Hector snorted a laugh. He considered coating the inside of the helmet as well, but he figured it fit his head snugly enough already. He did add smoother corners to the jaw, however.
‘Hmm. What else can you do with your iron?’
‘Uh... I’m not sure, actually...’
‘Try creating something from scratch. Like a replica of your helm.’
His brow receded at the idea, but he nodded and returned the helm to its satchel. He rubbed his hands together a moment, then slowly pulled them apart until it was as if he were holding an invisible ball between them.
Gradually, he could see the dust appear on his skin, gathering into powdery chunks, then into one larger mass, like grains of sand forming a tiny hill and climbing it.
But it didn’t take shape properly. Hector squinted as the iron amassed into an amorphous lump, far too small and nothing like the image in his head. He frowned at his work.
‘Wow,’ said Garovel. ‘You really did start shitting out metal turds.’
‘It doesn’t look like...’ His frown deepened. ‘Actually, it kinda does...’ He let the lump drop from his hand and made it disintegrate before it touched the pavement. ‘Specific shapes are too difficult,’ he said. ‘Just giving things a thin coating is way easier.’
‘I suppose that’s to be expected,’ said Garovel. ‘It’s like the difference between tracing a picture and drawing something completely new. But your skill is definitely growing. And iron coating could prove immensely useful. How much coating can you create?’
‘Let’s see.’ Hector stuck his arms out as if hugging the air in front of him. He concentrated, and the metal began to swirl around his fingertips. Iron powder collected together, covering his hands completely in lustrous metal, running up his wrists, reaching for his elbows. It stopped before touching his shoulders, however, and he shut his eyes, shaking his head. ‘I think that’s all I can get...’
A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every night at midnight PST by ~400 words.