One week was enough time for him to finish creating his pseudo-sacred gear.
Finally, he had everything ready. His forging skills were sufficient; he would not create a masterpiece, but it would be solid and stable. He could refine it later, with magic, or when his forging skills were better. The runes were fine and worked. He inscribed them on a steel ingot, and it worked wonderfully as a conduit for magic.
He began. First, he inscribed the runes on the metal. Then he heated the orichalcum in his modified forge to almost 2500 degrees Celsius. That was quite a bit higher than necessary for steel. When it was red-hot —although it didn't actually turn red but blue—he began to hammer it.
Despite the runes' deformation, their function remained unchanged. Altair found the orichalcum much more challenging than steel, and it would take quite some time to make the necessary bends.
The way he found to make the Sacred Gear compatible with his soul was to impregnate it with his blood, which would also give him control over Marchosias in case the devil sought to screw him over in some way.
Between each bend, he let the metal cool enough to inscribe new runes, then dropped drops of blood equivalent to each rune. The process was repeated for countless bends.
To carve the runes, he needed to use the tip of a diamond, hardened with magic. No other material could make a dent in cold orichalcum.
Sweat hit the steel before evaporating quickly; the heat in the forge was hellish, unfit for a human to survive there.
Altair continued hammering, folding, cooling, and carving runes. A cycle that continued for hours. The human body has about 37 trillion cells. That is why Altair planned to match the cells with the number of layers, folding them a total of 45 times.
A blacksmith would spit at that number; Damascus steel used to have up to 600 layers, which would require about six folds. Altair would go even further. Damascus steel required a few layers for the pattern to be visible, but he didn't care about that.
When he reached layer number 26, he realized that all the metal was already imbued with runes. So he added his blood as he continued hammering.
The orichalcum changed from golden to red when cold and purple when hot. Altair continued until he reached layer 45. He had to admit, his arms were burning, and he was very hungry, but he didn't want to stop.
Finally, he found the bar, stable and shiny. He could feel the magic in it, as if it were his own wand. Perhaps, if he had seen more orichalcum, he would have made a wand for every woman in his coven. Now they were capable of doing magic without a wand, but he knew that the wand would give them greater control.
He remembered that even Lily, at first, wanted to clean the floors with magic and ended up making the floor disappear.
The primary material was ready. Each double was like an elongated cell, directing the magic from one end to the other. At first, it might seem that the metal fused back together, rendering the process useless, but that was not the case. Inside each double was a sequence of runes that held them together.
Altair brought an anvil. Now it was time to shape his weapon. He had considered many options, but opted for the traditional staff. It would start thin at the base and grow wider toward the tip, where he would place the gem containing Marchosias' soul.
He moved to heat the orichalcum to shape it.
"Shit," he said as he fell to the ground. His arms felt weak.
"You've been hammering away for over a day; you didn't even react when Lady Lavender came to see you," Kalawarner said from her corner. The woman was sweaty from the intense heat of the forge.
Altair felt his body. His muscles were tired, but that wasn't why he felt so exhausted. His magic had also been considerably drained. He had been carving runes for a considerable amount of time, in addition to shedding his own blood.
"Wake me up in 8 hours... don't hurt anyone," he said to the woman, the final warning coming out of panic as he fell unconscious.
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He opened his eyes and continued to stare at the ceiling of his forge. Although it was cooler now. Kalawarner was at his side, sweat on her face, now not from the heat, but from fear. She watched him breathe deeply as he woke up.
"Eight hours?" he asked.
"No," she shook her head. "It was twelve. You finally woke up..." She knew that if he died on her watch, she would probably be killed.
"Bring something to eat," he ordered her.
Altair took a notebook out of his inventory.
Note: use Hornfire Dust to create crystals and charge them with magic... MP potion.
He had never run out of magic, at least not for a long time. When he was younger, he used to faint or feel extremely fatigued when practicing magic. It was quite humiliating.
Kalawarner quickly brought food. A snack that would serve more to fill the stomach and provide some satiety than to nourish it.
Now he moved the orichalcum into the oven to heat it.
The material soon took on a purple color before he took it out, placed it on the anvil, and began to hammer it. Little by little, blow by blow, it began to take the shape of a baseball bat, although much thinner.
Finally, at the tip, he left several rods so that, after placing the Marchosias gem, they could be used to create a claw setting.
He looked at the piece. It was functional; he just needed to inscribe the final runes on the tip, and it would be ready. But the finish was too rough, and he didn't want his first creation to be so ugly.
He continued hammering, gradually reducing the imperfections. He didn't know of any super-magical sandpaper that could carve orichalcum. So giving it the best shape possible at that moment was the best he could do.
Soon, the structure became more uniform and rounded, leaving only minor details. An expert eye would consider it disgusting, but for Altair, it was good enough. He widened the rods sufficiently to be able to engrave runes comfortably.
The runes on that part would serve as a bridge between Marchosias' soul and the staff. That bridge would deform until it formed the sacred gear. Of course, the runes also had the function of containing the devil. Altair didn't want any surprises.
Finally, he took the gem out of his inventory. It glowed red under the flames of the forge. He heated the orichalcum before placing the gem. Then he bent the rods and covered them, trapping them inside.
When the runes started to function, he felt the heat build up in the gem as Marchosias tried to stop the process.
"Not so easy?" Altair continued hammering, ignoring Kalawarner's pleas to stop. The gem gradually lost its heat. Suppressed.
"Done?" he wondered. The claws were slightly deformed, thanks to Marchosias interrupting the process.
There were a total of eight claws, each holding the gem firmly in place. The devil, in his attempt to escape, sealed his own prison. The claws perfectly matched the shape of the gem.
The gem was visible, which would have been a mistake for Altair. Leaving a weak spot exposed was stupid. But for Altair, it was a trap. At first glance, it looked like a point to attack, but the runes on the claws created a layer of protection. A perpetual shield around it. He would have to feed it with his own magic, although the consumption was minimal.
Right now, that pseudo Sacred Gear functioned solely as a catalyst, no different from a wand. Although he could feel that if he cast FiendFyre, he could control it and make it much more intense than any other spell.
He even felt a faint resonance between his soul and the staff, as if seeking permission.
He hesitated.
But he ended up giving in. He took the staff and felt it sink into his chest until it disappeared. The staff vanished from sight. And Altair fainted again.
'Twice so soon?' he wondered. 'Did I go back to my firts years at Hogwarts?'