《Retribution Engine/Sturmblitz Kunst [Ultraviolent Martial Arts Progression Fantasy]》249 - Tempesta Pt. 2
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Cultivation methods built upon a foundational gnosis of “Death” are neither as common nor as macabre as one might expect, but time and again, they arise from similar circumstances of long-term high-mortality. Subject ZF exhibits no extraordinary affinity for the arcane, but displays an uncanny, if unconscious grasp of the Fourth Sight:
“By which one may witness the failure points of all that which lives, and therefore walk as one with the reaper.”
Whether the subject will ever obtain conscious awareness and/or control of her Fourth Sight is irrelevant, as its effects persist regardless.
Subject’s undergoing of a “dungeon trial” and her subsequent acquisition of a Sidhon Industries WDX-78 Oculus has accelerated development of the Fourth Sight as predicted.
Furthermore, Subject ZF has recently broken through to the Second Realm by means of an accelerant pill, and as such rapid development of a true cultivation method in the near future is expected. Anticipate further development of kineticism and possible branching-off into Rigormancy - further development of projectile manipulation tools, possibly involvement of the WDX-78 as a glyph projection and essentia storage medium.
Further observation pending subject development.
Tags: Gnosticism, Spiritual Cultivation, Pneumatic, True Mysticism, Gradual Bottlenecking, Spontaneous Foundation, Philosophical Cultivation, Immortality, Immunity Through Exposure, Hyper-composite Essentia (Mortis Aeon)
Sigmund arrived at the sect to do a bit of training and check on the sister location, only to be caught by surprise at the sight of what, at first, seemed to just be Zefaris doing her usual marksmanship training, but there was something else on her other hip now - a large holster holding what seemed to be a folded-in-half rifle.
He slowed down as he passed the gate to watch her, his brow naturally furrowing as she exhaled on five wooden coins, tossing them into the air before unloading Pentacle’s cylinder into each one in turn with unerring accuracy and sliding the gun into that magical blackstone reloading gizmo that at this point served as the gun’s permanent holster.
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It only took a scant few seconds to load the cylinder, but instead of waiting, she went for the other gun, whipping it out of its holster as its front half flipped forward on a hinge and slammed into place, locking with the back half to form one complete long-arm. In the same motion, Zefaris also pulled the bayonet from behind her belt, locking it onto the lug at the end of the gun. From its muzzle issued leaden fury and sparks of lightning as the blonde operated its sliding mechanism, slamming off shot after shot that ripped chunks out of the nearest target block.
Sig had seen lever-action weapons in action, he had even seen weird, custom lever pistols designed for one-handed operation, but this thing was something in a whole other league. The sliding handle was one piece with the trigger, allowing Zefaris to run the action without ever taking her finger off the trigger, even to just keep it held down and thus cause the shotgun to fire instantly when the next shell was chambered.
She had fired four shots from the strange and somewhat terrifying evolution of the Grekurian blunderbuss by the time Pentacle was reloaded, pulling it from its place and setting loose gunshot after gunshot whilst simultaneously firing the shotgun at an entirely different target, cycling its action solely through the strength of one arm. In moments she had emptied Pentacle into the target block, once more holstering it before firing the last remaining shell in the shotgun, reaching for the side of the blackstone loader and just pulling a long, metal tube out of the device which she somehow used to… Reload the shotgun?
Turning around, she finally acknowledged his presence as he approached, beaming happily at him, “Hey Sig, how’d’you like my new toy?”
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“It’s a little uh… Intimidating, yes, that’s the word,” the historian chuckled nervously, still holding a degree of respect for scatterguns - the same manner of respect one would hold for a wild animal, at least.
Zefaris seemed to find it amusing, retorting, “C’mon, it’s not as if you haven’t been doing some downright spooky stuff yourself. Whatever it is you’re doing, your version doesn’t even look like a Victory Demon anymore - a walking reactor, more like, what with the bright light and almost white flames. Hell, I saw what you’ve been doing with those beamwands I bought you - how’d you get them to make solid blades?”
“I- Ah, see, heheh…” he stuttered, having been entirely unaware that Zefaris had observed him training at the unholy hour of night he had chosen specifically in an attempt to indirectly avoid such observation. “...I don’t know myself, not really. I just sort of tried putting two and two together based on what I already knew and it sort of worked out, mainly getting a grip on my condition and improving my mental state, dealing with the baggage attached to that whole mess. The beamwands - I talked to that islander that was around for the vetting trials, he gave me some pointers.”
“Pointers, huh? Come on, I want to see them in action properly,” Zef prodded, exuding a bright cheerfulness the whole time, of the sort that the bald historian had. It seemed there were only two things that put her in that mood, firearms being one of them. With no reason to deny, Sig sighed and pulled one of the beamwands from behind his belt.
Sig took a deep breath, before starting to breathe rapidly to get his heart beating. Since he only needed to power the beamwand for a little bit, he didn’t need to fully enter the Victory Demon state, the heat rising in his body as he faked exertion and focused on drawing it out. Even now the smell of smoke and blood filled his nostrils, even now his beard was the first to smolder. The blackened skin of his right arm took on the glow of a dying ember, the glow brightening and spreading as small tongues of flame erupted from his skin like they would from a piece of damp firewood.
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