Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Nine: 'Behold, thy long-muted Fury...'
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The Anvil buzzed with an electric pulse.
Daro Bright, the Black Artisan of Vantalay, awoke with a start.
Agh. He'd fallen asleep on the floor again. Too many hours on his feet, rushing about. He must've collapsed from exhaustion.
And Marlizia hadn't even bothered to wake him this time, either. That was her way of telling him that she was done helping him put off sleep so that he could keep working.
Eh, she was probably right, as usual. He wondered where she she'd gone off to. She didn't much care to hang around in his subdimensional workshops, even though she often did exactly that. They seemed to make her uneasy.
Or perhaps that was the Anvil's doing.
It pulsed again as he looked groggily toward it.
A massive, hulking thing. In truth, it was more like ten anvils combined into one, but each anvil could serve a different function, and they could even morph into different shapes for the all-important purposes of containment and precision work.
At the moment, those anvils were all united in the shape of a giant metal orb, crackling with electric energy.
Which gave Daro pause.
That wasn't how he'd left it. He was still a little groggy, sure, but not that much.
Moreover, he could see the great orb rippling like water along its polished surface. And the electricity arcing around it was growing in intensity, too. Leaping out toward him.
He stood up just as a bolt of lightning snapped across his face.
It didn't hurt, but it didn't exactly tickle, either.
"Hey," he said in Valgan, a little annoyed. "What's the matter with you?"
And to his further surprise, he didn't even have to touch it in order to receive an answer.
You sleep too long, Father.
Daro just stared at it with wide eyes.
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Morgunov groaned as he rolled over. He hadn't had it this bad in a long time. Exhaustion and pain all over. Even Bool was still too weak to provide much help. The reaper needed rest, and so did he.
But his mind didn't want to hear that. It wanted to think and plan. It wanted to do stuff. It was tired of being cooped up. All the luxury in the world wasn't worth a damn when he felt this frustrated.
Dozer sure did know how to live, though. This Obsidian Shell of his was quite the vessel.
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