Page 4176

But he hadn't much cared for organics, either, despite diving into various fields for that, as well.

No, his passion truly lay in physics. In the fundamental laws. And the realms beyond. How they might bend. And more importantly, how they might be bent.

That was the birthing principle behind the Red Rift, after all: to create a Forge that could not just reach out and touch those realms, but also allow him to do so, personally.

Unfortunately, the Red Rift had fulfilled that role far more effectively than Lozaro had ever imagined. And it had undergone so many changes of its own. First by devouring ravenously. Then by BEING devoured itself. Then by subsuming its devourer. And then transforming into an altogether unrecognizable entity.

Calling the Forge a problem, at this point, didn't even begin to describe it, anymore. Lozaro didn't know if the Rift could have ever truly been considered a child of his own creation, but these days, that notion was especially far from the truth.

In the beginning, it was obviously Hamish's brainchild and labor of love, but after he went completely mad, Lozaro decided to bring his work to fruition. So then was its creator truly? For the longest time, Lozaro had boldly claimed that it was his own, but the fact that he had yet to create a second Forge, despite many earnest attempts, did not bode well for his credibility.

And perhaps the Rift had begun e to sense that uncertainty in him--and resented him for it, too. He'd read the historical accounts of breakdowns between Forges and their creators, but he'd never expected to be as pitifully simple as a lack of confidence.

Simple to begin with, at least. Not so much anymore.

Not when the Forge was walking around in human form, talking to people in plain sight.

Giving them orders, too.

Lozaro eyed Jercash from afar, as he had often done in recent years, wondering again just how much the Devil's Knife understood about his own nature.

With that man, it was almost impossible to be sure of anything, but as far Lozaro had been able to tell, Jercash seemed unaware. Which was a maddening thing, quite frankly, in so many different ways.

That much power. Locked away in the mind and body of a human being. Dormant, perhaps. Or just manifesting in ways unseen.

Next page on the 7th

Thanks, guys, as alawys.

Page 4175

Technically, this wasn't the first time the Lantern had ever attempted to make something all on its own, but this was the most mass that it had ever produced. The last one had been more than a decade ago--and barely bigger than a golf ball, besides.

This melted lump was the size of a watermelon.

At the very least, though, it demonstrated a certain level of enthusiasm from the Lantern. It wanted something from him.

"What's gotten you so excited?" he asked. "We just made something yesterday. Is that not enough for you?"

The whole chamber lit up, which was a bit of a dangerous sign, Luann knew, but he held firm and listened for the response. If it was doing this, it must have been feeling quite strongly indeed.

Stop making swords.

The glow diminished harmlessly, and yet, somehow, Luann still felt a bit wounded. "I... I haven't only been..." But as he thought back on his last ten projects, he found himself unable to finish that sentence.

The item yesterday had indeed been a component for another planned upgrade to the Blade of Perdition. Then there was the Knife of Knowing. And the Shining Cleaver. And the Punctioner. The Cliff Maker. The Kitcheneer. The Twin Blades of Boros. The Quintet of Quentin. And then, of course, there were the Spiraling Swords--a whole catalog of blades unto itself, numerous enough to arm a platoon.

Hmm. When WAS the last time he made something else?

A gust of wind swirled through the chamber, rustling his black hair.

"Okay, okay," said Luann. "What would YOU like to make, then?"

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Lozaro's gangly hands worked quickly but with precision. Too many years of practice had rendered even the complex work of repairing a transformer into a rote and mindless activity for him. The damage was obvious. The parts in need of replacement, obvious. The connecting circuits, too. Obvious.

He hadn't built this transformer himself, but he might as well have for how easily it laid its secrets bare to him. Though, if he had, then it wouldn't have broken like this in the first place. Shoddy workmanship like this would never have left his table.

Electrical engineering wasn't one of his areas of expertise. Working with machines had never been anything more than a passing fancy to him, really. Fun little puzzles but not much more than that.