Dusty (4): The Arm Tattoo Pact
The small lump inside the dustbin, Dusty. It had been a full ten years since it latched onto my sense of self, and finally, we were facing each other properly. And the trigger was geometry and math, of all things. Guess that's why they say you gotta learn this stuff.
"Hey."
I called out lightly. No verbal reply, but its body vibrated faintly in response.
—Vrrrrm.
Okay. Mute, then. No big deal. I could vaguely sense what it wanted to say anyway.
Dusty was like a newborn baby. I'd suspected as much, but seeing it up close confirmed it. It had only gained a name and sprouted a sense of self a few days ago. Still just a lump of instinct, reacting on reflex. Getting sulky after I smacked it with the broom and locked it in the bin, messing with my magic on purpose—it was all just infantile tantrums or lashing out.
That's why it was rattled. Anxious. For days, its "owner" had been glaring with bloodshot eyes, threatening to wipe it out. Whether that was even possible didn't matter; the sheer intimidation was enough to scare a young thing like it.
I decided to leverage that and quickly find a compromise. Before its ego swelled any further and solidified, I had to strike first.
"Hey, get outta here. Do that, and I'll call off all that parchment-sealing-and-burning nonsense."
The dustbin buzzed furiously in response. Like it was saying, "Then where the hell am I supposed to go?"
Where? Out of my room, that's where, you squatter. I drew a firm line. This was my mind, my self. No way was I sharing with some uninvited guest.
But as an alternative...
"I'll give you somewhere else. Head there."
I closed my eyes and pictured my body. Specifically, one end of it.
"Left arm. That'll be your new home."
Instead of evicting it from the central hub of my mental self, I'd carve out a zone just for it in the periphery of my flesh. Simple terms: No more meddling with my sense of self. No crawling out of the left arm without my permission. In return, I'd leave it alone unless absolutely necessary, grant its wishes within limits I approved, and guarantee some freedom. Like kicking out a rowdy tomboy who's been causing chaos at home and setting her up independently. I wouldn't let her roam wild outside, but she could game all day or order takeout without nagging—just go live on her own.
A contract. A restraint.
"What do you say?"
It paused at my offer, then started bouncing around inside the bin. Affirmative.
Figured it would prefer its own cramped space where it could relax without constant wariness over this tense standoff.
Click.
I coolly popped the lid. With a pop!, Dusty shot out. It didn't look back, sucked straight into the path I'd opened to my left arm.
Shloooorp—.
My left arm throbbed oddly, pulsing. I waited silently until Dusty fully settled in.
And the moment it rooted perfectly in my left arm and vacated my mind's "living room"...
The foggy haze in my head cleared instantly, like mist burning off.
"Oh..."
Like a nearsighted person slipping on glasses for the first time—pure liberation. I savored my sharper, clearer self more vividly than ever, then returned my consciousness to reality.
"...So, substituting the reverse mana wave into the end of this equation naturally opens the door to the seventh spatial dimension, doesn't it? Dear, are you listening?"
I opened my eyes to that godawful geometry lecture again.
"Um, Gramps."
"Hm? What's that? Have you already grasped the beauty of this perfect equation?"
Zepeto gazed at me with sparkling eyes.
"Nah. I'm done learning. It's boring."
The quill dropped from Zepeto's hand with a thunk.
Never thought I'd see despair on a seventy-something geezer's face. He stared at me in shock, then noticed the shift in my vibe and narrowed his eyes.
"That gloomy, prickly aura of yours has softened a bit."
"Who's gloomy?"
I shot an incredulous look at Zepeto for trash-talking me to my face, but only for a moment.
"Heh heh. So you can make that face too. What happened?"
"A lot."
I thrust my left arm under his nose. Black waves pulsed like a heartbeat beneath my pale skin.
"Th-this!"
"Recognize it? This is... the Black Dust Dragon of my left arm..."
"Binding your Destiny to a bodily extremity!"
Zepeto stared through my arm like he couldn't believe it. True to form as a mage, he dove into his own world, muttering.
"Heh heh! I see! So that's it! Once it gained a name and ego, it became treatable like an independent entity! That's why you could tuck it into a physical corner... Heh! A compromise like this—I've never seen anything so ingenious!"
Was it that big a deal? I wasn't sure, but his reaction made me oddly proud.
"You studied geometry to find a compromise point with it, then formalized it into a contract formula!"
"Not quite."
I'd only learned geometry to seal it on parchment and burn it away. But it got too hard, so I quit and tried compromising instead.
...Huh? Thinking about it, wasn't the outcome basically the same? Just used my arm as the canvas instead of parchment—still sealed either way. Sure, a verbal contract instead of complex runes made it a tad different...
But good is good. Didn't Zepeto always stress respect and compromise over suppression?
As I glanced down at my arm, thinking that...
Throb.
It twitched with a dull ache. Instinct told me: Dusty's signal. Hungry. Feed it something.
"........."
Unbelievable. I had no clue what or how to feed it, and why demand food now after sitting quiet all this time?
But I'd explicitly conditioned it: I'd grant wishes within my approved limits. Probably just shove some mana its way.
'Here. Eat up.'
I magnanimously peeled off a chunk of mana pooled in my heart and slid it into my left arm.
Vrrrrm—.
But Dusty vibrated like it was nowhere near enough. I'd given nearly half, and it was still complaining? I'd run dry feeding it all I'd saved up.
'What now? That's all I've got.'
My arm shivered again. As my gaze hit the geometry textbook on the table—the one we'd just been studying—the vibrations intensified.
Vrrrrm—!
'...This?'
Like a kid whining for a toy in a store window, blatant signaling. Paper scraps okay?
Skeptical, I plopped my left arm atop the book with a thud.
The instant my palm touched the parchment...
Shlrp—.
"Wh-what?!"
Ever seen ink come alive? First time for me too.
The dense geometric diagrams on the pages writhed, then climbed up my arm. Like living bugs crawling over my skin.
I yanked in panic, but my palm stuck fast.
Shlrp, shlrp—.
"Hey! Hold on! Stop! I said no!"
I smacked my arm to halt it, but no dice. Starved to death, apparently—it devoured the page diagrams like a beast scarfing prey.
The crawling ink seeped into my skin... and once every figure had transferred to my flesh, my palm finally peeled free, satisfied.
"You wanna die!? What the hell!"
I glared daggers at my left arm, eyes bulging.
Black chaotic lines and shapes scribbled wildly across my forearm. Yakuza tattoos. My face crumpled.
Feed you, my ass. What is this crap? Forcing ink on my arm without permission. Rage boiled at this mandatory tattoo artist bullshit.
I eyed the now-gutted, pathetic textbook. Picky eater too? Devoured all the numbers and shapes, left the footnotes' text.
That pissed me off more.
"Th-this...!"
I scrubbed furiously, but of course, no wipe-off.
"Hoh... It ate the book. Or rather, its contents."
I glanced sheepishly up at Zepeto. Books were pricey in this era. Magic ones especially.
"Sorry..."
"Keh keh. No matter."
Far from mad, Zepeto eyed the ragged textbook and my arm with fascination.
"Not a proper formula... just lines and shapes arranged... yet not entirely chaotic."
He was right. Seemed like messy graffiti at first, but closer look? They interlocked somehow.
So what? I was stuck tattooed forever!
"Dear, channel mana into that arm again."
"...Feed it more?"
"No. Infuse it with the intent to cast magic."
Zepeto gently traced my left arm with his staff tip and said so. I nodded, took a deep breath, focused my mind, and poured in mana.
Then...
Shlrp—click.
"...Huh?"
My eyes widened. The jet-black shapes on my skin drank the mana and sprang to life, interlocking and shifting on their own.
The dark ink writhed slowly across my forearm...
Pop!
They burst out of my skin in unison. Then solidified in midair as tangible black shards with physical weight.
Clack, clack!
The shapes orbited my arm like satellites, then locked in place, forms intact.
"......?"
I wiggled my arm experimentally. The fixed shapes meshed and followed with a shirr.
Like dense shadows or cold chains—geometric constructs.
"This is...?"
I looked to Zepeto, face full of question marks.
He gaped slowly, like he'd witnessed the impossible.
"Ooooh! This is...!"
"This is...?"
"What geometric beauty! Magnificent!"
...It was kinda cool.