Chapter 121

Animachina’s Purpose

Powers expressed Willpower. Willpower expressed powers. It wasn’t merely a passive attribute protecting oneself from hostile superpowers.

The thought crystalized with sudden clarity. Hjordis had demonstrated it with flames coating her arm. He’d just done it with electricity flooding his gauntlet. Not commanding the gauntlets through Technopathy. Not manipulating it with Metallokinesis. He’d channeled Electrokinesis directly into the material itself, and his Will had gone with it.

He’d done something similar before. Many times, in his workshop, experimenting with Animachina. Trying to understand what the power actually did beyond the Ensoulment technique he’d created. He’d pushed the power into machines without tearing off pieces of his soul. Filled them with what almost felt like nothing, then withdrawn it. Testing and probing. Searching for some measurable effect.

But he’d done so in a sterile environment. No threats. No pressure. Without an opposing Will to test it against.

The turrets floated above him, still tracking targets and firing in controlled bursts. He reached for them with Animachina, not in the way he would with Technopathy’s command or Metallokinesis’s grip.

He pushed his power into them the way he’d done hundreds of times in his workshop. The connection snapped into place. His awareness expanded. They became extensions of himself, as natural as his arms.

But the strain on his powers was great.

If Technopathy carried his thoughts, Metallokinesis the physical control, then Animachina was his Will.

But as he’d learned when he first awakened Electrokinesis, power came from the soul. And it was being stretched to its limits.

He was flying while holding barriers and turrets in place, commanding them while simultaneously tracking Droney’s fight beyond the shields. Too many threads.

Alexander weaved to avoid a pair of qi blasts that cut through his defenses, almost catching him.

Alexander activated the Cultivator’s Core.

The difference was immediate. His powers had always worked better together with the core creating synergy, but now he felt something more. Animachina flowed from his soul where all powers resided, through the Core, and out into the turrets. Technopathy and Metallokinesis carried with it, riding across the distance like a wave. Then the powers cycled back, with minimal energy lost.

The strain he felt maintaining the three connections to the turrets simultaneously faded to almost nothing. The Core wasn’t just linking his powers anymore. It was cultivating them, recycling the energy he’d normally waste projecting his Will outward.

Willpower expressed through Animachina was the missing piece.

Controlling objects separately, individually with Metallokinesis had always been a challenge. They responded easily now, each of them repositioning slightly.

His thoughts flowed into them through Technopathy without conscious effort. Commands became intent became action in a seamless chain.

The targeting shifted. Purpose replaced the basic tracking functions they possessed. The turrets swiveled with fluid grace, barrels locking onto cultivators he deemed more threatening.

Energy blasts erupted from all three weapons. The shots burned brighter than before, more lethal. His Will rode with each pulse, pressing against the world itself.

A cultivator’s shield shattered under the combined impact. The follow-up shot caught him in the chest and he dropped without a sound.

Alexander reached out to one of his drones with Animachina. The connection formed, and suddenly he was perceiving through four machines simultaneously. The strain increased, noticeable but manageable with his Core continuing to cycle the power. He added a second drone. Then a third.

Pain lanced through his chest.

He gasped, the sensation sharp enough to make him falter, dropping a few feet in the air. He released control over the third drone.

Five machines. That was his current limit. Maybe six if he pushed through the pain, but not sustainably. The Core helped tremendously, but even that had limits.

The two empowered drones shot together toward one of the flying-sword cultivators. The difference was stark. These drones moved with purpose, shield-blades extending and retracting in perfect synchronization with his intent.

Together they carved wounds into their target, who immediately tried to gain distance, flying backwards while sending out qi blasts. The drones pursued, trying to flank him.

Alexander felt the connections stretch, growing thin. Then they snapped. They instantly reverted to Droney’s control, still functional but lesser.

Five machines with roughly a fifty-meter range. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

On the mountainside, several more cultivators had fallen. When he’d told the others they were weak, he hadn’t meant it arrogantly. They just felt more like humans than superhumans to his senses.

The turrets continued tracking them. Another tried to dodge, qi-enhanced reflexes carrying him behind cover, but they predicted his trajectory and fired where he would be. The blast caught him mid-leap.

A third raised both hands in a desperate ward that lasted half a second before the concentrated fire punched through.

Then the remaining cultivators broke and fled.

All three turrets stopped firing without command, interpreting his Will.

This was what Animachina did. Not create sentience. Not ensoul machines. That was a technique he’d built on its basic function. It empowered machines, linked them to him, and made them true weapons rather than tools.

He’d been building the foundation for months without understanding what he was building. Driven by a flash of insight so powerful he’d given himself his supervillain name.

But, as he’d come to understand, true superpowered growth required conflict.

Alexander turned his attention toward the sounds of combat echoing across the mountainside. Maximilian wasn’t far, perhaps a hundred meters distant and higher up the slope.

The Dragon Lord stood on his dragon’s back as it carved through the air in wide, powerful arcs.

He looked utterly untouched. And completely different.

Golden scales ran up his arms and neck. Likely elsewhere, beneath the man’s clothes, too. His eyes glowed the same metallic gold. His fingers had elongated, tipped with black claws that gleamed in the fading light.

Three elite cultivators pressed him from different angles. One was missing his left arm below the elbow, the stump hastily wrapped in bandages that couldn’t fully contain the bleeding. Another bore severe burns across his chest, his robes charred and melted into the wounds. The third showed less obvious damage but moved carefully as if nursing broken ribs.

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All three were bloodied. All three were coordinating their attacks with desperate teamwork.

Maximilian caught a sword thrust aimed at his throat. His clawed hand wrapped around the blade, stopping it cold. The dragon continued forward, wings beating steadily. The cultivator was pushed backward through the air, his flying sword straining to hold its position against the dragon’s momentum and Maximilian’s grip on his weapon.

He tried to pull back. Maximilian held firm, using the dragon’s movement to force the cultivator further off balance. Then he twisted sharply, wrenching the weapon free from his opponent’s grip.

A small square barrier materialized in the air beside the disarmed cultivator. A chain erupted from its surface.

The thick metal links shot forward, punching through the cultivator’s side just below his ribs. He gasped, hands clutching at the chain. Then it retracted, yanking him off his flying sword.

The barrier vanished. The chain disappeared.

The cultivator plummeted toward the mountainside below. His sword spiraled after him, chasing the falling man.

The remaining two elites attacked simultaneously.

From the right, the one-armed cultivator raised his remaining hand. Qi gathered in his palm, condensing into three distinct spheres. He released them, each tracking toward Maximilian as though guided.

Three barriers appeared.

They materialized in the path of the qi blasts. The first blast struck, and the barrier shattered, fragments dissolving into nothing. The second blast met the same fate. Then the third.

The burned cultivator flew in from Maximilian’s left, another sword gripped in both hands. The blade glowed with qi that left trails through the air. He closed the distance rapidly, angling the strike toward the Dragon Lord’s exposed side.

Alexander’s turrets rotated smoothly, barrels tracking the threat. They opened fire as one, energy blasts firing in rapid succession.

He twisted mid-flight, sword blurring through defensive patterns. The blade carved through one blast, then another, then three more in quick succession. His qi-infused weapon cut the attacks apart with each strike, movements flowing together in practiced sequences.

But the turrets didn’t stop firing. More bolts came, forcing faster cuts, tighter movements.

He slashed again, and again, the rhythm breaking down as he struggled to keep pace. The concentrated fire gave him no opening, no space to complete his attack run. He pulled up and away, abandoning the strike entirely as the turrets continued to fire.

The burned cultivator found himself alone in the air against Maximilian.

Alexander saw barriers materialize around the cultivator in every direction. Above, below, left, right, front, back. Eight translucent squares forming a cage with gaps between each face. The cultivator twisted mid-air, searching for an escape path.

Maximilian didn’t give him the chance.

Chains erupted from every barrier simultaneously.

Thick metal links shot inward from all directions. They punched through his chest, his back, his limbs, his throat. The cultivator’s mouth opened, but no sound escaped. His sword fell from nerveless fingers. His qi flickered and died.

The chains retracted and vanished with the barriers.

The body and the flying sword dropped toward the mountainside, trailing blood.

The dragon was already climbing, wings beating with powerful strokes as it pursued the fleeing cultivator above.

Maximilian stood on its back, perfectly balanced, golden eyes tracking his prey.

Alexander turned his attention downward.

The falling cultivator had caught his sword. The blade had reached him, responding to his desperate call just seconds before he would have crashed against the mountainside. He’d managed to right himself, standing on the flat of the weapon as it arrested his descent.

Droney and the surviving drones were already on him.

They came from different angles, shield-blades extended. The cultivator raised his remaining hand, qi gathering for a defensive blast. Droney struck first, ramming into his shoulder and throwing off his aim. The qi blast went wild, dissipating harmlessly against stone.

The other drones converged. Shield-blades carved into his side, his leg. He screamed, trying to maintain his balance on the sword. Blood ran down onto the blade’s surface.

Alexander’s turrets rotated downward, tracking the target. He could feel their energy reserves running low.

The cultivator tried to escape, his sword carrying him laterally away from the drones. But the weapon moved too slowly, burdened by his weight and injuries. The drones pursued easily, harrying him from multiple angles.

Alexander’s turrets opened fire.

Energy blasts rained down, catching him in the shoulder, the chest, the leg. His stance on the sword faltered. He fell, body tumbling through the air before slamming into the mountainside with a heavy impact.

The body rolled down the slope, leaving a trail of disturbed rock and dust, before coming to a rest against a cluster of boulders.

His sword, no longer controlled by its master, fell to the ground, equally lifeless.

Alexander held position, turrets still aimed at the fallen man.

Above, the dragon’s roar echoed across the mountainside. He looked up in time to see Maximilian’s chains wrap around the fleeing cultivator, dragging him from his sword.

The man struggled briefly. The dragon’s jaws closed around him.

Silence settled across their side of the battlefield.

Alexander rose through the air, ascending toward where Maximilian’s dragon circled. The third cultivator’s body fell past him, tumbling end over end toward the mountainside below.

Something caught his eye. Metal glinted on the corpses.

He reached out with Metallokinesis. Rings pulled free from the dead fingers of the three cultivators, shooting upward through the air toward him. He caught them, closing his fist around the metal bands.

They had to be storage rings. Every cultivation story mentioned them.

The dragon descended as Alexander climbed. They met in the middle, hovering high above the rocky slope. Maximilian looked at him, golden eyes glowing in the fading light. His scales gleamed.

One eyebrow raised. “Looting?”

Alexander looked at the three rings in his palm. Then back up at Maximilian.

He tossed two of them through the air in an underhand throw.

Maximilian caught them smoothly, examining the bands for a moment. He looked back at Alexander.

Then he nodded, expression serious. “You’re right. Spoils of war.”

He pocketed them without another word.

They both turned toward where Hjordis and Julia were still fighting. The battle had moved far away from the mountainside. They were barely visible, tiny figures against the darkening sky.

The dragon beat its wings, accelerating. Alexander flew alongside, barriers and turrets keeping pace. Droney and the rest of the drones followed.

As the wind whistled past him, he turned his senses to the turrets. Their energy reserves were practically depleted. Almost useless.

Alexander considered the problem a moment, then reached out with Electrokinesis.

Power flowed across the connection formed by Animachina. The electricity found the turrets, flooding into their energy cells. Power reserves began climbing slowly.

The drain hit him immediately.

Not crippling, but serious. His reserves dropped steadily as the turrets recharged. He held the current for several seconds, then cut it off. The turrets had recovered perhaps fifteen percent of their capacity. Enough to be useful. More would leave him too drained for the fight ahead.

He glanced left at Maximilian. “Nice scales.”

The Dragon Lord didn’t look at him, attention fixed forward. “I can take on partial traits from my unsummoned dragons. The more I do, the more my form shifts toward draconic.”

“You seem different,” Alexander said after a moment of silence. “A lot more sharing.”

Maximilian chuckled, the sound carrying an edge of genuine amusement. “Seems fair. I noticed you worked out your Willpower-infusing problem. I can see why you’re going to be the Machine God.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat. Just the sound of wind and wingbeats.

Then Maximilian added quietly, “I hope we don’t ever have to fight each other for real, Alexander.”

Alexander looked at him in surprise. But Maximilian’s attention remained fixed ahead, golden eyes tracking the distant combat. His expression was unreadable, scales catching the last rays of dusk.

The fight was getting closer rapidly. Details becoming clearer.

Julia and Hjordis moved through the air in coordinated patterns, twisting around each other. Ice spears materialized and launched. Fire wreathed Hjordis’s blade as she carved burning arcs through the sky. Julia closed for physical strikes, fists encased in ice. They were relentless, attacks flowing together without pause.

Both looked worse for wear. Julia’s white suit was stained red. Hjordis’s armor bore dents. They moved with the careful grace of people nursing injuries, conserving energy while maintaining pressure.

The cultivator leader looked almost untouched.

His sky-blue robes bore a single scorch mark across the shoulder, the fabric blackened and frayed. His expression had shifted from the bored calm of their first encounter to focused intensity. He defended with minimized motions, sword moving in tight patterns that parried ice and deflected fire. When Julia closed for a strike, he simply wasn’t there anymore, repositioning with practiced ease.

Alexander glanced at Maximilian.

“Me too, Max.”

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