Mistborn: secret history

What is this? Ruin’s voice demanded.

Kelsier found himself confronted by the opposing god, their forms extending into eternity – one the icy

coolness of life frozen, unmoving. The other the scribbling, crumbling, violent blackness of decay. Kelsier

grinned as he felt utter and complete shock from Ruin.

“What was it,” Kelsier asked, “that you said before? Anything I can do, you will counter? How about this?”

Ruin raged, power flaring in a cyclone of anger. The persona cracked apart, revealing the thing, the raw

energy that had plotted and planned for so long, only to be stopped now. Kelsier’s grin widened, and he

imagined – with delight – the sensation of ripping apart this monster that had killed Preservation. This

useless, outdated waste of energy. Crushing it would be so satisfying. He willed his boundless power to

attack.

And nothing happened.

Preservation’s power resisted him still. It shied away from his murderous intent, and push though he

would, he couldn’t make it hurt Ruin.

His enemy vibrated, quivering, and the shaking became a sound like laughter. The churning dark mists

recovered, transforming back into the image of a deific man stretching through the sky. “Oh, Kelsier!”

Ruin cried. “You think I mind what you have done? Why, I’d have chosen for you to take the power! It’s

perfect! You’re merely an aspect of me, after all.”

Kelsier gritted his teeth, then stretched forth fingers made of rushing wind, as if to grab Ruin and throttle

him.

The creature merely laughed louder. “You can barely control it,” Ruin said. “Even assuming it could harm

me, you couldn’t accomplish such a task. Look at you, Kelsier! You haven’t form or shape. You’re not alive,

you’re an idea. A memory of a man holding the power will never be as potent as a real one with ties to all

three Realms.”

Ruin shoved him aside with ease, though Kelsier felt a crackling at the thing’s touch. These powers

reacted to one another like flame and water. That made Kelsier certain there was a way to use the power

he held to destroy Ruin. If he could figure it out.

Ruin turned his attention from Kelsier, and so Kelsier took to trying to acquaint himself with the power.

Unfortunately, each thing he tried was met with resistance – both from Ruin’s energy and from the power

of Preservation itself. He could see himself now, in the Spiritual Realm – and those black lines were still

there, tying him to Ruin.

The power he held didn’t like that at all. It tumbled inside him, churning, trying to break free. He could

hold on, but he knew that if he let go, it would escape him and he would never be able to recapture it.

Still, it was grand to be more than just a spirit. He could see into the Physical Realm again, though metal

continued to glow brightly to his eyes. It was a relief to be able to see something other than misty

shadows and glowing souls.

He wished that view were more encouraging. Endless seas of ash. Very few cities, dug out like craters.

Burning mountains that spewed not only ash, but lava and brimstone. The land had cracked, creating

rifts.

He tried not to think of that, but of the people. He could feel them, like he felt the very crust and core of

the planet. He easily found which ones had souls that were open to him, and eagerly he swung down in.

Surely among these he could find one who could deliver a message to Vin.

Yet they didn’t seem to be able to hear him, no matter how he whispered to them. It was frustrating and

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baffling. He held the powers of eternity. How could he have lost the ability he’d had before, the ability to

communicate with his people?

Around him, Ruin laughed.

“You think your predecessor didn’t try that?” Ruin asked. “Your power cannot leak through those cracks,

Preservation. It tries too hard to shore them up, to protect them. Only I can widen cracks.”

Whether his reasoning was correct or not, Kelsier couldn’t tell. But he did confirm time and time again

that madmen could no longer hear him.

However, now he could hear people.

Everyone, not just the mad. He could hear their thoughts like voices – their hopes, their worries, their

terrors. If he focused too long on them, directed his attention to a city, the multitude of thoughts

threatened to overwhelm him. It was a buzz, a rush, and he found it difficult to separate individuals from

the mess.

Above it all – land, cities, ash – hung the mists. They coated everything, even in the daytime. While

trapped entirely in the Cognitive Realm, he hadn’t seen how pervasive they were.