The bright midday sun stood naked in the autumn sky, and Isaac Harms cursed the cold. Clothed in a black wool trench coat over his hoodie and a woolen mask over the lower half of his face, he made his way down the avenues outside Manhattan as people in light jackets and T-shirts moved to the other side of the street. Isaac ignored them. To him, the outside air was freezing. The air inside would be no better, but sometimes you just had to get out.

Though not without purpose; Isaac was not the sort to go for a casual stroll and some coffee.

Approaching his destination, he paused for a moment to inspect the lettering above the shop. “The Fire And Forge” was written in bold cast-iron letters welded to a polished aluminum plate. It was simple. It was strong. Isaac liked that; it fit a blacksmithing shop.

Isaac pushed open the front door and was greeted with a smile from the woman behind the register.

“Afternoon. Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” he said, looking past her then to the side. “I’m just looking.”

The lady nodded and looked back down at some papers as Isaac moved past a rack of daggers to a wall covered in plate armor. He had found this place’s website on a library computer, and supposedly all of this stuff was made by hand. Not able to work on his own forge back in Nevada, the next best thing Isaac could do was peruse the work of someone else.

Reaching out a gloved hand, Isaac tilted a helmet up from the wall and inspected it. The curvature was even and thin strips of bronze lined the steel dome. Not bad. He held up the one next to it. Slight deviations in the seams told that it was not made by machine.

His eye caught a price tag. Well that certainly matches “Hand-made.”

Isaac moved down the row, eyeing different pieces of armor and weaponry. Grudgingly, he slowly began to acknowledge that some of it was beyond his own skill. Most of the general shaping he could do, but some of these metals were notoriously hard to work with. Copper bonded to aluminum. Brittle materials wrapped in smooth knots. Metals of varying melting points layered together.

Whoever did this was good.

Cafas had several orders to deliver to the shop, and he hadn't checked in for a while. He figured it was probably about time he got around to both those tasks. Verdy was probably out of any work more interesting than minding the store too. Cafas carried the blades in his old dufflebag, wrapped individually in cloth. It was heavy as hell.

The Fire and Forge came into sight, and was swiftly in front of him. He pushed the door open with his foot and stepped in. The temperature didn't feel like the forge out back was in use. Which was good, because Verdigris was behind the counter. He'd had to speak to her about walking away from a working forge. The smell of wood dust though, he assumed she'd been making handles.

Wonder what for, I didn't send the measurements yet.

"Hey Verdy, how's it going?" He smiled at the girl, who returned the gesture, though with a hint that perhaps he'd been a gone a little too long. Since she was the one that dealt with most of the customers, he assumed there was a reason. "Good! Just waiting on these orders so I can start work on the scabbards. You?" Ah yes, he wasn't really leaving her with a lot of time on most of the orders in the bag.

"I'm alright. New girlfriend." Cafas couldn't help but smile a little bigger. "I noticed. Not that I read those magazines." Verdigris slid the evidence to the contrary off the counter. Cafas chuckled lightly. "I'll go drop these out in the forge, then be right back."

Yep, that's not been news to anyone I've told so far...

He punched in the security code on the heavy door and gave it a shove. The extractors weren't running, he could already tell that much. He could still hear himself think. Cafas placed the bag by the collection of wood for the handles and turned back around.

Re-entering the sale floor, Verdy gave him an indication over towards an extremely well insulated... Man? It was hard to tell from behind in a thick coat. The metal manipulator nodded and approached the customer.

I mean, I do pay her, right?

As he got closer Cafas could recognise a discerning eye. Not simply trying to fit helmets on their head or sticking to the most fantasy based stuff, as Cafas was used to. No, this guy seemed to be examining the pieces with the genuinely most difficult work. Cafas had of course cheated for most of it. It was just easier, and way faster than having to repeatedly remake pieces if he screwed up

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you how long that took." Cafas commented as the man, because up close he was clearly a man, examined a dagger with a pommel of folded brass and steel.

He genuinely wouldn't.

Like, ten minutes.

Isaac turned and looked up at the person speaking to him. It wasn’t often he looked up, and when he did his vision was assaulted with bright pink hair and multi-colored eyes. Other than that, however, the man in front of him did look the part of a blacksmith: heavily built with a few scars to show. Isaac smiled to himself; he didn’t scar.

“Oh, I might,” he told the man, lightly bouncing the dagger in his hand as if to test the weight. “You’re the one who makes all of this?”

The question was both an honest question and a test. Isaac wanted to meet whoever was able to shape metal like this, but there was no way this entire shop could be filled by just one man. He wanted to know if this guy was honest.

“This is pretty impressive,” Isaac said, turning the blade over and making a show of inspecting the pommel. “I have never been able to fold brass and steel together. What kind of equipment do you use?”

And the thought smoldered behind his eyes: And can I use it?

“Oh, I might, You’re the one who makes all of this?”

"I do all the metal work. A lot of the leather and wood is handled by Verdigris." Cafas indicated over to the girl, but she'd disappeared, presumably through into the workshop. The metal manipulator frowned. So that was why she'd sent him over, so that he could watch the shop while she did the fun bit.

“This is pretty impressive, I have never been able to fold brass and steel together. What kind of equipment do you use?”

"That one? My hands and a two pound hammer. Ii'd have used the power hammer but I'm not a fan of how much damage I do to it when it catches my hand." Cafas had replaced a head for the thing already, and that was not a cheap task. He likely could have made his own if he hadn't been angry with himself. As it was he'd placed the order before he'd gotten a chance to stop berating himself.

"So you in metal working? I wouldn't try folding Brass and Steel unless you have a way to fundamentally alter either of their properties. I mean, maybe it's possible, but I haven't seen it done." Cafas was a big fat cheater. Once they were folded, it wasn't an issue. Getting them there was the big problem.

Not the prettiest alloy either.

He'd just given away that he was a mutant, hadn't he? Cafas shrugged mentally. His site said as much. He'd had his fair share of hate over it. The front window of the store was both barred and plate glass. The roller shutter was nothing to go messing with either.

He used to worry about Verdy too. Until she'd shown him what she could do with a handful of ball bearings.

>”I do all the metal work.”

So that was his answer. Isaac’s head titled slightly to the side as under his mask his mouth curled into a sarcastic “I bet your mother’s so proud of you” smile. This guy didn’t know what he was talking about. Probably just an intern or cashier trying to sound important.

>”That one? My hands and a two pound hammer.”

Isaac rolled his eyes as he turned and placed the dagger back on its rack. He was done here. Anyone who thought you could do this kind of work with just a hammer had never actually been at an anvil. Maybe this stuff was mass-produced. Maybe it was made by someone else. But it was certainly NOT made by this guy, who seemed to think that a power hammer would be wrecked by his hands and not the other way around.

>”I wouldn’t try folding Brass and Steel unless you have a way to fundamentally alter either of their properties.”

Isaac paused. Did this guy mean to say that he could? A faint memory clicked in his mind; some mention on this place’s website about being run by a mutant… Was that what it had said? Was this what it had meant: a mutant who could alter metal?

That would certainly make things easier.

Isaac turned back to face the pick-haired hulk. Maybe this guy wasn’t a fraud after all. If he did have some kind of metal-altering ability, Isaac had to see it in action.

“So that’s how you do it,” he said, pulling his mask down the man could see the grin underneath. “You cheat!” The words carried the intonation of a good-natured ribbing.

Deep in his mind, a thought sparked to life: he was thousands of miles from home and here he had found a fellow blacksmith. A fellow mutant. Someone like him. The spark was quickly pressed out by years of experience. There was no one like him; this was the only truth he could trust. Besides, he had yet to see any evidence for either this guy’s skill or his mutation.

“Yeah, I have my own forge. I’m not too bad, but I can’t say I can change the metal itself. Do you think you would mind showing me?”

“So that’s how you do it, You cheat!”

The lightly accusatory tone and the good-natured grin certainly helped Cafas identify a ribbing. He wasn't the most astute in most cases, so he appreciated the other man's straigh-forwardness in the matter. "Yep. Not cheating costs extra and takes longer. Plus it limits me. I certainly can't fold brass and steel without using my mutation." Couldn't do a lot of things he'd experimented with over time.

“Yeah, I have my own forge. I’m not too bad, but I can’t say I can change the metal itself. Do you think you would mind showing me?”

"Sure! Never know what someone's saving up for around here, so I'll take you out back." Cafas motioned with his head to the door to the workshop, closed and locked again. He took a detour past the front door, flipped the "Out for Lunch" sign, and bolted the lock.

Not that I suspect anyone will just wander in.

A few short strides he was over at the workshop door entering the code with well practiced movements. He didn't take any special measures to hide the code, it was really just there to stop customers wandering in and hurting themselves.

Because they would. Untempered excitement is just dangerous.

The door swung open into the drafting room. Verdy looked up for a moment from her measuring, and gave Cafas a surprised look after spotting the bundled up blacksmith in tow. "We give tours now?" Her tone was neither here nor there, but Cafas knew she would just hate to be doing tours of the facilities. "Special case. Don't worry, it's not going to be a regular thing."

At least I hope not. OH&S nightmare that'd be...

Cafas smiled and walked out into the main shop. A cut off section of 1095 steel bar lay on a table of scrap bits a pieces. Cafas picked it up, turned to the curious man and smiled. "I suppose the simplest demonstration is this." Cafas dropped the melting point of the steel bar somewhere below zero, and the steel was left as a puddle on the bench. He touched a finger to it and reversed the process, boiling a tiny layer off the base so he could lift the disk for inspection.

Isaac’s eyes widened slightly as the bar made the instantaneous change to liquid, then back to a solid at the man’s touch. And the steel didn’t glow like it was being heated, either. So that’s how the guy did it. Isaac also remembered that he’d referred to “properties” in a general sense, too, not just melting points. No wonder this guy could make things that seemed impossible.

“Now that’s just not fair,” Isaac said, reaching and taking the disc from the man’s hand. “Did you even need the hammer for that dagger? Or did you just turn the steel to Play-Doh and poke at it?”

Isaac turned the disc over in his gloved hand as a sly grin spread across his face with a twinge of pride. He couldn’t just let this mutant show off without a little demonstration of his own.

“Though, I suppose I can’t complain too much,” he said, placing the disc back on the scrap table before crossing the room and dropping his coat at the door. “I can cheat too.”

A few seconds later saw Isaac’s mask, hoodie, and shirt join his coat in a heap at the entrance to the forge; he wanted to melt the metal, not his clothes. The pants, however, stayed. No need to use more than just his hands and arms.

Walking back over to the scrap table, Isaac picked up the disc and motioned for the man to move away, then took a backward step toward the forge, pressed the metal between his palms, and started to burn. He increased his temperature relatively slowly, pressing his fingers back and forth as he did so; he wanted to catch the metal just before it reached its melting point, when it was easily malleable. A few seconds later and the glowing disc bent under his fingers. Isaac grabbed both ends and pulled and twisted it into an oval-shaped spiral.

Isaac held the spiral up and rotated it, showing off his creation before making his hands blaze white and crushing the spiral into a melted puddle that dripped to the floor.

“It’s a bit more basic than your… witchcraft, but it can make things faster and easier to work with.” Isaac cooled and retrieved his shirt.

“It’s not a complete shortcut, though.” He cast a leering smile at the other mutant. “You still have to actually know how to work the metal.”

“Now that’s just not fair, did you even need the hammer for that dagger? Or did you just turn the steel to Play-Doh and poke at it?”

The other man's hand radiated heat as he took the disk. Cafas was a little taken aback, he barely tried to mask it. Even though he was himself a mutant, he was often shocked by some of the mutations around. "If my hands were flatter I probably could. As it is the hammer and anvil provide good flat surfaces."

“Though, I suppose I can’t complain too much, I can cheat too.”

The proud look on the man's face was not helped when he started undressing a few moments later. Quite quickly too, given how many layers he had. Cafas was a little dubious about where this was going. "I really hope you mean cheat at metalworking, not on your Partner." It was half a joke. The other half of him was very worried about this being some form of set up to make it look like he was cheating on Maya.

Tabloids man...

Luckily, the guy left his pants on. He came back and picked up the disk again, waving Cafas back a ways. The heat coming off him was far more noticeable without the clothes. The guy was in good shape too, not that Cafas was interested. It was more just a flaw that gyms had trained into him.

Judgy jerks that they can be.

When the demonstration started, Cafas began to understand why the man had taken his clothes off. His arms and hands started to glow, as did the metal between them. Cafas could feel the heat radiating off him like a forge. With an almost extravagant twisting motion the glowing metal was yanked apart into a spiral.

Cool.

The next bit was slightly more impressive. The heat grew substantially, hot enough that he had to step back again. With a clap of his glowing hands, the mutant reduced the metal to a puddle dripping onto the shop floor. Cafas was impressed.

“It’s a bit more basic than your… witchcraft, but it can make things faster and easier to work with.”

Cafas chuckled at the notion. his power was a bit witchcraft like. He didn't understand why it worked how it did. He just knew how to use it. The ambient temperature dropped as the heat mutant moved away to retrieve his shirt, though not without a final jab.

“It’s not a complete shortcut, though. You still have to actually know how to work the metal.”

"Oh ho. You think just because I can cheat I do? It would make this whole set up a bit irrelevant wouldn't it. I'd only need the wood and leather working stuff. Still, I can see why you might be jealous." Cafas idly inspected another bar of steel.

Should work.

He waited until heat guy was looking, then ran it behind his hand. Out the other side came a fully formed single piece dagger, ready to have handle scales fitted. A small amount of steel vapour fell to the ground. "It's really just a matter of efficiency." Because why would he make 10 people happy forging everything by hand when he could make hundreds of people happy in the same time using his mutation.

That. Little. Punk.

Well… big punk.

There was no way Isaac could compete with something like that. Though now that he thought about it, he didn’t really think he wanted to. He enjoyed blacksmithing more for the process than the product- what use did he have to old-fashioned swords and helmets, anyway? But the visceral concentration of heat and strength, the methodic, mantra-like strike of hammer on steel, the pride of having a finished piece that showed you’d fought with the metal and won; these were the reasons Isaac spent time at the forge. You couldn’t forget the world in your work if the work only took two seconds. Efficiency? It was more efficient to take a helicopter to the top of a mountain than to scale it, but you couldn’t call that climbing and you sure as hell didn’t deserve to plant a flag.

This guy needed to be put in his place. He said that he could still use the equipment properly, but perhaps being able to will finished pieces into existence had made him rusty. Isaac opened his mouth to challenge the man to produce something without using his mutation, then closed it again as something caught the corner of his eye. On the edge of the scrap table was a mostly-finished bottle of beer. A glass bottle.

Dropping his shirt back on the pile, Isaac crossed to the table and pointed at the bottle. “May I?”

Of all the pieces that he had seen in the main shop, Isaac could not remember any of them having any non-metal decoration. Even in the ones that combined materials in seemingly impossible ways, the materials were always metal. No jewelry, no glass, nothing. Perhaps metal was all this guy could work on.

Heat, on the other hand, worked on everything.

Isaac’s body glowed a fierce red as he took the bottle and heated the glass in his hands. Careful to get it just hot enough to deform but not enough to be sticky, he raised the mouth of the bottle to his lips and slowly blew into it. As he did, he tilted his hands into a “V” that expanded outward from the base of the bottle and softly rotated it. Reluctantly, the glass body beneath the neck inflated into a pointed cardioid. Isaac then took the bottle from his lips and slowly, deliberately, swiveled his index finger around the inside of the neck, widening it and flaring open the mouth. Pinching the lip, he pulled it down in a series of troughs that circled the ridge. Finally, concentrating the application of heat to the neck while the rest of the glass cooled, Isaac dragged a fingernail down the length of the neck in a series of ridges, then twisted the mouth a quarter turn to create a subtle spiral.

Placing the cooling vase on the anvil, Isaac looked up the metal-worker.

Match that, metal witch. His expression said as much.

Ha! that had him stumped. Cafas tried not to let the small amount of smugness he felt mar his good-natured expression. His eyes turned a rather light grey, which had Heat Man been Calley, would have betrayed him in an instant.

But Heat Man's expression shifted, and his shirt hit the pile of clothes once more. Cafas had a sinking feeling in his stomach. The sudden turn around hardly bode well for the Metal Manipulator.

“May I?”

A beer bottle? What was it to Cafas? There was no way he could see for any beer left inside to still be good. He shrugged and nodded in way of response, curious to see where the other Mutant was going with his next move.

He found out soon enough. The man began to glow and the glass began to turn a cherry red in his hands. Cafas was treated to an impressive display of tool-less glass blowing that left him with a rather nice, beer bottle coloured, decorative vase on his anvil.

****.

Cafas sucked his teeth and frowned slightly as he tried to think of any way to trump that. A second passed before he simply gave up. He couldn't affect glass, and the most impressive thing he could do otherwise was fire the dagger blade through the sound barrier. That was far too dangerous, one ricochet could kill a person.

The expression on the other mutants face said he knew he'd won.

"Damn. Well, I have to concede that one." Cafas approached the cooling vase and, carefully, with a pair of forging tongs, moved it off the anvil, onto the bench next to it. No point leaving it somewhere below eye level, someone might walk into it. "So, you're a walking kiln. I'm a metal witch. But really that's just genetic advantages." Cafas pulled on a heat resistant glove and offered his hand over the anvil. "Cafas Johnson, and I'd like to see what you can do without your mutation."

Isaac’s pride manifested as a shark-like smile at the other man’s admission of defeat. Sure, it only applied to the glass working, but he treated it as a complete victory regardless.

>”Cafas Johnson”

Isaac took the gloved hand and shook it once firmly with a short nod and a terse “Isaac.” Not that he thought about it, but it was probably the most sincere handshake he’d gotten in years.

>”I’d like to see what you can do without your mutation.”

“Oh, you’re on.” Isaac’s bravado was buoyed by his recent victory. “But no witchery out of you, either.” He’d actually been silently hoping for this. Not being able to use his heat would make things take longer, but it was actually an advantage to use normal tools when long, even heating was required for things like annealing. The metal witch- Cafas, on the other hand, would be back to square one.

“How about…” Isaac thought back to the time he'd spent at a local swordsmith’s shop in high school. “A short sword, start to finish, no cheating.” His eyes flared at his opponent. While he didn’t care about their use, Isaac knew that there was more to making a good sword than just looks. Weight, balance, ensuring one of the nodes of vibration was centered at the grip, these were things he’d had some practice with. Hopefully, Cafas would just be concerned with making a fancy hilt and miss the quality of the blade.

There was another reason for his choice: swords took a long time to make. He missed the forge. He missed the heat and the grit. It had been a while since he’d had the chance to work at his setup back home, and his experiences in this city had given him a lot of frustration that needed venting. Picking a competition that would take hours would guarantee him hours at the anvil. He had no promise he’d get another chance to work here, so he’d may as well make it count.

Cafas returned Isaac's nod and withdrew his hand. The exterior of the glove was warm as he pulled it off and dropped it on his bench.

“Oh, you’re on. But no witchery out of you, either.”

"Wouldn't dream of it. Where do we stand on the use of power tools?" Suddenly it was competitive again, just like that, and competitions needed rules. Power hammers, disk and belt grinders, plasma cutters, all cut down the time required, and the manual control over the tools too. It was much easier to hold a blade at a consistent angle for a minute than it was to file it at a consistent angle for thirty.

“How about… A short sword, start to finish, no cheating.”

"Tricky one to define due to the nature of archaeology when the term was in broad use, but I know what you mean so that's enough, ultimately. Where do we stand on historical accuracy for the piece? Anything goes, or stick to the techniques of the time?" Because double bevels reduce cutting drag, but were mostly an eastern edge grind. Fullers were nearly unheard of until metal quality started to allow for longer blades, but being able to alter the balance point of a blade without adding weight would be a huge advantage even on something like a gladius.

Maybe a hollow ground gladius. That edge would be super fragile, but beautifully sharp...

"I'm alright with either option for either question, I'm also happy to draw out steel bar rather than cut and grind blanks. I'll also wear gloves through the whole process so you know no witchcraft is occurring." Well, know was a strong word, but Cafas wasn't going to cheat. He had to have some honour, even if it turned out this guy was some hidden grand-master.

If nothing else, this guy certainly knew how to talk a good game. It had been years since Isaac had been exposed to the differences between categories and definitions of swords. All he had meant was “a sword shorter than a full broadsword.” There had been no thought to a specific type of sword; even now he had no idea what he was going to make. He just wanted to make something.

As for the question of what tools were allowed… Isaac preferred to draw the steel out rather than cut it, and he knew that he would do his hammering by hand rather than with the power hammer, but he did see the appeal of using a wheel for grinding and buffing.

“Whatever methods and tools you want,” he told Cafas. “We’re going by just the final product. Only thing off the table is mutations.” He paused and considered his lack of historical knowledge. “No limitations according to historical accuracy, either. It can be a fantasy blade as long as it’s well-made.” Isaac made sure to stick the “well-made” on the end, just in case his opponent could still be caught by the whole weight/balance thing.

Not likely, though, if he’s willing to be limited by the techniques of the time. But no harm in hoping.

Isaac walked over to stacks of metal stock, itching to get things started.

“So is any of this stuff off limits?” Then looking back to the lone anvil in the room, “And, um, are we going to take turns or something?”

Cafas nodded once at the terms. They seemed fair enough. Lack of historical accuracy gave him some room to play as well, which was nice. Still, a short swrod could take days, depending on how intricate you wanted to get. Plus there was some trial and error to the process, and metal sometimes gave out due to impurities in the manufacturing. Cafas was prepared for it if Isaac was.

“So is any of this stuff off limits? And, um, are we going to take turns or something?”

"Not at all. You got your mild steel through to your 1090 high carbon from left to right. Then there's the gap, then you have spring steels. Everything's marked, so it should be easy enough. If you're looking for bronze or decorative metals, it's that cupboard. Cafas pointed to a cupboard handily labeled Decorative metals right next to the steel. Verdy's doing. He just knew where he kept things.

Speaking of which.

Cafas placed a section of cut log on agood six feet away from his anvil and walked into his tool storage room. With a grunt and a some help from his mutation he walked slowly back in and placed a thousand pound anvil on the block of wood, pretty much every muscle bulging from the weight. "No need to take turns either, except on the power hammer, tempering oven, and grinding wheels. I have spares of most tools in there, help yourself. I might need to top up the coke forge, but the gas one should be pretty much full. We'll do what we can tonight and see about when to continue."

If, you know, he wants to.

Cafas wasn't going to need a forge for a little while while he planned the piece, so he hovered a hand over the extractor fan switch and raised an eyebrow to Isaac. "Anything else? I'll be in the drafting room we just walked through." The extractor fans made it difficult to speak.

Isaac paused from his hammering and took a few deep breaths. It had been two hours since he and Cafas had chosen their pieces and started work- one hour and fifty-five minutes since Cafas had forced him to wear gloves, claiming that touching heated metal bare-handed was using his mutation. At least the pink-haired behemoth hadn’t forced him to wear an apron. Isaac also had to work as close to the forge as possible for its warmth, since heating himself would also be “cheating.”

But he was enjoying himself.

Isaac had chosen to draw the steel out using just a hammer, so the process had been long and tiring, but the steel on the anvil was finally starting to take shape. There was still no real plan for what it was supposed to be other than some kind of sword, but the finer points of construction could come later, for now Isaac was content just to work in the sweltering room.

Well, except for one thing. Setting the hammer down on the anvil, Isaac motioned to Cafas to get his attention.

“Is there a place around here to get some food?” he shouted over the extractor fans. It was mid-afternoon and his lunch had not been enough. He was starving.

“Preferably lots of red meat.” Isaac paused, hoping that a fellow mutant wouldn’t be too put-off by the next part: “Preferably raw.”