Runebound Reverse Tower of The Dead

After all, if the rune activates the moment it connects with the belt, then it stands to reason it should die just as cleanly the moment it’s separated. That was the idea after all. And achieving it would be a simple task for Kael right now.

The logic sat simple in his head. Clean. Mechanical. No mysticism needed, just cause and effect. Contact meant activation. No contact meant silence. That was the rule.

Then he just needed control over the contact.

And a spring can solve that issue.

A nonconductive type of spring.

And he already has the material for that.

Only the material itself to make the spring is very conductive...

Kael exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders loosening just enough as the problem settled into something workable instead of abstract annoyance. His fingers drummed once against the edge of the work surface before stilling. Atrax silk. It wasn’t ideal, but nothing in this place ever was.

He was already half into the work before the thought fully finished forming.

Atrax silk could be shaped, hardened, made into a spring that held form. The trick was isolating it, preventing the spring mechanism itself from becoming another conduit that accidentally kept the rune "on" when it should be off.

That was the real problem. Not making the spring. Making sure the spring didn’t betray him.

Because the Tower loved that kind of mistake.

Kael pulled out the hammer and began adjusting the belt’s head.

The familiar weight of Brokk’s hammer settled into his grip, grounding him. He leaned over the belt, bringing it closer to eye level. The metal surface reflected a warped version of his face, tired eyes, jaw set, a man who’d learned the hard way that "good enough" usually got you killed.

He added a spiral groove in the rune’s socket.

Each strike was controlled. Light. Precise. The hammer didn’t smash, it persuaded. The metal responded reluctantly at first, then more willingly as the groove began to take shape.

The groove wasn’t decorative; it was a track. A controlled path for motion. He carved it with careful taps, letting Brokk’s hammer nudge metal aside until the spiral was clean enough to guide something that needed to twist in and out.

He paused once, tilting the piece slightly to catch the light. The groove spiraled inward just enough, tight, but not restrictive. Functional. No wasted flourish.

Good.

And pulled out the Atrax Silk.

The material felt wrong in his hands. Too soft at first touch, almost like fabric, yet carrying a faint metallic sheen beneath the surface. It shifted slightly as he held it, like it couldn’t decide what it wanted to be.

Hammering it a bit more made it change form, from soft metal to a harder but not brittle metal.

The transformation wasn’t instant. Each strike coaxed it further into rigidity, the surface tightening, the give slowly disappearing. It resisted just enough to remind him it wasn’t normal metal.

He shaped a spring and tested it, it wasn’t too tight, nor was it too loose.

He pressed it with his thumb, slowly at first, feeling the resistance build. Then he let go.

The rebound was clean.

He pressed it again, quicker this time. Same result.

Reliable.

He pressed it with his thumb, watched it rebound, listened to the faint metallic ping it made as it returned to shape. That sound, small, precise, made him grin despite himself. It sounded like control.

Control was rare.

He then created a small pentagonal mold for the rune to sit on.

The shape wasn’t arbitrary. Five sides meant stability without locking it into a perfect circle, just enough asymmetry to allow guided rotation. He carved it carefully, matching its edges to the groove’s logic.

"Now I need to make it so the spring is attached to something that isn’t energy conductive..." he thought hard about that, since most tower materials were energy conductive he needed something that wasn’t.

His gaze drifted across the room, scanning without really seeing at first. Metal. Stone. Scraps. Everything here wanted to carry energy. Everything here wanted to betray the idea.

He clicked his tongue softly.

Of course.

Finding nothing better than the wooden desk, he ripped a small flat piece of it and placed it under the metallic head of the belt.

The wood didn’t come free cleanly. It tore, fibers snapping with a dry crack that echoed faintly in the quiet room. Splinters bit into his fingers, but he ignored them.

The wood was rough and ugly, but that was fine. It wasn’t a fashion piece. It was insulation. He held it up, checked its thickness, then jammed it into place like a wedge.

It sat unevenly at first. He adjusted it with a thumb, pressing it tighter until it held.

Crude.

Effective.

The belt head was hollowed now.

And was supported by the wooden piece which would sit right under Kael’s bellybutton.

He pictured the placement automatically, center mass, easy access, minimal interference with movement. If this thing failed, it would fail close to his core. That thought lingered a second longer than necessary before he pushed it aside.

He hammered the spring into the belt, and noticed that the spring was not too long that the rune socketed into the mold didn’t hang loose.

The fit mattered. Too long, and it would wobble. Too short, and it wouldn’t engage properly. He nudged it into place, tapping lightly until it seated just right.

Still, the conductive mold was touching the outside of the belt’s head.

That wasn’t acceptable.

Not even a little.

So he coated the belt with leather.

The leather wrapped around the metal like a second skin, dulling the shine and creating a buffer. He pressed it down firmly, smoothing it out, making sure there were no exposed contact points.

Now it was slightly extruding from the belt’s head.

Just enough.

He could see it clearly: a small protrusion, subtle enough that it didn’t snag, but present enough that he could find it by feel. Kael ran his thumb over it, memorizing the shape the way you memorized a knife’s grip.

Muscle memory over sight. Always.

And when he pushed the rune a bit, the mold made a small spin thanks to the grooves he hammered before and stuck in place.

He felt the rotation through his thumb more than he saw it. A slight give, followed by a controlled turn.

Good.

He pushed again, which made the mold carrying the rune go slightly deeper, and change ’tracks’ as the groove was made to go half a circle down.

The mechanism shifted under pressure, transitioning cleanly. No grinding. No resistance spikes.

And once it entered the different oriented ’tracks’ the spring will spin it back out in the other direction, ejecting it from the socket.

He released his thumb.

The spring did the rest.

A small, decisive motion outward. Not violent. Just enough to clear the connection.

He tested it once, and twice, and it worked every time.

Press. Lock.

Press. Eject.

No delay. No misfire.

One push to set the rune, another push and the rune ejected out.

The little mechanism clicked with satisfying certainty. No fumbling. No prying. No self-inflicted concussion. Just a clean in and out like a proper tool should behave.

"Perfect," he smiled as he wore the belt.

The leather creaked softly as he fastened it around his waist. The weight settled in, familiar but slightly different now. He adjusted it once, then again, making sure it sat exactly where it needed to.

The belt settled at his waist, snug and centered. He bounced lightly on his heels, tested whether it shifted.

It didn’t.

Good.

He reached down and found the mechanism without looking, thumb pressing into the protrusion. The tactile feedback came instantly.

Reliable.

"I’ll need to test this still," he said as he looked outside, the daylight was still on, and there were a couple zombies a block or so away.

The light filtering in through the opening was dull, grayish red. The kind that didn’t warm anything. In the distance, the slow, uneven movements of the undead stood out against the empty street.

He didn’t sound excited. He sounded like a man checking a weapon’s safety before loading it.

"Good target practice I suppose."

He stayed seated for half a second longer, just enough to feel the slow recovery of his internal reserves. The faint presence of his energy bar steadied at the edge of his awareness, creeping back up.

Not full.

Good enough.

He pushed himself to his feet, the motion smooth but deliberate. Armor shifted into place, helmet sealing his vision, gauntlets settling heavy over his hands, the newly modified belt resting at his core like a quiet promise.

He adjusted it once more out of habit.

Then stopped.

Enough.

He stepped forward, already running through scenarios in his head. Activation timing. Reaction windows. Worst-case outcomes.

Not a solution.

Not yet.

But another lever he could pull when the Tower tried to pull one on him.