Chapter 1: Armad Djinn or Armad Wilberforce

***

A wave of anger rushed over Armad as he carried his unconscious mother on his back while running across the village. Desperate screams from the nearby houses reached his ears. He could see coffins being carried to the cemetery by children much younger than him.

A preacher in the village riding an Arabian horse ran from street to street, calling out, "message from the King. Stop touching the survivors. Whatever's killing them is contracted by touch." The preacher went on and on.

It was getting dark when Armad reached an awning in the southeast region of the village, where he met an old man.

He nodded a little at the old man in way of greetings, and in a high-pitched voice, he explained, "good evening, sir. I bring my mother. There isn't a single wound in her body. She is breathing, and her pulse is normal, but she just won't wake up. I went all around the healers in the village but no one could do anything for her. You are the last one. Please, help me. She's all I have left."

The old man who had white hair on his face and head picked up a lamp. Then he bent a little and came out through the narrow door of the awning.

He looked at the woman behind Armad and extended his hand to open her eyes.

Seeing her pupils, his body went cold. He barely raised his head to look at Armad sympathetically. "Boy," he said. "What's your name?"

Armad replied politely, "my name is Armad Djinn."

"Armad, I have seen a lot of patients today, and most of them are the remnants of this horrible war. But most of the ones I saw were like that. No pain, no injury, no hallucinations, but they don't know where they are."

The old man paused as if debating before he reached the woman again. He opened her eyes for the second time, and then her mouth.

He picked up a small lamp and shone it in her ears. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Armad. "Armad?" He said.

Armad nodded in response.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There is nothing I can do. I have never seen such a disease even in books. It has to do with Ururu. And I know of only one person who can do something about it in the whole of the third world."

Having said this, he looked for a place to sit next to Armad, and continued, "But this man... I'm not sure if he can do it either. And whether he can or not, he does not help for free. Asking him for help is very dangerous. He's a man who is not known for helping others."

Before the old man could finish speaking, Armad jumped. "Wherever he is and whoever he is, I will meet him if there is a possibility that my mother will find relief through him."

The old man fell silent, looking at Armad's face full of sadness. He shook his head with a sigh. "He's Abul Babara the fortune teller. I guess you know where you'll find him."

Upon hearing this, Armad stood up, thanked him, and left. He headed to the fortune teller.

He almost disappeared in the small forest ahead when he heard the old man's voice saying to him, "be careful, not everything he tells you will be on the right."

Armad couldn't answer because he was far, but he raised his hand and waved at him.

As he moved away from the village, he could still hear screams ringing in his ears. He wondered if the world would ever come back to the way it was before the war.

To maintain their sovereignty over the first world, the Ururu had fought a bloody war with the humans of the seventh world. The war had involved many other countries, including Armad's village. Although the war was over now, its fires were still burning in many places.

Many adults in Armad's village, Kanyu, had participated in the battle and had returned home safely after the war ended. Yet the faces of the villagers had been gloomy - even though many of their families had returned - due to what had happened afterward.

A few days after the battle was over, the returning heroes began to die, for no apparent reason, and many of them had no illness before their demise.

Within a short period, more than half of those returning from the war died. The funeral prayers and the burial of corpses started from dusk and continued until dawn. Armad's mother had fallen with the others. But Armad would have none of it. He would find cure for it even if everyone believed there was no cure.

Armad was a boy of seventeen, six feet tall. He had such a nice face that people always mistook him for a noble breed. At the moment, he was wearing his favorite outfit, a white shirt with a low waistline, and black pants that didn't fit into the line. Although his shirt was a little loose, the crookedness of his trained muscles was apparent. There was also a striking red scarf over his head which circled in front of his forehead.

Going to Babara for treatment was banned long ago from the palace of King Hán the first, who ruled the northern part of the third world. Almost everyone in this part of the world hated Babara, especially because of his character, and how the King expelled him after accusing him of using forbidden Bending.

Armad, like everyone in the village, was aware that Abul Babara was expelled and forced to live on the shore. So he ran toward the shore, careful not to do anything that would harm his mother. It was already midnight but Armad continued without stopping.

The wind blew a little, and the town was quiet. But Armad didn't panic. His only desire was to sink deeper into the forest to reach the shore where he expected to find Babara.

He went on for hours without meeting anyone, because even if you excluded the mourning that was taking place in the village, this place wasn't somewhere the villagers wanted to visit.

Early in the next morning, Armad began to see the northern wall, he was getting closer to the shore. So he started to slow down and looked around to see if there were any signs of Babara, but there were none. So he kept going.

After a while, he saw a little hut in the distance and he ran toward it.

When he got close enough to see it clearly, he widened his eyes in shock. The hut wasn't built on the ground, nor was it built on any rock or supported from above by anything, it was floating in the air.

Armad remained calm. The only thing in his eyes was his mother's deteriorating condition and longing for health. Whichever way it was, no matter how difficult it might be, it didn't bother him.

Seeing the hut, instead of being frightened, he felt happy because there was a possibility of Babara being there.

"Babara," he called. "Babara? Where are you? Can you hear me?"

He kept on calling until he lost hope of finding someone there.

He considered climbing into the hut and finding out what was inside. But he remembered his mother lying on his back, he couldn't jump because of her and he couldn't leave her there alone, so he put the idea aside.

As he debated on what to do, he heard a loud voice in his left ear, "young man, you've woken me up from my slumber. I hope whatever brought you here is beneficial to me."

Hurriedly and in surprise, Armad turned to the side he heard the voice. He saw a short man with a long beard.

Armad reflexively took a step back before he regained his composure, and studied the situation. He had never seen Barbara, so he didn't know how the man looked like.

But at that moment, Armad forgot that the man had just appeared out of nowhere, and asked him the one question that came to his mind. "Mister, please, have... have you seen a man around this place called Babara?"

The last word attracted a hideous smile from the dwarf, but he didn't answer the question, opting to just stare at Armad as if he'd seen someone he hadn't seen in a long time. After a while, the dwarf turned to the unconscious woman on his back.

He stared at her for a long moment until Armad felt uncomfortable, before finally clearing his voice and saying, "Hmph. So we still have fearless young men around. How long has it been?"

If Armad had been observant, he could have seen a semblance of pity on the healer's face when he asked him the question, but Armad's mind was a little occupied with deaths at the moment. He quickly narrated everything to the healer. From the day she fell unconscious to the first healer he went to and all the subsequent disappointments that led him there.

After he was done explaining, Babara sighed and nodded solemnly. ''Okay, young man, I can help you. But only if you agree with my terms.''

Once Armad realized there was some hope left, he quickly answered, "I'll do anything for her to get better. Tell me your terms."

As Armad spoke, he felt there was nothing, whatever it was, that Babara would ask of him that he couldn't do. He didn't care if he would die as a result. So he answered without reservation.

Babara gave him the same hideous smile as before. "Do you promise?"

Armad nodded.

"Alright. But you should know no one breaks a promise with me. Once promised then it has to be fulfilled."

Armad nodded vigorously, something that changed the healer's smile to a slight frown, and made him look away as he explained his conditions further. ''I have two terms: first, I want to know your name and your family's."

The healer clapped his hands and a chair big enough for three people to sit comfortably appeared out of thin air. He asked Armad to put his mother on it.

These things didn't frighten Armad. Yes, it wasn't so common to see such Bending in this part of the world, but Armad read. His mother was strict when it came to reading. The books would mention similar and even more outrageous things happening in real life. It was just a matter of Pol and if your core could withstand the resultant collapse.

So Armad went ahead and put his mother on the chair without any fear.

However, although there was no surprise or fear on his face when Abul-Babara asked him to mention his name, his mood changed. Even though for most people, this question would be the easiest question to answer for them, but not to Armad. He never thought Babara would bring such a thing as his condition, so he was unprepared.

Armad had a grandfather, Zaikid, who used to train him on pol Bending when he was ten. His mother, despite being one of the top Benders in the village, had refused to teach him, saying he must finish his books before he started dabbling in Bending. But despite all these, the old man Zaikid accepted the responsibility to teach him both Bending and war strategy based on the condition that Armad would not disclose his family name to anyone.

It would have been easier for Armad if his grandfather was the only problem, but even on the day his mother had left for the war, her last word to him was a warning. "Do not reveal your identity to the people you don't trust," she had said.

Before she left, the two of them agreed on a suitable substitute name. That instead of his real surname, he would be using Djinn as a substitute.

The thought of all these things was what changed his mood. He thought about his next step in silence.

He shouldn't trust Babara, and although he didn't know why his mother and grandfather didn't want him to reveal his identity, he felt he shouldn't tell it to Babara even if he would tell anyone.

But he asked himself: what choice did he have?

As he debated, he heard the man's voice. ''Young man, I'm waiting for your answer because my next condition depends on it."

Armad silently stared at his mother. She was as helpless as the dead. He also remembered what she told him about hiding his identity and his grandfather's condition for training him. He fell deeper into the dilemma.

As he thought about it, he had a sudden idea. No matter how he looked at it, Babara shouldn't know his identity. Who else knew about it besides his family? So, why not kill two birds with one stone? Save his mother and also hide his identity.

He looked at Babara with the same fearless eyes. "My name is Armad Djin....."

Before he closed his mouth, Babara raised his hand at him and stared at him fiercely. "Armad Djinn or Armad Wilberforce?" He asked in anger.

From the way Babara asked the question, Armad felt there was a hidden meaning to it. It was either the healer already knew, or maybe his Bending allowed him to see it, or maybe something else entirely which Armad couldn't even imagine gave him away. Either way, it was a trap, and he couldn't escape it by lying.

"The latter: Armad Wilberforce," Armad said.

Babara stared at him for a long moment. He was furious.

Armad's heart pounded. He had made a mistake. And now Babara had every right to send him away and refused to treat his mother. If she were to die because of that then he couldn't forgive himself. He sweated, and in a few seconds, his shirt was drenched.

But the next thing that came from Babara was a smile.

"Now the second and final condition," Babara said. He ignored what just happened as if it didn't happen at all. "Unlike the first condition, this is not a question. It's a quest. I want you to travel to the lower worlds and find a man who goes by the name Triple Factor. If you find him, then I promise you will come back and find your mother healed."

Armad raised his brows and looked at the healer with mouth wide open. "Triple Factor?" He asked in disbelief.

What surprised Armad was that his mother had recently told him that she and her men were looking for a man named Triple Factor.

And she told him that anything related to Triple Factor was either forbidden or treated as a top-secret in the third world, so the name wasn't known at all in their village, but the answer that would lead to finding the man wasn't in the third world, so she traveled in the lower worlds in search of the man.

Two months ago, Armad and his mother had talked about this man just before she left for the war. She told him that they were on the verge of achieving their goal and that the final step depended entirely on the war, so she needed to contribute.

Armad had for long wanted to accompany his mother in her adventures, but she gave him the same excuse every time: grow up first and finish your books.

One of her most memorable statements was: "I'm sorry, I can't take you with me now. But if I can't find him then it will be up to you."

These offhand statements that he used to hear from his mother when he was young and the way he grew up seeing her struggling about it, made him think as if he was meant to find Triple Factor, whoever he was and wherever he was.

When Armad was younger, he just wanted to finish all his books so he could learn Bending to help his mother find Triple Factor. The name had become some kind of idol to him.

He was a much older man now but he still wanted to find Triple Factor even just to know why his mother was obsessed with the man. So when he heard the name from the healer, he was both astonished and confused.

Babara interrupted his musings. "Armad Wilberforce, do you think you can do it?"

What Babara didn't know was, even without his condition, Armad had already decided to find the Triple Factor for himself. All he needed was his mother's go-ahead. So as far as Armad was concerned, this was the situation where he could kill two birds with one stone.

But first, there was something that stopped Armad from agreeing to this condition. He didn't feel comfortable with leaving his mother alone with the mysterious healer. The problem was his grandfather had been away and out of contact for four years now and there was no one at home. He also couldn't keep running around with her on his back. So it was either that or this...

"I accept the quest," he said.

Babara smiled in silence. He took a few steps forward and joined his hands together, causing a powerful wind to blow in the area. He released his hands and the wind disappeared. A door appeared where there was nothing before. The door was completely green. So green that not only its vicinity but the entire area had turned green despite the sun already coming up.

It was narrow, and if you were to measure it, it was exactly at Babara's height. Armad would have to bend to enter.

Babara turned to Armad. "I can't hold it for more than a hundred seconds," he said hurriedly. "If you enter, the door will take you to another world, saving you the trouble of border patrol. It hasn't been easy on travelers ever since the war. But you should hurry if you want to go.

"As for treating your mother, you don't have to worry about that, a real healer won't cheat a patient. Though, you should always remember our promise: Triple Factor for your mother's health."

The door blurred as if it would disappear. It seemed like it wasn't corporeal despite its convincing looks.

Armad strode to the door which shone brightly as soon as he was close enough to enter. Then he turned around hurriedly, something that caused Babara to flinched and opened his mouth to complain, but then he realized what Armad intended to do and shut off.

Ignoring Babara, Armad ran to his mother. He knelt in front of her and closed his eyes. His lips moved but he spoke no word. After several seconds, he stood up and untied the sword on her back. He put it around his left arm and ran back to the door which was about to fade out.

Just a step away from the magical door and he heard an androgynous voice in his ears. "Watch out for Ururu."

Armad hurriedly turned around in the direction of the voice, but there was no one there. It wasn't Babara's voice, and he had no memory of anyone with that voice in his life. For a second, he thought it was just in his head, but he doubted it for the word 'Ururu' had stuck with him.

Babara, who didn't hear anything, shouted at him, pointing at the door which was now barely visible. Armad looked around the area for the second time and when he couldn't find anything, he pushed the thoughts out of his mind and stepped into the doorway.

The first thing that greeted him as he entered the door was darkness, but that didn't stop him. He didn't want to leave his mother with Babara, but he didn't have any other option either. He could either do this or watch as she died like everyone else in the village. His gut told him to continue forward and he did without looking back. The door closed behind him and later disappeared completely.

Once the door disappeared, Armad felt light-headed as if he was falling from a rooftop. The darkness around him swirled and his vision blurred. Moments later, he felt so dizzy that he couldn't even stand.

He didn't know how long he had been in that state before his vision returned to normal. It could have been a second, an hour, or even a day. The first thing he saw after he regained his senses was a field of trees. Each tree was as thick as baobab and even looked similar in the trunk and branches, but instead of leaves, these trees had thorns.

There was no one in sight, human or otherwise, and there was no building nearby, not even a ruin. He was all alone.

As he stood there, he heard footsteps approaching him from a distance, in the southeast direction.

He waited patiently. After several seconds, he saw a shadow of a man approaching him. The person behind the shadow exerted their pol on the surroundings, so Armad quickly put his hands on the hilt of his sword in defense.

Five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds...

Armad was alarmed. It had been fifteen seconds since the shadow had started approaching him but he still didn't see the person behind it. If the shadow was this long then how tall would the person behind it be?

As he thought about it, an elderly man appeared behind the shadow. An unsheathed red blade hung from his left shoulder.

Surprisingly, despite the long shadow, the man wasn't all that tall. He was around six tall, a few inches taller than Armad. But the shadow was his own. No doubt about it. Armad looked at his own shadow and realized how it was considerably shorter.

A shadow Bender, Armad thought.

At the first attempt to read the man's pol, Armad's heart pounded because he couldn't see it.

He had long learned how to assess a Bender's pol and determine its exact number. If a Bender didn't surpass him by at least two times then he could always read them. The fact that he couldn't read the man's pol could only mean one thing: the gap between their powers was simply too great.

As this shocking truth reverberated in his mind, he heard a voice in his head. "If you want to pass through here then you must defeat me to prove you are worthy."

It was just a voice, but because of the pol behind it, Armad felt as if he was suddenly carrying the weight of his entire village on his head. He sweated. If the voice had continued speaking, he would have fallen on his knees from the sheer weight it carried.

The voice belonged to the old man standing in front of him. And despite the power he exuded, his face was expressionless as if he was conversing with a stone.

Seeing he had Armad's attention, the old man went on, "in all my hundreds of years as a guardian of this path, you have the lowest pol among all the travelers that have come here."

That wasn't surprising since Armad had only 51 years of pol at the moment.

The old man continued, "the rule is simple: you either defeat me and pass or you fail and you die. It's all up to you. But since I haven't seen anyone for so long and I want to stretch my arms a bit, I'll lower my Pol down to just one hundred years."

Instead of this to calm Armad down, it only made him warier of the old man. He knew the gap between 51 years and 100 years, especially considering how fewer people ever awaken to 100 years. And that was just the tip of the iceberg considering the actual pol controlled by the guardian.

"I'm ready whenever you are," the guardian said.

Imagining the gap between them wouldn't do him any good, so Armad looked at it simply. If he lost and died then his mother died with him. As he concluded that, he decided on winning. The cost didn't matter.

Armad withdrew his blade and released his pol into it. Lightning flashed on the steel and a booming noise came from the air expanding around the blade.

The essence board in his core flashed blue with the usual information.

The old man responded by unsheathing his blade and letting a furious flame out. He was a fire Bender. Armad narrowed his eyes at the revelation. He thought the man was a shadow Bender from his earlier demonstration. Did that mean the guardian could cross over?

Armad ignored it and attacked.

His sword flashed even brighter and his eyes carried no fear of his opponent. The red headband on his forehead flew in the air as he ran.

He spread his hands: the right hand clenched into a fist and the left holding the lightning sword.

If an ordinary human saw Armad currently with a lightning sword in hand, they would mistake him for an angel of death.

***

[An excerpt from Bending Resources #0.1, Armad Djinn, aged 15]

Perks

Every race has its perk. The demi-humans of the first world have exceptional eyesight for example. But humanity's perk comes from djinn spirits.

Djinns are vastly different spirits. Some of them can breathe fire, some can freeze water, some can control the wind, some can even transform into any element they so wish...

Every human is born with a djinn spirit. But many will lose their djinns as soon as they cried for the first time after birth. A few will retain their djinns up to adulthood. And even fewer people among this group can enslave their djinns and have control over their powers. They are called Benders.

Benders borrowed their power from djinns using pol.

Now speaking of pol, there are important points to note.

Pol

First, the lifespan of a Bender and that of a normal human vary significantly. For instance, the average lifespan of a normal human is around sixty to seventy years. But a Bender can live up to two times that age, even more. This special lifespan carried unique energy in it called pol, and it's measured in years. The longer a Bender can live, the more their pol, and that's an indication of power since every Bending is powered by pol.

Pol is gained after casting off the mundane lifespan in the initiation ritual. Once active, your pol will expand your core to reveal the essence board and djinn inside it - that's if you already have them, of course - thereby giving you a chance to become a Bender.

In a nutshell, a human will undergo the initiation rituals to have pol. Now the pol in turn will automatically activate the latent core in them to reveal their djinn and essence board. Using the same pol, the human will tame their djinn to become a Bender, and then use the same energy to power Bends. That's how humans transform.

Out of 100 men that undergo the initiation ritual, 50 will successfully activate their pol, but only 5 among them will enslave their djinns to become Benders.

For me it was simple. My grandfather summoned the initiation ritual for me and it gave me 51 years of pol. This automatically expanded my core to reveal my essence board and djinn inside it. Then I used my 51 years to tame my djinn and I become a lightning Bender.

Core-collapse and basic arithmetic

So, the question is: what happens when you exhaust your pol, say in a fight, and the force that keeps your core open (which solely comes from your pol) is gone? Your core will inevitably collapse, crushing the essence board and the djinn inside it. In the worst-case scenario, your soul is burned to a crisp from the after-effects and you die. Or, if you are lucky, your soul withstands the after-effects and you live but you will forever lose the ability to Bend.

In light of this, I have devised a means to calculate the maximum amount of pol that can be used at a time without collapsing the core.

For anyone below 100 years, the maximum percentage of core-collapse that's compatible with life is calculated through n/2+k (where n is the pol of the Bender and k is a constant specific for every race; for humans, it stood at 10%). And the maximum pol available for Bending for any Bender is calculated through 1+c/n-1 (where n is the pol of the Bender and c is the cost of the Bend).

So for a human with 100 years, the core-collapse compatible with life will be 100/2 + 10% = 60%. The maximum pol available for Bending for the same Bender will be 58.4 years.

After consulting many young people in my village, I have come to understand that it's difficult for many people, at least in my part of the world, to keep track of these numbers. So I have formulated a simple guide to help you.

Below is a table that can help any Bender below 100 years to know how much energy he can spend at a given time without any risk.

Pol (years) Maximum % of core collapse that's compatible with life. n/2+K (%) Maximum pol available for Bending. 1+C/n-1 (years) 10 15% 0.35 20 20% 2.8 30 25% 6.25 40 30% 10.7 50 35% 16.15 60 40% 22.6 70 45% 30.05 80 50% 38.5 90 55% 47.95 100 60% 58.4 51 35.5% 16.75

Note that although I have 51 years of pol, I can only spend 16.75 years at a time. With my 0.89 years/min regeneration, I will have to wait for at least 18 minutes to fully recover whenever I'm exhausted.

There are no upper or lower limits for how much a Bend can cost, but the most powerful Bend I know costs 55 years, and the least effective Bend I know costs 0.1 years. I don't know if there's any Bend that can cost less than 0.1 years, but it's doubtful.

Finally, all Benders should be conscious of the Bends they use. Although the percentage of core collapse is solely dependent on the cost of the Bend used and the total pol of the Bender, the regeneration of the core is dependent on the particular Bend. I have a Bend that caused a 10% collapse but its regeneration rate is 33% per minute. I also have a Bend that caused just 0.63% collapse but its regeneration rate is 0.5% per hour. In short, every Bend has its regeneration rate that will determine how fast your core will recover after using it.

Tiers

In a book by Helpas, Bends are categorized based on how the core regenerates. Tier 1 Bends will have at least 11% regeneration of the core per minute. Tier 2 will have 5-10% regeneration per minute. Tier 3 Bends will have 1-4% regeneration per minute. Any Bend with less than 1% regeneration per minute is considered Bronze. And if a Bend has a regeneration rate of less than 1% per hour then it is considered Silver. And a regeneration rate of less than 0.1% per hour is considered Gold.

So we have Tier 1, 2, & 3, then Bronze, Silver, and Gold. Although this classification is not widely used because of its wide disparity and irregularities, it gives a sharply defined reference. I use it. The only drawback I notice is how a Bend can change from Gold rank to Tier 1 through repeated use. After all, the more we use a Bend, the better we become at using it. Subsequently, making it easier for our core to heal faster. Perhaps, you should also consider classifying your Bends based on this classification especially if you have many Bends in your arsenal.

Argh. This has been going longer than I expected. Anyway, I'll leave my ayrid card number below if you want to meet and chat. Yours sincerely. Armad Djinn, a specialist in djinn exorcism and lightning Bender.