Chapter 3 Reforging
Perturabo didn't like his tone.
The boy thought he was experiencing a great humiliation. If the sharp awl in his hand could pierce Morse's throat, then Morse's throat should have been torn out by it quickly, just like a wild dog tearing apart its prey, breaking the neck bones and disemboweling the internal organs.
Morse had no doubt of this, he just thought that maybe Perturabo would do it more civilly. A person who is proud of his level of knowledge is often constrained in his actions.
Perturabo's shoulders were raised nervously, the dark pupils in his blue eyes dilated slightly, and his brows were frowning without concealment.
He glanced at the rough-forged sharp awl in his hand, then looked around at the surrounding living circle made of stone and soil, and suddenly relaxed.
"You are jealous of me, Morse." The boy was proud and threw the pointed cone to the ground. "You are jealous of my knowledge and my ability. Look at your primitive way of life and your failed crafts. Your mud house is far inferior to the high walls and castles I will build; in front of me, you are a backward barbarian, wearing a Ridiculous fabric, messy hair, torn clothes, you are nothing but your inexplicable strength."
Perturabo raised his hand and raised his voice without permission: "Where is your manor? Where is your workshop? Don't tell me that you are still beating branches and trunks with wooden sticks to get fallen olives, and don't tell me that you can only use your feet to crush grapes in pots to get the juice. Could this be the black cloth you use? For shoes? Where are your scrolls? Are you still cutting the long stems of sedge into thin slices and laboriously pressing them with a hammer? Into paper? Morse, you can't even build a perfect sewer."
Morse lowered his head, covered the lower half of his face with his palms, and breathed out softly.
Perturabo interpreted his small gesture as poking a sore spot. His fighting spirit became stronger, and this expression made his demeanor finally unified with the childishness of his body.
"You humiliate me like this, don't you want to successfully use me by suppressing my self-confidence? This is everything an ignorant person like you can do to me."
Morse is not sure How long can I control the tendency of my shoulders to tremble?
"You ask me what I'm afraid of, are you trying to manipulate my fear? Then I'm going to tell you that what I know is a higher thing that you can't see."
Mo Else saw a proud and cold head rising continuously. Perhaps in Perturabo's eyes, the vortex of stars deep in the clouds were converging and gathering.
“It was the whirlpool of stars, the bruises and scars of the sky. My great destiny awaited in the stars, and my strength and potential were certain. I fought for a realm far greater than Olympia. Birth. You will never touch my height."
Perturabo became calm and proud. "I know all this," he said.
Morse raised his head, repeated a fixed breathing rhythm, and waited for the smile to disappear from his face.
Perturabo's counterattack was full of attacks on non-existent weaknesses, sounding as if the child could not live without contempt for others.
He was so afraid of the whirlpool of stars in his mouth that he had to overwhelm it with false self-comfort.
But Morse would not ignore the praise he felt for Perturabo - not for Perturabo himself, but for his creator.
How did the craftsman create such a work of art that combined human and inhuman features?
Morse didn’t know.
At the same time, he was sure that he would keep Perturabo.
"You are different from what I imagined." He did not hide the teasing in his tone.
Perturabo was close enough to him that he could put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
Then, press down.
"You!"
Perturabo's exclamation was blocked by psychic energy, but he had no time to care. All the boy's strength was used to fight against the heavy pressure on his shoulders. His feet were spread apart to bear the weight, and the frost that had condensed on the land that had not seen rain for a long time was melted by the heat of his skin. He tried his best to raise his head and look directly at Morse, his face turned red from the force.
“Do you know what you remind me of?” Morse shook his head slightly, stretched out his left hand, and the sharp cone flew into his palm.
He pressed the awl against one side of Perturabo's maxilla, exactly where he had smashed the face of the statue of Perseus.
His control is precise enough, and he knows the shortest distance without hurting anyone. If Perturabo had the guts to rush forward, he wouldn't mind repairing it afterwards.
“Reminds me of children from four to twelve years old. They develop their first value system in their respective families. Their families will say, ‘You are a unique baby,’ and they believe it. And when they When they come into contact with each other, they will try to maintain this idea."
"The first child said: I know more than you. I know that trees can bear fruit and that handicraft workshops can produce clay pots. , salt comes from sea water.”
“The second child said disdainfully: What do you know! I also know that people who disobey the prophets of God’s religion will be put into the rotating wheel by dark judgment, and slaves will grow from the opposite city. "Come out."
"The third child laughed: There is one thing you must not be able to do with me. My parents were all executed by the tyrants, what about you!"
He put away his smile and said coldly: "Which kind do you think you are, Perturabo?"
Suddenly, Perturabo raised his hands and wrapped his fingers tightly around Morse's neck. The forearm is like a tightening iron ring. The boy's strength was amazing. After Morse removed his guard, the crisp sound of bone cracking immediately sounded. A hot burning sensation rose from the inside of his arm, and the black cloth became damp. The energy crackled at Morse's fingertips, and part of it was directed at Perturabo. The boy let out a painful groan, and the strength of the iron ring-like palm relaxed. The other part circled upwards along Morse's arm, repairing the break. skeleton.
"You are a combination of all of the above." Morse said lowly, "You think you know more, you understand more."
Sharp At the top of the cone, a drop of blood seeped out and flowed down the edge.
"You think you are higher than mortals, so you despise mortals."
"When you find that the first two are not necessarily true, you have to say: Look, I am a complex of tragedy and sublimity! I How great!”
Perturabo’s stoic expression was broken, just like the broken statue of a hero. A sound more like a scream than a roar came from his mouth.
“You don’t know me at all!” he shouted, “You don’t know anything!”
Morse’s palm on his shoulder spread out more gently and rubbed it soothingly. He rubbed the side of the boy's neck to signal him to relax.
"Next, I hope you stay awake, Perturabo. Although I won't hurt you." The sharp cone flew away from his hand, and he did not answer Perturabo's question.
Morse put his hands on the side of Perturabo's neck, forcing him to look him in the eyes.
Perturabo was right about one thing, he didn't know the boy before him yet; but that didn't matter.
"I will reforge you," Morse said.
Psychic energy gathered in his body. It was the first time in countless years that he mobilized such a huge power. Electric shock-like tremors surged and burned. Dark blue and golden light spots alternated in front of his eyes. There was no such thing as The flames burned with the ashes of the snow.
He dived into the depths of his soul, mobilizing the echoes of power and emotion from the bottomless whirlpool, and the multiple noises overwhelmed the beating of the pulse in his eardrums.
Morse could vaguely hear the tearing howl of hunger and thirst in the storm more than a hundred years ago. As usual, he ignored it to avoid an accidental glance from the invisible thing.
He vaguely guessed the truth about the whirlpool of stars mentioned by Perturabo. He pinches away concrete thoughts before they take shape.
The first lock is like a veil covering the eyes, separating the things Perturabo fears from having anything to do with him. A golden silk thread was broken, and four filthy chains were rusted.
This is more difficult than Morse initially imagined. If this is the handiwork of Perturabo's creator, then the scope of candidates can be further narrowed.
The second lock is like a horse wrapped around him, suppressing the boy's growth instinct and extraordinary body.
Morse had no intention of allowing Perturabo to completely return to mortal form, so he did not rashly touch the other party's genetic spiral. Within ten years, the growth rate of this magical creation will be back on track.
He took a hard breath, and his skin was cracking under the black cloth.
The third lock is shrouded in fog, blinding the excessive knowledge in Perturabo's mind. If the accumulation of knowledge precedes the maturity of the mind, it is no longer a gift, but a curse.
Similarly, this lock will be broken over time.
The more he understood the structure of Perturabo, the more surprised and delighted Mors was. Even with all his might, he was unable to touch even one iota of its essence.
If he didn't fight for more, his psychic powers would still only be able to change Perturabo's appearance.
Fortunately, this is enough.
Morse backed up until his back was against the wall of the house. The murals on the walls bleed.
"Your Creator has not finished his work. Perturabo, you are an unworthy tool."
He laughed genuinely.
"And how should a qualified craftsman deal with steel that has failed to be forged? I choose to melt it back into molten iron, quench, beat, cool, and repeat."
By Morse Sohn After opening, Perturabo stumbled to the ground, his palms scratching wounds among the sand and stones.
He stared in disbelief at the scratches on his palms that had not healed for a long time, and real fear easily captured him.
(End of this chapter)