warrior glared up at Skinny’s massive one for a moment, before snarling and following its master.

The larger summon glanced at Cal and Skinny before sitting between them and the retreating fatty, his eyes trained on the group.

Skinny squatted down beside Cal.

“You really kill three of them?” he asked in Ilethan with a delighted grin.

“You happy for that?” Cal asked in Ilethan.

“You see that one?” Skinny asked, pointing at one of the hundreds of Genosian corpses lying face down in the bloody muck, nearly cleaved in half.

“That one bred to be Incha Huala, but killed by Aiaka here. Big, strong, gold hair.”

“Karen?”

“You know?”

“My mother.”

“Ah, yes I see…” He slapped his knee and grinned. “Yes, good. You make good Incha Huala for my daughter.”

Cal lashed out, aiming for the man’s jugular with his bit of sharp rock. Fuck that nonsense. I ain’t nobody’s Incha Huala. Whatever that means.

An iron grip intercepted Cal’s left hand just below the man’s chin. His summon had an almost bored expression as he stopped the stone from cutting the man’s neck.

“Very good Incha Huala.” Skinny’s delighted grin became even wider. “My name is Aoehe, The Kin’Maje of the Iron-skin tribe, we will be seeing much of each other in the coming years.”

Cal felt sweat begin to bead on his brow as the Warp in the town began to overflow inside him. his vision began to blur.

Damn it all to the nine hells! Cal thought before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground.

The last thing he heard was some faint confused babble from the men around him.

Warp overflow detected…

Running Warp Protection System… Break.

Calvin Gadsint

Body:

6

Strength:

6

Kinesthetics:

6

Endurance:

6

Mind:

17

Intuition:

6

Stability:

7

Will:

9

Bent:

2/7

Skills:

Stealth

6

Talking to Girls

4

Acting

3

Reading Expressions

3

Sense-Grafting

4

Dupdomancy

6

Hunting

3

Meditation

1

Fishing

3

Knife work

4