Chapter 33: Veil of Smoke
Asher pushed through the panicked crowd, his heart hammering as he forced his way into the smoke-filled church.
The air hit him like a wall, thick with a salty acrid haze that burned his throat and eyes.
Smoke poured out in curling tendrils, as if the building itself exhaled its last breath. Behind him, Samantha called out, her voice barely cutting through the din of hacking coughs and frantic shouts.
But Asher didn't stop.
He had to know.
Inside, dim light from the shattered stained glass cast eerie patterns across the nave, illuminating overturned pews and scattered debris.
He stumbled to a halt just past the door, his gaze darting around for any sign of life.
A single cough echoed through the cavernous space, mingling with the groans of wood and stone.
Asher's pulse thundered in his ears as he scanned for signs of life, his breaths coming short and shallow.
Asher steadied himself, pressing a hand to his forehead and tapping it lightly to activate his spirit vision.
The world shifted, the mundane dissolving into an ethereal landscape of auras and shadows.
That same recognizable aura—a distinct mix of silver and vintage orange—flickered again, its owner leaning against the front lectern.
That faint shimmer... it was him.
Relief flooded Asher, but it was fleeting.
The way Otto slumped there, so still... No, he's alive. He has to be alive.
"Is that... you, Asher?" came a strained, hoarse voice from the figure.
Asher tried to respond, opening his mouth to call out, but the sharp, salty smoke surged into his throat, cutting him off.
He doubled over, coughing violently as the acrid air tore at his lungs. The sound of his hacking breaths seemed to reach Otto, who shifted slightly, his gaze unfocused but searching.
"Yeah… it's you," Otto rasped, his voice barely audible over the growing chaos. "Point… point out the machine won't you. Where's it venting?"
Asher's spirit vision sharpened as he focused on the smoke. It was alive with unnatural currents, twisting and flowing with a chaotic intent.
His eyes traced the ethereal streams, their paths converging and flowing steadily toward the right wall. There, he spotted it: the faint outline of a machine, its spiritual counterpart pulsing with action.
The smoke spewed from its side like a malevolent tide, filling the church with its suffocating presence.
"There," Asher rasped, pointing toward the right wall. "The purple salt machine—by the right wall. That's where it's coming from."
Otto nodded weakly, his silver-brown aura flickering faintly as he pressed a rag to his mouth.
Gritting his teeth against another fit of coughing, he pushed himself upright, his movements slow but deliberate.
Asher watched as Otto staggered forward, weaving through the thick haze and using the pews for support, the faint light from his mechanical arm beginning to glow.
When Otto reached the machine, his left arm came alive. The light emanating from it intensified, bathing the immediate area in a pale, steady glow.
Asher's vision caught the intricate mechanisms within the arm whirring to life, its joints clicking softly as Otto assessed the situation. The smoke poured around him, but his focus remained unshaken as his mechanical hand traced the machine's vents and controls.
Suddenly, arcs of electricity burst from Otto's glowing arm, the crackling energy illuminating the scene in sharp flashes.
He worked swiftly, his mechanical hand adjusting valves, reconnecting wires, and tightening bolts with precise, fluid movements.
The light in his arm pulsed in rhythm with the energy coursing through it, the arcs dancing like tiny lightning strikes as they soldered damaged components into place.
The smoke began to thin, its flow diminishing as the machine slowed its chaotic dance.
The final arc of electricity snapped through the air with a blinding flash, and the machine sputtered violently before falling silent.
Otto staggered back, coughing as smoke curled around him. The oppressive cloud hung heavy in the air, a choking reminder of the chaos moments before.
His glowing arm dimmed, the mechanisms winding down with a faint hiss as he leaned heavily against the wall.
"Asher!" Samantha's voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. She gripped his arm, guiding him back toward the doorway where the air was clearer. "Stay low. You're no good to anyone if you can't breathe."
Asher stumbled alongside her, his eyes darting toward Otto, who was still catching his breath. For a moment, Asher hesitated, unsure if he should step forward or keep his distance.
Samantha gave him a slight nudge. "He'll be fine. Let him finish."
The machine let out one final sputter before falling eerily silent. The smoke began to thin, dissipating with agonizing slowness, leaving a tense stillness in its wake.
Otto straightened, wiping soot and sweat from his face as he glanced at the mess surrounding him.
Before he could say anything, the sound of uneven footsteps echoed from the hallway. Kaspar appeared, his gaunt figure silhouetted against the dim light spilling into the church.
His goggles reflected the scattered embers on the floor, the fractured machine at their center.
Kaspar's hands twitched, mechanical fingers locking briefly as he stepped closer. He crouched near the wreckage, his gaze darting over the shattered components.
One trembling hand reached toward a loose wire, but he froze halfway.
His shoulders slumped, and he let out a tight, fragile exhale. "Ah... disaster," he muttered, his voice breaking. "So much wrong. Kaspar didn't... keep it together, no. Not supposed to fall apart." His head dipped lower, and his voice grew quieter. "I... fail. Again. Always fail. Try, try... never enough."
He clenched his mechanical fist, trembling with frustration as his head dropped to his chest. His other hand twitched toward the wreckage again, hesitating before retreating.
Samantha's sharp gaze softened for a brief moment as she looked at him, but Otto's voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"Enough." Otto pushed off the wall, his tone clipped and brimming with irritation.
"You've been wallowing for a week now, Kaspar. I'm done with it. We're all done with it." He gestured broadly to the broken machine.
"This—this right here—is your job. And instead of fixing it, you're standing here feeling sorry for yourself while I'm left to pick up the pieces. Do you think that's helping anyone?"
Kaspar flinched at the words, his trembling hands falling to his sides. He muttered something incoherent, his voice almost too faint to hear.
Asher's chest tightened as Kaspar's voice faltered, the broken man crumbling further under Otto's barrage.
Why does Otto always go for the jugular? Kaspar's already falling apart—does he really need to be pushed harder?
Otto didn't let up. "We're drowning in unfinished work. If you can't pull yourself together, I'll handle the maintenance myself. But starting tomorrow, you two are taking on some of the low-brow supernatural jobs piling up on my desk."
"Hold it," Samantha interjected, her tone sharp as she stepped forward. "Not if it cuts into Asher's lessons. He's got enough on his plate without running errands for you."
Otto turned to her, his jaw tightening. "I'm not asking. I'm telling. Kaspar needs something to get his head out of the smoke. Asher can handle it—it's not like I'm sending him to wrestle with a Murloc."
"That's not your call," Samantha interjected, stepping forward with her arms crossed.
Her tone was sharp, but her gaze softened as it shifted between Otto and Kaspar. "But... maybe you're right this time. Asher's been cooped up in lessons for weeks. A change of pace could do him some good."
Kaspar's voice, shaky but determined, broke through the tension. "I... help. Yes, help. Feysac words... hard for Asher. I teach him. Yes!"
His goggled eyes flicked toward Asher, his nervous energy replaced by a flicker of resolve.
Otto sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fine. Do what you need to. But this isn't over, Kaspar. You can't keep hiding in your own head."
He glanced toward the hallway. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got smoke to drown out with something stronger than air."
He walked off, muttering under his breath. The sound of his footsteps faded, leaving an uneasy quiet in the room.
Samantha's expression softened as she looked at Kaspar, who was still fidgeting but seemed more present now.
"Asher," she said, turning toward him with a slight smirk. "You'd better keep up tomorrow. No slacking, or you'll hear about it."
Despite how unbearable she could be, she had a point.
Maybe a change of pace would help—both for me and Kaspar.
Samantha could be tough, but the way she pushed me... it made me feel like maybe I actually had a shot at pulling it off.
Asher nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. He exchanged a glance with Kaspar, who gave him a hesitant, yet hopeful smile.
The despair in his eyes had faded, replaced by a flicker of purpose.