From Moving Crates to Killing Gods-Chapter 45: Pulse

The book felt heavy in my hands, I had spent a while just looking at it, trying to understand the spell, but it remained locked. They weren’t just lines on paper, it was an intricate puzzle. After a day of watching my muscles fail me, I was about to discover how it felt when my mind did the same.

"Focus on the pattern." I muttered to myself, settling deeper into the chair in Damian’s library. "Find the logic in this."

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the patterns moving as my intuition suggested they should. In my mind, I pictured the loops rotating, the lines extending and contracting, the dots pulsing with light. But the moment I set everything in motion, the mental image collapsed into chaos.

Opening my eyes, I glared at the page. "What am I missing?"

Two hours passed as I alternated between studying the static image and attempting to visualize it in motion. My neck grew stiff, and a dull ache grew inside my head, but I refused to stop. This was different from running laps, that had been a test of physical endurance, something I understood. This was a puzzle that defied my comprehension, and that made it both frustrating and irresistible.

By midday, I’d made a small breakthrough. The patterns weren’t meant to move at the same speed. The jagged lines vibrated at different frequencies. The dots pulsed in a sequence that seemed almost musical in its timing.

"It’s about rhythm." I whispered, excitement temporarily overwhelming the fatigue. "They all have to move together without touching."

I tried again, this time assigning different speeds to different elements in my mental image. The construction held for a few seconds longer before collapsing again.

"Damn it."

My fingers found my yo-yo in my pocket. I pulled it out, letting it drop and rise in a steady rhythm. The familiar motion helped me think, the physical pattern somehow making the mental one easier to grasp. Up, down. Contract, expand. I matched my breathing to the yo-yo’s movements.

By late afternoon, my head throbbed as if someone had driven a nail through the back of my head. The spell’s puzzle remained unsolved, the mental construct refusing to stabilize for more than a few seconds at a time. I’d managed to get perhaps a third of the patterns moving in harmony before the rest would clash, forcing me to start over.

"Is everything alright?" Damian’s voice came from the doorway, startling me.

I looked up, blinking away the spots in my vision. "I’m making progress. Slowly."

He nodded, his expression giving nothing away. "The Pulse spell is considered the simplest of the five. But it was still hard for me when I learned it. It probably took me a week."

A week. The thought of spending seven days hunched over this single page made my aching head pound harder. But beneath the pain, determination solidified. I’d survived exile. I’d killed a Corruptor king. I would not be defeated by scribbles on a page.

"I’ll have it tomorrow." I said, the words out before I could reconsider.

Damian’s eyebrow rose slightly. "Ambition is good."

After he left, I kept on trying for another hour, pushing myself until the letters on the page began to swim and my visualization attempts yielded nothing but intensified pain. Finally, I admitted defeat for today.

I got back to my room, collapsing onto my bed without bothering to remove my boots. The headache followed me into dreamland, I couldn’t get rid of it even while unconscious.

A new day arrived, and the headache had receded to a dull pressure. My muscles still ached because of the physical training, but today’s challenge wouldn’t require physical strength.

I skipped my usual breakfast that consisted of meat and water, and hurried back to the library. This was one challenge I didn’t intend to lose.

This time, I approached it differently. Instead of trying to visualize the entire pattern at once, I started with the simplest elements first, the dots. In my mind, I set them pulsing in sequence, like raindrops hitting a pond at precise intervals. Once I had that stable, I added the shortest lines, visualizing them moving in harmony with the dots.

Layer by layer, I built the construct, carefully integrating each new element only when I was certain the previous ones were stable. Hours passed without my notice. When my concentration faltered, I used my yo-yo to reestablish my rhythm.

And like that, seven hours had passed. My stomach growled, but I ignored it. There was momentum building up, and I didn’t dare interrupt it. The mental construct was growing, expanding, parts clicking into place like the gears of a complex machine.

Then something shifted. I wasn’t just holding the pattern in my mind anymore, I was feeling it, sensing how each element related to the others, understanding the flow of energy through the construct. The word at the center, Pulse, wasn’t just a label. It was a command, a purpose that gave meaning to the entire structure.

Then, the complete pattern hovered inside my mind, perfectly balanced, every element moving in its proper rhythm. It wasn’t static like the drawing in the book, it was alive, dynamic, a three dimensional dance of lines and points that created something greater than the sum of its parts.

"I’ve got it." I whispered, afraid that even speaking might disrupt the delicate mental equilibrium.

But the pattern remained stable. I had it. Now I just needed to use it.

The book had offered no instructions beyond the pattern itself. No incantations, no gestures, no warnings. Just the implication that understanding the pattern was enough.

I pulled out my yo-yo, placing it on the table before me. If this spell was called "Pulse." perhaps it created some kind of force. Something that pushed or pulled. It seemed reasonable to test it on a small object first.

Closing my eyes, I reconstructed the pattern in my mind, centering it on the image of my yo-yo. When the mental construct felt stable, I focused on the word at its center. Pulse.

Then I felt a strange sensation, as if something had flowed out of me, through the pattern, and toward the yo-yo. My eyes snapped open just in time to see the toy jump about an inch off the table, propelled by a tiny force, before clattering back down.

I stared at it, momentarily stunned. Then a laugh bubbled up from my chest, half disbelief, half triumph.

"It worked." I said. "It actually worked!"