Osmund pulled Finn to his feet, but his eyes never left Finn’s face. There was something burning in that gaze. A curiosity so intense it bordered on desperate.
Finn could practically see the questions at the tip of Osmund’s tongue. The way the short man’s jaw clenched and unclenched like he was physically restraining words from spilling out. His fingers drummed once against his thigh before he caught himself and stopped.
He wants to ask what my spell was so badly, but the contract won’t let him... Finn realized with a flicker of satisfaction.
The terms had been specific: Finn’s fragment nature and abilities remained confidential unless Finn chose to reveal them. Osmund couldn’t explicitly demand information, couldn’t interrogate, and couldn’t even fish for hints without Finn’s permission.
And watching the Greater Fragment bearer struggle with that restriction was... gratifying.
A smug smile tugged at Finn’s lips despite the ache in his shoulder where Osmund had pinned him.
Osmund caught the expression and his eyes narrowed. "You find something amusing?"
"Just appreciating the benefits of a well-negotiated contract," Finn said lightly.
The short man’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned away, walking a few paces across the platform with his hands clasped behind his back, trying to put on a false picture of composure.
But Finn wasn’t even paying him any mind again. He was instead going through their fight in his mind, cataloguing what had worked and what hadn’t.
My frame-skip caught him off guard initially, Finn thought.
He couldn’t predict it because it doesn’t follow spatial logic. But despite that, he adapted and started predicting based on probability and line of sight instead of spatial distortion patterns.
And even though I wasn’t disturbing Space, that edict of his was still able to suppress my spell’s range by making reality heavier and harder to skip through...
Thinking about the difference in power just because that was an Edict and his was a spell, Finn’s mind couldn’t help but go back to Althea.
For the second time, he truly wondered how powerful she was if she could throw around Edicts like that.
Either she had a Core Fragment of Order, or she was hiding just how experienced she actually was when she claimed to be "inexperienced."
"Your movement spell," Osmund said suddenly, turning back. His voice was carefully controlled, but that burning curiosity still leaked through. "It’s clever. I couldn’t track it..."
He paused, and Finn could see him wrestling with whether to continue or not.
"And that second spell," Osmund finally said, the words coming out like they’d been under pressure.
Finn’s smug smile widened slightly. It seemed that despite Osmund’s shock from his first spell, his second one was what truly made the man so flabbergasted.
But it wasn’t only Osmund. Beneath Finn’s satisfaction, even he was surprised too. The [Invalid] spell had worked differently than in his practice with the door lock. He’d made Osmund’s contact fail to register entirely.
It surely has something to do with giving it a spoken incantation at the spur of the moment, Finn concluded.
When I used it on the lock, it was just a mental command. But when I shouted it during the fight...
The effect had been stronger. More complete. Like verbalizing the spell had focused his intent in a way silent casting hadn’t.
And now, he was filled with an urge to try it against Osmund again. He wanted to see if he could replicate it in that manner a second time.
Which meant... to some extent, he’d be revealing aspects of his power to Osmund. Letting the short man observe how the spell functioned.
The contract terms protected him from direct interrogation. But if Finn demonstrated the spell himself, that was his choice.
It doesn’t matter as much... I need to understand it better anyway, Finn reasoned.
"Can I try my spell again?" He asked. "The second one I used against your attack."
Osmund’s head practically snapped toward him, and his eyes widened fractionally before he schooled his expression. But the eagerness was unmistakable.
"Yes," he said immediately. Then he cleared his throat. "I mean, if you wish to demonstrate it for training purposes, I’m willing to assist."
Finn almost laughed at how transparent that was. But he just nodded.
Osmund moved closer, positioning himself a few feet away. "I’ll use the same technique. Spatial compression to constrict part of your body. I’ll move slowly so you can time your spell." He raised his hand with his palm facing Finn’s chest. "Ready?"
Finn nodded, focusing on his fragment. Feeling for that sense of wrongness he’d created during the fight. The idea that contact would fail, that expected outcomes would deviate.
Osmund’s hand moved forward, slowly and deliberately. The air around it shimmered with spatial compression, drawing closer to Finn’s chest.
[Invalid!]
Nothing happened.
Osmund’s hand continued forward with the compression effect building steadily. Finn felt the pressure against his chest, the way space itself was trying to constrict.
But Osmund stopped just before contact, frowning. "What went wrong?"
"Timing," Finn muttered, frustrated. "I called the spell too early."
The spell needs something to make ’invalid,’ he realized.
There has to be a moment of contact to make reality register it as failure.
"Again," Finn said.
Osmund reset, watching Finn with rapt intrigue. His pale gray eyes tracked every micro-expression, every shift in Finn’s stance. Like he was trying to commit the whole process to memory for later analysis.
His hand moved forward again, even slower this time.
Finn waited, watching with intense focus and high alert for the moment Osmund made contact with his body.
And immediately he felt that touch—
[Invalid!]
Osmund’s hand phased through, and the short man’s eyes went wide. He stared intently at the contact point and it gave him a feeling of disconnect between his eyes and his hand. He could physically see his hand moving through Finn’s chest, but he could feel them continuing through open air without any resistance.
He moved his hand deeper, testing, still encountering no resistance. His finger was maybe three inches into Finn’s chest now, passing through skin and presumably ribs...
Then Finn’s concentration wavered.
The sight of Osmund’s hand inside his body for that long sent a spike of instinctive revulsion through his mind. His focus broke for just a second. And reality snapped back.
Finn’s body became solid again with Osmund’s finger still partially embedded in his chest.
Pain erupted instantly.
"FUCK!" Finn cursed, stumbling backward as Osmund quickly yanked his hand out.
The sensation was indescribable — not quite stabbing, not quite crushing it squeezing, but some horrifying combination of both as Finn’s solid bones and flesh that had been briefly in a state of non-existence tried to occupy the same space as Osmund’s hand for that split second.
Finn clutched his chest, gasping. At least there was no blood. Thank whatever gods existed. But the pain throbbed with each heartbeat.
Osmund stood frozen, staring at his own hand. Then at Finn. Then his hand again.
His expression had gone distant. Analytical. Like his mind was somewhere else entirely. Then a guilty look colored his face.
"I apologize. I got caught up in the fact that you kept surprising me and forgot what was normal." He gestured at Finn’s chest. "Are you okay...?"
"Fine," Finn gritted out, though the pain was still sharp. "Just... give me a second."
Osmund waited, but that analytical look never quite left his face. After a moment, he spoke again:
"You’re insanely talented. Creating two functional spells in one day is extraordinary. But even you have limits."
He walked closer, and his tone became more serious.
"You were extremely, extremely lucky earlier during our fight. Whatever your spell is doing, you haven’t become proficient with it yet. The effect is powerful but unstable. And if your focus breaks at the wrong moment..."
Osmund gestured at Finn’s chest.
"It could end much more terribly than this."