Fanfic:Breaking Bad

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Breaking Bad
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There were some problems associated with the fine art of Rending. Murdock was coming to learn them over time. For instance, killing a lot of birds over time was rather inconvenient for the ecosystem, so after some deliberation he decided to lower his investigations for the time being. He looked at rats more, there was an endless supply of those it seemed.

Another issue was people knowing what he could do, and being on the receiving end of it. What did he do with them afterwards? Dunseth, he had injured enough to press his point, but had Healed afterwards. In hindsight, letting the man be on his way might have been a mistake. Murdock had done what he did so he could be left alone, and of course to protect his wife’s memory. He hadn’t anticipated any backlash, apart from his brief warning to keep their altercation between themselves.

Fear only lasted for so long, though. Its leash was powerful, but short. Once it was forgotten, the people wrapped up in it could wrangle their way out as if it was never there. It was not quite as permanent as Murdock would have liked, specifically in the case of Dunseth.

What he would have given for the man to simply ignore him! He was no longer in the shielding class, apparently he wasn’t quite as skilled as the Asha’man first thought in that area, but that didn’t mean Dunseth wasn’t still visible around the Grey Tower itself. Murdock didn’t go out of his way to approach the man or even look at him if he could help it. If Dunseth wanted to forget they ever talked, then he could live with that. But over time as he untangled himself from the leash, he seemed to find his cocky demeanour once more.

Murdock wanted to be left alone to his studies. He didn’t care if the other trainees gave him wary looks thanks to whatever it was Dunseth had to say about him, but when his actual work was being interfered with, that was when he got most irritated. People seemed intent on catching him out, loitering a street behind him if he headed into Hama Valon, or paying a visit to his room at strange hours. Even if he sat in the Library, the obscure corners suddenly found renewed interest. Murdock tried not to be a paranoid man but it was difficult when suddenly, everyone was paying an interest in him.

“What do you want?” he demanded eventually, grumpy and tired. It was late, he had been in bed, and the knock on his door had been insistent. As luck might have it, this particular Dedicated was a forthcoming sort, and enough of a growl from the normally laconic Murdock was enough to make him talk. Maybe he thought he could get some answers straight from the source.

“Dunseth said you were experimenting,” he said, “on people.” The man shrugged, “you read lots of weird books, figured it might be true.”

“What? My personal studies are nobody else’s business. Get out of here, I got out of bed for this nonsense?” Murdock slammed the door in the moron’s face and limped his way back to bed. He’d gotten up for that idiocy? Sure, there was a bit of truth in it, but nobody was supposed to know that. Dunseth was getting too big for his boots and making Murdock out to be a crazy man for things people didn’t even know he’d actually done!

He was going to have to do something about this. The man got back into bed and stared dramatically up at the ceiling for a while, plotting his next move. It was clear that his initial thread hadn’t worked. The move had been dramatic and effective, but he had recovered. No, what he did had to be a little more long term, the extra time spent putting it into effect would make it last longer overall. A plan where he just had to give a reminder every now and again, and he would be free to do his thing. Yes. It came together in Murdock’s mind as he fell to sleep, and he enjoyed dreams of Giselle pinning Dunseth to the wall as he leaned in, placing a hand on the man’s sweaty forehead to apply his favourite weaves.


The plan was a simple one. Murdock was going to be the poison Dunseth didn’t know he so sorely needed. It wouldn’t be obvious, it wouldn’t be quick, and most importantly, it wouldn’t be pleasant. But as long as Murdock was patient, it would pay off and he would be left alone.

One of the perks to Saidin was that it was possible to wield it without drawing too much attention to oneself, as long as you were careful. The aura of menace around a weak channeller was smaller than usual, and Murdock was not a strong channeller. In the right circumstances, such as on the training grounds, one would not even see what he was up to with any luck.

Dunseth would be out there practising his weaves, and Murdock would sidle up behind him and ever so gently touch his arm, weaving Spirit and Earth together. A small weave, inconsequential really. You would hardly know that it was there as it was hardly enough to cause a bruise. On its own it was nothing, a mere ant. But get enough ants? You had a colony that could carry much more than its combined weight.

This was Murdock’s job. He channelled just a little bit, Rending a bit each time he saw the man and it was an auspicious occasion. It didn’t take long for the results to start showing, as throughout the course of the week Dunseth was starting to look a little off colour. He bruised more easily, and Murdock was quite intrigued to see that he got a nosebleed during a training session. How he itched to study what caused that! But he had to sit back, amused in his head, as the man claimed he felt “under the weather”. But you couldn’t go to the Yellows about that, could you? Feeling a bit delicate, getting a nosebleed, bruising more than before. Dunseth had too much pride.

He was going to get suspicious soon. A few times he had seen Murdock nearby, and he had to walk on by. He was going to have to up his game.

He made no secret of the fact he was heading into Hama Valon, making sure that Dunseth heard his plans. He stashed away some bread and cheese when he knew the man was looking, making a show of trying to hide it. He limped out into the city as the sun set, as much of a spring in his step as he could manage. Murdock was looking forward to this, no doubt about it. There was something quite invigorating about seeing the man go from cocky and sure, to more sickly and angry. He was at the point now where Murdock could reliably say he was going to get a bit reckless and desperate for some answers, whether he wanted Healing or retribution it would be interesting to see. Murdock would be ready though, whatever happened. He knew where Dunseth’s weak spots were now.

Off he limped to find a quiet spot by the water, confident that he was followed. This was fine, Murdock didn’t mind in the slightest. He had a plan, and it would get rid of Dunseth for good without making him look suspicious. The threat and the danger excited him more than he cared to admit...

“Limpy! I don’t know what you’ve done, but I know it was you.” Dunseth leaned against the nearby wall, and Murdock turned to get a good look at him.

“You don’t look so good, Dunseth.” Murdock seized Saidin and let it fill him to the brim, as much as he could handle. Not a lot, but enough to keep himself from getting shielded. Giselle sat on the wall next to Dunseth, giving him a warning look. “Do you want me to try Healing you?”

“No, burn you. I want you to pay.” Dunseth stepped forwards, straightening up. Murdock could only grin his way.

“Is that so? I’m afraid I have no coin, and no interest in what you may have to offer. Good evening to you.” He turned to the side as if to walk away, and he earned a slash across the chest for his trouble. Air and Fire together made a nasty burning wound, and blood was already dripping down his coat. Light! That was impressive, actually. Murdock fell back with a hiss, somehow keeping a hold of his stick. “I was hoping you would do that,” he said, as he straightened up and began to channel in return.

When it came to Battle weaves, Murdock was no aspiring Green. He lacked the strength and skill to be truly effective. But sometimes, appearances were important, and Murdock was content to play at this fight until the right time came. Fireballs met fireballs, the wrenched earth threatened to knock them both over, and the nearby tree somehow managed to catch alight thanks to a deflected weave. Murdock earned more bruises and cuts for his trouble than Dunseth, and he knew he couldn’t keep going for long before the man would shield him. Any moment now, he thought to himself stubbornly, All I need is one opportunity.

And it came. Dunseth lashed out with Air, and Murdock rolled forwards to get out of the way. It brought him closer to the other Dedicated, and from his pained position on the ground it was much easier to hook Air around the other man and shove him to the floor next to him. Perfect. One hand clasped over Dunseth’s mouth, and the other shoved his arm back as he pressed his weight on top of the man. “This is going to hurt me as much as it hurts you.” Though the bearded man looked thoughtful for a second, before adding “actually, that’s a lie. It’s not going to hurt me at all. Goodbye.” And then he weaved. Rending weaves of Air and Spirit and Fire laced the Dedicated’s body, and he shrieked into Murdock’s hand. No blood, not this time, he had learned from the Seanchan soldier. This was burning the skin, all internal. It was going to bloody hurt, but this wasn’t what was going to kill him. No, at the last second Murdock stopped channelling, and shifted his weaves to use all Spirit, Earth and Fire in order to Heal the man. Old, traditional Healing, the sort that if a man was very weak and very injured, just might kill him from the shock.

Whoops!

Murdock sat up slowly, looking down at the twitching form of the Dedicated. Dunseth was no longer burned on the inside, but it had also Healed his various cuts and bruises. Fortunately, Murdock knew what to do about that. Air and Fire were easy for him to use, and on a dead man it was very simple to reapply those cuts, and add a good few more on as well. He limped out of the way so as not to get the other man’s blood on him, watching as Dunseth’s body began to stain the grass around him. It was like a blooming rose in the night, and as he lay there Murdock simply thought of Giselle and how she so liked roses.

With the man appropriately cut up, Murdock hopped over to where his stick lay. It was still intact, miraculously. I was lying when I said this wouldn’t hurt. Murdock snapped his stick with Air and tossed the pieces aside before looking down at himself, pulling a face. Murdock didn’t need to do much, he was already quite injured as it was, so all he needed to do was make his current injuries deeper and wider. Without Saidin, he had his small knife, and it only took a couple of cuts for him to cry out even with the void on his side. The bloody knife opened the wounds more than he liked, and Light did they hurt, but he had to do this. He had to make it look as if they were both attacked, and only one survived. Nobody would suspect Murdock if he was a victim as well.

He lay near Dunseth, not too close to get the other man’s blood on him mind, and before he lost Saidin he channelled a weave of Fire and Air into the sky as a flare signal. Someone would find them. Heck, they might well find him before he bled out – a man could hope. The Dedicated’s head was woozy, his body was shaking, and in those moments between consciousness and unconsciousness he had to ask Giselle as she leaned down to pat his forehead, “what am I doing?”. But the darkness was his only answer.