The Lesser One Chapter 9: Wherewithal

If you Have the Wherwithal

“So, I heard you had your first practical exam,” says Dr. Barrimore, as he sits in his lab staring at something through a microscope.

I nod, donning my lab coat and safety gear. “I got injured. I almost made everyone else in my group fail.”

“Hm,” says Dr. Barrimore. “You succeeded, though.”

“Only because everyone else acted like good teammates.”

Dr. Barrimore adjusts his microscope. “Isn’t that the best we can hope for, though?” He says.

I sigh, sitting down next to Dr. Barrimore. “I suppose so.”

“Electic Acid, ten ml,” says Dr. Barrimore.

I prepare a suspension of Electic Acid and hand it to Dr. Barrimore. He takes it without moving much more than his arm. I catch him looking in my direction for a split second. “Hrm,” he says. He takes a pipette and draws out a small amount of the Electic Acid. With a careful touch, he drops about half a milliliter onto the slide he is looking at.

“Yes, yes,” he says, writing something down with his free hand. “Just as I expected.”

I wait for him to explain what he is doing, if he wants to.

He doesn’t.

I wait for another order. Dr. Barrimore spends an inordinate amount of time dropping various liquids onto a microscope slide. I have nothing to do except twiddle my thumbs.

Dr. Barrimore takes several beakers and pours a concoction into a potion bottle. It is at first green, then blue, then red. He looks at it against the light. His smile is broad, and I get a weird feeling from it. “Are you ready to do a little bit of off-the-record experimentation?” he asks.

“Erm, okay?” I say. “As long as it doesn’t kill me or make me sick.”

“Tell no one about this,” says Dr. Barrimore. He hands me the bottle. “Drink it,” he says. His smile changes. “Only if you want to, though. Do you want to help an old man make a difference?”

I nod. I’m not sure what he means by his statement, but I’ve been working long enough with Dr. Barrimore to know that he is exceptionally careful and thoughtful. He wouldn’t give me anything that had even a remote chance of hurting me.

I drink the potion. It tastes a little like orange juice and a lot like medicine. When it is gone, I hand it to Dr. Barrimore.

Nothing happens.

“How long does it take to have an effect?” I say.

Dr. Barrimore nods once. “It already has. However, you won’t see the results until several conditions are met.”

“Okay,” I say. “What are they?”

“One,” says Dr. Barrimore, holding up a finger. “You are in mortal danger.”

“Well that’s—”

“I’m not done yet,” says Dr. Barrimore. He holds up two fingers. “Two. You have to be in the presence of a strong psionic energy, such as from a powerful monster.”

I wait for the third.

“Third,” says Dr. Barrimore. “You must be prepared to have everything about your existence changed.”

“Okay,” I say. “I guess. I don’t really get what all those conditions are for, though. Can’t the potion just take effect?”

“There are a lot of scientific reasons for these three conditions,” says Dr. Barrimore. “Would you like to hear them?”

I nod. “Do the best you can to explain it in words a high schooler can understand.”

“Well, psions are the manifestation of anima. You’ll learn this in Spirit Anatomy.” He holds up a hand. “Before you ask, yes, that is the same anima as your spirit. Having an anima spirit is as if your spirit is plain yogurt or vanilla ice cream. A pure manifestation of psionic power that has no lens through which to distort itself. Thus, it is discounted.” Dr. Barrimore puts down his hand. “Anima has a mind of its own. The “weave,” or the distribution of anima throughout reality, is hypersensitive to thoughts and emotions. It could be called the crystallization of intent. Thus, in order to create a large disruption in the anima weave, a strong emotion needs to be present. This can be any emotion, good or evil. This is the origin of the first condition.” He holds up two fingers. “The second condition is based on the fact that powerful monsters tend to create a sort of anima gravity around them, enhancing and changing its effects.” He holds up three fingers. “And the third condition is for you to think about. If you choose to activate the latent energy of this potion, your entire life will change.”

I understand everything Dr. Barrimore has said. It makes a lot more sense than I thought it would.

“So what does this potion do?” I say.

“I do not know,” says Dr. Barrimore.

“Then why did you give it to me?”

Dr. Barrimore holds up his hands. “Just like everyone has a different spirit, potions made of anima have totally different effects on different people. Thus, I cannot guess what effect it will have on you.”

“Can you at least tell me what it might do?”

Dr. Barrimore seems to think for a moment. He shrugs. “All I know is that you will be very special, from a conventional standpoint.”

“That doesn’t help,” I say.

Dr. Barrimore shrugs again. “You drank it already, so I can’t change anything. Just trust my judgement.”

I nod. “Okay. So, will you be measuring me?”

Dr. Barrimore shook his head. “Not until the change happens.”

I get up, looking at the clock. “It’s been this long?” I say. It’s about time for me to go to club—time has passed much quicker than I thought it would.

Dr. Barrimore turns to his microscope. “If you start to feel as if your pinky finger is turning green, come to my lab immediately.”

“Um … Okay,” I say. As I am leaving through the door, Dr. Barrimore speaks again.

“And, um, if you happen to suddenly believe that you are a papaya, well, if you have the wherewithal … Come to the lab.”

I can’t help but chuckle, even though the reality of the statement is rather frightening. “I will,” I say. I leave the room.

I take the elevator to the floor where the shooting club room is located. Dres and Rey are standing in the corner of the shooting range, talking.

“No, I’m telling you, it’s more complicated than you think. It’s not just a run and gun game where you shoot generic bad guys. It’s so much more than that!” Dres is talking to Rey and gesticulating. He catches sight of me. “You know Bad Happening, right?” he says. He points towards Rey. “This idiot thinks that Bad Happening is a bad game.”

“I’ve never played it before,” I say. “But I’ve read reviews.” I walk to the rack where the bows are stowed and pick mine up. Walking to the range, I look at Dres. “Do you play a lot of video games?”

Dres grins. “Of course. They call me Dreadfingers.”

Rey elbows Dres. “That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But it’s true!” says Dres.

I string my bow. “All right,” I say. “I’ll believe you.” I knock an arrow. “But regionals are coming up, and we don’t have much time to play.”

“All right, all right,” says Dres, as he brings his bow to the range.

We spend the rest of the night shooting on the range. I am getting a lot better than I ever thought I would be at this.

At one in the morning, I unstring my bow and head towards my dorm.

The elevator makes a stop at ground floor. When the doors open, everything is in chaos.

“Where are the Black Cats?” yells a woman, one of the professors here.

“We don’t know! They must be in the center of it! There’s a blackout bubble!”

Dozens of adventurers are running back and forth in the lounge. At least ten people are laying on cots on the ground, some of them bleeding profusely. Sirens wail in the background, and gunshots pop in the distance.

“What the hell happened here?” I ask, as I step out of the elevator. I didn’t mean to; it just happened automatically.

Ms. Bossman grabs me by the shoulder. “Markus. You’re awake. Grab everyone in the Riding Valkyries and bring them down here.”

“What—” I say.

Ms. Bossman’s eyes are filled with fire. “An A-class portal prolapsed.”

“What?” I say. “How did that happen?”

“It opened in a warehouse on the bay. It was a stealth type. No one noticed it.” Ms. Bossman turns away from me. “Hurry! We need everyone we can get!”

I hear people yelling from the other side of the room. “Balrog! It’s a balrog!”

Shivers go down my spine. A Balrog is the ultimate manifestation of demonic terror. Only the S-class tiamut is scarier, and those only occur in S-class dungeons.

But, an A-class opening in the middle of New York? I’ve never heard of anything like it.

The power shuts off. Emergency lights flicker on after a moment, but I know I won’t be taking the elevator. The ground shakes and a roar of hellish proportions resonates through the air. Tanks roll past the Association building, and helicopters fly overhead. The blast of a jet aircraft screams from above.

I take out my cell phone and hope for a signal. There is one. I call Evan. The phone rings twice.

“Hello?” says Evan. “What the hell is happening? Markus, is that you?”

“Come down!” I say. “Gather everyone on the floor. Wake everyone. There’s a balrog in the city!”

“Well shit,” says Evan. There is silence. “Where are you?”

“On the ground floor,” I say. “I’ll be fighting on the streets.”

“We’ll be there as soon as possible,” says Evan. I hear cloth rustling—he must be getting dressed.

“Be careful,” I say. “The power is out. You won’t be able to take the elevator.”

“Thanks,” says Evan. There is a click.

I run up to Jane Bossman. “What happened to Mr. Tuffman?”

“He’s on the front lines,” says Ms. Bossman. “He’s with the first line of defense. The Upper West Side. You’re just an apprentice, so you should stay here and clean up any fiends that make it through the lines.”

“I need my bow,” I say.

Ms. Bossman picks up a bow from beside a wounded adventurer. She hands it to me. “Be careful. Since we’re in the real world, healing magic won’t work. I doubt you’ll be able to do anything the military can’t.”

I examine the bow Ms. Bossman gave me. It’s a compound bow, with a system of pulleys and wheels holding the string. I pick up a quiver of arrows that is leaning against a low wall.

“I’ll be off,” I say.

“Not without me you won’t,” says Esla, approaching me from the main hall. Behind her is Corbin. Both of them are equipped with armor. Esla carries a long leather whip.

“I didn’t see you,” I say.

“That’s because we’ve been out there,” says Esla. “The civilian adventure patrol was among the first responders.” She rolls up her whip and places it under her arm. “It’s lucky that you’re here,” she says. “We need more manpower. There are thousands of lesser devils running around. The military and national guard can’t even handle half of them.”

“Even with tanks?” I say.

Esla shakes her head. “Even a lesser devil has the power to destroy a tank. They just aren’t equipped to deal with magic.” She turns. “Follow us.”

I hold my bow in my hand and hurry after them. The minute I leave the building I am faced with chaos. Hundreds of people are running away from the place where the explosions are happening.

I have a sudden deep feeling of dread. My parents live in the direction away from which everyone is running. I take out my cell phone with my free hand. Moving through my speed dial, I select my mom’s phone number.

As I run towards the action, I hold my phone to my ear. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. There is no response.

“Shit,” I say, placing my phone back in my pocket.

I won’t be able to use the subway at a time like this. Pushing through the crowds, with Esla and Corbin behind me, I race for my home.

At the end of the street I’m running down, a single lesser devil stands, shooting fire out of its mouth.

A military helicopter blazes overhead. Air pushes down on me, giving the world a sense of heaviness. Papers and trash flutter everywhere.

A ridiculously loud “Bruuuup” explodes from the helicopter’s main gun. The lesser devil is forced backwards, but even the full force of a chain gun can’t penetrate its magical defense layer.

A lesser devil is a B-class monster. It’s about the toughest enemy the Riding Valkyries could take as a team.

But it’s not an entire team facing this devil. It’s just me, Esla, and Corbin.

Perhaps this encounter was what Dr. Barrimore, in a fit of clairvoyance, had prepped me for.

I knock an arrow to my bow. I am fully prepared to make this my last stand.

Esla stands beside me. “I can go all out, right?” she says. A yellow ring, adorned with ancient lettering, expands around her waist. She holds her hands up and a violent wind rises from her hands.

I remember that I never asked Esla what her spirit’s rank was. Judging the power radiating from her body it must be at least a high C.

Esla yells and a huge maelstrom of wind picks up, flowing through the skyscraper canyon with the force of a thousand waterfalls. Debris, picked up by the gale, flies past us with the power of explosive shrapnel. It bends around the three of us, heading straight for the devil.

“Holy cow!” yells Corbin, over the sound of the wind.

“I know!” yells Esla, seeming surprised even at her own strength.

A hundred metal bits—the fractured remains of a dozen empty cars—perforate the devil. The devil is thrown off balance.

My anima vision catches a single spot, about a millimeter thick, where the demon’s vitals are showing. Without thinking about it I knock an arrow and fire.

The arrow flies true and straight, the wind backing it. The arrowhead slips into the small point and buries itself to the end of the shaft. The devil grunts, falling to its knees.

Corbin pulls out his steel rod, shapes it into a javelin, and throws it with a mighty swish. The javelin pierces the devil’s face, spraying blood all over the concrete. The devil collapses. Blue blood pools on the ground.

“There are thousands of these things?” I say, incredulous.

An Abrams tank rumbles down the intersection in front of us. It stops, and the hatch opens.

“Get out of here!” yells the commander. “Run!”

Esla holds up her adventurer badge. “We’re adventurers!” she yells.

The tank commander does a double take. “Then get on board! There’s a critical point on the line! We need all the manpower we can get!”

A fighter jet zooms past, letting loose a pair of sidewinders. They trail smoke through the fire-lit night and head towards the site where the balrog is rampaging through the city. We’re closer than makes me comfortable—and my family is even closer, if they haven’t already evacuated.

I place my concern for them behind my concern for the rest of the city. I climb onto the tank along with Esla and Corbin.

My pinky finger begins turning green. A beautiful, radiant, mossy sort of green.

I groan. Oh, no. This is not going to end well if everything goes as it seems it will.