The evening sky beat down upon Laurence and his companions as they made their way back to the transportation gateway. The streets were still thriving, but there was a different feeling in the air compared to the day. People were no longer out in the city to find deals or restock their homes, instead they were out to fight, they were out to rut, to drink, be merry and enjoy life to its fullest in as base a way as possible. Willowisps ignited and lined the streets, giving off an unearthly purple glow.
As they walked down the street they watched people return to their homes and exit them again, wreathed in capes, masks and brightly coloured paint. The city was coming alive as if for a night festival, but the light of the willowisps gave everything an uncanny, violent air.
Even after they moved to the centremost region of Thought, the thick crowds were still vibrant beyond belief. They only began to thin out as Laurence made his way towards the fallen tower, however the revelers were replaced by grim looking figures and mostly deserted buildings.
The other parts of the city had an air of vibrance, despite the primal nature of the figures in the streets. This area, near the foot of the collapsed tower, simply had the air of danger. People milled about in grotty clothing, their weapons bare to the sky. Some fought openly in the streets while others looked on in enjoyment. Some were hiding in the shadows, waiting for an unaware mark to pass them by. Some were even trying to break into the fallen tower, but to little success. Laurence frowned as he walked past those who would try and break into the tower. However after a moment he paid it no heed. His truesense told him that there was next to no chance that they would ever get inside through the method they were currently taking.
He walked up the great stairway and looked at the great door as the people who were trying to break in stopped what they were doing. They looked on as he began running his fingers against the hardwood door that had stood the test of time for well over a cycle. He had seen this door before, it was a device that was prominently featured within the Book of Creation. While it was not a world warping Manifestation of guardianship, it was still a solid defence against any who would attempt to break into the tower, but did nothing more than keep those who were not invited into the tower. Laurence could feel the glyphs pulsating with energy beneath his fingers. He could feel the smooth, dipping contours of the wood that made up the carvings that spread across the door in a diorama. It depicted the founding of the clan of Creation, how their first furnace had come from the sky and from that they had formed the Book of Creation through the fire and ashes of the first use of the divine instrument.
His hands slowly moved closer and closer to the middle of the doorway, working its way through the story up until it reached a simple raised section that was devoid of any impressions. His hand sat there for a moment, until there was a warm sensation that spread to the skin touching the door. It spread out, up his arm and through his body, and culminating as the energy spread around his mana reservoir. The energy retracted once it had encapsulated Laurence’s mana reservoir and left an imprint of a hammer upon the flat surface. Laurence pulled his hand back and watched as the door opened with a loud creak. There was a shuffling sound behind him, but he only turned when he heard several sets of footsteps begint o make their way up the stairs.
“Now you’ve opened the door how about you let those of us who have been trying to get in for decades through first,” a figure said, as they walked up the stairs towards Laurence and his group. “I mean it’s only fair. There’s thirty of us, and only four of you”. The small mob began lurking at the base of the stairs. They were a rag-tag bunch, but uniformly Heaven rankers with a range of bizarre weaponry. Some were using parts ripped from housing, fashioned into blades or spears, some were wearing array-laden gloves, and some had nothing at all in their hands.
Laurence looked at his companions before smirking. “You guys go ahead, I should really deal with this in my own hands”.
“You sure?” Peter asked, frowning. “I thought you still didn’t want to break your promise to Cleo”.
“I won’t,” Laurence replied, taking a step down towards the crowd and cracking the joints in his neck. He raised his metal left arm and almost immediately, thin patterns of light sprung up all over it. “Anyone who doesn’t want to be crippled should leave now. The strength difference between a Heaven ranker and an Immortal is not the same as that between a Saint and a Heaven ranker”.
“An Immortal? You?” The man in the front began laughing. “Immortals are all lofty figures up in the towers! I’ve never seen as sorry an Immortal as you, if you even are one. Sure, you’re definitely stronger than me, but there’s no way you’re stronger than all thirty of us”. The crowd behind the man shuffled closer. Some looked nervous, but they stayed the course. They had committed. There were those who had not taken part, but they were simply watching out of amusement. Thirty on one was something rarely seen because people were never usually as foolhardy as Laurence was being.
“That’s a lot of justification for someone who is scared of me”. His right arm swung loosely by his side. He raised it and a simple black bone warhammer appeared in his right hand. Looking at the hammer fondly, he glanced back to the crowd before him. “A Saint ranked weapon should be enough for the lot of you”.
Before anyone could react, a beam of light shot out of Laurence’s hand and coiled round the man who stood in front of the pack. With a jerk of his fist, he pulled the man high in the sky before slamming him down into the crowd like a human mace. The coiling rope of light slackened and Laurence dashed into the crowd, striking out at elbows and knees as he passed. Flashes of light and screams of pain echoed out as the hammer collided again and again, but it only left broken bones and warped bruises in its wake. The thin coil of light spread out and every-so-often it would pull someone to the ground or force two people attempting to injure him into each other.
Around thirty seconds later, Laurence walked out of the crowd and back up the stairs. The lights on his arm dimmed and the hammer disappeared back into his storage ring. In his wake was a pile of bodies, groaning in pain from damaged joints that would take days to heal thanks to insidious injections of mana from every strike he made.
He began closing the door and as the wooden monoliths began cutting him off from the outside world he called out. “Nobody touches my family crypt. If they try, then the pile before you is the least of what I can do”. The door shut, but outside the broken tower nobody made a sound. Even those who had simply come to watch people get injured looked on at the pile of broken bodies in confusion and horror.
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