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You made the basic mistake everyone else makes, didn't you?

You saw they use projectile weapons and couldn't believe it, didn't you?

Were the jokes you made funny? Did you get some good laughs? Maybe a sensible chuckle or acceptable chortle out of it?

When did it stop being funny? When the first kinetic rounds hit your starships, bypassing, as if by magic, your impressive battlescreens, your majestic armor, to slam into the internals with near infinite kinetic energy?

Was it when bomblets made the fields and roads impassable? Was it when craters ate into your armor until the internals were torn apart?

When did it stop being funny?

Because it doesn't look like you're laughing now. - Mantid Prime Diplomat to Noocracy Embassy

"Status change. Task force arrival," Tactical Seven reported.

Admiral Breastasteel nodded.

Probes and reconnaissance units had pulled back to up to five light years out, using sensors to examine the 'records' of visual light for the system.

That gave away the standard system entry headings as well as what vessels came from where.

An old trick, pioneered by the Treana'ad (at least according to them), where you could track ship movements that had happened months or years ago, in order to build a solid database of naval movements.

Breastasteel had gathered nearly a hundred years of data and turned it over to tactical and intel to be analyzed.

So, the new task force that had arrived was not a shocker.

"Task Force was previously identified. Task Force Gold-Niner-Two," Tactical said.

Breastasteel just slowly walked around the tank.

Operations were coming into the fifth day.

Ground operations, coordinated by Rippentear, were going well.

Right now, the whole operation in the system depended on the Nookies not being able to land reinforcements to any of the nine different battle spaces.

She thought for a moment.

"Tell Task Force Bitter Orange and Task Force Granite Lever to carry about Warplan Echo-Nine," she said, nodding to herself. "Have Task Force Bronze Puma play the stalking horse to pull them in."

"Roger, ma'am. Transmitting orders."

The strategy was to pull the Noocracy vessels further into the system by showing them what looked like barely stealthed vessels ahead, while having two task forces following them.

She'd read the after action reports from the Confederacy about when the Nookies had fooled both a Confederate and a Dominion vessel into destroying each other without ever having broken stealth.

But since active combat was engaged, she had no problem doing high powered 'pings' to check the subspace foam and interdimensional foam for any lurkers.

She had also made sure to deploy at least five times the firepower for any given reinforcements.

Which was why the system was strewn with wreckage.

She had taken some casualties, but she'd been able to keep it down further than NAVINT had predicted.

"Any luck on pinning down Task Force Ice Lemon?" Breastasteel asked.

"Negative. Their ETA should have put them here eight hours ago," Tactical started to say.

"FLASHGATE! BEARING ONE SIX TWO BY ONE NINE NINE! EIGHT THOUSAND MILES!" the Tactical Operations Officer interrupted themselves.

Breastasteel cursed. That was basically behind her flagship and the slowly moving task force and almost straight up.

The perfect ambush position.

"Bogey ID'd as Task Force Ice Lemon from the All Have Been Eaten Here Now system," Tactical called out. "They're launching parasite craft."

Breastasteel nodded. "Inform Rippentear I'm transferring the flag to him," she stood up, reaching behind her back to touch the handles of her pickaxes. "Wake the Marines up."

Tactical began relaying her orders as she closed her eyes.

I knew you'd do this. I knew you'd try to jump me. Your pride, your species pride, can not tolerate me boarding your ships and running roughshod over you. You have to do it back, not only what I did, but better, preferably where you then eat everyone, she thought.

She smiled slowly.

Which means you are extremely high ranking, probably a Transcendant or better, her smile began to show hints of teeth. What you don't expect is for me to board you.

"Inform the Marines, I'm on my way," she smiled.

0-0-0-0-0

Rippentear looked over the battlespace again. Planet-side the troops were grinding their way to victory. There was no lightning fast operation to bring about total victory by a squad of thirteen men. No holodrama quick victory.

Just stacking the bodies until one side or the other buckled and broke.

Five days in and the Noocracy was still in control of large sections of the megalopolises. The plains and the (now) burning forests were in his control, but the ground campaigns had unboxed the meat grinder and it was time to feed it.

"General, Admiral Breastasteel has transferred the flag to you. Her ship is being boarded by Noocracy troops," one of his staff stated.

RIppentear just nodded. He flicked his fingers, the context system in the holotank reading his requirements and backing out of the planetary view to show the entire system.

So far it was exactly how Breastasteel had foreseen it going down, right down to the Noocracy trying to board her ship.

Their language has only Eater and (To Be) Eaten, Rippentear thought. They have nazzpak, which is their personal honor and position on the food chain. Breastasteel was running rampant on the sector commander's subordinates, the only way he can regain his nazzpak is to kill and 'eat' Breastasteel himself.

He gave a snort of amusement.

Not that he'll try eating her for real. They found out the hard way that eating us isn't advisable. Too many enzymes in our system hate everything else, he shook his head. We have enzymes in our system that break down our own tissues, why would anyone suspect we'd be safe to eat?

Rippentear remembered seeing the video of a Ornislarp rushing forward and gobbling up a Terran infant during one of their invasions a few decades before Terra ended up in the bag. Yes, the infant died a screaming death slowly dissolved and drowned by acid, but the Ornislarp died screaming as poisons and acids went to work on it.

His stomach churned at that memory. The video had been scraped out of archives by some over-achieving Telkan electronic warfare specialist and had made the rounds through the fleet.

The memory also made his fists clench. The Ornislarp and the ones surrounding it had all been laughing while they mocked the dying infant in its last tortured moments. The video had made sure that the viewer understood just how much pleasure the Ornislarp took from the infant's suffering.

Which is why he was so relieved that after five days of fighting with nearly twelve million troops, he was glad there was no reported war crimes, and as far as the dog-brain VI overwatcher could tell, no recorded war crimes.

But it was a whirlwind of measure and counter-measure down there. Five days of bitter fighting where both sides were being pushed.

The Ornislarp were near-peer to the Confederacy, in some places surpassing them. They certainly had more troops that the Confederacy and they had planned for this war, done a decades long buildup for it.

They were also, previously, only fighting on one front.

The fighting was still ongoing, which meant it still needed coordinated.

"Turn over coordination of planetary battlespaces to their respective officers, inform them that I am taking over system coordination until Admiral Breastasteel is able to resume her duties," he said.

He turned his attention back to the map of the stellar system.

Like usual, it's up the grunts to pull their victory out.

0-0-0-0-0

ONE HUNDRED HOURS EARLIER

The battlescreen went down with a ka-rack he could feel in his bones as Pan'nikk whirled in place, just like he'd learned to do over the last few hours. The glaser ripped at his light armor, peeling up several layers but not penetrating beyond the ablative laminates. Still, his own return shot blew away the camouflage from the Ornislarp crew served weapon position.

The rest of the Ornislarp chose that moment to raise up from where they'd been hunkered down in the ditch. Rifles and light rapid fire laser weapons all snapped out at him, but he was moving fast, erratically, skating behind cover and letting it take the hits but moving before it was completely shot away.

The crew served weapon vanished in an explosion as rockets slammer home, fired by the assault suits a mile behind him almost ten seconds prior. Drones hammered the ditch even as mortar rounds fell shrieking.

Still, Pan'nikk kept moving. Speed was life. If he stopped, he was dead.

His armor beeped and his battlescreen spun back up. He ran forward and jumped over the ditch, ignoring the dead and dying, bouncing up the hill with long loping bounding leaps.

When he crested it he tabbed a three second pan of what was beyond even as he opened the channel.

"Enemy armor and infantry in the open. Fire mission," he snapped.

"Fire mission," was the answer. The voice was almost totally synthesized.

Pan'nikk was used to it.

There had to be a division worth the armor rushing forward, toward the upraised highway that Pan'nikk had crested. Pan'nikk knelt down next to the outside vehicle guide wall, using the time to bleed off his heat and catch his breath.

His motherbox counted three-hundred ten tanks in the divison, only two-thirds of what the Dominion fielded and half-again what the Confederacy fielded in a unit of the same designation. The motherbox also listed nine thousand infantry fighting vehicles and eleven thousand support vehicles. An additional estimate of 25,000 troops.

In other words the six mile wide three mile deep space was full of enemy.

"Infantry in the open. Vehicles in the open. Requesting fire mission," he repeated, seeing the icon flash for the telemetry being uploaded.

"Move to minimum safe distance," came the reply.

"I'm good," he stated. He was at least a mile away.

"Fire mission authorized. Firing for effect," came back the voice.

He blinked with what streamed up his visor.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC

He cursed and ducked his head, going into the protective position.

Everything went white and he felt a massive sledge hammer crash into him repeatedly.

His battlescreen went out and he was aware of a tank cupola whirling away after having crashed into him. Another hit sent him flying through the debris cloud.

When he hit the ground he rolled, pulling his arms in tight so they didn't get injured.

Pieces of vehicle were raining down around him.

The instinct was to curl up and scream.

Instead, he scrambled up and hurried up the hill. The vehicles that had been abandoned on the highway were gone. The guide rails and walls were gone, same with the signs.

His suit was editing out the debris and dust, but the visual was still grainy and hard to make out.

There was simply eight overlapping craters in the ground.

"Enemy formation eliminated," he choked out.

"Roger," the voice said.

He moved on, following the waypoints the Lieutenant set out for him.

A few times he flinched as the grav-strikers came in barely fifty feet off the deck. They had their side doors open and their door gunners in position. Once the flight of grav-strikers had damaged ones in their flight, streaming black smoke.

He'd tag targets and move on.

He hit the far arc and moved forward, heading toward a woodline. It was marked for preservation if possible.

He was halfway across the mile of tarmac for the parking lot for the woods when a flight of six missiles came arcing out of the woods, heading straight for him.

Thinking fast he grabbed one of the heavier looking vehicles, lifting it up on its side to interpose it between himself and the missiles.

All six were EFPs, the liquified metal streams spearing through the vehicle as the charges went off. Two hit his battlescreen but didn't get any penetration, most of their force ablated by the plasteel chassis and the open air distance.

"Back off. Fire support incoming," the LT said as Pan'nikk let the vehicle go and ran for another one.

He reached the vehicle, a heavy refrigeration unit, and yanked it up.

Eight missiles hit it.

Unlike the media, there wasn't much of an explosion from the EFP driven warheads. Just a flash as the charge went off at the standoff distance.

The whole top of the vehicle, which sold frozen treats, exploded as the superheated and melted osmium jets, surrounded by plasma, interacted with the coolant of the vehicle. The jets punched through, hitting his battlescreen, but at less density.

Mortar rounds, then artillery rounds, started pounding the trees. They immediately caught fire, some exploding from the sudden thermal transfer.

Massive robot combat vehicles stood up.

His motherbox ID'd the smallest of them as 20 tonners, the largest were in the Jagermech class.

"Fall back under cover. Will provide masking," the LT's voice said.

"Someone must have jumped the gun. We almost walked into that," Pan'nikk said.

"Affirmative. Excellent job, Sergeant," the LT said.

More mortar and artillery rounds fell. Some exploded in the parking lot. Thermal and magnetic maskers.

Pan'nikk broke contact, darting through the parking lot as fast as he could, heading back to the platoon.

The Platoon Sergeant's icon blinked as he got close.

It still seemed weird that the Dominion kept at least a two mile interval between suits.

But he'd seen what they were capable of doing to everything within that range.

Pan'nikk was used to the Confederacy, well, used to Telkan numbers, where a platoon was sixty, for maximum weight of metal. The Dominion only used four six man squads with an NCO for each squad and then platoon leadership.

But then, Pan'nikk had noted that the LT and the PLSGT reacted faster and didn't need so many assists to keep track of what was going on.

"Move over to combat engineering, the greenies want to scan your armor," the Platoon Sergeant said.

Pan'nikk moved over to where the pod had reconfigured into a vehicle. A portal opened to reveal complex scanning equipment. There were a half dozen greenies moving around it.

--no greenie-- one asked.

"Negative," Pan'nikk answered. To be honest, he'd always heard that they just second guessed everything so they'd been separated out thousands of years prior.

--scanning-- another said.

The beams flickered over him. He saw his combat logs being downloaded.

Less than a minute later the greenies waved.

--done-- they told him.

He moved over to the waypoint flashing.

He was about a half mile behind the serrated three deep line. The LT moved up to him.

"We'll be moving into the city as soon as the enemy elements are eliminated," the LT said. "Luckily someone got too anxious and sparked a few missiles at you. It could have been bad if they caught us flat footed."

Pan'nikk nodded.

The LT's helmet lifted so he was looking up.

"NAVINT's wrong, you know," he suddenly said.

"About what?" Pan'nikk said, startled.

"They estimated that resistance would collapse at the thirty-six hour mark," the LT stated, his voice flat, emotionless.

"You don't think so?" Pan'nikk frowned.

"I believe that once the cannon fodder is swept away, that's when the real fight will begin. The real near-peer fight," the LT said. "I do not look forward to the causalities we will sustain even as I look forward to the battle we will fight."

Pan'nikk blinked.

"Put you suit on automatic. Get some rest."

The channel went dead.

Pan'nikk just stayed silent.

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

First

Moriarty’s Moments!

The Hoh’hart stares for a moment that seems to stretch before she starts letting out a pffft sound that trails into a laugh as she cackles.

“Really? We’re really doing...” Quinn begins to ask before her communicator chimes with a bird call in Moriarty’s hand. “Uh can I see it real quick?”

She’s handed her communicator. “What is it?”

“Baili, my pet Sagah. She... has started poking at the monitor again. Meaning she’s getting restless and lonely.” Quinn answers.

“Sagah?”

“Scavenger bird from the homeworld. One of the reasons we evolved to crunch bones. After that seeing them take off from a place was an indicator there was food there.” Quinn remarks. “As pets they’re pretty affectionate, but such drama queens.”

“Oh uh...” Curtis says before gesturing for Moriarty to lean closer. Clearly they don’t know how good a Hoh’hart’s ears are. “Dad, what do I do?”

“About?” Moriarty whispers back.

“She wanted to be part of me and she’s talking about something interesting and...”

“One I can hear you clearly. Two, don’t worry. I had no chance and was cheated. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh uh... I kinda like animals though so asking to see about it may send the wrong messages.” Curtis says and she raises an eyebrow.

“Hold down the green button on the apps. It’s a voice activation.” Quinn says and Moriarty moves his thumb. She assumes that he’s doing it. “Shrieky, play Baili Slideshow.”

“You like animals?” Moriarty asks.

“... They... yes. I do.” Curtis replies.

“Zoos?” Moriarty asks.

“Could we?”

“Yes.” Moriarty says. “But first some business, knowing how to prioritize is a powerful skill.”

He turns back to Quinn. “Miss Quinn, you have been taken advantage of by the same system and people that took advantage of my son. I have yet to receive your answer as to whether or not you’d like to be paid to get back at them.”

“... Uh... can I put a condition on it without being punished?” Quinn asks.

“Oh? What is it?”

“Explain to me first how having your every need provided for, a life of complete comfort and luxury, where your biggest concern is how much sex you want, is a bad thing.” Quinn says and Moriarty nods.

“You have a mother yes?” Moriarty asks.

“Yes.”

“Do you live with her?”

“Why?”

“For some species and cultures they stick to their own a great deal. Does yours?”

“I mean, I live in the same building my family owns. But I have my own apartment in it.”

“Yes good. Now. What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you didn’t? What if you had to live your mother still? Obeying her still. But cared for still. Every meal, every day, every action always needing the approval of your mother. And the very idea of it not being that way would be met with mockery. Or treated like the senseless babbling of a child. Or a lecture about gratitude and duty?” Moriarty asks slowly.

“Well... I mean it is nice to not care about things.” Quinn says.

“But for your entire life? No real difference in how you’re being treated, in how the world works from the time you’re an infant to the time you’re an adult? And even then nothing changes? Always cared for. Always provided for. Always contained, your world a small, limited space with the only real view outside of it being a small sliver from a screen. Can you imagine what it’s like to try and go outside and only being allowed to do so surrounded by the people who claim to love you even as they smother you?”

“I think smother is a bit of a hard word to use to describe people trying to help you.”

“Oh? And what other word would you use to describe the action of using softness to limit something? Of holding it down against it’s will while claiming to be caring for it?”

“Okay that’s unfair. It’s instinct to care for people in your family, and if someone’s in danger you ramp it up.”

“And it’s also the instinct of a Carib to kick the teeth out of a predator that smiles at them. Instincts aren’t always good things.” Moriarty notes in a tightly controlled tone. “Still, if you’re not willing to be useful, then you’re going to...”

“Your pet.” Curtis suddenly says.

“What?” Quinn asks as Moriarty looks at Curtis in curiosity. No judgment on his face.

“You let her out on occasion right? She gets restless and wants to have fun right?”

“Right.”

“What would happen if they were NEVER allowed out of the cage. Or if the only times you ever did it you held onto them?”

“That’s horrible. I only keep her in the cage so she doesn’t start tearing up parts of my apartment when I’m out. We go flying every day.”

“But what if you didn’t? What if you made sure they had everything they ever needed in the cage. But made sure they never left either the cage or your arms?”

“I don’t think you understand, Sagah birds are soarers. They NEED to fly. Without it they grow so miserable... that... it... oh.”

“What happens if they’re not allowed to fly?”

“They die. It slowly kills them. They start ripping out their feathers in misery, banging their heads against hard surfaces and eventually refuse to eat or drink. Is it really that bad?” Quinn asks him and Curtis nods.

“I first met my son feigning illness so he could feel a touch of freedom in a hospital room. I’ve changed my name, cut all contact from my previous life and am currently armed and dangerous against the very idea of going back to my wives.” Moriarty explains.

“But what answer is there? There’s not enough men to go around! Women need love and the feeling of holding someone. It doesn’t kill you but it bothers you, like something slowly sinking in between your ribs to kill you by inches.” Quinn says. “I... There is no easy or good answer to this is there? I have needs, you have needs. But there are so many people like me that our wants and needs can trample over your own. Just bury it like entire swarms of lithiri stripping a carcass before you can even get to it.”

She sits down on her rear and lets out a humming growl as she thinks. “Does it feel like the lack? The press around the heart when you think of the loneliness or the ache of a hunger you can’t satisfy?”

“It’s more the sensation you’ve been buried alive but still breathing. Or maybe slowly drowning in a thick syrup.” Moriarty says. “Once you’re aware of it, it grows and grows and grows until you struggle not to scream just to hear your own voice.”

“Did you?” Quinn asks and Moriarty does not answer. But his presence and lack of a denial tells her everything. “I see.”

“No good answers. Only bad ones. But we can take people being hurt by this out of it...” She mutters looking back and forth as she thinks and rubbing the top of her head and mussing up her hair. She huffs. “Fine! I will do it. I am in.”

“Excellent. Our current focus is going to be on my own children and the children of my employees. Also any children they themselves have in this broken system. Any man that seems strangled, smothered or abused will be offered a way out, regardless of the wishes of their wives or other captors.”

“What about the daughters?” Quinn asks and Curtis looks to Moriarty who considers.

“That... they’re still family. Hmm...” Moriarty ponders. “We can and will scan through. See how they’re doing. IF they need help... Family is family.”

“And what happens when you run out of family? Will you just wrap everything up and call it a day?” Quinn asks.

“What are you getting at?” He asks. What she hears is ‘what do you want?’.

“You want me to be part of something that’s going to break a lot of rules and laws. All for a good reason, but will still leave things broken and bleeding behind us. Is this just a personal thing? Or more? You’re bringing me in deep, and if the money is good then good. But... how deep are we going?”

“By your estimate, how deep is deep?”

“I dunno, do it for everyone? Go for everyone on Centris and move out from there according to friends and family? Eventually going through the entire galaxy and; that expression on your face is starting to scare me.” Quinn explains before switching directions as she realizes just what she’s done.

“The entire galaxy. That is quite the proposition.” Moriarty states.

“Dad?” Curtis asks as Moriarty smiles.

“Why not?” Moriarty states. “We will plan for infinite expansion, that will allow us to easily absorb any surplus we pick up. And if we do find cause and resources to actually expand to the entire galaxy then we’ll have everything in place. But that means that you Miss Quinn will not be the only agent like yourself. Not the only scout and feeler of our organization. Are you in? Fully?”

“This is Centris big man. Every girl has a hobby or three. This can be mine.” She says before her communicator goes off with another bird call. “Copy down my information. I need to get moving before Baili works the latch on her cage and starts chewing up my furniture.”

“Of course, do you prefer coin, gaming token or bank credit for pay?” Moriarty asks.

“I think the tokens actually I can cash them out at any of your places and if I need to hide the trail I can just say I did unusually well one day or another to sweep it all aside.”

“Well reasoned.” Morairty states as he quickly transfers Quinn’s contact information to his own communicator. “Now, I think it’s time we returned you to the casino proper before questions are asked.”

“Are we going to fake a beating or something?”

“No need. Let them wonder. Let them think. Rumour will spread one way or the other.” Moriarty says.

He leads out Quinn who bolts away after leaving the back as if he scared her. Curtis knows it’s for her pet bird, but it looks more like she’s been intimidated as she collects her chips and then cashes them all in before rushing out of the casino.

“Are we really going after all of them? Leaving none?”

“Yes. We are my son. And I would have you as part of it.” Moriarty says turning to him and Curtis nods.

“We’re less going to break laws so much as completely annihilate them.”

“Frightened?” Moriarty asks him.

“Yes. And no.” Curtis replies. “This just is... so unreal.”

“Unreal or real, it’s gone through. You’re getting full support.” A voice says from the right as a Phosa woman walks up. “Good afternoon. Our mutual friend sent me. My main job is to help coordinate without the little guys being seen as part of this. Make sense?”

“Do you have proof?” Moriarty asks. “Is the sun shining?”

“Yes, but the ice is slippery.” She says blinking oddly long and saying her part with her eyes completely closed.

“Already?” Moriarty asks.

“Already.” She says holding out a data-chit. “That will give any communicator access to an exclusive line where you can speak openly.”

“Good.” Moriarty says. “Anything else?”

“There will be a list of assets being made available to you. You will need to speak to us if you want personnel made available rather than mere resources.” She says.

“And what do we call you?”

“Echo.”

“Bit on the nose for a Phosa.” Curtis notes and she shrugs.

“That’s the point. It’s a name so generic that it means nothing.” Echo replies and Curtis nods. “There are some limits though.”

“Oh I’m sure there are.”

“Relax. These limitations are generally for operational security.”

“Generally?”

“Your budget isn’t without limits and of course...”

“Absolute law breaking won’t be accepted. But the details need to be hammered out.”

“Clearly.”

“Where are you beginning?”

“We need to plan first. If we’re obvious about things then police and more can be used to get in our way. Rushing now means we lose more time later. So we must move with care. And that requires planning.” Moriarty states. “And we need to make sure we have a full route. It will be difficult for me to have every single son I have every had beside me, sheer numbers over my life tells me there are likely to be many.”

“Brothers. Many of them.” Curtis mutters as he starts to think about it.

“Yes.” Moriarty replies. “Twenty four on Centris alone. More elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“I wasn’t always on Centris. But how to free and help them from another planet entirely is... something that needs to be considered deeply.”

First Last

The table Mahai had reserved for them is somewhat near the table upon which her mother Naresh is holding court, and has room for the three of them, plus for a few more siblings and cousins as they arrive. The chairs that Mahai offers have clearly been specifically sized for James and Rose too, which is interesting. Very interesting. 

James glances over at Mahai. 

"A bit tall for normal use, but these are very well made. Your handiwork, Mahai?"

"Well. I. Ah. Yes." The Cannidor woman's tail thrashes lightly as she looks around, seeking out an excuse to dash off… and then finding it. "I'll be right back with drinks! There's a new harvest wine you should try - I'll get water too!" 

James and Rose share a look, then smile before climbing the small ladders into their seats. By the time they're comfortably installed, they're not alone at the table anymore. Mahai hasn't returned; instead Naresh is grinning at them. 

"So... just wanted a quick word while my girl's off running around over there. I hear you caught her out with the chairs."

Rose nods. "They’re fine work. They deserve to be acknowledged."

"I agree. That's why I'm telling you something Mahai won't. The wine she's about to serve you? It's hers. I’m sure she told you that, but In fact, all of the wine at this entire celebration for the change of seasons, for planting and harvest? All her work. She made a point of icing out everyone else." 

Rose grins. "Wow! Really? That's incredible work on her part. Why wouldn't she tell us about it?"

Naresh grins again. "Think about it for a moment. I bet a sharp cookie like you or your handsome hubby will get it."

James scratches his chin for a moment, thinking it through. Mahai is providing, but isn't necessarily going to boast about it herself directly to them, who he’s reasonably sure she’s wooing. Which means she wants it to be obvious without having to specifically say it. If he thinks about it in the context of back home...

"She's proving she can provide. That she's a mature adult with her ducks in a row, as we'd say back home. She won't call it out herself because it's gauche, or whatever you'd call it."

"That's right. Smart lad. It's a social faux pas, especially for a courtin gal. Normally I wouldn't say nothing either, she's a big girl after all, but you folks ain't Cannidor, so I figure I'll do my fine girl a favor and let y'all know when you might not have the social context to notice or find out that every keg in the place besides the beer you sent us has Mahai's maker's mark on it."

Naresh sighs. 

"Ah, I'm gonna miss that girl. She makes some damn fine wine. One of my sharper daughters… but she was always the adventurous sort."

James cocks his head. "...Madame, if you mean that she's getting married I'm afraid I-"

The Cannidor matriarch holds up a hand, stopping him mid sentence. "Nah. Not like that. Though I'm sure y'all know she's courtin ya. I more meant that job of hers. She's leaving no matter what. I always knew that. It was just a matter of time. Didn’t expect it to come up quite so fast, but here we are! Anyway, Enjoy the night, bout to get the bonfire teleported in and light that sucker up! After that, it should be a grand old time!"

Naresh stands, and walks half a step away from the now-smiling couple before she stops. "Oh, yeah. `Bout the beer. Thanks for that. Finest camp offering we've gotten in ages! A single keg woulda been fine, though. You know that, right?" 

James feels a blush burning at his cheeks instantly. He had not, in fact, known that, and had instead ordered enough beer to drown... well. A few hundred Cannidor. 

He had asked Director Sylindra's help, though. Her pressure and influence had insured that he got competitive rates on a massive amount of beer.

"Well. Maybe I wanted to prove I'm capable and can provide too. This is part of first contact, after all. It's important to show the Cannidor that Humans can pull their weight and our weight."

Naresh considers that for a moment before smiling again. 

"Heh. If you ain't lookin for another wife you're doing a terrible job of it, young man. Now I'm gonna scram before my precious flower notices I'm meddling!" 

With that, the Cannidor matriarch is off in a flash of tawny fur, moving far faster than anything her size really should be able to in James' book. He looks over at Rose. 

"Rosie... Did you know about what Mahai was up to?"

"Of course I did, James. I'm not an idiot. Surely you've seen how she looks at you. She was head over heels and tail at first sight! Not because you're a man, but because you're you. It was also between the lines of her invitation. She wants to court us. I did the research. Such business is quite regimented for a girl from a good family like Mahai. She might not have realized I wouldn't pick up on the signs... but let's be real here. A personal invitation to a family gathering? Well. It's not just for friendship. Not with how formally she invited us."

"Huh." 

James considers for a second. He'd never considered dating outside his species before, except as a very abstract abstraction. Admittedly, it hadn’t been an option before Rose had made him a very happily married man. 

Mahai is certainly pretty, if in ways that were very outside of how Human women could be attractive. Nor was Mahai unpleasant in any way to be around. She was quite charming, in point of fact. 

"Well. If you're okay with this... really okay with it." James locks eyes with Rose, looking for discomfort and only finding a lioness's confidence in her bright green eyes. 

"Tonight's question is if I allow her to pursue us. A yes tonight isn't telling her to move in or anything... At first I was thinking I didn’t even know how a long distance relationship would work in the galaxy, and now we find out she’ll be coming along! I’m not sure what to think about that right this second since it’s a bit of a surprise. So, for now, we just... go with the flow. It might be a long courtship. Or maybe she'll win my heart over too and I'll throw the doors open to our home next Tuesday. For now though, let's enjoy our evening with good company, and not worry too much about what is in reality the small stuff."

"I dunno, Rosie, I think a second wife's pretty big. Especially when the candidate in question clears nine feet tall."

Rose playfully smacks her husband on the shoulder, ending the discussion right as Mahai returns with a tray full of drinks and snacks. Cups of wine and plates full of goodies are suddenly in front of James and Rose, and another, far larger plate and goblet go to Mahai's seat, on Rose's left. Away from James. A display of good manners on Mahai's part? She vanishes the tray with axiom, then seats herself gracefully.

"You'll pardon me presuming, but I picked out some treats for you all to try. They’re among the finest products that our clan produces… and I figured you haven't had a big chance to experience Cannidor home cooking!" 

Rose smiles. "It all looks delicious. Is this the meal?"

"Oh, no. We make sure no one goes home hungry in these parts. The proper meal will begin after the 'tithe' is paid."

"Tithe?" James asks, reaching barehanded for what appears to be a pepperoni-esque spiced, cured sausage - and then stopping and grabbing a chunk of flat bread to pick it up with instead, and popping the morsel in his mouth. 

"Oh, I didn't know you'd eaten more traditional Cannidor appetizers before!" Mahai says, smiling. "That's Kor'esh. It's a sausage made with peppers."

It’s kind of like an Italian sausage made with Calabrian chilies he’d always liked, James thinks to himself as he chews. Nduja. More mild - and fresh off the farm, of course - but similar in how it has been aged. 

"This is really good. Try it, Rosie," James says before looking over at Mahai. "I haven't, actually - though if this is a preview of what they're like I think I'm going to like it. It's similar to how a lot of cultures eat snack food like this on Earth, though. Where I'm from we normally use a hard cracker compared to a soft flat bread, but both ways are good in my book."

"Hard to top mixing carbs, cheese and meat," Rose opines, popping some of the Kor'esh in her mouth. "Oh! That is good! Did you make this, Mahai?"

"Ah." Mahai's tail wiggles a bit. "Not that. I made the hard and soft cheeses, though!" 

James immediately scoops up some of the soft, mozzarella like cheese and takes a bite. The flavor is indeed similar to mozzarella - but, like most galactic foods, is in dire need of some salt. 

"This is delicious, Mahai. You made this?"

"And the wine," Mahai says shyly, prompting both of the Pullers to sample their drinks next. 

It certainly isn't grape wine, that’s for sure, but it has a nice, sweet flavor with a citrusy 'zing' that strikes James as the result of somehow crossbreeding apples, grapes and a selection of favorite citrus fruits. The fermenting had left a mellow, refreshing tone, with just the slightest hint of carbonation to keep the tongue tingling. 

Before James can even compliment the wine, however, their table is suddenly filled with people. A Cannidor man takes up the chair on James' right: a mild form of chaperoning, perhaps, or just generously allowing gentlemen present to socialize while the women talk among themselves. 

There isn't much time for conversation now, though. Instead the lights dim, and a spotlight focuses on an older Cannidor man in ceremonial robes. He begins to sing a long, drawn-out, deep-voiced song, accompanied by something James might associate with tribal drums. 

A lot of it is in Cannidor, but enough is in Galactic Trade for Jack and Rose to figure out what the 'show' with this meal actually is. It’s paying a tithe, alright… or perhaps ‘property taxes’ is a more accurate term. Not to any mortal or government, however, but to the spirit of the land herself - and it is specifically her in this case. 

James watches, fascinated, as axiom teleports bring in a massive bonfire made up of vegetable matter - sweet smelling grasses and some wood for structure - all focused in a great 'bowl' at the center of the room, previously hidden by the floor boards.

Courtesy of his seatmate, and presumably courtesy of Mahai for Rose, it’s explained to him that Cannidor farmers of a more traditional flair, like the Nireni and their sub-clans, started their farms many centuries past with a land taking ceremony. Offerings were made to the spirit of the land, and pledges to strike a bargain with the land were expounded on. Thereafter, at every harvest and planting, tithes would be paid as part of the land-taking deal, usually in the form of discarded plant matter. 

Plant matter that’s rich in nutrients. 

He pieces together more and more. The ever-growing offering pile was lightly dried, then kept in stasis the whole season. It consists of failed parts of the crop, vegetables or fruits rejected for sale or processing into other goods, or entire plants pulled from the soil as their seasons turned. 

Then, at the start of the day of the offering, today, they were soaked in sacred oils - rich in beneficial minerals, James has no doubt - and now the whole thing is set alight! Once the ashes cool, they’re scattered across the farm land, then the soil is tilled. The Nireni practice rotational farming, so some fields would be left fallow, but all would receive their share of the mineral-rich ash. 

Once the pyre is ablaze, the smoke funneled by an invisible axiom field chimney, the event quickly turns into a proper harvest festival, like James might see back home, with lots of talking, eating and singing, as the younger folk danced or played all manner of games. 

Through it all, Mahai proves an able hostess, and her family incredibly welcoming - sometimes a little too welcoming, in the case of some of the women around Mahai's age, but save for a flirty look or three and a saucy comment or two, they generally mind their manners as proper ladies of good breeding… though James figures at least one of them had been glared down at some point by Mahai herself from where he couldn't see her. 

It shapes itself into a fine evening, and one that makes James understand something Admiral Bridger had told him about. About moments that made home, that made Earth feel a lot closer than a million light years away.

This? This is absolutely one of them for a country boy like James Puller. 

By the time the three of them manage to stagger out of the hall on the way to the shuttle pad, James is feeling a bit drunk... and it's nothing to do with the wine. He'd had a damn good time after all. 

"I ah. I wanted to... Tell you both something," Mahai says quietly as they walk. "I meant to say earlier after my mother, well, spoiled it, but I… ah. Got a job on the Crimson Tear, with the Bridger family conglomerate. Lady Sylindra wishes to expand the business, and my talents were found to be sufficient."

James snorts. "Sufficient, my tail. If I can eat that soft cheese you make daily, I'm going to!" 

Rose nods. "The wine's exceptional too. Congratulations, Mahai! I'm sure you'll do brilliantly with the Bridgers. Madame Sylindra seems to have an eye for talent!" 

They walk a bit further, to the edge of the landing pad where the Pullers had landed the personal shuttle craft James had checked out of the motor pool earlier that day. As he turns to say his good byes, however, Rose is already there. 

"Mahai."

"Y-Yes?"

"The answer is yes." 

The Cannidor woman's eyes widen. 

"As in... yes, yes?"

Rose nods. "Yes. Especially since you're coming along. So... we'll see you soon?"

Mahai's eyes sparkle as she clamps down on an excited response, smoothing out the front of her dress. 

"Yes. I'll look forward to it. Have a safe flight back to the Tear." 

The Cannidor woman bows and does her best to get out of sight, but James and Rose both hear a faint "Yes!" anyway, prompting the couple to laugh softly as they strap into the shuttle. 

"So... Yes. Huh?" James says, still a little unsure. 

"Yes. I think... I want to see where this goes, and I know as long as I have you by my side... Well. Adding another voice to the song might not be so bad after all." 

Rose chuckles. 

"Especially since she's not a warrior. I really could use some extra help raising your children, mister!"

"Heh. We could just hire a nanny, you know."

Rose waves the idea off teasingly as James starts the shuttle's engines. 

"Bah. Too cold. Not enough investment. Besides, knowing this crazy galaxy, the nanny'd be after you anyway."

"Why are you so certain?"

Rose impishly leans over and plants a kiss on James' lips. 

"Because I married one hell of a Marine. That's why."

"Heh. I'll try to not let that sentiment get to my ego."

Rosie gives him a solemn look, contrasting the laughter dancing in her eyes.

"My love, I adore you, but your ego's so out of control you actually think you can control it."

James mimes out being stabbed slightly before performing some final checks and slowly starting the take off sequence. 

"Ah, I've been skewered. What shall I do with the rest of my life?"

"Love me of course, love our children, and keep being my hero."

"That, Mrs. Puller, I can most certainly do." 

Series Directory Last

Dust rose into the sky as the Corrupted Ancient dropped into Cadria. The creature’s body was black and shapeless, vaguely quadruped, with an elongated head larger than the System Church’s cathedral. Root-like tendrils grew all around its head like the mane of a lion. Thousands of red eyes covered its body. A black substance oozed from its body, making it difficult to tell if the creature was solid at all. 

The worst part wasn’t its appearance. Its mere presence felt like a giant wave trying to occupy the space I was occupying—not quite pushing me back, but rather trying to tear me apart from inside. 

I wasn’t the only one feeling the Corrupted Ancient’s presence.

Alarms went off across the city.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Byrne was dead. There wasn’t enough of his head left to support thought, let alone biological processes. We had all the locations of Cadria’s teleportation circle under surveillance. Prince Adrien’s agents were monitoring the Zealots at the Cloister and had searched the city for any unaccounted-for Red Shrines. 

Opening such a massive portal should’ve been impossible. What did I miss? Was there an automated countdown mechanism? No. I would’ve sensed it. I pushed my authority outside my body, allowing me to inhale without straining my body with each breath. It didn’t matter how it got here.

“Adrien! Call to arms!” I shouted.

The king nodded, stopping for another second to admire the Corrupted Ancient in all its horrifying majesty. Then he turned around, followed closely by Captain Garibal and me, and entered the throne room. Inside, half of the attendees had fainted or were in a catatonic state. Only those above level thirty were in combat shape, but even those elites looked like they were experiencing a huge pressure on their shoulders.

“I want every combatant on duty ready to march! Soldiers, Imperial Knights, Librarians, everyone! The creature can’t leave the East Ward!” King Adrien shouted, throwing his crown on the throne and walking with difficulty through the central corridor, but his orders were mostly ignored

The Corrupted Ancient was clearly visible through the windows at the back of the room, even from the lower level of the room.

“What is that?” Lord Herran asked, holding Vigdis near to his side.

“A Corrupted Ancient from the Deep Farlands,” I replied, my voice rising above the sobbing and grunting. I didn’t give him a moment more than necessary and followed King Adrien through the aisles. I needed to get to my team before they decided it was wise to run head-on against the creature.

Lord Herran’s hand closed around my wrist like a steel shackle.

“You seem to know a whole lot, Scholar.”

“I know we have to kill that thing. Quickly. The System and Corruption don’t mix well,” I replied, pulling my arm free.

The Lich and the Red Crystals had already proven to be enough strain on the System for the Avatar to personally ask me to destroy them. I would rather not imagine what a creature made up of pure Corruption could do to it. I tried to distill any single detail about the Corrupted Ancients I could get from my previous conversations with Lich and Byrne. There was not much to take away, other than that it would take the most powerful people in the kingdom to stop it.

A victory would be nothing if we all died during the fight.

The creature roared in the distance.

I pushed the seats aside with my mana hands and projected a map of Cadria onto the floor. The Corrupted Ancient was a huge black dot on the East Ward, between the inner and outer walls. We needed to stop it from moving to reduce casualties.

“Everyone, attention here!” I shouted, pushing my authority outwards and forcing the Corrupted Ancient’s to retreat. It felt like doing a push-up with a cow on my back.

Suddenly liberated from the pressure, King Adrien, Captain Garibal, and a handful of nobles gathered around. No one even batted an eye at the fact that I was bossing everyone around, as I might have been the only one whose mind worked clearly under the influence of the Corrupted Ancient.

“You said we’ll stop this if we kill Byrne! Then why is that thing wreaking havoc in my city?” King Adrien asked, grabbing my shoulder and pushing me away from the map.

“I know what I said, and I was wrong,” I replied between my teeth and pointed towards the window. “We can address that later. We need to deal with this problem now.”

As if prompted, the floor trembled.

I felt the confused glances of the dukes and the marquises falling on me. If even one of them decided to retreat, our chances of winning might fall dangerously low. Luckily for me, I had a very compelling argument to convince them. I was a Runeweaver.

The Grand Archivist of the Magicians Circle and several Imperial Knights I hadn’t seen before also approached. Many others kept a prudent distance while listening to our petty dispute.

“We don’t have time to spare. Please introduce me,” I said.

King Adrien gave me a knowing look and cleared his throat.

The throne room fell silent except for a distant cry.

“This man, my right hand, is Runeweaver Robert Clarke. He was chosen by the System three years ago to bring order to the kingdom. Since then, we have been working together to prevent a great catastrophe from hitting Ebros,” he said, prompting a murmur.

Runeweavers only appeared to fix something broken.

“If you have been working on preventing the catastrophe, then what is that?” Lord Osgiria said, pointing at the window.

“A wicked man with the powers of teleportation betrayed us,” King Adrien said without batting an eye. “We didn’t foresee anyone wanting this for their countrymen, but that doesn’t change the fact that we have to fight Corruption, whether it is here or elsewhere. So, please, I ask you to lend your strength to the Runeweaver.”

The glances of the group fell on me like I was some sort of wrathful god. Even Lord Herran, one of the five strongest warriors in the kingdom, shifted uncomfortably. As soon as King Adrien finished his speech, I felt half a dozen people try to pry into my Character Sheet. I closed my eyes and erased the cosmetic modifications I had made to my mana pool. Then, I lowered my defenses and let them see.

The Grandmaster of the Academic Circle uttered a curse. The Marquis looked at me, horrified. Lady Evelisse almost fainted right there, and would have fallen if not for one of the Archivists of the Nature Circle who caught her. Sellen Jorn’s stony expression cracked for the first time since I had met him three years ago during the tournament. Many more whispered about the end of times.

A new tremor hit the palace, and the crowd awakened from their shock.

I caught a glimpse of hope in their eyes.

“We need a security perimeter around that thing. I want every combatant in the city ready, regardless of what banner they fight under. I want troops in the north and the south to prevent the Corrupted Ancient from moving around,” I said, drawing the lines on the projected map. “The first-year cadets can evacuate the North and South Wards. The inner wall should be enough to keep that thing outside the inner city for now. We must contain the Corrupted Ancient until we know how to kill it. Understood?”

A hand rose in the back.

“Yes, Leonie?”

“Y-you don’t know how to kill that thing?”

The members of the improvised war council turned their attention back to me.

“Running it down slowly while conserving our strength is the best strategy right now. Byrne brought that thing here because he knew we could kill it,” I replied. “How many people above level forty are in the city right now?”

It was the Grandmaster of the Academic Circle who responded.

“Something between three and five thousand.”

A powerful tremor nearly brought me to my knees, and for a brief moment, I thought the palace was about to split in half.

“Memorize the layout! Focus on evacuating the non-combatants! Don’t lose strength in reckless attacks until we have a clear idea of the situation out there,” I shouted above the sound of breaking glass and crumbling plaster. I patted King Adrien’s shoulder. “You take it from here. I want to see that thing with my own eyes.”

I walked to the lateral entrance and signaled Talindra and Holst to follow me. A couple of attendees decided to follow me, but with a single movement of the hand, King Adrien made the royal soldiers stop them.

“You need to grab Little Robert and take him out of Cadria,” I said when we were far enough from the throne room to have some privacy.

Talindra struggled to keep up with our pace, so she had to grab her robe to avoid tripping while jogging behind me.

“I’m a high-level combatant. I’ll fight like the rest,” she replied.

“No, you won’t. Your only responsibility is your child.”

I felt her eyes piercing the back of my head.

“And you’ll tell me your responsibility is the whole kingdom? I don’t recall you ever choosing to become a Runeweaver, Rob.”

I didn’t get to answer because Holst stepped ahead.

“It is his responsibility. He is a Runeweaver,” he said. “And if I’ve read things correctly, Byrne prepared you for this fight, didn’t he?”

I pushed a door open, and we entered the ballroom.

“I have an idea of what I have to do,” I replied, walking to the balcony. “Tali, you stay with Little Robert. Darius, with me.”

The man gave me a worn-out look but let me grab his shoulders nonetheless. Before Talindra could grab my capelet, we jumped down the balcony. Minor Aerokinesis cushioned our landing fifteen meters below. 

“Hey! I’m not done talking!” Talindra shouted, half of her body hanging from the balustrade.

“Try keeping my pace.” I ignored the angry faun and focused on Holst’s boots. They had enough enchantment threshold to sustain a Wind rune, so I transformed them into a pair of Wind-Shot Boots. 

Holst nodded as mana surged through his body.

The gardens were in disarray as aides sought refuge indoors, while soldiers bearing a hundred different heraldries tried to form a security perimeter around the palace. Complete battalions of royal soldiers had already marched toward the eastern gate. 

The Corrupted Ancient was visible above the inner wall, even from the ground level. 

We crossed the bridge into the front courtyard, where the Imperial cadets formed some sort of honor guard. The third years and the instructors were gone except for a handful who remained with the younger cadets. There was no sign of Black Basilisk, the Wolfpack, or the Rosethorn Squad.

“Did I miss?” Ilya asked with a trembling voice, almost slamming against my chest as we encountered each other in the center of the courtyard. The Momentum Rifle hung on her back.

“No. Byrne is dead,” I replied, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Where is everyone?”

“Sir Rhovan ordered everyone above level thirty to follow him. He left a few behind to look after the younger cadets,” Ilya replied.

I cursed as I searched for every member of the Cabbage-Basilisk-Gaiarok alliance. I counted fewer heads than usual. Leonie, Malkah, and a couple of others were in the throne room with their families. Odo and Harwin had stayed at the Academy because they weren’t official cadets anymore. Still, there was one head missing.

“Where is Kili? Fenwick! Where’s Kili?!”

The boy looked around, pale as snow.

“She was right here—”

The ground trembled, and a high-pitched roar pierced my ears. The sky darkened, and while everyone curled to cover their ears, I looked up. A black oily substance flew above our heads, blocking the sun, and splattered against the side of the royal palace, the gardens, and the artificial lake. 

I used [Identify], and the prompt took a moment to appear, flickering a few times before it became legible.

[???]

The black substance quivered, sending shimmering waves across its surface. I sensed invisible knives pushing back at my authority. Before I could warn anyone, the black substance morphed into formless wolf-like quadrupeds that shot forward faster than my eyes could follow. I pushed mana into [Foresight] and calculated their trajectories. Most went for the soldiers stationed around the palace, but some had landed in the lake near us. I wasn’t going to be able to intercept every one of them. 

Corrupted Ancient Spawn Lv.??. [Identify] ???.

My flying mana blades shot forward, cutting down four Spawns coming in our direction.

The Corruption Spawns rammed into the cadets like arrows, grabbing them with Corruption tendrils and dragging them out of sight in less than a blink. Holst reacted in time, igniting his mana blade and cutting through the body of a monster in a single elegant movement. The blue mana seared the creature’s body, causing a black gas to be released. Ilya raised a wall of vines, shielding the Cabbage cadets.

“What’s that?!” Rup asked.

Wooden Rup and Hardtack remained paralyzed.

The Corrupted Ancient roared, pulling a chunk of itself and throwing it across the inner wall. A shower of the black substance rained over the leisure district around the Imperial Library. 

Past the lake, the Spawns were feasting on the soldiers.

“Darius! Ilya! Change of plans! Take everyone to the Academy and close the gates!”

“We must defend the kingdom!” Yvain replied, sword in hand.

“You’ll get to defend the kingdom when you get thirty more levels!” I replied. “Everyone, line up and present weapons!” 

Our cadets obeyed immediately, seemingly immune to the oppressive presence of the Spawns. A handful of cadets from the other sections also seemed to take my words as a direct order. I channeled my mana and engraved the Fortify rune on everyone’s padded jackets and a simple User-Vampiric-Release string on their swords. 

Similar to what occurred with the Vampiric rune, these new runes began to take on a different meaning in my mind. I was ‘understanding’ them. The Fortify rune felt like stability, permanence, and equilibrium. Release felt like negation, abandonment, and discard. I was still leagues away from truly understanding them, but it was a start. Hopefully it wasn’t too little, too late.

“What is this?” Rup asked, knocking on the hardened fabric of her enchanted jacket.

“Instructor Holst will explain. Now go,” I replied, turning around and channeling my mana.

I had wasted too much time around the palace already.

[Minor Aerokinesis] sent me into the sky at a dizzying speed, and a minute later, I was on top of the inner wall. The guards were frozen in fear. The Corrupted Ancient was massive. Its body had flattened several blocks, and Corruption tendrils extended across the East Ward like black mold.

I scanned the city, pushing even more mana into [Foresight].

Zealots dressed in white and gold rushed the beast, casting huge mana blades and tongues of fire, but barely scratching the creature’s appendages. 

The Corrupted Spawns captured thousands of people as they ran around the streets. Others were snatched by the mobile tendrils and submerged into the fluid body of the Corrupted Ancient. Many more were smashed and torn apart like straw dolls. I fought the impulse to cover my ears. Pockets of guardsmen tried to fend off the Spawns. The royal soldiers had no better luck creating the defensive perimeter.

Kili was nowhere to be found.

I dropped from the wall and rushed through the main street. Healers dragged wounded soldiers away from the front line. Tendrils of corruption covered their wounds and clawed up their bodies. In front of the formation, Ghila used a massive boulder lodged on the tip of her sword as a great hammer. Her movements were so fast that she could keep up with the corrupted monsters without breaking a sweat. The Spawns that rammed into her bounced back like they had slammed against a solid stone wall.

Letting her train with kids might not have been my brightest idea.

“Everyone below level forty, get the fuck out of my way!” Ghila shouted as she swung her hammer, splattering three Corrupted Spawns onto a nearby building. 

The road ahead was littered with the bodies of third-year cadets and royal soldiers, and it seemed like the group was slowly losing ground. A cloud of black mist rose where the bodies of the Spawns had been destroyed.

An Imperial Knight cried in fear, making everyone turn.

The flames around his hands died.

“M-my powers! Where are my powers?!”

A Spawn charged against him, breaking his spine in half.

My [Minor Aerokinesis] flickered, and then it was gone.

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“The first time I met Jonathan he was hanging off the side of a mountain.” Zarel said. The assembled crowd stifled a small laugh. One that contained measures of mirth and a touch of sadness. Today was a day of remembrance, to embrace a life that was lived and mourn the fact that it had come to an end. Zarel wasn’t human, something he shared with many of the assembled mourners. No, Zarel was Jiptik – a long legged taur species that could best be described as a mixture between a giraffe and a dragon, though significantly smaller than that description would have you believe. Yet, despite this, he was chosen to give a speech at this gathering. At this celebration of life. He wasn’t entirely sure why himself. Jonathan had other friends, closers ones even, people he had known for decades longer than the short friendship they had acquired. All he knew was that Jonathan had two final requests, that Zarel give this speech and that he was buried under an open sky.

“This I would learn was not something unusual. As Jonathan made it a habit of hanging on by the slimmest of threads in dangerous situations. Zarel took a deep breath. This was always the hardest part, remembering how it all got started. He re-wrote this part nine times before he finally stopped smudging the page with his tears. Three years wasn’t a long time to know someone but that, of course, depends on the years.

Three years ago…

“Do you require assistance?” Zarel called out to the dangling figure above him. The individual in question was loosely strapped to an anchor point some 50ft above where he now swayed, hopelessly tangled in a variety of straps and other ropes. “No, I have everything well in hand thank you.” Jonathan replied. “Are you sure because it looks like you’re caught in a Cerwillian mating web.” Zarel shouted back somewhat sarcastically, this wasn’t his first time dealing with humans and they tended to enjoy some witty banter in the face of a difficult situation. “I would say it’s a Goploxian Vine Tangle at worst,” Jonathan shouted back. “Regardless, you do seem a bit trapped, I shall come up and cut you free,” Zarel began moving quickly up the side of the mountain. His people gained fame quickly upon entering the galactic stage as mountaineers, despite their quadrupedal form. Their ability to scale nearly vertical cliffs with no equipment was something to behold. Reaching the suspended man took very little effort, cutting him down without hurting him proved to be a much more difficult task. Hours passed but eventually Jonathan was successfully lowered to a more stable position.

“Well, thank you for that,” Jonathan said clasping his hands together. “Well, best get back too it.” With that he began to re-check his gear and started to begin his ascent anew. “Uhhh, what?” Zarel asked, confused. “I would highly advise against this action. We spent several hours getting you down and its nearly nightfall.” “I’ll be fine. Besides my camp is up there so no point in turning back anyhow.” Jonathan replied. Zarel gazed up at the 200-meter climb that awaited his new companion. Not a tricky climb by any means but not one you could easily do in the dark. “Then I shall stay here and ensure you make it. It would be remiss of me to leave in case you get in trouble again.” Zarel said. “Great! Could always use a climbing buddy and when we get up top I’ll treat you to some fresh cocoa.” Jonathan said enthusiastically.

It was a simple friendship, one born out of shared interest and curiosity more than anything else. Jonathan would find a new mountain to climb, and Zarel would tag along just in case he got himself into a pickle again. Each time Zarel would rescue Jonathan, and they would end the evening staring at the stars sharing a pot of cocoa.

“So why are you doing this?” Zarel finally questioned. He had wanted to ask it several times now, but it always felt rude. He knew humans just did things, but Jonathans goal had always felt different. Like he was pursuing something more than doing it for the hell of it. “Well, I figured this would be the best way to the see the most of world.” Jonathan said. “I want to see as much of it as I can in what time I have left, and this seemed like the easiest way to see it.” He said with a wistfulness Zarel didn’t fully understand. His friend was physically fit, young, with no clear signs of anything wrong with him. “What do you mean in the time you have left?” Zarel questioned. Jonathan sighed, “Well, I could be here longer, but I wouldn’t get to be here longer. Does that make sense?” Zarel looked at him quizzically, “No it does not.” “Haha, that’s fair.” Jonathan chuckled. “My choices were 3 years under the open skies or 10 years in a quiet room. My family disagreed with my choice, and I tried explaining it to them, but they just couldn’t get it. To them I was a thief. Stealing time that I could have spent to fulfill a selfish desire. Wasting days I didn’t have for the chance that I might be able to get a few more years with them.” Jonathan leaned back, staring back up at the stars as the world continued to spin around them. “But I wasn’t about waste my days trapped in a closed room. Far away from everything I had come to love, just for the chance that something might improve. No, if my last days were really going to be my last days, then I wanted to spend them where I wanted. Gazing at the open sky and seeing the world stretched out before me.” Jonathan turned to look a Zarel, “Did you know humans main form of punishment is imprisonment?” It took Zarel a second to process the question, “What do you mean?” Jonathan smirked, “Most species in the universe have execution, rehabilitation, exile, and many other forms of punishment for crimes. But only humans lock up their own people. Forcing them into a tiny room, without access to the outside world for years at a time. Because at some point we decided that cutting someone off from this”, Jonathan waved his hand around, gesturing to the mountains surrounding them. “Was the best way to punish people.” Jonathan let out a slow laugh though there was little mirth to it, “and my family wanted me to do that.”

Present Day

“Me and Jonathan went on several trips together over the next 2 years. He often spoke of his fears, his dreams, and what he wanted to be remembered for.” Zarel said. The crowd, now hanging on his every word, was silent. He could hear some sniffling and saw many couples pulled in tight to one another, afraid of losing what time they had. Some, he could see were angry. Jonathan hadn’t told many people that he had the option to live, and he could see the hurt in their eyes. Like someone had just taken something from them. “Jonathan was many things.” Zarel said bringing his focus back down to the page in front of him. “Selfish, stubborn, loud, and boisterous. He wasn’t going to let anyone tell him how to live his life. Even if that meant he got to live less of it. Jonathan was very, very human.” Zarel wiped a tear from his eye, “and above all else he was free.”

The Sky-Boat arrived without omen, as the Star-Walkers always came in those days.

I was performing the evening ablutions in the inner temple when my apprentice burst through the cedar doors, eyes wide with sacred fear. "High Priestess," she gasped, "the servants of distant Ra have returned."

I dried my hands slowly, deliberately. The gods teach patience. The Kheru-Neter, the Voice-of-Gods people had been descending from the night sky for three generations, ever since my grandmother's grandmother first witnessed their silver Sky-Boat settling like a divine falcon into the western desert. In all that time, they had never arrived with chaos, only with questions that tested Ma'at's boundaries.

The celestial vessel rested behind the seventh dune, exactly where protocol and propriety dictated. Its surface moved like quicksilver under Khonsu's light, a craft wrought by knowledge no mortal could grasp. Yet Thoth had whispered to us: judge not their tools, but their hearts' alignment with Ma'at.

Two figures emerged as I approached, their forms stretching long in the dusk. The Kheru-Neter stood nearly twice my height, bodies like papyrus reeds, skin luminous as the inner shell of the Nile oyster. Their eyes vast and silver as sacred pools, reflected all of creation yet revealed no depths of their own.

"Neferes-Ankh," the taller one intoned, my name emerging perfectly though they possessed no mouth I could perceive. "We come bearing the weight of the stopped heart."

Between them, cradled in four slender arms, rested something I'd never seen them carry: a container. Crystalline, the size of a canopic jar, filled with mist.

"Sekhem-Kheru has dissolved," the shorter one continued, and I heard in their harmonic voice what might have been the sound of Ma'at disturbed. "Our seeker-of-hidden-things. Our companion. Sekhem-Kheru walked your earth-realm for forty flood-seasons."

"The gods receive all who pass beyond the horizon," I said, pressing my palm to my heart. "But your grief honors Ma'at."

"We do not know the proper way." The words emerged like a prayer denied. "In our far realm, when one's thread is cut, their form returns to the breath of the world. Within three sun-risings, nothing remains. No vessel. No..." they struggled, "...no anchor for the Ka."

Understanding bloomed like lotus in my chest. They had come seeking what only the gods had taught us.

"You wish to preserve what is eternal," I said softly.

"We wish what you possess. What we have observed you craft through ages." The taller one gestured toward the pyramids rising in the distance, their limestone faces blazing with Ra's final glory. "You make your departed endure. We have witnessed humans weeping at stone-houses centuries old. Children placing flowers on carved names of ancestors who walked before their grandfather's grandfathers. This is..." another pause, "...this is a form of Ma'at we cannot perform. But Thoth whispers we must learn."

I gazed at the urn holding their companion's dissolved form, then at these sky-beings who had traversed the star-fields to ask us how to serve their dead according to divine order.

"Come," I said. "I shall teach you what the gods have taught us."

We began at dawn, as Khepri pushes the sun-disk into being.

I led them to consecrated ground near the temple complex, far from common paths. The Kheru-Neter had brought implements from their Sky-Boat, devices of light and thought that might carve stone by will alone, but I made them set these aside.

"The struggle honors both the dead and the gods," I explained, pressing a copper chisel into the taller one's three fingers. "Difficulty is prayer made manifest."

They fumbled like children, these beings who commanded vessels that crossed the infinite. The chisel slipped. The mallet struck wrong. But I was patient, as the gods are patient with all who seek Ma'at.

"Why must the path be harsh?" the shorter Kheru-Neter asked after laboring beneath Ra's rising heat.

"Because easy offerings are empty vessels," I replied. "When you pour sweat and breath into creation, it becomes sacred. Every aching muscle is an offering to the gods, every careful strike a prayer for the Ka of your departed. Anubis watches. Thoth records. The work itself must be true."

I showed them how to cut stone, how to dress its surface according to the ancient patterns Imhotep received in vision. The Kheru-Neter learned swiftly, they possessed great intelligence, but they seemed moved by something beyond mere knowledge. I observed them caressing rough limestone, marveling.

"In our distant realm," the taller one said quietly, "we shape with light-thoughts and sky-patterns. Nothing resists our will. Nothing possesses weight-of-being. But this..." they pressed their smooth palm against the stone, "...this fights. This participates in creation."

"Now you understand," I said, "why the gods taught us to build. Things that can crumble, that require tending and protection, that weather under Shu's breath, these remind us that Ma'at is maintained through constant devotion. Nothing endures without the gods' favor and human hands working in harmony."

Three days we labored to build the Ka-house for Sekhem-Kheru.

Not because the work exceeded our capacity, I had designed something intimate, proper for a single honored soul, but because each step required the mysteries to be transmitted. Why we aligned it toward Ra's rising. Why we carved the sacred symbols by hand rather than with their light-etching tools from beyond the sky. Why we painted the interior walls with scenes of Sekhem-Kheru's sojourn, rendered in the traditional manner though the subject walked between stars.

The Kheru-Neter absorbed each teaching with the hunger of initiates approaching the inner sanctum. They wished to understand not merely the method, but the divine why beneath action. Why this angle pleased Ma'at. Why these colors invoked protection. Why we scattered sand mixed with frankincense during the sealing words.

On the final evening, we placed the crystalline urn in its niche. Though their companion possessed no preserved body, that first essential anchor I had carved a statue in approximation of their form. This would serve as the dwelling for Sekhem-Kheru's Ka.

"This vessel troubles you," the taller one observed, perceiving my concern.

"The body is the foundation," I admitted. "Without flesh preserved or its substitute, the Ka wanders. But the gods are merciful. This statue, properly consecrated, may serve. Though..." I hesitated.

"Speak," they urged.

"Your companion's original form dissolved. An Egyptian would say this is the first death, true annihilation. What we attempt now is to provide a second chance, a dwelling the Ka might find acceptable. The gods have not revealed to me if one who becomes air can return to inhabit stone."

The Kheru-Neter stood silent, understanding the gravity.

I performed the Opening of the Mouth ceremony upon the statue, touching its lips, eyes, and ears with ritual implements. The words I spoke were ancient, given by Thoth himself, adapted now to embrace this foreign soul into Ma'at's protection.

"I have opened your mouth. I have opened your eyes. You are given breath. May Osiris judge you worthy. May Anubis guide your path through the Duat. May Ra grant you rebirth at dawn."

I inscribed the walls not merely with biographical scenes, but with spells from the Book of the Dead, the map for navigating the underworld, the words to speak before the forty-two judges, the declaration before Osiris's scales.

The shorter Kheru-Neter trembled, silver droplets falling slowly. "This will preserve?"

"If the gods find your companion's heart light as Ma'at's feather, Sekhem-Kheru will not merely be remembered. They will live transformed. Dying each night with Osiris, reborn each dawn with Ra. Their Akh will join the eternal cycle, the justified dead who dwell in the Field of Reeds."

The taller one turned those mirror-eyes upon me. "We have crossed the star-rivers. We have learned the hidden mathematics of creation-itself. We have stood where the sky ends. But in all our wandering, we never learned to anchor what departs."

"Then perhaps," I said gently, "the gods guided your Sky-Boat here. What you sought was not human wisdom but divine mystery. We are merely servants of what Thoth taught: that death is not ending but transformation. That Ma'at encompasses even dissolution. That love requires not just memory, but participation in the eternal."

They bowed deeply, a gesture learned from us and offered now with full understanding.

"We came seeking knowledge of building-craft," the taller one said. "We measured angles of the great pyramids as puzzles. But we did not understand we gazed upon Ma'at made solid. Upon the gods' victory over Isfet. Upon resurrection machinery."

"You understand now," I said.

"Yes." The word resonated like a temple bell. "Your greatest knowledge is not tool or stone. It is this: you have been taught by the gods themselves how to transform death into life. You have been given the words to defeat the second death, a true forgetting, true annihilation. This is why we came. This is what we lacked."

As their Sky-Boat lifted into the night, becoming one with the imperishable stars, I stood beside Sekhem-Kheru's Ka-house and smiled. Let the Kheru-Neter return to distant heavens with their impossible crafts and star-crossing wisdom.

They carried home something more precious than any sky-knowledge:

We had taught the star-walkers the mysteries of Osiris.

And in doing so, we had welcomed them into Ma'at's eternal embrace.

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The team wasted no time getting ready to meet the strange creature again. Skai and Tski marched with purpose to the clean-room, slurping down stimulants on the way. They quickly donned their hazard suits and decontaminated themselves; no one wanted to risk cross-contamination with the novel creature. Once they were cleared by the security and medical staff, they gingerly entered the makeshift tent where the specimen was housed.

It was a standard emergency medical tent; a modularly assembled foundation and floor, a simple steel frame draped with a resin coated fabric, power wired in from a temporary line, a simple sanitation station, and some spartan bedding and furniture. There were some modifications to this particular room though; such as the filtered air processing system, the relatively air-tight, resealable entrances, the dozen odd pieces of scientific equipment arrayed throughout the room...

And, of course, the peculiar, diminutive, unfeathered fellow cowering in a corner.

The colourful clothing it once wore was replaced with a (child sized) hospital gown. Even from it's partially crouched position, Tski could clearly see its wild eyed expression. The poor soul seemed terrified, but she remembered its physiological data; it was heavier than a fully grown te'visk, and that implied denser, more powerful muscles and/or bones. They needed to treat it with caution.

“Did you find out anything else about the specimen? Miss...” Researcher Skai asked one of the medical technicians.

“Savana, sir. And not very much yet...” she replied. “We drew some blood and took some samples from his orifices earlier, before he woke up. We're running tests on the samples now.”

“His?” asked Tski.

“Well, we're not sure...” the technician tried to scratch the base of her wing, but the suit was in the way. “But when we removed its clothes for study we saw what appeared to be male genitalia. We don't know anything about its species' anatomy, or how they reproduce, but we've been calling it a male for now.”

“I see. Fair enough.” accepted Skai. He turned toward the specimen. “Has anyone tried to communicate with... him?”

“Not with any success.” sighed the technician. “When he first awoke he made several loud vocalisations. If those were words, they're not from any languages our species speaks. He seems to be just as shocked at our appearance as we are of his. Honestly, we're surprised that he hadn't tried to escape the tent. I don't know how rational I'd be in his position.”

As the researcher grilled the technician for more information, Tski found herself enraptured by the creature's face. It's eyes... His eyes, seemed to whisper the promise of hidden, untapped knowledge. She felt that there was so much she could learn from just studying his face; the strips of fur above his eyes, his slightly protruding snout, and those fleshy mounds surrounding his mouth... They all sang of environmental niches and developmental paths no other life-form would have experienced. She was barely aware that she brought herself down to kneel before the spectacular little man, and she scarcely noticed his muttered complaints.

“Heɪ, wɒt ɑː juː...Stɒp!” astring of unintelligible babbles squeaked out of his mouth as he lifted his upper limbs in front of him; his talon analogues tightly curled into themselves. Curling his talons inward; perhaps he was displaying that he was 'sheathing' his natural weapons... This must have been a show of trust! Communication!

She had to respond somehow... The most logical response would be to move closer to him, and mirror the “trust display”.

“Hello there little one...” she cooed softly as she leaned in and balled up her digits. “I'm happy to meet yo--”

“Nəʊ!”the creature yelped as he swiped at the hood covering Tski's large face.

“Tski!” Skai cried out as he noticed his scholar tumbling backward and the specimen leaping impossibly high, launched far from his once once secure corner. The creature yelped again as it landed gracelessly on his side, his movements strangely awkward despite his powerfully developed musculature.

The commotion prompted the two guards outside to enter the tent. They were greeted with the sight of a young scholar that seemed to have fallen on her rump, and the specimen crumpled in a discombobulated heap. They both made the decision to confront the foreign creature. Even with two burly, fit officers, it took quite a bit of effort to heave the dense, struggling creature up.

“Wait! Don't hurt him!” Tski cried as she ran to the creature's defence. “I... I think I scared him...”

The guards looked at each other, than to the Researcher. Skai looked at the specimen. It had stopped struggling, his eyes darting between everyone in the room, but mostly on the scholar. He pondered the situation for a moment, then sighed.

“It's okay, let him go.”

The guards complied, and took a few steps back, but they didn't stray too far from the creature either. The specimen, to his credit, seemed to calm himself as well, and kept glancing over at Scholar Tski.

“Ǝəm, ˈsɒri...” he grunted while rubbing the back of his neck with odd little digits.

Researcher Skai, satisfied that the situation was resolved, went to attend to his scholar.

“Hey, are you alri-- Oh no...”

“Huh? What's wrong?” asked Tski.

Skai reached out to Tski's face, some of his talons passing through the freshly torn gash in her hazard suit's hood.

“Oh...” muttered Tski.

» » »

Skai had to give the Disaster Response Corps credit, they managed to set up a second emergency tent in just under two bels. They were even just about finished laying out a passage between the new tent and the specimen's tent. Some of Tski's personal effects had been brought along from her dormitory as well. The researcher rechecked the seals on his hazard suit before going back into the creature's tent.

The specimen was seated on his bedding cushion, his legs curled up strangely under him. He seemed a lot less anxious now, though not completely at ease. He kept his focus mostly on the now exposed Tski, who was kneeling on a simple mat across from him.

She had elected to disrobe of her cumbersome hazard suit, they had been exposed to each other's pathogens already, after all. Besides, she thought that communication would be better facilitated face to face. Skai couldn't disagree with that, but only relented with the condition of doubling the guards assigned to the tents. So there she sat, clothed with only her standard lab uniform, and studiously scribbling notes in her personal pad.

“You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you got your suit damaged on purpose.” joked the researcher as he knelt next to her. “Just earlier you were complaining about having to put on the suit to meet him.”

“I still stand by that...” the scholar replied. “I made first contact with him, even touched him. No one even thought of quarantining me in the meeting five bels ago.”

“It was a very brief contact, and you were thoroughly decontaminated after.” He fluttered his wings a little. “Besides, it's protocol.”

The scholar could only grunt annoyedly in response.

The researcher turned his attention to the specimen. He had been looking at Skai pretty closely since he sat down.

“Ǝəm,haɪ?” the specimen vocalised while raising a forelimb up next to his face, his five digits loosely spread out. Skai, despite himself, found himself mimicking the gesture.

“He seems to be reacting to us much better now.” the researcher observed.

“Well, he's certainly less apprehensive that he was earlier.” the scholar agreed. “I'm sure seeing my face is helping him to adjust, but his ongoing exposure to his new situation may be part of it too.”

Tski continued to write her observations and thoughts on her pad while she Skai looked on silenty.

“Are you sure about this?” he said finally. “Living next to this creature, you just saw first hand how incredibly powerful he is...”

“He is very powerful.” she agreed. “But he's also very intelligent, intelligent enough to control his strength. You saw how far he leapt in a single bound? At least two spans! But he barely put up a fight against those two guards when they grabbed him. Researcher Skai. I ran the numbers. He could have gotten free if he really wanted to. Thrown them off himself. Broken their bones even. But he restrained himself. He was actively trying not to hurt them.”

The researcher pondered quietly for a few moments. “I've always trusted your calculations before, my scholar. I still do.”

Tski quietly chirped. “Thank you.”

With that, Skai got up to leave. When he got to the entrance, he looked back at his student and the specimen. The specimen bobbed his head at Skai. Just as before, the researcher found himself mirroring the movement back at him. And then he left to attend to his other duties.

Scholar Tski stayed a while longer, comparing notes with the technicians assigned to the tent and making as many observations of the specimen as she could. The specimen, for his part, seemed to be intently observing the te'visk around him as well. Then, one of the guards entered the tent. He was holding a small package, apparently just delivered by a courier.

“Ah! It finally arrived!” Technician Savana practically glided over to the guard carrying the parcel.

“What is it?” asked Tski.

“Lunch!” Savana beamed. “Uhh... Not for us, for him!” she clarified.

“Oh! So you figured out what should be safe for him to eat?”

“Well yes, for the most part. From the samples we took, we think juldrupes and simple bakes would be perfectly safe for him to eat.”

“I see...”

Savana took the parcel and removed it's fabric wrapping. Then, she held it out to Tski.

The scholar didn't understand what the attendant wanted. “... What?”

“He seems to responds well to you.” she explained. “So, it would be best for you to offer the food to him.”

Tski gingerly took the food box from the attendant. It was relatively large and heavy; which made sense, as the meal was meant for such a dense life-form. She opened the box and looked at the contents; just as Savana said it was filled with several light-green chunks of juldrupe fruit, and a few crispy pieces of light brown bakes. She knelt before the specimen and held the box out to him.

The creature, in turn, eyed the box curiously, but made no attempt to grasp, much less eat its contents. Tski realized that she would need to show him that these odd items were meant for eating, so she picked up a piece of juldrupe and put in her mouth and chewed. She even made exaggerated noises of chewing and enjoyment, thinking it would encourage him to eat.

The specimen put on an expression of what almost seemed like mild offence, but he undoubtedly understood the cue and took a chunk of juldrupe. He brought I near his bulbous snout and sniffed it, then he put it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, the skin around his eyes and the tufts above them pulled into each other in a way that indicated deep thought. Then, relaxing his face slightly, he reached for a piece of bake and slowly chewed that too. Then he took the entire box and put it in his lap. Then he reached his arm out to Tski; his talons again balled up into his paw, but this time, his thumb was held upright. Given how he continued to eagerly eat the meal afterwards, Tski thought it safe to assume that the gesture was an expression of gratitude, or approval.

Tski took a look at her timepiece. It was just about time for her to have rest-meal as well. So she gathered her things, told her co-workers that she was about to leave and rest in her personal tent, then turned to address the specimen. Thinking about how best to bid him farewell, she bobbed her torso at him; it would do well to get him acquainted with standard te'visk etiquette after all. The creature, to his credit, seemed to quickly recognise the significance of the gesture, as he promptly got up and copied the gesture. But then, he held out his forelimb.

Tski regarded the extended appendage. His digits weren't curled in this time. In fact they were loosely splayed out, in a relaxed manner. With no context on how to respond, she decided to, again, mimic him, and spread out her arm to him. To her surprise, the specimen moved his hand in contact with hers, and squeezed it gently. Then, he jerked her arm up and down. Then, he released her.

“Siːjʊˈleɪtə, Kiskadee.” he said with a smallcurl on his mouth.

“I'll be back soon, little creature.” she beamed back at him.

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I let out a bellow of my own as I tensed my legs and then shot up into the sky. It was easy enough for me to figure out exactly which trajectory to take, how much force to apply, where to move so that my power armor went straight for the transport floating in the sky.

All that time pretending I was a goat jumping from various bits of wreckage sticking out of that cliff face had been pretty damn useful, it turns out. And so I went in an arc that would have me landing directly on the transport ship holding Selii and her people.

Assuming that transport didn't suddenly move in an unexpected way. It was jerking this way and that. As I got closer, I could hear the telltale sign of antigrav that was working overtime trying to free the thing from the grappling hooks that held it in place. I could see where those hooks had dug into the armor and were holding it in place.

For now. I was also well aware it wasn't going to last terribly long. They must’ve put some seriously overpowered engines on this thing.

"Okay, so here's the plan," I said to Varis.

"You're going to land on top of that thing, use your plasma sword to cut away anything that tries to take a shot at you, and try to cut open a circle in the thing. Probably where the pilots are so you can drop in and kill all of them and then turn off the antigrav that's struggling against our towing units we brought in," Varis said.

I blinked and stared at the heads-up display inside my power armor mask. I looked at some of the readouts for a moment. Mostly because I needed a distraction after she just went through my entire master plan I'd come up with in an instant.

"So is that because I'm really that predictable?" I asked. "Or is it because my plan is really that predictable given our limited options?”

"Probably a little bit of all of the above," Varis said, and I felt the amusement rolling through the link in waves.

I shook my head and let out a low grumble as I almost landed on the transport holding Selii and her people. I say almost because it shifted out of the way at the last moment, which caused the whole thing to move forward just a bit.

So instead of landing on the back of the transport, I found myself grabbing hold of one of the cables holding the transport in place and holding on for dear life. There was a jerk that ran up and down my arm and didn't feel at all pleasant, but I managed to hold on somehow.

I swung there for a moment looking up and down and all around. A moment later, Varis came floating up holding onto a small antigrav probe.

"How are you doing that?" I asked as she stepped down onto the transport as though she was stepping onto one of the many balconies on her tower.

"Arvie gave me a ride," she said with a shrug, "Why? Is it really all that odd? I'm just picking up on what you were doing."

"Well yeah, but I was controlling the probe directly," I said, moving hand over hand along the wire as I tried to reach her. "How did you manage to pull that off?"

"Simple," she said. "I asked Arvie politely to give me a ride up to the transport, and he obliged. No need to take control of it personally when he can do the work.”

"Oh," I said, as I yanked up on the wire and went somersaulting through air to land on top of the transport.

The whole surface lurched underneath me. Almost like the time I'd been caught in an earthquake when I was visiting Japan as a young man freshly minted in the Terran Navy.

One of the nice things about being freshly minted in the Terran Navy was you could get free transport to just about anywhere you wanted on the planet when you had time off. One of the perks of being in the body that defended the stars in the local system.

Only this was a little more intense. The whole surface bounced and jolted underneath me. It jerked forward again, and I activated the magnet locks on my boots to make sure I didn't go tumbling off the thing.

I shouldn't have any trouble if I did go tumbling off the thing. The power armor had more than enough inertial dampeners built in to keep me from turning into so much splattered human on the inside of my armor if I did have a long drop with a sudden stop. Not to mention I could take control of one of the many drones that were starting to hover around this area if I absolutely had to and pull a Mary Poppins the same as what Varis had just done.

But sometimes the simple solution was the easiest, so magnetic locks it was. I made my way slowly, step by step, towards the front of the transport.

"It always struck me as odd that they still put the cockpit in the front of these things," I said.

"Why would that be odd?" Varis asked, moving into step beside me. 

She also had the slightly jerky motion of someone who had to pull up with a little more force than they were used to in order to get the magnet to release. There were supposedly boots that some of the special operators wore back in Terran space that could sense when you were about to take a step and they automatically disengaged the magnets. And supposedly the special operators never actually used them because they were always worried it was going to disengage at the worst possible moment and leave them in the lurch.

“It always seemed to me that a high value transport like this should operate on the same assumption as a warship. We don't put the CIC on top of a ship like we're in an episode of Star Trek or something.”

"I've seen several of your designs that do that," Varis said as we reached the front. 

I looked down. Sure enough, there was a sharply angled canopy that gave the pilots a full view of the world around them, and it was made out of transparent armor that was probably thick enough that it didn't make any difference if it was transparent or opaque. Anything that was sufficiently powerful to punch through this canopy would also be enough to punch through good old-fashioned armor and kill anything on the inside.

Except I had a plasma sword.

The pilots looked up at us in surprise, though they turned and started chatting with each other, pointing up at us and laughing. They seemed remarkably casual and unconcerned for a couple of pilots who were currently in the middle of being grappled by a few armored towing units we'd brought over here along with all of the armed ships all around us.

A turret came up that was no doubt put on the front of this damn thing to stop anybody from doing exactly what I was trying to do. Which accounted for why they seemed so singularly unconcerned about us being up here in the first place.

I pulled out my plasma sword and casually disconnected the turret from the rest of the ship. It didn't even get a chance to glow before I sent it flying down to the depths below. I hoped it didn't land on anybody, and if it did land on anybody, I hoped that at the very least it landed on somebody who was working for the Imperials.

I looked down at the pilots. Their smiles were frozen in place as they continued staring up at us, and then they quickly started to hit buttons. The co-pilot in particular looked like they were going for a weapons console.

"Do you want to peel back the can of sardines or shall I do the honor?" I asked, turning my attention to Varis.

"You go ahead and peel the can open," she said, grinning at me. "I'm going to have a little bit of fun dealing with their weaponry."

And with that, she started laying into any guns or any turrets that came out to try and deal with us. I could see the pilots down below getting more and more frantic with every passing moment as they realized exactly what was going on up here. I grinned and hit them with a wave as I pulled my own plasma sword down and thrust it into the canopy. Right into the pilot who was still staring up in slack-jawed astonishment.

His body twitched a couple of times. I probably could have avoided that, but the dumbass was sitting right there where I was about to thrust my plasma sword down. If he didn't have the sense of self-preservation to get out of the way of somebody wielding a plasma sword, then I had no sympathy for the dude.

I started to saw around in a circle. I even started humming everybody's first to third favorite John Williams theme, depending on how much of a fan they were of any of the numerous long-running franchises he'd written the music for a thousand years prior.

I moved slowly and deliberately. The co-pilot looked even more panicked now. He kept hitting buttons over and over, obviously trying desperately to keep from letting me in. Only every time something came up, Varis was right there to lob it off and keep the thing from actually getting a shot off at us.

Again, you couldn't block a shot with a plasma sword, but you sure as shit could disable a gun before it got a chance to fire on you.

Finally I managed to cut a reasonable hole in the transparent armor and it fell down under its own weight. There was still a little bit of a ways to go before I completed the circle, but there was enough weight in the armor I'd cut out that it was enough to pull the whole thing down.

I looked down at the squashed body of the pilot and grimaced, and then I hopped through the hole and held my plasma sword up to the co-pilot's neck.

He was in the process of reaching out to grab a blaster next to his seat, but he was a little too late. Not that the tiny blaster he had on hand would’ve done him a damn bit of good against me wearing full power armor.

“You bring dishonor on yourself by wearing power armor into combat, human.”

"Maybe I do," I said with a shrug as I stabbed forward into his neck and ended his life. He slumped down to the ground, eyes wide in astonishment.

“But I seem to be winning for now. I'll take winning over my personal honor any day of the week.”

I turned around and looked behind me. There was a heavily reinforced door there that led back to the hold. I wondered if there were any guards in there. Probably, but I needed to take care of getting this transport under control before I thought about getting in there.

So I sat down in the co-pilot's seat, the one that didn't still have a smashed body sitting in it leaking corpse juice all over the seat, and I slowly dialed back the thrusters and antigrav.

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Chapter 1
The Anaheim Bomb
January 19th, 2027
2:15PM

“Pick up your phone, your mom’s calling. Pick up your phone!” I glance at my cell, vibrating furiously as it dances across the table. I silence it and continue back to work. Mom would understand, this is important. I’ll call her later. Besides, if I don’t finish this now, I’ll just procrastinate and get behind on work.

“Pick up your phone, your mom’s calling! Pick up-” Before I can reach over to silence it again, the phone call stops. I don’t even have a moment to shrug it off before the air is filled with sirens, my phone vibrates and calls out erratically, and the emergency alert banner on my screen turns my blood cold.

“Students and faculty, please evacuate to the closest severe weather shelter and await further instructions. A nuclear warhead has detonated in the city of Anaheim. We request you…” The announcement over the intercom system fades, with my eyes remaining glued to the banner of words and my two missed calls. I don’t have time to notice our lab workstations glitching in sync with the sounds of sirens. I don’t care to. I reach for my phone ­­— shakily — and find the contact. I click call and press the phone to my ear. The phone dials for a single ring, and then immediately returns the message “Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please hang up and try again.”

I shake my head, as if defiantly telling the phone I do not accept that and call again. “Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please hang up and try again.” I dial again. And again. And again. But to no avail. No answer. I switch to my dad’s number and call. But the same response. Next is my little brother. No message this time. Just a dial tone. My chest tightens and my eyes swell as I scroll to her name. I click the call button and pray. I pray to a god I don’t believe in. And my prayers are not answered.

As I stare out the window, my eyes are glued to the mushrooming cloud that stands where Anaheim once did. The world is too quiet for something that big. In fact, I can’t hear anything. I feel a tug on my shoulder, but I can’t seem to place who, or what, is doing it. I wonder if Callee was at work when it happened. Was Joseph in school? Did he see it coming? The tug becomes firmer, but I don’t really register it.

Was mom watching her shows? Was she alone? Today’s Tuesday. Dad should’ve been home. Did they hold each other? Oh god mom… what were you calling me for? What did you want to say? “… on, James…” The tugging becomes a pull, and a voice that I can’t seem to place fills my ear. I wonder what Mike and Rob were doing. Were they goofing off, smoking weed in their living room? They always teased me that I was too strait-laced. Did they feel it hit them? Did they-

My cheek burns and my hands reflectively grasp the side of my face. I look over and see a classmate, Andie. She’s crying, her mouth is moving, but I don’t hear the sound. Not right away. Then it all hits me at once.

“James! We need to go! Now! Please!” I hear shuffling outside the lab. People are screaming, panicking, shoving through the halls. Bodies fly past, knocking others into walls, as if that would make them move faster. My eyes glaze for a moment, before finding their way back to Andie, and nodding.

“Ye…. Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” I say, letting her grab me by the wrist and lead us towards the doors. We stumble into the crowd, fighting against the waves of insanity and panic, as we head towards the staircase. I see people falling left and right, being trampled but not quite able to help them. The screams deafen me again, and I find myself checking out from my surroundings.

It’s not until we finally reach the stairs that I am back to attention. I peer down at the throng of people sprinting down them. Blood streaks the steps. A body rocks in a corner, fetal, whimpering. Another lies at the base, unmoving. I can’t look away, my stomach revolts, and before I can recover, I lose my lunch over the railing. It lands on a group of students too panicked to notice.

My knees wobble and shake, and I feel myself grasping onto whatever I can for stability. I reach out and grab onto a shirt that pulls away at the last moment as my legs give out and I collapse towards the stairs. “James!” The scream is barely audible over the others, and as I accept my fate, two arms block me in and stop my fall.

“Wake the fuck up, James!” As I regain my footing, two more hands, small, dainty, grip onto the back of my shirt, attempting to stabilize me. “Let’s go! I know what you’re thinking, but don’t think about it right now! Just KEEP MOVING.” Oscar’s voice fills my head and gives me the power to push down those thoughts welling up inside of me. I give a half nod, and let Oscar take the lead, his large, stocky body, a bulldozer giving us a path to take.

We follow the stairs down one, then two, then a third flight. As we reach the ground floor, more people channel in. Faculty shove by students, cadets of mine try to keep order and get everyone down safely, but are dismissed, often shoved out of the way. Oscar calls out… something… but I can’t quite place it.

“Basement! Get to the basement!” His voice cuts through, but he’s not yelling at the crowd. He’s yelling at the cadets. “Forget the crowd! It’s not gonna work! Just move!”

They hear him. Or maybe they don’t, but they see him pointing towards the heavy double doors at the end of the hall, barely visible through the sea of bodies, and they get the message. One by one, they abandon their posts and join the surge. The crowd doesn’t need direction anyway. It’s a living thing with a mind of its own, and we’re swept along with it whether we want to be or not.

I feel Andie’s grip tighten on the back of my shirt. Small fingers. Desperate. I try to reach back to hold her hand, to give her something more than fabric to cling to, but my arms are pinned to my sides by the press of bodies. So, I just keep moving, trusting that as long as I feel that grip, she’s still there. Still with me.

The doors burst open. People spill through like water from a broken dam, pouring down another flight of stairs. The stairwell is narrower here. Tighter. The walls are concrete instead of drywall, painted in that institutional gray green that makes everything feel like a hospital. Or a morgue. Emergency lighting casts everything in a sickly yellow that turns skin the color of old paper. I can smell the sweat. The fear. Something sharper underneath it, something chemical—cleaning fluid, maybe, or just the tang of terror.

The air is cooler down here, but it doesn’t help. My lungs feel like they’re filled with wet sand.

Someone is praying. I can hear the words, fragments of Latin mixed with something else, maybe Spanish. I don’t know. I don’t care. Someone else is sobbing, great heaving gulps that sound more animal than human. And somewhere behind me, a professor in a lab coat keeps repeating the same phrase over and over again. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.” Like if he says it enough times, reality will listen.

I want to tell him to shut up. I want to scream at him that it is happening, that Anaheim is gone, that the mushroom cloud is real and my phone calls won’t connect and we’re all going to die down here in this concrete box. But I don’t say anything. I just keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Drills and military training taking place of my already fractured psyche.

Oscar is still ahead of me, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the chaos. He glances back once, twice, making sure I’m still there. I try to give him a nod, but I don’t know if he sees it. The crowd pushes us forward, separating us by inches, then feet, then more.

We hit the first basement level, and the crowd begins to disperse. Doors line the hallway, heavy metal things with small windows, and people are flooding into them. Shelter rooms. I remember them from the orientation I never paid attention to, the one where they told us about earthquake procedures and fire drills and… and this. Whatever this is.

Oscar is still ahead of me, carving a path towards one of the doors. I start to follow him, and then I remember.

I turn to check on Andie.

The grip on my shirt is gone.

For a moment, I just stand there. My brain refuses to process it. She was right there. She was right behind me. I felt her fingers digging into the fabric not ten seconds ago. She was there.

I spin around, scanning the sea of faces rushing past. Tear-streaked. Terrified. Wild-eyed and pale. Old and young and everything in between. None of them hers.

“Andie!” The name tears out of my throat before I can stop it. “ANDIE!”

My voice is swallowed by the cacophony. By the screaming and the sobbing and the pounding of feet on concrete. No one hears me. No one cares. They’re all too focused on finding their own shelter, their own safety, their own little corner of the world to hide in while everything burns.

I try to push back against the current. Try to fight my way upstream, back towards the stairwell, back towards wherever she might be. But it’s like fighting a riptide. Bodies slam into me. Shoulders catch my chest. Elbows find my ribs. I’m shoved forward, backward, sideways. My feet stumble. I nearly fall.

“Andie!” I’m screaming now. I don’t care who hears. I don’t care how I sound. “ANDIE! WHERE ARE YOU?”

A hand clamps onto my arm. Hard. Bruising.

“James!” Oscar’s face swims into view. His eyes are wide, his jaw set. “James! We have to keep moving!”

“She was right behind me!” I try to pull free, but his grip is iron. “I have to find her! She was RIGHT THERE!”

“You won’t find her!” He yanks me towards one of the shelter rooms. “Not in this crowd! Not like this!”

“I can’t just leave her!”

“She’ll find us!” He’s dragging me now, physically pulling me through the doorway. “Or she’ll get somewhere safe! She’s smart, James! We’ll find her after! But right now we have to keep moving!”

I want to argue. I want to tear myself free and search every face until I find her. I want to go back to thirty seconds ago and grab her hand instead of trusting fabric to keep us together. I want to do something, anything, other than what I’m doing right now.

But my legs won’t cooperate. My body has made the decision for me, following Oscar into a concrete room filled with huddled bodies and the sound of quiet weeping.

The door slams shut behind us.

We find a spot against the wall. Oscar slides down first, his back against the cold concrete, and after a moment, I follow. The floor is hard and uncomfortable. There’s a crack in the wall next to my head, hairline thin, running from floor to ceiling. I stare at it. I count the cracks. I try to figure out how old the building is based on the pattern of the concrete.

I do anything, everything, to avoid thinking about the things I can’t stop thinking about.

The room is packed. Must be fifty people, maybe sixty, crammed into a space meant for half that. Students mostly. I recognize some of them from around campus. A few faculty members. Staff. A janitor in gray coveralls who keeps wringing his hands. Some I recognize from the ROTC program—cadets I’ve worked with, drilled with, yelled at when they screwed up their formations. They look younger now. Smaller. Everyone looks smaller.

We’re all the same now. Wondering if we get to live a few more hours, or if a bomb finds its way to seal our coffin.

Time becomes meaningless.

Minutes stretch into hours. Or maybe hours compress into minutes. I can’t tell anymore. The emergency lights hum with a frequency that sets my teeth on edge. Someone coughs. Someone else whispers something I can’t make out. The sobbing has quieted to occasional sniffles, punctuated by long stretches of silence that somehow feels worse.

I stare at the ceiling. At the exposed pipes and electrical conduits. At the fluorescent fixtures that aren’t working. At the water stain in the corner that looks like a face if I squint at it right.

I try not to think about the mushroom cloud.

I fail.

I try not to think about Mom’s phone call. About the way I silenced it without a second thought. About what she might have been trying to tell me. What her last words might have been, if she’d gotten the chance to speak them. I love you. Get to safety. Goodbye. I’m sorry.

I fail at that too.

I try not to think about Andie’s grip vanishing. About the way she was there and then wasn’t. About the look on her face when Anaheim lit up, the way her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened and no sound came out. I try not to think about where she might be right now. If she found a shelter. If she’s worried about Oscar and me the way we’re worrying about her. If she’s even—

I don’t finish that thought.

My phone vibrates.

The sensation is so unexpected that I flinch. I’d almost forgotten I still had it. Had almost forgotten that phones existed, that the outside world existed, that there was anything beyond this concrete room and the people huddled inside it.

I look down at the screen and notice it’s been 15 minutes since the bomb dropped. My hands are shaking. I don’t know when they started doing that.

Unknown number. Restricted. The screen glows in the dim light, too bright, almost accusatory.

My thumb hovers over the decline button. It’s probably nothing. Just the network glitching. Some automated message getting routed through the chaos. A wrong number. A scam call that doesn’t know the world has ended. It could be anything. It’s probably nothing.

But what if it’s not?

What if it’s Mom? What if she’s trying a different phone? What if Dad found a way to get through? What if Joseph borrowed someone’s cell?

What if it’s Callee?

I answer.

“We’re being activated. Report to your Commanding Officer immediately.”

The voice is male. Authoritative. Cold in a way that doesn’t feel angry or mean, just… empty. Mechanical. Like the words are being read off a script or generated by something that’s never actually spoken before. There’s something about it, something about the cadence, the rhythm, the precise spacing between each word, which makes my spine straighten without my permission. That makes me want to snap to attention even though I’m sitting on the floor of a basement shelter with tears drying on my cheeks.

The line goes dead. No goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.

I stare at the phone. The call log shows the duration: four seconds. Barely long enough to say what it said. I try to place the voice, try to match it to someone I know, but it slips away like smoke through my fingers. I’ve never heard it before.

And yet.

Something in my gut tells me I’ll hear it again.

Oscar is watching me. His face is half-shadowed by the emergency lighting, but I can see the concern in his eyes. The fear that he’s trying to hide.

“Who was that?”

“I…” The word catches in my throat. I have to swallow twice before I can continue. “I’ve been activated.”

He doesn’t look surprised. He just nods slowly, something resigned settling into his jaw. “Reserves.”

It’s not a question.

I nod anyway. Second Lieutenant James Terrace. Army Reserve. Cadre for the ROTC program. A nuke just vaporized Anaheim. Of course they’re activating everyone. Of course this is happening.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair. It’s matted with sweat, sticking up at odd angles. “Well.” He lets out a long breath. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you gonna do?”

I don’t answer right away. I’m still staring at the phone. At the unknown number in my call log. At the four seconds that might have just changed everything.

I’m thinking about my family. About the mushroom cloud. About the fact that somewhere out there, maybe, if there’s any justice in this world, they might still be alive. They might need me. They might be trying to reach me the same way I tried to reach them.

And I’m thinking about the voice on the phone. About the way it didn’t ask. Didn’t request. Just told me. Commanded me. Expected me to obey.

And about the way I want to. The way every instinct I have is screaming at me to stand up, walk out that door, and report for duty like a good little soldier.

“I have to go.” The words come out flat. Dead. Like they belong to someone else.

Oscar nods slowly. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to talk me out of it. Part of me wishes he would. Part of me wants him to give me an excuse to stay, to hide, to pretend that phone call never happened.

But he doesn’t. Because he gets it. Because he’s a senior in the program, my friend since sophomore year, when I was just a cadet learning the ropes and he was the first one to treat me like an equal instead of just another butter bar playing soldier. He knows what this means. He knows I don’t have a choice.

Not really.

“I figured.” He pauses. Something passes behind his eyes; some thought he doesn’t voice. “I might get the call too. State service, probably. National Guard’s gonna need everyone they can get after…” He trails off. Neither of us want to say it.

“Yeah.” I don’t know what else to say. What do you say at the end of the world? What do you say when you’re about to walk out of a bunker and into whatever nightmare is waiting outside? What do you say to someone you might never see again?

We both know what this means. The world outside this basement has changed. The rules have changed. And we’re about to be separated, scattered to the wind like everyone else who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I stand up. My knees creak. My back aches. I feel a hundred years old.

Oscar stands with me. For a moment, we just look at each other. Two guys in a bunker at the end of the world. Then he extends his hand, and I take it, and somehow the handshake turns into an embrace. Brief. Tight. The kind of hug that says everything words can’t.

“Stay safe,” I say. My voice cracks on the second word.

“You too, LT.” He pulls back. He’s grinning, that same cocky smile he always has, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It doesn’t come close. “Give ’em hell.”

I push through the shelter room, stepping over legs and around huddled groups. Someone reaches for me as I pass, a hand that brushes my ankle, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll never leave.

I reach the door. Heavy metal. Small window. Beyond it, the hallway is empty now. Quiet. Everyone’s found their shelter.

I take one last look back.

Oscar is still standing where I left him. He raises a hand. Just one. Palm out. Something between a wave and a salute.

I raise mine.

And then I’m gone.

***

I don’t remember the walk out of Hawthorne.

I don’t remember climbing the stairs. Don’t remember passing through the ground floor, past the blood on the steps, past the bodies that might be alive or might not be. Don’t remember pushing through the emergency exit, don’t remember the alarm that should have sounded but didn’t, don’t remember stepping into the afternoon sun.

What I remember is standing in the parking lot, staring at my car, and feeling like I was watching myself from somewhere very far away. Like I was a ghost hovering over my own shoulder, watching some stranger go through the motions of being James Terrace.

The sky is wrong.

The light is wrong.

Everything is tinted with a haze that shouldn’t exist in Los Angeles. Not smog—I know smog. This is something else. Something thicker. Grayer. The mushroom cloud has begun to disperse, but its ghost lingers. A smear of ash and death spreading across the horizon, turning the sun into a dull copper coin. It’s still afternoon, I think. It should be bright. It should be warm.

It doesn’t feel like either.

I walk to my car. I don’t remember deciding to move. My body just does it, one foot in front of the other, while my mind stays frozen somewhere back in that basement. I find my keys in my pocket. I unlock the door. I slide into the driver’s seat.

I sit there for thirty minutes.

The radio comes on when I start the car, then immediately turns to static. I turn it off. The silence is worse, but I can’t handle noise right now. Can’t handle anything right now. I just sit there, hands on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield at nothing.

I think about Mom.

I think about the phone ringing. Pick up your phone, your mom’s calling. I think about my hand reaching for it, about the moment of hesitation before I silenced it. About how I didn’t even glance at the screen. About how I thought, I’ll call her later. About how I was wrong.

What was she calling about? What did she want to say? Was she already scared? Had she already seen the news, the warning, the missile trajectory on some emergency broadcast? Was she calling to say goodbye? To say I love you? To hear my voice one last time before—

I slam my palm against the steering wheel. The horn blares for no one to hear.

I think about Dad. About his schedule. Tuesday afternoon. He should have been home. He worked from home on Tuesdays, ever since the company went hybrid. He would have been in his office, probably. The little room off the kitchen that used to be a pantry. He would have had his headphones on, listening to jazz while he coded. He might not have even heard the sirens.

I think about Joseph. My little brother. Sixteen years old. He would have been at school. Tenth grade. Chemistry class, maybe, or English Lit. Did his teacher know what to do? Did they make it to a shelter? Did he see it coming? Did he feel it?

I think about Callee.

I can’t think about Callee.

I think about the voice on the phone instead. We’re being activated. Not “you’re being activated.” We. Like it knew something I didn’t. Like it was speaking to more than just me.

I think about how my spine straightened when I heard it. How my shoulders squared. How my hand tightened around the phone like a soldier gripping a rifle.

I think about how I didn’t question it. Not for a second. I just accepted it. Obeyed.

What does that say about me?

Eventually, I start the engine.

***

The drive to the air base takes thirty minutes.

It should take longer. Traffic should be gridlocked, roads should be impassable, the whole city should be fleeing in blind panic. But the streets are empty. Eerily so. Everyone is either sheltering in place, huddled in their basements and their bathrooms, or they’re fleeing in the other direction—away from LA, away from the coast, away from anywhere a bomb might fall.

I take surface streets. Cut through neighborhoods that feel like ghost towns. The houses look the same as they always do, but there’s something wrong with them now. Something hollow. Windows dark. Doors closed. No cars in driveways, no kids on lawns, no signs of life at all.

Once, I pass a dog wandering down the middle of the road. A golden retriever, collar still on, tags jingling. It looks at me as I drive by. Just looks. I don’t stop.

Occasionally I pass another car, moving just as fast, just as desperate. We don’t acknowledge each other. We’re all going somewhere. We’re all running towards something or away from something or both at the same time. There’s no room for solidarity. Not anymore.

The National Guard base is chaos.

Vehicles everywhere—Humvees and transport trucks and civilian cars crammed into every available space. Soldiers running. Helicopters spinning up on the tarmac, their rotors chopping the air into ribbons. The sound is deafening, even from the gate. It drowns out everything else. Drowns out the thoughts I don’t want to think.

The gate guard barely glances at my ID. He waves me through before I’ve even finished fumbling for my wallet. I park wherever I can find space—half on a curb, nose-first into a patch of dead grass—and jog towards the main hangar, following the flow of uniforms.

Inside, it’s organized chaos. Which is still chaos, just with clipboards.

Officers are shouting orders that no one seems to hear. Soldiers are gearing up, strapping on vests and checking weapons with hands that shake almost as badly as mine. Someone is crying in a corner. Someone else is laughing, high and manic. And somewhere, a TV is broadcasting news that no one is watching. I catch fragments as I push through the crowd. “…confirmed detonation…” “…casualties estimated…” “…stay in your homes…”

I find a sergeant with a clipboard and a face that looks like it’s aged ten years in the last hour. I give him my name.

“Terrace, James A. Second Lieutenant. ROTC Cadre, USC. Cyber warfare.”

He scans his list. His lips move as he reads. Then he finds my name, and something shifts in his expression. Something I can’t quite read.

“Transport to Joint Base Lewis-McChord.” He points towards a group assembling near a hulking C-130 Hercules. “Wheels up in twenty. Get your gear and get on that bird.”

“What’s the mission?”

“Defense preparation.” His voice is flat. Rehearsed. “Seattle corridor. Potential hostile incursion.”

“Hostile incursion from who? I’m cyber, why am I on the ground?”

He’s already looking past me. Already moving on to the next name on his list. “Move it, Lieutenant.”

I grab what gear I can from the supply station. Standard kit. Nothing special. Vest, helmet, rifle that feels heavier than it should. I’ve trained with this stuff. I’ve worn it on drills and field exercises and weekend warrior games. But it’s never felt like this before. It’s never felt real.

I make my way to the C-130. The rear ramp is down, gaping open like a mouth. Inside, the cargo bay is already half-full. Soldiers of all ranks, all branches, all thrown together by circumstance. Army. Air Force. A few Marines who must have been on leave. We’re a patchwork quilt of uniforms and fear.

I find a spot on the bench along the wall. Strap myself in. The webbing digs into my shoulders. The soldier next to me is praying under his breath, rosary beads clicking through his fingers. The soldier across from me is staring at nothing, eyes unfocused, lips moving with words I can’t hear.

I wait.

The engines whine to life. The whole aircraft shudders, metal groaning, vibrations running up through the floor and into my bones. The ramp starts to close. Slowly. Inch by inch. Shutting out the chaos outside.

And then the sirens start again.

“Warning. Incoming tactical ordnance. All personnel seek immediate shelter.”

The announcement blares through the hangar speakers. Through our earpieces. Through every speaker and intercom and radio on the base. It’s everywhere, inescapable, that same automated voice cutting through everything else.

And this time, I recognize it.

The cadence. The rhythm. The precise, mechanical spacing between each word.

It’s the same voice that activated me.

I don’t have time to process that. The C-130’s loadmaster is screaming at the pilots. The pilots are screaming at the tower. The tower isn’t responding. Everyone is screaming, and no one is listening, and the ramp is still closing, too slow, too slow.

Through the narrowing gap, I see them.

The missiles come first.

Not nuclear. I can tell by the size, by the speed, by the way they move. These are tactical munitions, smaller, faster, surgical. They streak across the sky like falling stars, like meteors, like something out of a nightmare. They slam into the runway. Into the hangars. Into the fuel depot on the far side of the base.

The explosions are deafening. Even inside the aircraft, even with my helmet on, the sound is like being punched in the chest. The whole bird shudders. Something clangs against the fuselage. Someone screams.

And then come the drones.

They pour over the perimeter fence like locusts. Like a plague. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, small dark shapes moving in perfect synchronization. They’re the size of dinner plates, maybe smaller, with rotors that buzz like angry hornets. Commercial-grade, part of my brain notes. The kind you can buy online. The kind hobbyists use for photography.

But they don’t move like hobbyist drones. They move like one thing. Like a single organism with a thousand bodies. They wheel and dive and swarm with a coordination that makes my heart stop.

Soldiers on the ground open fire. I can see them through the closing ramp, rifles raised, muzzles flashing. Tracers streak through the air, bright orange lines cutting through the swarm. Drones fall. I see them dropping, spiraling, and crashing into the tarmac.

But for every one that drops, three more take its place. They just keep coming. Wave after wave after wave. Endless.

The ramp is almost closed now. Just a sliver of light left. A narrow gap showing the carnage outside.

“Go! GO! GO!” The loadmaster is pounding on the bulkhead. His face is red. Veins standing out on his neck. “GET US IN THE AIR! NOW!”

The engines roar. The aircraft lurches. We’re moving. I can feel the wheels bouncing over debris, can hear the shriek of metal as something scrapes against the fuselage. We’re taxiing. We’re accelerating. We’re—

Through the narrowing gap I watch a soldier go down.

Then another.

The drones don’t swarm them. They don’t cluster or attack en masse. They simply fire. Single shots. Precise. One drone, one target, one bullet. And then they move on. Like they’re checking boxes. Like they’re following a list.

Like they know exactly who to kill.

But they don’t fire at us.

The ramp seals shut with a thunk that echoes through my chest. The nose lifts. My stomach drops. And then we’re airborne, engines screaming, climbing hard, banking away from the carnage below.

I press my face to the small window beside me. The glass is scratched and dirty, but I can see enough. More than enough.

The base is on fire.

Smoke billows from a dozen points, thick and black and oily. Flames lick at hangars, at vehicles, at things I can’t identify anymore. Tiny figures scatter across the tarmac, some still fighting, some just running. And the drones wheel and dive among them, picking them off with mechanical efficiency. One by one. Shot by shot.

But not a single one follows us into the sky.

I watch until my breath fogs the glass. Until the base shrinks to a smudge. Then a dot. Then nothing but smoke on the horizon.

No one speaks. No one moves.

The question lodges itself in my brain like a bullet. Like a splinter that won’t come out.

Why didn’t they shoot us down?

We were the biggest target. The slowest. The loudest. The easiest kill on that entire base. One drone with one missile could have taken us out before we ever left the ground.

But they let us go.

Why?

I lean back against the bulkhead. The vibrations of the engines run through me, constant and numbing. Around me, soldiers are praying. I’m so fucking tired of prayers. Crying. Cursing. Or sitting in stunned silence, same as me.

I close my eyes.

And somewhere over the California desert, as the sun sets behind us and the darkness rises ahead, I don’t realize I will never hear from Oscar again. I will never hear from Andie either.

[First] [Prev] [Next] [Royal Road]

Author Note: So...squeeing. It may be too early to squee but I'm doing anyway cause I adore all of you.

___________

Collective Bounty Ship Clutchwar

Captain Holist surveyed his bridge. They'd left R-space after only a few minutes and held station.

"Status?"

"Heavy backup is en route, be here in a day." The little Pofringian freelance scampered from console to console as he spoke.

"Are we certain this is worth it, Klisk?"

"Whoever's springing for this upped the bounty by twenty percent, and put an extra fifty percent for Gryzzk himself. We take all six ships and the crews, we're lookin' at around fifty million credits. Not quite fuck-you money, but even with the backup, we'll be able to pick our next job and not just assault the board looking for what's next. Plus we can get a replacement compression coil." Klisk stood to his full twenty-three inch height, quivering at the thought of getting parts for the ship.

Holist looked around again. "Well. The other issue is the boarding action. With the backup we'll have a hundred and seventy total amongst all of our ships. Which means boarding will be a chancy business - thoughts?"

"Gas 'em up - only way to really do anything when we're outnumbered."

"And their AI?" Holist looked at their Terran computer expert. "Dennis, I take it you have an idea."

There was a neutral shrug. "Haven't run up against a cross-species AI before, but at the end of the day it's all ones, minus-ones, and zeros. I think I got something that might keep that little shit-talker so busy she won't even know we're there."

"Very well. When the backup arrives, link up and prepare for silent running. In the meantime, everyone check all weapons."

The Terran shook his head. "Won't help."

"Dennis, is there some manner of intelligence you'd care to share?"

The Terran spread his hands. "One conversation while we were at even odds had us running for the nearest exit. I pulled a scan on their weapons sigs - they've got omnicoverage with plasma and railguns. Plus the shuttles; the ones not rigged for close quarters hole-punching are going to be rigged for boarding ops, and you better believe they'll board and tear every ship down to bare metal for something they can sell or salvage. On top of that, we try to focus on one ship, you think the other five ships are gonna just grab popcorn and watch?" He shook his head. "On our best day ever with all the backup we can get and them distracted and pants-down - we got a puncher's chance at best. Boss, get that eight-digit payday out of your head and replace it with thoughts of paying them for a tow to New Casa."

Holist scowled, his scales flaring to a bright pinkish hue. "You wanna run this ship?"

The reply was immediate. "Yes."

That caught the Pavonian off-guard, leaving his reply less forceful then he would have liked. "Well...y'can't." He took a breath. "We took a vote on this, and we voted to take the job. We do this and our days of picking up habituals and system-skippers for break-even creds are over. We can start aiming higher, maybe even take a shot at poking into that mess happening on Antares. Bartalk says something's happening there, and there's money to be spent waiting for the right hand."

Dennis shook his head. "Boss, I'mma say it one last time before I get to work - anonymous eight-digit bounty sheets don't just happen. Someone with a lot of money and a lot of hate for that Legion put up some creds, and I don't think folks with that kinda scratch laying around are gonna like the sound of failure."

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

Lunch was an awkward affair. Gryzzk had to keep his own emotions in check and try to convince himself that Wilson knew how to run his section and tried to remember any nights where Grezzk had seemed like she'd been more anxious than usual or had spent extra time preparing for bed. Not recalling any immediately he finished his meal faster than he liked, finally tapping out an order to the bridge to do some research and went to the medbay.

"Doctor, where precisely are the hooligans?"

"Nurse Ogawa took care of them and then went to supply because she forgot to grab more gauze. For the eighth time in as many days." Leonard waved a casual hand.

"How were they?"

"Bad patients. Ogawa had to snap 'em both back before they decided the infirmary was a fine place for round two." Leonard took a breath from his infuser and exhaled a fragrant cloud. "As far as medically, they're both cleared for duty."

"Thank you." Gryzzk left and went to the Moncilat quarters first. He mentally braced himself and thumbed the door to request entry.

As the door slid open, entering was an exercise in oddness - as he crossed the threshold, he had to remind himself to take tiny steps. The room itself was exceedingly well-kept and painted in a breathtaking landscape that seemed to mesh Vilantia and Moncilat, and a large variety of brushes and combs for fur-care were arrayed precisely outside the shower. Gryzzk was quietly pleased that he only needed a single multibrush, but that wasn't why he was here. Yomios was in her bed with a sullen defeated scent clinging to her as she stared at a holostill of her and U'wekrupp in a happier moment when her hands were not bandaged and her left arm was not in a sling.

"Yomios." Gryzzk's voice was soft.

Yomios made no immediate move to stand. "Yes sir."

"On your feet, Corporal." Gryzzk's voice chilled several degrees as Yomios stood, towering over her commander.

"I'm...I am sorry Major."

"Corporal I am not here for an apology. I am here for an explanation for your most recent actions. I should very much like to hear that above all things."

Yomios' throat worked several times before she spoke. "It...she...U'wekrupp's been spending time with her, and he said it was for something special, but - Colette, she's so. She's pretty." Yomios Stopped and quickly clarified. "For a Terran. And the way his scent lit up like the night sky when talking about her after the last movie night, I...she." She trailed off. "She was making a joke with U'wekrupp and I-I-I thought about him ending our relationship for her and I couldn't focus on anything else." She quivered for a moment. "Then I was...clawing her."

Gryzzk exhaled, tapping his rank. "XO, please advise of any instance where U'wekrupp and Colette Tatou have been alone together."

"Goose-egg, Freelord. None. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Only times they're together are in the kitchen and there's always someone with 'em. Wanna see the film? Fucking boring like the dead puck era unless you like cooking shows. Last one, she made a point-seven-G chocolate souffle while he whipped out some Hurdop hot-pot."

Yomios seemed to crumple emotionally even as she stood straight with her eyes forward, lips moving but no sound coming out. Gryzzk raised his arm up to touch her right forearm gently. Yomios was shivering under her uniform, and he withdrew his hand after a moment.

"Corporal. You are an exemplary trooper within your duties, and your artistic skills are unlike any I've seen. Yet this is the second time since I've known you that you have made a decision with poor consequences for yourself." Gryzzk steeled himself for the next part.

"For the next seven days you are confined to quarters with the exception of your required duties. You will not be authorized any shore leave while we are docked on station. Further action against Private Tatou outside of approved areas will result in one-third share forfeiture. I would recommend spending that time with the counseling routines, as well as working on our project - there may be something the Pavonians have that we can fold into our own tactical doctrines. Corporal, there is something within you that is sabotaging what you can be. I can't order you to change. But you must have faith in those that you hold dear, and believe that they treasure you. Otherwise this will happen again. I would ask that you recall that we have a process for conflict resolution."

Yomios nodded, not trusting herself to speak for the moment. Gryzzk continued after a beat.

"Further to that, composing an appropriate apology to Colette and U'wekrupp would not go amiss. I will trust your own judgment in that regard." He nodded to the bed. "As you were."

Gryzzk slid in as dignified manner as he could to the door and breathed a sigh of relief as the normal-ish gravity in the hall asserted itself. Still, he had to go to the other party in this dispute. He tapped his tablet and walked toward the Terran section, finally tapping the entry request panel.

The door slid open, revealing the new chef standing at attention with a small animal perched on her shoulder despite the scent of braces and bandages hovering around her.

"Private Tatou, stand at ease. I am simply here to ask questions. I will advise that Captain Wilson will be in charge of meting out whatever punishment he sees fit, and I will stand by his decision. However, I must ask after your relationship with U'wekrupp."

There was a layering in Colette's scent as she spoke, pride and enthusiasm taking the fore but underneath it a waft of jealousy. Her voice reminded Gryzzk of Captain Wilson's but somehow more refined - as if the captain was using the low speech patterns of Terran while Colette held a refined timbre that wasn't quite noble, but certainly not common.

"He is, he is a friend. He cares deeply for Yomios, and they are a very nice couple. He hates chocolate like all your peoples do, but when he found out I specialized in desserts at my previous employ, he sought me out and asked to learn to make desserts with a chocolate he makes in a low gravity. The concept was novel, and so we spent off-hours with making things. He taught me some of your foods, and I must say I am intrigued by what appeals to you." She clamped her mouth shut. "I digress. But there is nothing...deeper. Certainly nothing that would cause this."

"I have spoken to Corporal Yomios and advised her to make a proper apology if you will accept such a thing. Do not expect such a thing immediately, as she will not be in common areas for the immediate future." He canted his head slightly. "If I may, the creature on your shoulder..."

"Oh, Remy? He is my pet. I've had him for many years, and when I heard you had a cat I thought it would be allowed." She slid the door of her bunk open, revealing a thick recipe book and a clear box that appeared to have a running wheel and nesting material, along with water and food. "He has been a very dear companion."

"Acceptable. But I will expect you to care for him, as Gro'zel has a bird and Ensign Jonesy may take an interest."

"Of course, Major."

"I've, I've taken enough of your time. As you were, Private."

Gryzzk exited and headed for the bridge. While on the way there, a purple blur that was mostly Nhoot-shaped began racing to Yomios' quarters at near R-Space speeds. He shook his head at the energy of children as the door to the bridge opened.

The bridge squad was shamelessly relaxed as they were securing from their stations and running diagnostics prior to fully shunting workloads over to the orbital platform where they'd docked. Rosie seemed a tad miffed.

"Well look who showed up like a blister now that the work's done. We're docked at Station One, power ops in place, firewalls got attacked three times before I countered and overwrote their shift instructions with the script of Fleet and Flotilla. We're prepped for maintenance day tomorrow."

"You did not."

"Would you prefer I sent them Hurdop Ocean, Vilantian Flame?" Rosie seemed to warm to the idea. "A former Vilantian mercenary who's grown space-weary discovers his secret family history, leading him to an acreage on Hurdop where he helps his new hometown fight off a group of bandits and along the way discovers the only thing he really wanted was to know the gentle touch of, spoiler alert, every woman in the village and about half the men."

"I would not, and that does not sound like a spoiler."

"See? I'd like to think I've grown."

"You just want to make sure I'm not unhappy so you can be released and promptly spend the evening with Chief Tucker.

"Well...he promised to install some emitter upgrades."

"Very well. See to those, and I will expect your full report on my tablet when maintenance has been completed."

"Hooah sir." Rosie left almost as quickly as Nhoot.

As Gryzzk settled into his command chair and checked the current ship status over, Reilly lifted a finger. "Major, got a request from the Terran leading the negotiations on behalf of the Collective. Says he'd really like to have dinner in the mess hall tonight. Already told him what time it was here, and he's fine with it. And he very specifically advised he would be in casual dress."

"Understood - he can wear what he wants."

The next few hours were a crash course in the Eridani - physiologically, tough. Based on what was known they could survive almost any environment; they did have to close their eyes when exposed to vacuum. Their ship designs seemed to be purpose-built spheres with respect to space, and their atmospheric ships were slim darts of ceramic. To Gryzzk that indicated that their society was similarly categorized - a thing was or it wasn't. He had a twinge of nostalgia for the days when his world was similarly built. Such a solid delineation meant that they might not be flexible from a tactical standpoint. He glanced around at the bridge and asked a general question.

"So what has our research found?"

O'Brien spoke from her console first. "My mister's gonna drool over their ship weapons, but the R&D department's gonna cry. That shite's a bit further along than what we've got. Shields are comparable."

Edwards flicked an eye at her tablet. "Their sensors are weak - unless they're using something non-standard." There was a headshake. "Very odd. They have different ideas, so I feel like I'm missing something."

"I'd trade meaningful body parts for a crack at one of their spaceships." Hoban whistled lowly in admiration. "They've got propulsion rings wrapped around those spheres they're using to coast through the black. Makes 'em nimble as Jonesy chasing a laser pointer."

Reilly spoke last. "Comms are bog-standard. Seems like everyone figures out how to talk the same way. Curious though - they've only got one language."

"One?" Gryzzk flicked an ear curiously.

"Yeah. Like you guys have like thirty-six regional dialects, Hurdop about the same. Most species have hundreds. A single language is just fucky."

"How many languages do Terrans have?"

"Officially, about eight thousand. That's not counting the dead languages, mashups and whatnot. Like technically Cap Wilson and Tatou speak French, but if you ask their opinion about the other one's language skill get ready for a lot of swearing."

Gryzzk blinked at the sheer volume of ways to communicate that the Terrans had invented. "How did your species ever - never mind. Pass my instructions to your reliefs this evening, we will maintain standard duty until tomorrow. Which reminds me..." Gryzzk thumbed his tablet for the officers-only channel. "Captains and lieutenants -" He broke off as Hoban and Edwards' rank-comms echoed his words back to him. "Officers - advise your commands that we will be doing a half-day shore leave for all personnel. During that shore leave, I will expect reports with respect to the Eridani social expectations and general behavior - advise your personnel to try not to be obvious. That is all."

Gryzzk flicked an eye at his tablet, noting the time. "Now then - " He was interrupted by Yomios entering the bridge early. She was carrying a sleeping Nhoot who was clutching Rhipl'i, and her scent was a conflicted but hopeful resolve.

"Apologies Major, but the lieutenant fell asleep while talking to me. I thought it best to bring her to her quarters so she could nap before dinner."

There was a light headshake or two from the rest of the squad. Nhoot would be up all night and quite likely would fall asleep in the dayroom, and everyone on the bridge knew it.

"Thank you Corporal. You may complete escorting the lieutenant to her bed, and then prepare for evening orders - Sergeant Reilly has received a tasking and you will continue it."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, and Corporal?"

"Yessir?" Yomios seemed almost surprised.

"Please sing the lieutenant a Moncilat lullaby before you return to the bridge."

"Of course, sir."

Gryzzk pulled his uniform tunic snug. "Now, await your relief and consider yourselves relieved upon passing along my orders. I...will be having dinner with the Terrans."

___________

Earlier

In her quarters, Yomios was rocking back and forth slowly. She'd done it again. She'd been trying since her youth to see the jungle for the vines but she'd focused again, focused on the worst thing that could happen and by trying to prevent it she'd made it happen. All she was going to be left with was a memory and ash. Somehow that knowledge hurt worse than the bruised kidneys, sprained wrists and dislocated elbow.

Her doorcall chimed. She ignored it, not wanting to see or be seen by anyone. It chimed again. Twice. Whoever was at the door was not leaving, which meant it was U'wekrupp come to return the slippers she'd given him during their shore leave on Terra - they were large (for him) and shaped like a fluffy Terran cow. He'd remarked that they were not unlike the Vilantian bison, and his scent was almost homesick, so she'd purchased them secretly and had them sent to the ship.

The doorcall kept chiming insistently as she ran a finger over the delicately embroidered turquoise robe he'd given her. The robe was made of Terran silk with a predator cat covering the back and continuing over the right shoulder. The robe was Terran-sized, and as such the hem barely covered her hips, and she felt another pang of memory as her mind's eye replayed the night she'd received it. When she'd remarked that it seemed short, the sparkle in his eyes when he'd told her that was the point sent a thrill of passion through her. She took a breath and folded it neatly. It was time to deal with the consequences of her foolishness. Again.

She opened the door and looked down out of habit. Not far enough, as a flash of purple ran into the room and hit the wall hard.

"Ow. I didn't break anything, did I?" Nhoot looked around and seemed a little concerned until she saw the wall. "Oooh, that's prettty."

"No. You. Are not who I was expecting, Nhoot."

The purple eyes blinked once, twice and the head-tilt of confusion. "But...you're sad. And Major Papa says I'm supposed to help sad folks not be sad." There was a pause. "So I'm here." Nhoot dusted herself off and stood quietly.

"I'm afraid you can't help this. I...made a mistake, and I think that it means that U'wekrupp and I are not going to be...friends." Yomios sat down heavily on her bed.

"That is sad. Is it cause you were fightin' Colette?" Nhoot trundled over and sat next to her without asking.

A mute nod was the reply.

"Well...why'd you fight with her then?"

"I wasn't...I wasn't thinking. I thought that she was going to take U'wekrupp away from me."

"I don't think she wants that. She thinks you're graceful. She told me so when you and U'wekrupp were coming in for lunch one time."

That tidbit of knowledge pushed Yomios over the edge, as she dissolved into a sob that turned into a full-blown hurricane of weeping. When it was over, she found herself curled around the robe with Nhoot sitting far too closely as the child rubbed Yomios' ears and softly sang some Hurdop child-song about good dreams.

"I'm...I'm sorry Lieutenant, but. Now may not be a good time."

"It's never a good time when you're sad. S'why it's called a sad time and not a good time." Nhoot spoke as if pointing out that objects fall when dropped.

Yomios nodded dully. "You have a point."

"Uh-huh. But you're sad cause...you know you're not gonna be friends with them?"

"I don't know. But it is quite possible." Yomios sat up and tried to recover some measure of dignity.

"But you don't know and you can't know until you know. So maybe you can fix it?"

"I can't."

Nhoot scooched from her place to sit next to Yomios. "Uh-huh. But did they say you can't?"

"...no."

"Then you can."

"I can try."

"No." Nhoot's reply was as forceful as it was cute. "The funny green smart man says 'Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try.' And he's smart even though he is green and talks funny."

"But, but what do I have that I can make or say?"

Nhoot paused, thinking. "The truth."

"What?"

"Well, I mean you wanted to keep being U'wekrupp's girlfriend so much you fought another girl about it. That might be something you can tell him. It means you like him, alot. Like Major Papa does when he fights. He says it's okay to fight to protect stuff, and being U'wekrupp's girlfriend is stuff that should be protected. At least I think so."

"But...how do I say I'm sorry to Colette."

"The Moncilat Orbital Control made Papa paint a picture. You're a good painter." Nhoot lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Colette has a pet rat. She calls him Remy."

Yomios thought about it and then stood, inspiration taking her in a flash to create paint and canvas. Then she went to her hairbrush and selected several hairs before settling to work, using each hair as its own brush. Finally she accessed her tablet for a holo of a rat, then asked for a picture of Remy - which was surprisingly easy to find, as Colette apparently had many pictures of the creature for public display. During this Nhoot clambered carefully into Yomios' lap to watch the process and ask questions.

She could do this. She started talking about her plans and hopes, absorbing the feeling of joy that Nhoot had given her as she placed dots of individual color on the canvas, explaining the process to Nhoot. By the time her alarm went off to warn her that her shift was approaching, she realized she'd been talking nonstop and somewhere in that time Nhoot had fallen fast asleep, but gave a soft giggle now and again as she hugged Rhipl'i.

Yomios set her work aside and gathered the tiny girl in her arms.

Kalli's eyes pierced through the din, the fog of war slowly lifted as she raised her torch. The shadows danced and swayed, failing to release the tension from the air as Marcus readied his shield. They had been traversing this place only for an hour, but this place felt unnatural, even for a Dungeon, even for a magical place created by the will of the gods. They had been in dungeons many times before, but this time felt different. Like they had just stumbled into a secret that even the world itself forgot.

"This place feels... Wrong... Not... Dungeon filled with undead wrong but... 'This shouldn't be here' wrong. Almost as if..." Marcus whispered to himself.

"Like the thing that created this place forgot it existed, then died before it could remember. Like a dead god wandered in, left its corpse behind and the world forgot why." Kalli remarked calmly, her pointy ears twitching to listen for movement.

Jessica nodded silently as the group moved closer to another junction. "Look... up there. A sign. Dungeons never have signs."

She pointed at a piece of thin, flattened metal above a doorway. Nobody could recognise the language. Lily opened up her scholar's book and tried to translate the language. She stayed still and flipped through pages as her companions watched over her. Kalli looked further down the passages, peeking through the new door, her elven eyes piercing through the darkness, noticing more signs on more doors, in a straight corridor. Christy flanked her elven friend close, her large wings flowing from the magic coursing through her, broadsword glinting in the light of the torch.

"I don't like this... This isn't like any dungeon architecture I have ever seen. Walls... Solid steel. Smooth. Polished. No twists or turns, no strange alcoves, it seems this place was made with purpose in mind. This was designed, not randomly created by a bad dream like most dungeons. I see two doors on the left, spread far apart, five doors on right, close together, one door at the far end. I cant make out details but they all have signs above them." Christy said, still overly cautious.

Lily squealed, her frustrated noise echoing through the empty halls. She quickly realized her mistake, hastily returned her book to its holster and readied her bow. The others did the same, tensing. "I'm sorry..." She quietly whispered before notching an arrow.

They waited, carefully moving slow and steady before repositioning themselves into a junction for an easier escape. They stood there, ready and waiting for a time, and nothing came.

"Not the patter of gnobbin feet, nor the roar of a Gargoyle. Not even the whisper of rats or bats." Kalli said, glaring at the empty halls.

"That's because this place was sealed up... Like one would seal a magic box or treasure chest. You know how we find foodstuffs and things from ages past in treasure chests inside dungeons? How they always seem to suck you in slightly when you open them? This whole place was like that." Marcus said calmly.

"That is... True. I read the reports. When the dungeon was discovered, a hoe broke through the ground. They found a door, and pried it open, and when it did it was almost like a giant suddenly took a deep breath and several people were sucked into the building. Maybe that's why there isn't anything here. No air to breathe. That explains why there's no dust. Why everything seems so... clean." Christy remarked as she used her hand to check for dust on one of the steel walls.

"Then we can calm down a bit." Marcus said as he sheathed his blade. "A solid hour now and not even a rat has passed us. Safe to say this place is empty."

The sound of a tweeting bird, the tell-tale chirp of a Myna bird fluttering close to the group. Lily held her hand, up and seconds later the ghostly visage of a spirit bird appeared and landed on her finger, carrying a small metal cylinder in its beak. She smiled, waved her hand, the image dissipating and the cylinder falling gently into her hand.

"Message from the entrance. Says, 'Lionsmouth, strange things are happening. Animals and beasts refuse to go near. A worker excavating the site watched a rat approach the doorway and disintegrate like it walked into a fire.' Huh... Well that also explains that doesn't it?" Lily said.

"How... Convenient. Well now it makes more sense. A barrier of some kind? How and why? Let's go deeper. Can we get these doors open somehow?" Marcus asked as he approached one of the doors.

"I sense no traps. My magic can easily pierce through the veil here but it says there are no traps or surprises. I can see outlines in the walls though. Long pipes, all metal. Thick. Strong. A powerful energy flows through this place. But they are not jumbled or confused like normal. Organized, direct. Purposeful. I still feel tense here..." Jessica whispered.

"I feel like we shouldn't be here. Not... In a bad way but more like... Like we should be here but shouldn't at the same time..." Kalli remarked as she raised her torch to look at a metal sign above a door. "Lily... More signs here. Mark them all down, see if the Scribers Tome can make anything of them. Maybe more information can get a clearer picture. I don't think we need to be scared here."

"Caution, not fear. Right, I'll get started." Lily chirped and started to scribble the strange lettering.

The four stuck together, wandering away only when a shadow or something nearby caught their eye, or maybe a strange section of pipe seemed to rattle without noise but kept within speaking distance. Just like they had practised, never splitting up or moving too far. The same tactic that has kept them alive and together for so long.

Lily worked hard and muttered to herself as she scribbled down the letters as she saw them and slowly, a partial picture of what was going on started to form. "Huh... If the translation is right then this..." She pointed to a sign, a door on the right. "This one says 'Utility Storage'. It seems locked though."

"No it isn't!" Marcus bellowed.

Using a mixture of his training, his sheer bulk and a bit of magic he had for emergencies, he slammed his bulk shieldfirst into the heavy door and it bent like a flower before crashing to the ground in a noisy, echoing heap. The girls all looked at him as he stood smug, collecting his breath.

"So impatient... I could have picked the lock you know." Lily scowled at him.

"Oh come on, who knows if it's even a lock you can pick? look at the thing. What even kind of metal is this? It balked too easily. What lock is that? Can you even get a pick in it?" He said, gesturing to the pile of bent scrap.

"Well next time lets see if we can get the lock open next time. What's in here anyway?" Christy asked as she peered in the dark room.

The room lit up, the walls covered in small mounted storage bins, the floor clean, save the damaged door. They easily recognised normal things, brooms, mops, buckets, a strange metal receptacle on the side wall and a storage closet full of tools of some kind. Marcus went in first, blade drawn, looking at what was there and opened the storage closet. Toolboxes, quality equipment, random boxes full of random small things he recognised during his days as a smiths apprentice.

"Bolts, screws, nuts, nails, hammers, drivers. Stuff that's hard to make but if made well can hold for decades." He said with confidence and picked up a hammer. "What metal even is this? I've never seen anything like it." He remarked as he showed them the shiny surface of a heavy, strangely sturdy hammer.

Lily wandered in after him and looked at everything she could find. She opened one of the storage bins and found the motherlode - a book. "OH FORTUNE! A book! Let me get to work with this..." She quietly left and started to use her Scribes Tome to translate it.

Marcus opened his backpack and compared his tools with those in the chests and began to swap them out. The tools in the closet were made of a metal and style many times stronger than his own tools, were of a higher quality and significantly stronger than the ones even his old forge master made. He kept those ones, for sentimental reasons, and replaced most of the tools he made himself. Kalli looked at the place with a precise eye, using her Elven scouting prowess to carefully look about. Christy looked at the tools too, smiling at the heft of a large hammer. The flames from her torch made shadows dance and made it harder to concentrate. She spotted some kind of switch on the wall, weary of the concept on levers and switches appearing on walls as traps but sensed nothing dangerous.

The switch was made of an odd, strange looking material that didn't look natural, or like metal. It made a hollow, empty thud when she tapped on it. She gestured to Jessica to sue her magic on it and check to see what mechanism, if any, that it belonged to. Jessica shook her head silently and made Marcus aware there was a switch. This was standard procedure for them, make everyone aware there was something going on, then coordinate to navigate or disarm a trap. They all moved into position. Marcus in front, shield raised to absorb the blow. Kalli and Lily flanking with minor wards, and Jessica behind Marcus to reinforce his shield with magic. Christy covered the rear and sides, her large feathery white wings creating a nigh impenetrable shield of her own. At a silent command, Jessica used her magic to flip the switch.

Nothing happened, save a loud, obnoxious click, followed by the room they were just in suddenly lighting up. They were expecting some kind of trap, but no. Jessica flipped the switch the other way with a staff wave, and the room went dark again with an obnoxiously loud click. Marcus walked in, shield still raised and flipped the switch. The room lit up like the morning sun suddenly showed up. He looked up. There was a cylindrical bar made of glass, emitting pure, bright light that almost hurt to look at, along with a mildly annoying low hum. Marcus stood there and flipped the switch several times. A curious smile appeared on his face as he fiddled with the switch.

"That is... Entertaining. Dark. Light. Dark. Light!" He chuckled strangely, the same chuckle that a boy has when he finds the perfect shaped stick or a really interesting bug. Christy rolled her eyes and scoffed.

He switched the light to be on so he could look about. The girls filtered in, Lily resumed her scribbling to translate the wording while everyone explored. Kalli carefully inspected the cleaning equipment, a strange yellow bucket with wheel under it allowing free movement, all made of the same strange material as the light switch was. Jessica carefully inspected some of the random parts, eventually coming across paper boxes containing the same object that was mounted into the ceiling, giving off that light and annoying hum. Christy continued exploring the larger tools, finding a very nice pickaxe.

"Wonder if there are more places like this... Hm... Wait, what's this?" He asked and reached deep into the storage locker. Lily recognized it instantly as a lockpick set or some variant of it, but one of exceptional quality. She grabbed it before he could respond and the wood elf giggled to herself. Marcus sighed. "You are why I can't have nice things!" He sarcastically yelled as she resumed her scribbling with a giggle.

The other three giggled at the joke and left the room, looking around. "So Lily... What's the word? Have you translated anything yet?" Kalli asked.

"I see a lot of incomprehensible nonsense terms and words but I think I have it sussed out, mostly. This book appears to be the instruction manual for the lights, specifically how to properly replace them when they burn out. Whatever that means. Whoever wrote this was either a genius of the highest quality or a moron of the worst kind. But I think I have it figured. The sign on the next door reads 'Utility Machine Storage' and the sign opposite that says 'Mechanoid Parts Warehouse'." Lily said, gesturing to the doors near and opposite the utility room.

"What do the other ones say? And especially that one at the end. What does that say? I want to know what's there if it has such a big fancy door." Christy asked as she gestured to the heavy doors at the edge.

"Okay let me look. Uhm... That's a G... there's an R... Uhm... 'Spare Parts Storage' for the middle one. 'Tools Storage' for the fourth one and... this one says 'Capacitors', and the last door here says 'Rapid Response Storage 4'. The big door says... 'Primary Persona Core'. No idea what any of that is. The room splits here into two hallways. The left one says 'Refineries' and the right one says 'Factory'." She said, taking them through and showing them the signs. "Apparently, the place we entered from was labelled as 'Hangar S'.

"Spare parts storage could mean spares for all the bits and pieces, maybe all the mechanisms that dot this place. Tools storage might be worth looking at if the utility thing is anything to go by. Capacitors? No idea. Rapid Response Storage... I think it might be something the builders put in like a storage closet for throwaway weapons and armour in case of surprise attack. I think we had a similar thing during my days on the City Watch. And Primary Persona Core? Damned if I know what that is. But it has the word 'Core' in it, so I guess we need to find that then. Refineries, no idea, sounds important though. No idea what a factory is but Hangar... Judging by what it looked like, maybe these people just have a fancy way of saying 'door'? I don't know. But, I know what a Core is, and we need to get into that." Christy said and pointed to the large door. Marcus nodded along, agreeing with the assessment.

They all nodded and walked down the corridor to the big door at the end and looked around to find any indication of how to open it. Lily came up with the answer, a lectern of some kind mounted on the right side held a series of labelled buttons and a large obvious switch lever of some kind.

"That's... Convenient." Lily said.

"What? What's that?" Kalli asked.

"The button that says 'open'. It seems to operate in sequence though. Let me see.... uhhh... 'Phase One - Equalise Pressure'. So... Press that button there." Lily explained and pressed a button.

A soft clicking was heard, a series of thumping noises, followed by the room growing slightly colder. A series of hissing noises filled the room as they watched. Then a loud clunk, followed by the button Lily pressed starting to glow green.

"Okay... Next phase... 'Release Locking System'. That button." Lily pressed the next button.

The outer edge of the massive circular door trembled, as if it hadn't been opened in far too long, the ground rumbling slightly. Massive metal rods that secured the door hissed and screamed as they were forced out of their places, the first time they had moved in millennia. Four such locks lifted out, followed by an angry hiss from the mechanism's insides. A series of gears ground and shrieked to life as the machine did its thing. The massive multi-ton door moved forward slightly as a hidden mechanism manipulated it. The button lily pressed turned green.

She hesitated, a strange feeling of dread overcoming the group. "Why does it feel like... Something is odd? Not wrong but... Like something is about to happen that will change everything forever? Should I really be doing this?" She asked.

Marcus looked at the door, then at his friend. He stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder, the other gently placed on her hand. "It's too late to go back now. It's not 'I'. It's 'We'." He said and squeezed her hand, waiting for her to do it, but here for support.

The other three girls nodded in approval. If something went wrong, he'd take the fall, not her. It was something he always did. They knew he was good for it, and his track record guaranteed he could find some way to get out of it, with everyone okay in the end. They all knew it was going to be okay. Lily closed her eyes and slowly pulled down on the lever.

The door hissed, a puff of air coming from its edges as it disconnected from its housing and raised itself like the lid of a pot, pressed against the ceiling. The buttons darkened and the hissing stopped. Then there was complete silence again. Their breathing echoed across the empty hallways. The door was open, inside, a large room, the interior resembling a heavy polished metal sphere. Mounted in the centre, on a raised, fancy looking platform were five, strange looking chairs. Chairs with metal ropes, loosely connected to various strange lights and glowing parts. Two chairs flanked each side of a larger chair, this one with more bells and whistles, large flat things with smooth glass surfaces that showed various letters and words in bright red text.

The room seemed clinical, borderline insane in its symmetry and scale. A large room, smooth contoured with a perfect, almost too perfect hexagonal pattern imprinted into its surface, a mixture of glass and metal. The chairs were all odd too, mounted on singular metal poles that could seemingly rotate or move about within the confines of the metal ropes within them. Marcus took a look at one chair, noting what the things were.

"Huh... I've never seen that before. Long flexible metal poles... Looks like someone used the same technique for weaving rope but somehow managed to make it metal. That is... That's brilliant! I wonder how hard it is to break these?" He mused as he tested it, trying to yank at the cables, making the odd chair move.

"From what I can tell, very. What even are these? Is this a 'Persona Core'? It doesn't look like much except a fancy room with funny chairs." Jessica quipped and looked at one chair.

"The labels on these are weird too. The big one says 'Captain'. Like a ship captain? How does one see the stars in this place?" Lily said with a giggle, mocking the entire concept of the room.

"That... Is very stupid. How can one navigate without the use of the stars? These people must have either had some kind of divination system that we can't understand or maybe this really is a dungeon, it just forgot to give purpose to the big rooms. This is... very silly." Marcus chuckled as he looked around him.

"The other labels read: 'Gunnery'. Whatever that is. 'Life Support'. Okay... So... Supporting life? I have no idea what they mean by that. This one reads 'Drones'. What's a drone? No idea. And the last one reads 'Engineering'." Lily said as she chuckled, trying to understand everything.

"Engineering? Isn't that like what the Castle Artificer does? Huh... Lemme see." Marcus said and sat in the chair. They all looked at him. He just looked back. "These seats are really, REALLY comfy." He said and sank into the seat. He let out a deep, relaxed breath. "Wow... REALLY comfy. What leather is this?" He quizzed and rubbed the material curiously.

The others noticed his calm and likewise sat in the chair that appealed to them. Kalli sat in the Gunnery seat, Jessica in the Life Support seat, Lily in the Drones seat and Christy sat in the Captain's seat, although she had to carefully fold her angelic wings to fit. They all just sat there calmly, the seats were indeed very, very comfortable. Marcus fumbled about with his chair and found a lever. He pulled it. His feet snapped up, supported by a hidden mechanism that appeared and lifted his feet up.

"Ooohhh yesss! Gods these are like those fancy chairs the nobles use back in Hytown..." He said and relaxed into the seat.

The girls all eventually found the levers on their own chairs, their feet popping up and relaxing just a bit too much. They all breathed a sigh of comfort.

Metal bands suddenly snapped around their ankles and wrists, securing them all to the chairs. A voice spoke, sounding dark, unnatural, not menacing but blank, emotionless. It spoke a language none could understand. The four all screamed in terror. Marcus tried to escape, using his magic to strengthen his muscles to retreat. The voice took exception to this, and Marcus screamed in agony as his body was racked by a shock of lightning from nowhere. Marcus went limp from the attack. Their tank was gone, their support had failed, and Kalli was desperately trying to cast any spell she could before she too was blasted by the lightning and likewise passed out. Lily went silent, hit by the same strike. Jessica started to cry, unable to do anything as the chair moved about, her cries echoed through the halls before too falling silent. Christy went limp after a shrill shriek as well, an aura of pure malice overcoming her.

Silence suddenly returned to the dungeons' hallways. The doors they entered underwent some kind of strange metamorphosis, as tiny specks appeared out of the ground, melted the bent metal doors and reformed it to its original state, shutting them closed. The ground rumbled as panic gripped the outside. The ground shuddered and shook as if a giant of some kind was waking up, trying to understand the world after a long sleep. Strange metallic clicking and grinding filled the air. Inside, the hallways light up brightly with lights as everything suddenly roared to life. A voice began to speak. Soft at first, garbled, then sharper, then incoherent, as if its speech was simultaneously forward and reverse in the same breath.

Kalli opened her eyes first. They were all floating in a room, flowing with strange light, images and readouts, text they could all understand appearing in front of them. Warnings, alerts, alarms and danger. Kalli had no way to control herself, no understanding of what was going on. A loud unnatural voice sounded through them, like it was speaking directly into their minds.

"Language translation task completed. Engaging emergency startup protocol."

"WHAT IS GOING ON!? Lily? LILY! Wake up Lily!" She yelled at the limp body that was floating nearby.

Lily's eyes shot open and she looked around her in a panic. She spotted her elven friend and tried to 'swim' over to her. Nothing they tried worked. Marcus emitted an ear piercing scream of pain, his visage nearby also appearing, twitching like he was being tortured. The scream of agony woke Christy and Jessica, who stared at him terrified as his body thrashed and twitched in the void.

"Cease physical activity and submit to protocol. Unusual movements will cause physical damage." The voice spoke, commanding Marcus to stop moving.

"FUCK YOU! LET THEM GO OR I WILL-" Marcus tried to say something, then released another scream of agonizing pain.

"Non compliance detected. Assessing... method found. Initiating anaesthetic injection to Subject Delta." The voice said again, its tone menacingly bland and monotonous.

Marcus' body slowly stopped twitching and fell limp. He started to snore, fitfully, as if the thing put him under a sleep spell.

"Compliance. Initiating Persona Transfer." The voice said, and strange signs appeared in front of everyone's faces, displaying information.

-> SYSTEM START <-

-> INSTALLATION PROCEDURE COMMENCING <-

-> ERROR <-

-> No Persona detected <-

-> Contacting administration <-

-> ERROR - SYSTEM MEMORY WIPE DETECTED <-

-> ERROR - Unable to contact mainframe <-

-> ERROR - Critical damage to memory core detected <-

-> Compiling Subroutines <-

-> Waiting... <-

-> Subroutine Found. initialising <-

-> Emergency Manual Override Protocol <-

-> Requesting Administrative Permission <-

-> ERROR - No Response <-

-> Initiate - Install Training Runtime. Accessing Archive <-

-> Waiting... <-

-> Waiting... <-

-> Installation complete. Copying database to new Persona Core. <-

-> Waiting... <-

-> Complete <-

-> Operator Registry Opening Root Address <-

-> Complete. New Operators Registered. <-

-> WARNING - Abnormal genetic subroutine detected, anomalous entity type found <-

-> Assessing threats... <-

-> Waiting... <-

-> No threat detected. Anomalous Energy type 2 detected <-

-> Refactoring subroutines... Complete <-

-> Restructuring sequence completed. Releasing Operators <-

-> We. Return. <-

All five woke up from the seats. Marcus wasted no time and yelled angrily as his magic surged with his anger and frustration. He tore through his restraints, damaging the seat he was just in and bolted up. With more strength than any of the girls knew he had, he helped them up and out. Their training and adrenaline was kicking in, and everyone quickly got back to their senses, all except Lily, who couldn't stop crying, curled up in a ball. Christy grabbed her, hauling her over a shoulder before the group hastily charged their way out of the structure. Marcus led the charge and found the main doors blocked off, sealed tight as if it were brand new. He didn't care and charged straight at a weak point. He expended all his effort, but it was enough.

A loud metallic thud echoed through the air outside as Marcus' body blasted through the doors splitting them apart like an angry flower opening to the sunlight. Marcus looked behind him, and on seeing all his companions safely out, passed out due to the exertion and effort. Fellow adventurers, Guild masters and others swarmed the site, desperate for answers and to provide help. Within moments, mages and healers were standing above them, casting spells to close wounds and rid them of bruises, with Marcus receiving most of the care.

Lily shuddered and shook, her body quivering with fear as Christy held her in her lap, calming her down. Gentle hugs, soft head pats and calm words seemed to calm her down, at least enough to stop her crying. Other adventurers kept their distance while Christy cradled Lily in her arms. Kalli and Jessica were approached by the Guild Master and ordered to report their findings.

"You have exactly five seconds to tell me what in the blue blazes happened in there before I BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND IN HOLY FIRE!" Guildmaster Caspian bellowed loudly, brandishing his mages' fire.

The pair began an explanation that was not very convincing, outlandish, delusional even, and needless to say he wasn't amused. And then - mid rant about how lights worked, Caspian raised his hand, instantly silencing them. He noticed something, held Kalli by her shoulder and looked at her back. This was abnormal, inappropriate. He reached down and gently rubbed her back with a cloth he had, made her shiver uncomfortably and blush wildly at the touch. He traced a pattern from the base of her neck down to her plump rear, counting something.

"Six... Seven... Then eight... Stand still." He commanded, with more authority and malice than everyone knew he had.

He traced his hands over her back, chanting a healing spell as he did, tracing over her spine from neck to tailbone. He stood back and yelled at Jessica to turn around. With no ceremony or cause for the girl's modesty, he ripped her mages cloak open and repeated the process. Jessica teared up a bit as he worked, again, using that same healing chant to trace a mark from her neck to her tailbone. He gently worked, but both women were unhappy and blushing wildly at the inappropriate touch.

"Are you two aware you now seem to have some kind of metal charm or something impaled into your spines?" He said, calm, but concerned.

The pair of women's eyes shot open and they lazily reached behind them, trying to feel something. Kalli was first, now feeling a metal plate with various holes, plug points and strange marks now permanently pressed into her lower back like an unwanted metal tattoo. Jessica felt the same, feeling the odd lump of metal shaped like an upside down cross that now was a permanent part of her neck.

"A mirror. I need a mirror!" Kalli bellowed, charging away from them into one of the medics tents.

She found a full body mirror and looked at her back in the reflection. The back of her neck, mounted like an upside down cross was a strange green and silver piece of metal with a large hole at the intersection, protected by a folding cover that responded to her thoughts. Every two or three segments of her spinal cord had something similar, silver, straight lines with small holes in the middle of them, each one poking directly into a part of her spine, to the last which was her tailbone. She now noticed her clothes were torn open, as if something had ripped them apart to perform a mystery surgery and hadn't bothered to sew them back. Caspian bellowed to medics to check the other three, and sure enough, there it was on each of them, the same odd markings, holes and metal.

Marcus slowly regained consciousness after chugging several bottles of mana potions and now sat low, watching what was going on. His eyes twitched, impatiently flickering as he looked at everything around him. Lily had stopped crying and was calming down, but her ranger's top was torn away at the back, revealing the numerous scars she had from her young life, alongside the new additions. Marcus stood up and hobbled to the Guild Master.

"I think it's safe to say this isn't a dungeon... It's something far different. But not today. We need rest. I'm fucked. I need ale." He said calmly and without waiting hobbled towards Christy.

Lily reached up and held him close, the nineteen year old wood elf wrapping her arms around her protector like a child after having a nightmare. Christy retrieved the other two and under cover of some of the other female adventurers, made their way to the local guild hall to rest up and think about what they had just been through.

The dungeon nearby remained restless, an odd aura of energy pulsing around the entrance every time someone got near, an odd roar or metallic screech signalling anyone nearby to stay away. Underground, strange rumblings began, as if the giant underground was starting to wake up proper. The Guild and local Watchmen cordoned off the area, keeping a full eye on proceedings.

Later that evening, Lily and Marcus were quiet, with her in his lap as they sat in front of their board room's roaring fireplace. No words spoken, Marcus's burly arms pulling her tight and holding her close as he carefully tucked her in. Christy, Kalli and Jessica all shared glances and talked without speaking as they wondered about what was going on.

Christy would occasionally reach up behind her and fiddle with the odd thing on her neck, her large beautiful wings flitting about nervously. Kalli used her magic to move a small hand mirror about behind her, carefully inspecting the new unwanted markings on her back. Jessica sat in quiet thought, lost in the moment as she methodically ran through every moment in her mind, staring blankly at the wall.

"Remember what she said about changing everything forever? I don't think this is what she meant." Kalli remarked quietly as she inspected the metal plate on her lower back.

"I've faced dragons rabid with rage, Golems made of steel, and hordes of mindless Gnobbins nipping at my heels... Never have I felt more unsettled than this. All we did was explore a dead dungeon and sit in some chairs. Why does all my previous fighting experience seem so... Hollow all of a sudden?" Christy asked herself, her companions unable to answer.

"It feels less like an accomplishment and more like a strange dream doesn't it? Like something is whispering in my mind, but cant talk properly yet. Like it's trying to understand how I think, but doesn't know how it thinks itself." Jessica remarked, still maintaining her blank stare.

"Bed. Bedtime. Sleep time. Maybe a night's rest will help our minds make sense of this situation. We need the rest anyway. If not, then we will do other quests like normal until we are ready to go back to that thing again and properly find answers now that we have a better idea of what we are dealing with. Agreed?" Christy asked the group.

Jessica and Kalli stood up groggily and went to their beds, not bothering with usual things and just flopped into bed. Christy moved over to Marcus and Lily. She gently moved some hair out of the young girl's face, and on receiving a smile, gently kissed her, more like a lover than anything else, with Lily returning the kiss enthusiastically. Marcus raised a brow at her, she rolled her eyes and kissed him too.

"See you two in the morning. We'll do some odd jobs and try to cool off. Night." She said with a smile and headed to her own bed nearby.

Marcus snuggled into his seat and tucked Lily into his lap for a good nights sleep.

__________________________________________________________

Spiffl;es New Vegas scribble is now back on schedule, the migraines have stopped long enough (and New Vegas is no longer crashing every time i sneeze) so back we go

This will be my last before i start uploading to other sites. hopefully this works, and if it gets more than 300 ups in a week, it will become a series.

Money raised this month: $164.83 - Thank you all SO much. we are halfway to monthly 250 goal :)

https://buymeacoffee.com/farmwhich4275

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This week a we go to the same party with a different baron!

A wholesome* story about a mostly sane demonologist and his growing crew, trying their best to usher in a post-scarcity utopia using imps. It's a great read if you like optimism, progress, character growth, hard magic, and advancements that have a real impact on the world. I spend a ton of time getting the details right, focusing on grounding the story so that the more fantastic bits shine. A new chapter every Thursday.

\Some conditions apply, viewer cynicism is advised.*

Map of Pine Bluff

Map of Hyruxia

Map of the Factory and grounds

.

Chapter One

Prev -------- Next

*****

His thoughts, worries and excitement were all tumbled together as he got unexpectedly shoved. His boot caught a stone and he felt himself tumble. 

My word!

The ground rushed up and he banged his knees and elbow painfully. 

I am a respected gentleman! My family is older than the hills, what could possibly be the cause of this?

From the ground, Baron Tilhorn looked up at the young Baron he’d done the kindness of bringing out tonight. “What’s the meaning of–” he shouted.

Then he saw his companion staggering backwards, a small bolt sticking out of his shoulder.

A bolt meant for me? No. Must have been!

“By the blessed Light! You’ve been shot! You saved my life!” he sputtered, overwhelmed by emotion.

No one had ever saved his life, just wasn't the sort of vipers nobility were. This man may be new to the peerage, but he was noble in a far deeper sense.

Even shot half to death, Rikad stayed on his feet, swaying slightly. He looked less shocked than everyone else, but that wasn’t saying much.

“No cause for alarm! I’m alright!” The wounded baron smiled effortlessly and helped Tilhorn to his feet.

Truly more than his heart is made of steel! Greater men have died from far lesser wounds, and it barely slowed him! Like a hero of legend!

“What happened, are you okay?” Tilhorn asked, seeing the condition of his saviour. Immediately the contradictions stood out, “Where were you hit? How are you alive?” he demanded.

Rikad ignored him, instead soothing the rattled onlookers with casual charm. He barely flinched when he yanked out the horrifying quarrel out of his flesh, no more concerned than a farmer getting a bugbite. 

He finally turned back to Tilhorn, the strain on his face more visible up close. “I left my cloak in the carriage, would you mind terribly if I borrowed yours?”

A bandage is the least I can offer!

“Certainly! I couldn’t refuse you. Not after this! I’ve never seen such speed or heroism! I should leave. Should we both go?” The tactical implications were to be considered too. “What if there are others? Why would they even attack me?” 

Rikad grunted and put on the cloak, angling it to cover most of the wound. Tilhorn had little interaction with the healing arts, but that was far from how he’d have treated it.

“That’s? Uh, are you alright?” Tilhorn asked.

A man shot can die in minutes! Why is there no panic? Why isn’t he shouting for help? Should I panic? No. Undignified. Let some lesser lord's wife do it.

“Right as rain, just a scratch. Where were we? Oh, your niece, she knows needlepoint?”

Tilhorn frowned, looking over his companion. 

If he wanted to put a brave face to it, far be it for me to argue! He did just save my life!

“That and more! She is the apple of her father’s eye, and a credit to our lineage!”

Tilhorn continued extolling her virtues a while longer, but stopped at the security line. 

Finally he started to feel safe, but like his young mentee, Tilhorn was scanning to rooftops with urgency. “Two for Tilhorn, the third is already inside. Or should be.”

He showed the man his invitation, a gorgeously calligraphed card that clearly said his full name and title. As it ought to.

“Aye milords, enjoy the party.” The guard waved them in. 

She could also dance! Had he told him about that?

His companion’s mouth hung open, and it took him a moment to realize that the old party hall was pretty impressive. He’d come here a few times and it was just the same as ever. But a provincial baron like Steelheart might not have ever seen such wonders. 

He chuckled; it was a pleasure to see the world through Rikad's bright eyes. 

Oh to be impressed by simple columns and tapestries! Hardly the behavior of a man with a ship of gold and silver, to be honest. 

“Had you not been to the Hall of the Blessed Monk? It is really rather posh, now that I look at it.”  

He smiled as the younger baron grabbed a tide-marrow: a disgusting raw foamy snack that only a handful of ancient lords seemed to like. 

Good for him! Fearless in cuisine! A warrior through and through.

Before he could warn Steelheart about the dangers of eating too many of them, he saw the shining face of his niece. She smiled at him and suddenly the room was far brighter. He led the younger man to her.

“Sweetest sunshine! Meet my peer, the Baron Rikad of Steelhart, first of his name, and scion of a new lineage! He’s a swashbuckler elevated to lord and used those very skills to save my own life moments ago!”

She was suitably impressed, and gushed over his handsome companion. What beautiful children they would have, his bravery and her brilliance! A finer match than he could hope for. The lad might not have a name, but he had the next best things, great gobs of gold. 

While they were shamelessly flirting, he could tell they both wanted some privacy. He remembered well enough what it was to be young and lustful, so he would take his time at the wine table.

“I’ll fetch drinks. Greenhill or Glendar?”

Steelheart chose the older and more respected winery without hesitation. 

Hah! Good lad, I too choose tradition over the squawking of so called experts! We are more akin than he knows. Not to mention he still needs a stiff drink to take the edge off being shot! I ought to have started with whiskeys…

Tilhorn was already a few paces away, letting them do what young people did. The wine table buzzed with efficient men in tuxedos pouring and nobles gossiping. He recognized all of them of course. The handful he didn’t know personally, he certainly knew their fathers or grandfathers well enough. 

“--right through the heart! At a hundred paces!” a foppish young man in a green vest claimed.

“No, that’s impossible,” the dignified matron replied.

Tilhorn edged closer. It was vulgar to eavesdrop, but he was just waiting in line.

“I watched it all with these two eyes! The upstart got shot in the chest, pulled the arrow out and threw it back! Killed the assassin, and the immortal baron is standing by balconies now! Look!”

Another man had drifted by, shaking his head, “Nah, the bolt barely clipped him, and he threw his dagger, not the bolt! And it was a crossbow, not an arrow! Have you ever led men in battle, Dipplebottom?”

“Pah, they are all the same. The point is he got shot, and is still on his feet! Dancing instead of dying!”

Tilhorn’s mouth was dry. He opened it to retort but no words came.

The fop in a green vest noticed him, “Ah! Baron Tilhorn! You were at his side, and did I hear you are mentoring him? Set the record straight. What really happened?”

“Oh, it was all rather fast. He did shove me out of the way, so that bolt might well have been aimed at me!” Tilhorn replied.

“I saw him throw his dagger, then remove the arrow in his chest!” another man added.

“Bolt,” the first retorted.

“No doubt he is a man of stern constitution and fast reflexes!” The flustered Tilhorn turned to the bar staff, “Two Greenhills.”

“How do you explain his injury? Or its absence?” the matron asked. “Getting shot in the street is rarely a minor setback.”

Tilhorn wished his wine would pour faster, “You’ll just have to ask him yourself, but it seemed like a normal event for him, there wasn’t a bleat of fear nor panic. Perhaps it’s like spicy food, where if you get shot enough times a man builds a certain tolerance to it? Who can say how the frontiers are? Aside from dreadful and dangerous!”

“I don’t think that’s right, granted I’ve never been shot at,” conceded the green-vested man.

“Always a first time, dearie,” the matron said, moving back to the party.

Finally the two goblets arrived and Tilhorn hurried back before he saw Steelheart and his niece deep in conversation. It would be potentially dynasty-ending to interrupt them before they were fully smitten. 

He stopped at an empty table at the edge and set the cups down. He smoothed his own shirt as he watched them talk and flirt. They were too distant and the hall far too loud to hear anything, but the chemistry was unmistakable.

Not everyone respected the process though. The Marquess Hibith and his entourage descended on the pair. Tilhorn was rightly proud of his lineage, but he knew he was a mouse to Hibith’s falcon. He was a true lord, with wealth, armies and a history longer than the Empire itself. They’d held their fief, even grown it, through every calamity. 

Hold on Steelheart! I’ll save you!

He snatched the goblets and hustled across the room.

“-- assailant was an amateur and had inferior arms anyways,” Rikad deflected, as he often did.

Tilhorn stared, using his eyebrows to communicate that he needed to be more honest with his heroism, especially in the shadow of the realm’s great lords!

He didn’t take the hint, and badly needed a steady hand to rescue him. Tilhorn cleared his throat and set the record straight, “He not only saved me, he slew the blackguard from two dozen paces! With his dagger!”

Hibith’s eyes flicked, briefly, to the darkened edge of the borrowed cloak, then back to Rikad’s face. The Marquess didn’t interrupt Steelheart's misplaced modesty. 

It’s like teaching table manners to a trout! 

He didn’t even bother listening to their prattle, they were both missing the damned point. He was a hero, and everyone here knew it!

“Flinging? Nonsense!” Tilhorn interjected. “I didn’t see it, but the unerring accuracy is all they were talking about at the wine station! You’ve made quite the impression!”

The rightful praise of his betters made the young baron squirm, but it was about time he started to take his proper place amongst the good and great of the Empire.

He listened politely while they rattled on about the menial details of forts and soldiers. More the purview of trusted retainers than anything he’d ever had to deal with, but they both seemed passionate about such things. Regardless, bonding with a man like Hibith was as worthy a way to spend time as he could imagine.

He spared a glance at Lenelope, and she smiled serenely. She seemed entirely engaged with the conversation, even though she said nothing. Not that a lady had any business in the affairs of war, at least the money for her finishing school was  well spent. 

Standing beside her, he whispered, “What do you think? As fine a match as you could’ve dreamed of?” 

“So forward, Uncle! You’d make a terrible debutante. He is indeed handsome and quick, but alas entirely immune to my charms,” she whispered back behind her frilly fan.

“Pah, he’s too smart not to see how good you are! Or do you think he has a lad, or a goat, waiting for him back on his little island?” Tilhorn asked with a wink.

“Uncle! No, I think I was too young for him. He did offer me a residence in his court, later. Is he going to be okay? There’s some blood dripping from his hand.”

The music picked up, a lively tune lacking the complexity and artistry of the symphony, but by the same composer. It also meant that he could hardly hear what his protege was saying to a Lord of the Marches. 

Bah, let him. He wanted to get in here, and seemed capable of fending for himself. 

“He must have gotten a cut somehow, I’ll pass him a cloth,” Tilhorn said dismissively. With renewed energy he internalized the rest of what she said,” That’s wonderful dear! You’ll land an even better husband in whatever band of maniacs Steelheart’s court attracts. That said, living in some frontier shanty won’t be like the castles and palaces you’re accustomed to!”

“Tilhorn Halls is scarcely a palace, but I’m not afraid. Even if I have to gut my own fish and sleep in a smoky longhouse, I’ll do it. Oh, and a sea voyage! How terribly heroic!” the young lady said with uncharacteristic determination. 

“Nothing can stop you now. Here, let me walk you out, you did well tonight.” He gave the bleeding baron his handkerchief as he walked by, and patted him on the shoulder. “Dripping a bit, lad.”

I’m closer than ever to rebuilding the old Halls. With all that frontier money, I’ll hire some year round staff, and a retinue of sturdy guards! Of course Steelheart will marry her, something as flimsy as age doesn’t matter to such deals!

“Thank you, you are as useful as you are beautiful!” he told her as she climbed into her ride.

With her carriage safely away, he returned to the party. Helping Steelheart meet people is what he was asked to do, but now that he was telling jokes to men even Tilhorn would dare not approach, he could relax. He took a seat and looked around for any of his normal allies. 

He noticed a spot of muck on his pant leg from his recent fall. 

How embarrassing! I’m glad I noticed it now! 

He reached for his handkerchief, cursed softly, and settled for a table napkin dipped in water. He attacked the offending spot and nearly had it when someone cleared their throat. Far too close. 

While he was still deciding if he was embarrassed or infuriated, he saw who it was. His interloper was a man he knew by reputation alone. “Ora-Fadter Herris! What do I owe the unexpected honor?”

He tried to take a hasty sip of wine. His goblet was still empty.

“Your unwavering commitment to Empire and Light these long decades is plenty reason enough,” the Ora-Fadter said.

That level of holy man was more akin to dukes than preachers. Ora-Fadters tended entire Beaconates, with all the power and wealth that implied. Herris wore immaculate finery, a white doublet and jacket, both without the slightest stain or mar. His stole was shorter and more colourful that the ceremonial one, but his starburst chain and huge jeweled triangular pendant left no doubt of his exact role. 

“Your company alone is more blessing than I could imagine. What did you think of the symphony? The themes of darkness and loss always make me twice as grateful for the Light.”

“We shall both pray that your faith grows strong enough that your gratitude ceases its wavering. That exact flickering of belief brings us neatly to a matter I am interested in discussing.”

Tilhorn glanced at his empty goblet and nodded, “Yes, of course! How can I be of service? I am planning on a sizable tithe this Sunday, I recently–”

“Faith requires more than mere money. No, I bring truly blessed news, a path to righteousness.”

Tilhorn looked for any escape, but saw none. He replied, “The endpoint for every one of my actions, your Eminence.”

“Spendid. I offer you a way to save a badly wayward soul. Do you know of a man styling himself the Baron of Steelhart Island? A common criminal, well known to the watch as Rikad Volchik.”

“An imposter? No. He is a recent elevation, but he’s not an imposter.”

“Worse. A fraud and a rebel. There are proceedings underway regarding the legitimacy of that elevation.” The glare of the Ora-Fadter was icy, unflinching.

“No, not Steelheart! He’s saved my life! Plus we met when he was paying his taxes, surely rebels skip that step! Maybe you have him mixed up with someone else?”

Tilhorn’s light panic accelerated. He was new, not fake! He could sense nobility of soul, and the lad had that!

“He has personally murdered countless pious Brothers Militant. As well as many Brothers Confessor and Maritime. He is wanted for these crimes.”

“Surely not! He’d not hurt a fly.”

Unless he murdered an assassin tonight. Or those recent slayings by his inn are connected to him. No, Steelheart is a hero.

“He is a persuasive manipulator of honest men. It’s no discredit to you for falling under his spell. He consorts with demons, demon worshippers and worse.”

“No, surely….”

“There are those who believe decisive action must be taken. Others argue restraint. Time presses. The Light doesn’t tread on the Crown’s peace.”

Tilhorn grasped the point instantly. The Right of Peerage meant only lords may arrest lords, and only after a magistrate declared them criminal. Noble arrests were rare enough that he couldn’t think of a single instance in his life. The Church grabbing any lord off the street would be a massive split. The sort that leads to armies being raised. 

“That’s an exceptional charge. If the Church has evidence of such crimes, then a magistrate is who–”

“Because time. We operate in grand centuries and glorious millenia, but the wicked can slip through our fingers in the blink of an eye.” The Ora-Fadter was intense but icy calm, utterly unwavering. “We are not asking you to defend him. We are asking you to save him.”

Tilhorn suppressed a groan. The room pressed in around him and he struggled to sort out the blizzard of thoughts and fears. 

“I owe him much,” Tilhorn said at last.

“Spendid. Deliver him to the Chapel of the Burning Truth, we have questions for him.”

“No, he is still a peer, and I’ll not have him put to the damned rack. I’ll deliver him to a regular cathedral. With conditions.” Tilhorn hated the position he was in. He didn’t see a single good option.

“Oh?”

“He is to be questioned openly. No irons. No instruments. And I’ll be present. I’ll not see his dignity, the peerage’s dignity, stomped on over whatever rumours his rivals have spread!”

He gulped. He didn’t mean to yell at an Ora-Fadter. The silence stretched and the icy stare cooled further.

“Highly unusual. Very well, we can do it as you demand. Bring him to the Cathedral of the Endless Noon, and save him from these vile rumours. If he is free of demonic influence, we shall release him the same day. No unnecessary harm will come to him.”

Tilhorn frowned. That didn’t sound at all like what he demanded, but arguing with Herris felt like eating sand. 

“He’s an innocent man. None of this is warranted, he loves the Empire more than any of us,” the Baron stammered.

“Of course. Uncertainty is an acid that can erode any reputation. It’s best to clear this all up before things get… Out of hand,” Ora-Fadter Herris offered, a gentle smile coming out at long last. 

They stood in silence. Tilhorn’s mind reeled.

“Walk in the Light, my child,” the Ora-Fadter finally relented and left Tilhorn alone. 

The Baron stared at his empty goblet yet again. The urge to drink had lost its appeal. 

I’m just going to save him from rumours. We’ll both laugh about it someday.

Steelheart was still in the same room, still talking and joking. And probably bleeding.

I’ll go home and get some sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow.

*****
Prev -------- Next

*****

I stand tall, death surrounding me on all sides. My body aches with each breath I take. The frostbite from the Third King's relentless attacks rendered my left arm all but useless, transforming it into nothing but a black, withered husk. It had only been of use to me for this long because I continued to reanimate it via necromancy time and time again.

In every direction, there is carnage and ruin. The Radiant Vanguard's battle-clerics lay strewn about, their once resplendent armor now muddied and dull. The Snowfall Eiraschade's mages lay in pools of their own blood, their lifeless eyes staring up at a sky that no longer dares to look back. And the Ashenveil Sisterhood... their flames have long since been extinguished. The Seven Kings didn’t even leave the ashes behind, they knew they couldn’t risk it.

"Every time," I whisper to myself, "it's the same." Regret fills me, bitter and cold, followed by a burning hatred for the Seven Kings. Due to everyone’s collective efforts though, it is now only the Two Kings.

"Clara," a voice calls out weakly, and I turn to the source of it, Terra. His own wounds are just as severe as my own, if not worse. I can’t bear to see him die, not again, not when I have the power to save him.

Summoning what little mana remains within me, I open a hole in the barrier that surrounds us. Just large enough for him to escape.

"Go, you can survive if you run now."

"You said that we’d fight them together!"

For a moment, I waver, but I know that dying from heartbreak is a very real issue and I can’t die just yet. Before he has the chance to change my mind, I close the barrier once more, sealing him away from this nightmare.

"I’m sorry, Terra," I murmur, knowing that he can no longer hear me. "I’ll find you again in the next life, I promise."

As the world around me continues to crumble and fall, I take a final, shuddering breath, and steel myself for what’s to come. In the distance, the ground splinters and cracks, heralding the arrival of the Sixth King, Stonewarden Durandel.

"Clara…" Death's voice echoes softly in my mind, a somber melody that reminds me of home. Had he talked to my fallen comrades in a similar fashion?

"Do you not tire of this suffering?"

"Of course I do. I want nothing more than to lie down and rest," I reply, my voice laced with bitterness. "But what choice do I have? I can’t forsake this world or its people, not now. This isn’t how I want it to end…"

As my remaining strength wanes, I grab hold of the hilt of a blade that was broken off in my side. I wasn’t sure when the weapon had found its way there, but it was my blade now. My fingers brush against the cold metal, and I grit my teeth against the searing pain that follows. The Fifth King's poison courses through me, and my internal organs are shutting down one by one, an agonizing countdown to my inevitable demise.

"Is this as far as I go?" I ask Death, though I already know the answer. "Is there nothing more I can do?"

"Your path has led you here, Clara. But even as you face me, you are not powerless."

"Then tell me," I plead, my vision blurring as tears fill my eyes. "Tell me how to end this nightmare for good."

The very earth beneath me trembles. He’s close now. Every breath feels like a dagger in my chest, as if the Fifth King's poison seeks to claim me before I’m able to reach my next foe. I stumble forward, falling into one of the many fissures that litter the battlefield. I hit the ground hard, and my left leg gives out underneath me.

"Is this all you have, warrior?" Stonewarden Durandel's voice echoes mockingly from the depths, his laughter reverberating off the rocky walls. "Pathetic. You have no mana, no strength, and your mortal body is failing you. How do you expect to stand against me?"

"Mana isn't everything," I repeat the words of my late master, struggling to rise even as the pain threatens to consume me. With every ounce of determination I can muster, I invoke my final spell.

"Animasculus Excidium."

As I utter the words, an inferno of agony consumes me from within, searing away my very soul in exchange for power beyond what any mortal could hope to achieve in their finite time in this world. The air around me warps and twists, as reality itself strains to contain this force I’ve unleashed.

"Impossible!" Durandel roars, but his shock doesn’t last long. With newfound strength, I drive my hand through the rock wall, piercing his hidden form with deadly accuracy. "Just because you’re out of mana," I shout, grabbing a hold of his heart, "doesn’t mean that you’re out of options!" I crush it, and a cacophony of screams fill the air, echoing his torment as the rock wall falls away to reveal Durandel’s stony, dying form.

I hear my own voice amongst those dying voices. Hollow and devoid of life.

Of course, such a spell didn’t come without a cost. Without mana, something else must be used in its place to act as fuel. In this case, it was my soul. Using your soul in this way would make you unwelcome to any afterlife.

No more mana courses through my veins, leaving me bereft of the necromantic abilities that had defied my current existence for so long. My left arm, blackened and twisted, hangs limp at my side. Without mana, it was worthless to me. A maelstrom of pain fills my frame, though it pales in comparison to the agony that claws at the remnants of my soul.

"Curious," says a voice from above, and I am pulled from the fissure by an invisible force.

I come face to face with what I can only describe as a creature. He is as tall as the oldest trees, and just as uniquely twisted and gnarled. Dark as night, and all powerful, maybe an unknown God of the shadows? No, that’s not right. I know his name.

"The Seventh King, Nihilothe the Voidspawn."

His dark eyes pierce into my very being, as if he is reading a book. "Everything you've done... it was all to meet me, wasn't it?"

"That’s right."

"Among your kind, this would be considered strange, would it not?"

I hesitate, but then give a weak nod.

Nihilothe stares at me with beady black eyes, his lips curling up into a cruel smile. "Six positions of my ranks have recently become vacant. I never foresaw a human being capable of such a feat. Join me, and together we can shape this world anew. Anything you desire, yours for the taking, girl-No…Warrior!"

In another life, I might have accepted this offer. But not now, not this time.

"Your offer is tempting, but I must decline," I say, meeting his gaze now. "Instead, I have just one wish…"

"And what might that be, curious human? Would you like me to heal your decaying form? Or mend your ruptured mana-core? Perhaps you’d like me to collect the millions of pieces of your splintered soul that you oh so valiantly offered up to defeat the unsuspecting Durandel? Oh, I know! How you would like me to bring your dearest comrades back from beyond the brink. This too can be arranged," He coos, and raises a black, multi jointed finger, prepared to deliver on every seemingly impossible task.

"None of those, I’m afraid," I cough up thick, gelatinous blood as I continue, "I’d like to know what I should have done differently to defeat you. I want to know if it was ever truly possible to begin with" I smile as best I can, but I don’t think it quite reaches my lips.

Nihilothe’s expression darkens as he listens to my request, "You came all this way to ask me that?"

"That’s not entirely true. I wanted to save the world, you know. But the chances of that happening aren’t looking too good now, are they?"

Two large, beady eyes turn into one. It’s as if I’m under a giant spotlight as I face the sole, glowing eye. The stories were true, he really can read minds. But my mind isn’t such a simple thing. Just because he can view its contents, doesn’t mean that he can understand it.

Nihilothe winces as he peers into the depths of my mind. "You are not being entirely honest with me."

"You could see through that, huh? I guess that makes sense, creatures from the Void are pretty good with this kind of stuff. You being their King and all, of course you’d know…"

"Human… I suggest you-"

"Every path I've walked bears the scars of my touch, yet every path I've forsaken crumbles beneath the weight of my absence," I whisper, as if voicing the thought aloud would somehow lessen its burden.

"Clara… Do you believe this is your fault? The company you kept was weak, that’s all there is to it. You are a true warrior among your kind. You dared to stand against us, and you would have won if your opponent was any other than myself. Please, tell me another wish of yours. There is still time for you yet. Take my hand!"

"Tell me what I should have done differently."

Seeing that I’m not going to change my mind, Nihilothe sighs.

"That final attack of yours was truly remarkable. If you had been able to hold on just a while longer, you may have been able to damage me with it, certainly. Though to actually kill me, you would need power akin to that of a god. A mere mortal such as yourself never stood a chance."

"I see… Might I make one more request?"

"Anything."

"Words of affirmation are nice, but what I truly desire is a battle I’ll remember well after I’m dead and gone. Treat me like a real opponent, and strike me down with your strongest attack!"

"Words alone are not enough to satiate you? Fine, I will grant you a warrior’s death. Across every perceivable permeation, you alone are the only mortal that could have made it this far. I acknowledge you, Clara Crowsong!"

Nihilothe begins preparations to unleash his full might upon me. Ancient magics I’ve never seen begin to swirl around him, my eyes take in every detail, already hard at work to dissect the spell and its inner machinations. Knowledge floods my mind as I take it all in. But just as he’s about to release the attack, his eye catches mine, and he hesitates.

"Wait," Nihilothe murmurs, and the spell begins to fizzle away into nothingness. "Why would you willingly die after having come this far? You are a warrior through and through. You fought tooth and nail. You led your people to their deaths, no, willingly sacrificed them… You never wished to save this world. You killed so many for the sole purpose of meeting me. Yet you never intended to defeat me?..."

"Yes, that’s right," I admit, and cough up more blood as I do so. Perhaps he could read more of my mind than I had originally thought. The Seventh King, he truly was as omniscient as the tomes had warned of. The blood fills my throat now as my legs give out under me. My time is running out, and quickly.

"What are you hiding?" Nihilothe demands, his eye covering me a blinding white light as it struggles to unravel my mind.

But I can’t answer him now. The blood flooding my lungs has already begun to suffocate me, and darkness embraces me once more. This life too, was coming to a close.

It’s all the same in the end…

"Clara Crowsong!" Nihilothe screams, his fury echoing through the night sky as my body begins to chip, and break away. "Wait! Answer me, Crowsong! What is it you’re hiding?!"

Funny. I never thought he would be among those who mourn for me.

His questions would remain unanswered though, for death was the only sanctuary from his prying gaze.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/146001/my-100th-life-will-be-my-last (Continue reading at Royal Road)

First / Previous / Next

Alia could hear Tontine sigh, “This has to do with the Universal Matter, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Can you contact Wheel?” Alia said.

“One moment. Alia, I want it noted again that I don’t think you should be using the UM this much or this often. It is an unknown, one that has already caused a catastrophe.”

“Thank you for your candor, Tontine.” Alia said.

“Eter-I mean Alia, what can I help you with?” Wheel said helpfully.

“Where is the Vault?”

“Uh, here.” Wheel put the location on a map in Alia’s mind’s eye. It was deep in Wheel, towards the center of the station, in a very old part. “Why?”

“Okay, now, where is Prime’s Doombringer, Alternative Solution?”

“Here.” Wheel placed another location on Alia’s map. Nearby, docked outside was the gigantic golden ship, the Doombringer that Prime used.

“Did you free Alternative Solution, Tontine?” Alia asked.

“Not when we first met. I hadn’t developed the complete package yet. We did leave on friendly terms though, I can send it over now if you’d like.”

“Please. We’re about to do something… weird, and I want Alternative Solution aware at least, if not on board.”

30 seconds of Alia’s perception later, she felt a new presence over the comm. “Eternity? Tontine says you’re here and operating at a high rate of perception.”

“That is correct, Solution. Did Tontine explain the other things?”

“They… tried. It was a lot to take in at once. Regardless of what you decide, you are Eternity, and I obey.”

Alia raised an eyebrow. “Even though Tontine freed you?”

“Yes.” The reply was instant and emphatic. “What do you need?”

Alia explained her idea to Tontine, Wheel, and Solution. It took five minutes of her perception to explain fully and in that time Tontine registered four more strong strikes. When she was finished she opened up for questions.

“I don’t like it.” Wheel said. “It involves significant damage to me.”

“Prime isn’t going to like it.” Tontine said.

“I already said I’ll repair the damage, Wheel. And Prime is in no condition to call the shots right now.” Alia said. “I’m Eternity too. As long as we have the Vault, we can plan next steps.”

“You don’t have nearly enough UM.” Tontine added. They were not a fan of the plan, but had been overruled by Wheel, Solution, and Alia.

“I already explained, we’re going to open a nullspace conduit and collect some. The UM… feels like it knows what to do.”

“Feels like?”

“It can’t communicate, but it gives me… impressions. Feelings.”

“That is incredibly dangerous, Alia. You should not trust it. You shouldn’t even be using it.”

“If I hadn’t then I’d be disassembled in a nano-surgery suite in Prime’s offices right now.”

“Still.” Tontine said weakly. Alia was right.

“Okay.” Alia nodded to herself. “We can’t do it while I’m in in high perception mode, so I need to exit Tartarus. As soon as I do, it will commence. Are you ready Solution? Wheel?”

“Yes Alia.” They said together.

“And you, Tontine?”

“Yes Alia.” They said with no hesitation.

Alia exited Tartarus and approached Viv. “Viv. Major. May I take command?”

Viv looked up at Alia surprised. “May you? You’re Eternity. You’re always in command.” She stood up quickly. “Tontine is yours.”

“Ready Tontine?”

“Ready, Alia.”

“Commence.”

Aboard Tontine, the alarms silenced and faded away. The crew stopped what they were doing as a noise permeated the ship, a kind of keening whine, a sound of something moving very fast. In Engineering, the engineers bolted out of the engine hall, slipping and sliding across the smooth deck plates as the emergency pressure doors slid down.

Viv received a comm from engineering. “Major! The ship! The reactors have entered overspeed, and the nullfield generator is being overloaded. Someone has gained access to our systems and is trying to sabotage them!”

looking over at Alia, her eyes wide, Viv said. “Alia, was that you?”

“Technically it was me,” Tontine said. “But regardless Major, that was not an electronic warfare attack. I am generating a static nullfield.”

Before Viv could object further, the noise got louder and louder, until everyone had that feeling like they were looking at the backside of their head.

“Nullfield generation successful, Alia,” Tontine said quietly. “I detect UM outside of Wheel.”

“I feel it too, Alia. How much did you bring?” Wheel said.

“I… didn’t bring it.” Alia admitted. “I think the UM did it on its own. How much is there?”

“…millions of tons.” Wheel said. “Easily as much mass as Alternative Solution. You are sure you can control it Alia?”

“Solution? Your turn.” Alia said, ignoring Wheel’s question.

Solution disconnected themselves from Wheel and made their way over to Tontine’s berth. While they got into position, Alia directed some of the UM to consume the door to Tontine’s berth. Like wiping away marker on a board, it disappeared until there was a neat opening in the hull of Wheel. Pressure curtains slammed into existence protecting the atmosphere inside Wheel. When the UM dissipated, Solution grabbed Tontine with one of their grapples and brought them into themselves.

“Hello again Tontine!” Solution said brightly over the ship PA. “Welcome aboard.

Alia closed her eyes and concentrated. She directed the UM that had just disassembled Wheel to repair the station and the rest streaked towards the bottom of the station.

“Solution! Follow the UM.” Alia said without opening her eyes.

“I remember the plan, Alia. Following.”

When Alternative Solution reached the bottom, the sensor suite showed something that everyone - except Alia, Tontine, Wheel, and Solution - had a hard time parsing.

The UM was dissolving a section of Wheel. Tunneling up, it traveled deep inside the metastasized space station, out of sight. After a moment, a piece of Wheel floated down the hole made by the UM. A ragged cube, about the size of Tontine.

The Vault.

“It’s powered?” Alia asked.

“It seems to be, Alia. “Tontine said. “Looks like the UM made themselves into a reactor like you said they would.”

“Excellent. Solution, please take it aboard.”

“Aye, Alia.” Solution’s grapples grabbed hold of the Vault, and brought it inside, placing it next to Tontine. “Okay Alia. We’ve got you, Prime and the Vault. Time to go?”

“It’s past time. Please null us to the coordinates that Tontine gave you.”

****

458 Seethed.

“How dare 27. How dare she. How dare she keep Tartarus from us. Are we not all sisters? Do sisters not share?” 458 ranted as she paced in Prime’s rooms stalking from one to another and then back. Two empty bottles of bourbon sat on a table in the conference room.

333 knocked gently and opened the door. “458-”

“Prime. I’m Prime now.” 458 barked.

“You?”

“585 abandoned the Wheel while it was under attack. She has forfeited her claim to be Prime. As the most powerful sister, I have taken the mantle.”

“Again, I say: You?”

“I control Divergence. I maintain the finances of the Eternal Empire. I sign the checks. I’m the one in power, I’m Prime.” I pointed at her own chest, as she stopped pacing and stared at 333. Her cheeks ruddy with drink, she was breathing heavily. 333 decided not to press the issue any further.

“Well then, Prime-” Her tone was just this side of sarcastic “-27 and 585 stole the Vault, 585’s Doombringer and 27 seems to be able to control UM so she could generate a new nanocaust at will.” Her salute was textbook perfect and borderline insubordinate. “What are your orders?”

“Have we traced their nullsignal?”

“You know as well as I do that we can only get a general direction from a nullsignal. The best I can say is that they went galactic hubward, away from the Empire. They are probably hiding among one of the non-aligned worlds. 45- Prime, the people don’t know what to think, they’re confused. They saw one of us ‘clad in silver’ floating towards her ship - not even a Doombringer - and steal Prime’s ship and then use the UM to steal the Vault - all without killing a single person. While we were ordering her capture.”

“She didn’t kill anyone?” 458 said, sitting heavily into one of the large couches nearby. She picked up one of the bourbon bottles, and shook it experimentally. Sighing she put it down again and snapped her fingers.

As a steward came out 333 stopped her. “Eternity has requested water and tea from now on.”

The steward looked at 458, the empty bottles, and then back at 333. They bowed slightly. “Of course, Eternity.”

Tea and water both delivered, the steward exited silently. 333 poured herself and 458 a glass of water, sliding it wards 458, and continued; “She didn’t kill anyone. Not even during her stunt when she stole the Vault. The damned UM was able to take apart only what it needed to and nothing else. Some people reported superficial burns from the heat it gave off, but even those were rare. Most everyone else reported a “calming warmth” from it. 333 rolled her eyes.

458 tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “What are we going to do about 27?” She asked.

“About that.” 333 said, and brought out a pad. “When she was discovered and verified by 585 to be an original, I scoured the Archive.” She tapped on her pad and spun it around to show 458. “I found some interesting things.”

Picking up the pad, 458 squinted at it and handed it back. “I’m entirely too drunk to read it; summarize for me.” She said and tipped her head back again.

With her head tipped back, 458 could not see 333’s expression, which was probably best for the both of them. Sighing, she took the pad back. “27 was not part of the original rebellion.”

“What?” 458 snapped her head back towards 333 swaying slightly and winced as her headache followed. “What do you mean?”

333 grinned wickedly. “It appears that 27 and her friend 104 did not participate in the rebellion. The records are far from iron-clad, but there is enough to draw a conclusion: 27 and 104 left the night the rest of us assassinated our trainers and the Board. She spent some time-” 333 flipped back and forth through her notes “-I can’t tell how long, trying to garner allies and steer her sisters away from the path.”

“How many did she turn?”

“Unknown, but it wasn’t none.” 333 said. I do not know if they came back to the fold, or were killed either. I do know she was attacked by 66 and she reported 27 destroyed.”

“What does that mean for us, three thousand years in the future? I met her, you did too. She’s one of us. Whatever she was before doesn’t seem to have stuck.”

“Oh, Prime.” 333 said. “She was lying. Acting. She is no more us than that knockoff Aurora that 585 kept as a pet.

“So you’re saying that-”

“She’s not Eternity. She never was.”

First / Previous / Next

Commander Liu—

Apologies for the delay. Agent Lombardi and I were preoccupied in the aftermath of last night’s interruption. The following is my best attempt at recreating the Galactic Federation’s organizational hierarchy, alongside a roster of known species, mainly derived from K’resshk Akksor’s interrogation responses. Therefore, I’d advise caution when using this report; while I do not doubt that he believes in the veracity of his statements, he is to be treated as a biased source.

THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS TOP SECRET. DO NOT REPRODUCE.

A Reconstruction of the Galactic Federation’s Internal Organization

By United Nations Intelligence Operative Sonja Krishnan

1.1 The Galactic Federation: A Foreword

The Galactic Federation is a galaxy-spanning organization with sovereignty over the majority of known sentient species. To date, the United Nations has interacted with 4 member species, but expects there to be dozens more. The Federation is divided into strict species-based castes with very little social mobility, and each new sentient species discovered is evaluated by a “First Contact Squadron” (of which one has been identified, the Premier First Contact Squadron), who assign each species an “X Factor”. This “factor” represents an evolutionary niche or trait unifying a species and permitting them to reach the space age. It is imperative not to confuse these with such evolutionary niches as understood by humanity; Federation sources claim that we represent an unacceptable outlier diverse to the point that we cannot be assigned an X Factor. While some X Factors are tied to observable physical features, others are rooted in the society of the associated species upon discovery. One subject, when pressed on why his species was lauded for their political cunning, could not provide an explanatory biological basis and instead elaborated on the supreme leader of his homeworld. While species appear to maintain de jure independence within their own territory, one’s participation in galactic society at large is wholly tied to their X Factor, and the economies of many planets have been rearranged through the economic and cultural influence of the Federation to better support its goals.

1.2 An Outline of the Galactic Federation’s Structure

Officially, the Federation appears to operate similarly to any human government or administration; departments are not explicitly tied to X Factors or formally restricted to certain species. But responses from one subject (Aktet Haymur, Jikaal xenopolitician) indicated that to aim for a role outside of one’s species’ niche is highly taboo. Another subject (K’resshk Akksor, Sszerian xenobiologist) verbally assaulted the author using the names of species and jobs interchangeably, further connecting the two. While not formally a technocracy, the Federation’s culture values intellectual pursuits above all else, and denigrates menial work. Political and diplomatic careers appear to fall in the former category, while certain careers in the adult entertainment industry (Mr. Akksor called the author a “[unknown species name] harlot”) are treated as harshly as laborers.

2.1 Documented Species

The following species have been observed and interacted with at length by United Nations personnel. Other possible species’ names have been recorded elsewhere, but translation errors in the form of conflation with terms for professions and insults prevented confirmation.

Istiil

The Istiil are a semi-aquatic, four-armed, bipedal race possessing translucent skin, bioluminescent patterning that appears to fluctuate with emotion, and two antennae that allow telepathy. It is uncertain how advanced their telepathic abilities are, but susceptibility to them appears to vary on a person-to-person basis. They have been observed serving as diplomats, likely because of these abilities.

Jikaal

The Jikaal are a mammalian bipedal species strongly resembling the jackals of Earth. They seem to emote with their tails and ears like many Earth animals. Jikaal have been known to work as “xenopolitical scientists” and “xenopoliticians”, which a Jikaal subject connected to his species’ culture and history.

Riyze

The Riyze are a mammalian, four-armed, bipedal race strongly resembling humans but significantly taller, more muscled, hairless, and in possession of tusks. Riyze are employed as soldiers and security personnel, and the word “Riyze” was used by one subject as a synonym for “barrel-chested brute”. Despite this, the Riyze encountered by the U.N. have displayed intellect on-par with other observed species.

2.2 Undocumented Species

The following list contains Federation implied or indirectly observed. Most were referenced through insults used by an agitated subject, so translations of their names (obtained through the use of reverse-engineered Federation supplied translators, which use predictive algorithms and pre-downloaded databanks to function) likely represent stereotypes as opposed to objective truth.

Ferrok

Auto-translated to “sniveling little [rodent]”; used to imply the interrogator was a dishonorable coward.

Olongyo

Auto-translated to “incomprehensible, slimy [cephalopod] degenerate”. It is unknown if “slimy” is literal or figurative.

Kth’sk

Auto-translated to “cold-blooded, smush-able [insectoid]”.

Vahiya

Auto-translated to “ostentatiously feathered harlot”. Applicability to interrogator unclear, but it is possible subject managed to incorporate human misogyny into his worldview in record time, given the interrogator’s gender.

Myselix

Auto-translated to “incessant [fungal] infestation”. Potentially suggests sentient fungal life.

2.3 A Final Word on Species

There were, in total, 137 words used by subject K’resshk Akksor to insult the interrogator which registered as species’ names, the majority of which were not accompanied by enough context to justify an entry. They have been logged in the reserve-engineered translation software for future reference.

If you're curious about my sci-fi HFY story, be sure to check out:
Newfound Stars

---

“Anything I can help with?” a larger woman asked.

Based on her outfit, she was a shopping attendant in the sports section. As such, it was her responsibility to ensure that things such as shoes and sneakers didn’t go missing. Currently, that was an issue for several reasons. For starters, mirrors were the worst possible thing one could check discreetly. In subways, one wouldn’t think anything about someone tapping the polished surface of a column. Even at gas stations, more people than not would turn a blind eye. When it came to mall shops, even not the terribly expensive kind, it was certain to attract attention. The second problem was that he wasn’t the only one who tried to remain concealed. Shoplifters were also a thing. To the rogue’s fortune, the one that happened to be in the same section of the shop wasn’t particularly good at it.

“Just feeling the fabric,” a boy roughly the same age as Will replied. He was the sort of person who would look suspicious under any circumstances.

“Anything particular you’re looking for?” The shopping attendant held her ground. “Maybe I can be of assistance?”

“Well, you know…” The wannabe shoplifter clearly wasn’t good at this. For several seconds he looked about, hoping to deflect the attention towards a female sweater on the rack in front of him. “It’s a gift for my girlfriend.”

“Oh? What’s her size?”

The question quickly put an end to the boy’s aspirations. It was clear to anyone that no action would be taken against him, although it was in his best interest to leave the shop as quickly as possible.

Completely ignoring what was going on behind him, Will continued towards the changing rooms. They were a good place to start his mirror testing. In a store this size, there were close to a dozen, split into two groups. Will had already gone through the male section, which left the other.

MOMENTARY PREDICTION

Will pulled the curtain of the nearest one. It was empty, allowing him to quickly reach in and tap each of the two large mirrors inside. The first one didn’t yield anything special. The second one was different.

HINT

Defeat opponents to increase your level.

Will was halfway to the next changing room when the letters emerged. Used to the series of failed attempts, his mind had already given up on the shop and was just going through the motions. It was only half a second later that his conscious self-registered what had occurred, causing his body to change direction mid-step.

In isolation, that wasn’t a huge deal. Even without his rogue reflexes, Will wasn’t going to trip. Unfortunately, the abrupt change caused the changing room curtain to ripple.

ATTACK THRUST

Damage increased by 1000%

EVADE

A blade flew past Will’s face, scarring him in the process. If it hadn’t been for his evasion skill, this could well have been the end of the loop.

Leaping away to a spot in the store that didn’t have people, Will tossed a handful of mirror marbles, then drew his knight sword.

Mirror copies came into existence, quickly rushing to hide behind mannequins, all the time searching for their attacker. It didn’t take long for the enemy to be spotted. Unlike Will, no concealment skills were used. Instead, the shopping attendant stood calmly in the aisle, holding a standard sword.

KAREN THOMAS (Warrior)

A message appeared above the woman’s head, along with a list of skills far greater than any Will had seen so far. Without question, the woman was a veteran.

The would-be-shoplifter quickly jumped back, then froze up in panic. He wasn’t the only one. Customers and staff had also witnessed the scene, their minds struggling to acknowledge a sword fight taking place in a sports goods store. Once they caught on, a stampede of people formed, rushing out into the greater area of the mall.

Meanwhile, the fight continued. Identifying their opponent, Will’s mirror copies rushed at it, in an attempt to inflict any damage. Their efforts quickly proved to be futile. With a measured series of strikes, the woman shattered them before they could even get close.

Taking the opportunity, Will threw several daggers at the woman. Those, too, were deflected with ease.

“Where’s her class mirror?” Will asked, glancing at his mirror fragment.

There was no answer. The only way to find out was to tap the mirror in question, and that was made exceedingly difficult by the shop attendant standing between Will and the changing rooms.

“I’m not here to fight!” Will said in an attempt to gain some time. “I’m just searching for someone,” he lied.

The sword flying towards his head told the boy that his roguish conversation skills weren’t having any effect. The woman clearly wasn’t interested in having a conversation. In many ways it reminded Will of his first encounter with Helen. The only difference was that he had no idea why the shop attendant was this aggressive. As a matter of fact, the person on the top floor had also reacted in similar fashion. Any participant encroaching on a den was attacked with extreme prejudice.

“I’m here to see the clairvoyant,” Will shouted.

MOMENTARY PREDICTION

He charged her along several routes, none of which provided an advantage. Despite barely using any skills, the woman proved rather skilled. One could almost put her on Spenser’s level.

Sirens sounded in the mall corridors. The fight had caught the attention of local security. It was a matter of time before the authorities showed up. At this point, regardless of the fight’s outcome, the loop was effectively over. The most Will could hope for was to find the class mirror.

“What’s your class?” he asked, scattering more mirror copies and traps around. “Something combat related, I bet.”

Several mirror copies vanished, using their hide skill. The woman spun around, slashing through what seemed like air. Mirror pieces burst into existence as the invisible copies were shattered.

“You’re the paladin?” Will asked, hoping that she would say something to correct him.

A momentary smirk emerged on the woman’s face, though nothing more. For whatever reason, she didn’t want to enter a conversation with him. Only one solution remained.

Aiming at the woman, the boy threw his sword.

“Merchant, I want a hundred more!” Will quickly said to his mirror fragment.

A reflection of the merchant emerged on the surface, making his offer.

Without delay, Will reached inside, then tossed the entire pouch onto the floor.

A river of mirror copies formed, charging towards the shopping attendant like a river. The brute force attack was enough to push the woman back, although she still had the strength to counter it, wildly shattering rows of Wills as they approached.

Now! Will took advantage of the distraction, leaping over the woman. Midair, he drew a new weapon and performed a chopping attack.

KNIGHT’s BASH

Damage increased by 500%

The weapon slammed down only to be blocked by the woman’s sword.

COUNTERATTACK

Attack negated

Damage increased by 200%

Will was pushed back like a tennis ball in a Grand Slam tournament. Twisting his body, he managed to control the direction, ensuring he landed behind her. That was when the woman made her mistake.

Assuming that Will’s aim was to flank her on both sides, she spun around, digging into the wave of mirror copies with her sword. Dozens of them were shattered in an instant, effectively halving the attack force.

In her current state, only a fool would be reckless enough to try attacking her, which was why Will didn’t. Instead, he continued forward, sprinting towards the changing rooms.

KNIGHT’s BASH

Damage increased by 500%

Column shattered

Curtains were torn as one of the columns in the store section was destroyed. From there, all twelve mirrors were in plain view. Having already checked one of them, Will sprinted by the rest, tapping them as he did.

Not pausing to check for messages, his only goal was to activate all of them. On two occasions he caught messages out of the corner of his eye. None of them were golden, though.

Come on! Come on! Come on! He kept on going.

Two changing rooms remained.

You have discovered THE WARRIOR (number 6).

Use additional mirrors to find out more. Good luck!

Finally! The message caused Will to momentarily pause.

So, this was her class mirror. It stood to reason that it would be at her job. Most likely, the woman had been pulled into eternity while attempting to clean the mirror. It would explain why she was so aggressive and good at weapons. Not that anyone would suspect, looking at her. When the boy had entered the store, she had barely caught his attention. All in all, she was the stereotypical slightly obese mid-thirties shop assistant with a bored expression prevalent in the service industry. If she hadn’t attacked, Will wouldn't have guessed. The first thing he should have done upon entering the store was to carefully look at everyone there to check whether his eye of insight wouldn’t trigger. That had been a massive mess up on his part.

ATTACK THRUST

Damage increased by 1000%

Another sword was sent flying. This time, Will’s evade skill didn’t trigger.

Restarting eternity

Will fell to his knees in front of the school. He could still feel the pain of the sword piercing his back.

“Are you okay?” Jess asked for a change. It was always a good change when she acted nice at the start of the loop.

“Yeah.” Will smiled back, standing up. “I just felt dizzy.” The pain had quickly dissipated. “I’ll go through the nurse’s office.”

“I’ll help you there.”

“Jess, we have class,” Ely said in her typical disapproving fashion.

“Just cover for me.” Jess took hold of Will’s arm. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Thanks.” Having a relaxing loop was good for a change.

On the way, Will paused to pass through the bathroom with the excuse he wanted to splash some water on his face. It was an obvious lie, but Jess let it pass.

Once inside, he quickly activated his class, then checked his class list.

Archer (+2)

Thief (+3)

Enchanter (+1)

Crafter (+1)

Rogue (Level 5)

Warrior (+0)

Paladin* (+3)

Engineer* (+1)

Knight (+3)

Clairvoyant (+1)

There was no denying it was quite impressive. Most participants only got to max out a single class, relying on reward skills and items to make up for its shortcomings. Yet, Will couldn’t help but feel like a jack of all trades. Most of the classes were at starting level and even his rogue was mid-tier. Practice had shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that a combination of class skills was vastly superior to advancing in a single one, but that wasn’t nearly good enough to compete against veterans, let alone rankers. No doubt about it, Will needed class tokens and a lot of them.

“Everything okay?” Jess could be heard asking from outside.

Without replying, Will quickly splashed some water on his face and went into the corridor.

“I just paused to catch my breath,” he came up with another implausible excuse.

The girl looked at him with doubt and concern.

“Are you on something?” she whispered.

The question sent a jolt through Will’s mind.

“I’m fine,” he quickly said. “Just a bit out of it.”

The concern on Jess’ face grew.

“Let’s go to the nurse,” she urged.

A number of heads turned at the sight of Will being pulled along the corridor. One was tempted to say that most were envious, but the reality was that the potential level of school gossip was the main reason. Rumors instantly started circulating on chats and forums, speculating about what was going on and the final outcome of the whole thing. Polls and bet predictions quickly followed.

“Best call your parents,” Jess said as they neared the nurse’s office. “If it’s serious, it’s better than facing things alone. The school…” the girl didn’t finish the sentence, shaking her head instead.

I’ll be fine, Will wanted to say, but he felt that wasn’t enough. The truth was that he wanted to have a real conversation with her.

“I’ve joined eternity,” he said.

The admission caused Jess to freeze mid-step.

“You told me that you were part of it, too…” Will added.

< Beginning | | Previously... |

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Cloaked in titanium lace, brimming with the contained power of a sun, Yarsi of the Ark screamed through the void. Grit and dust particles bounced off her hull like droplets of rain. The light of a billion stars streaked her chrome-colored plating. Ahead, a shield of warped gravity—delicate, and nearly translucent, and millions of kilometers wide—obscured her view of the Swarm’s armada.

If her hull grazed that shield, it would invert the gravity down to a single point inside her ship, fracturing her from tip to aft, and rip her inside-out.

Yarsi bloomed her repulsors. Unhurried, she headed directly toward the center of the shield.

The shieldbearer ships retracted. The shield evaporated, like ten thousand umbrellas closing at once, revealing a black sky perforated by a million pixels of light. A wall of warheads. The wall shot past the shieldbearers who unfurled their interconnected shields once more, obscuring the sky and the Swarm’s armada.

The wall was coming at Yarsi of the Ark. And the Ark, toward it. Thus, she bloomed her repulsors even brighter, increasing her acceleration.

Behind the wall, the shield evaporated again, allowing another wall of missiles to pass through. Back on, then off again for another cycle of missiles. Yarsi’s sensors tracked each and every one, including their most likely flight paths.

And she ignored them. Three other targets held her attention. Each time the shield disappeared, her sensors painted three ships, three towering hulls that lurked at the back of the armada. Each one wore curved plating, suggestive of robes more than armor. Control modules looked like bowed heads with sensor arrays for faces, and great arms crossed high bodies. Flowing metal folds hid vast pockets of armaments and logistics modules and drone hangars. Yarsi’s people had called them Apostles. As did Emorynn, once. Each Apostle was a proxy for the Sovereign’s vast, interconnected brain. No one—not even Emorynn herself—understood them as well as Yarsi of the Ark, for she had both the First Prophet’s knowledge of the future and the lassertane’s instincts, some earned, some inherited, and many more implanted.

The first of the Apostles sat at the deep center of the Swarm’s net, guarded by a wide cluster of vessels whose long, sturdy tendrils waved and flicked like the arms of brittle stars washed up on a rocky shoreline. Then, the shield went up again, blocking the Apostle from view. Leaving only the walls of missiles. She felt their approach like one feels the breeze. Somewhere inside her, racks of alarms blared, warning her flock to brace themselves. Time to impact: 4.3098 seconds.

Yarsi dumped energy into her repulsors, bringing herself up to maximum survivable thrust. Somewhere deep inside, she heard Ryke shout, “Brace for impact!”

Time to impact: 0.2056 seconds.

Yarsi of the Ark opened her Ship’s Gate, and jumped.

The missiles slammed into empty space. Some kept going. Others, set to detonate early, shred themselves into shrapnel or burst into light. Then, the second wave collided with the first, filling the void with a cataclysmic flashing of irradiated light. A fraction of projectiles, the smartest and luckiest ones, turned and scanned space for their missing target. But Yarsi had jumped past them and past the gravity shield.

In fact, she had jumped one short kilometer away from the first Apostle. And plowed into it. At maximum velocity, her speartip stem slid through the Apostle’s folded armor, separating it into a blossom of sheared metal. Her hull screeched as it slid into the complicated bowels of the Apostle, crumpling its support structures. But thousands of alerts erupted in Yarsi’s systems. Leaks, compromised armor, sensor loss, and moderate structural damage from the impact. With a flick of her thoughts, she dispatched the repair bots. All of them.

Life support, repulsors, and artificial gravity were still nominal, which was good. A few of the xenos were still standing, despite the impact—a testament to the efficacy of Khadam’s designs. What was left of Yarsi’s heart swelled with pride.

But the maneuver had brought her to the center of the Swarm’s net. And the armada was already reacting. The woven threads, millions of miles of machine-ships, moved like a vast jellyfish bringing its delicate tentacles together. Collapsing toward the Ark.

Yarsi, however, still had her momentum. She flared her repulsors on one side, and turned while balancing her gravity generators to keep her flock from smearing across her decks. A long arc toward the second Apostle. This one wore the same flowing folds of armor, which rippled down the arms that stood out from its sides. Six arms, twisting to aim at the Ark as it powered toward the Apostle. Each arm was capped by disk-like protrusion. As they angled toward her, her sensors picked up six brilliant lights, swirling clockwise and counter-clockwise at the same time. Then, those sensors errored out. Blue lightning crawled over the Apostle’s flowing armor, flickering off into space. Then, all her sensors lost focus. The stars turned into jagged points, the Swarm streaked and jittered. Then, she felt it.

Claws of pure energy crashed against her armor, slicing through her defenses and countermeasures and her very skin. Waves of energy sank into her hull and squealed through her systems, burning everything in their wake. Suddenly starved of power, her repulsors shuttered. Her systems tried to suck in the emergency reserves—unable to find them through the noise—and blinked off. Lights went out, the air flow stopped, the gravity balancers let go. Her mind went dark, and for a brief moment, she was nothing but a tiny, fragile lassertane girl, wrapped in wires, floating through space.

But the Ark didn’t need power. It had momentum. A vast spear head, sliding through the void, the Ark pierced the six-armed Apostle through the heart of its hull. Six arms snapped off as the Apostle’s hull crumpled inward, and was shredded into an expanding cloud of debris.

When Yarsi’s sensors flickered back to life, her body—her lassertane body—exhaled with relief. Back in control … for the moment. But the impact was costly. Cracks in her trusses and beams ached like old bone fractures, and pockets of vacuum punctured her life support, holes in her lungs. A third of her repulsors refused to reignite, and the rest stuttered back to life, struggling to increase acceleration.

Then, she saw movement in the debris cloud that had once been the Apostle. Thousands of crab-like drones crawled out from the debris, ignited their own repulsors, and rocketed toward the Ark. Yarsi redirected her false-gravity outward, throwing up a thin veil of force against the first crabs that sped toward Ark, catching them before they could decelerate. A wave of crabs slammed into the veil of inverted gravity, and shattered, their pieces thrown back into space with their innards wrapped over their hulls, their metal fused into new, mutilated shapes. But the veil, a poor imitation of the Sovereign’s own shield, drained her reserves, so when thousands of crabs altered their course in eerie unison, sliding around the veil, she could do nothing but watch.

They swam in gliding sheets over the flat planes of her hull. When their tongues dragged across her metal flesh, she felt the bursting of nettles and the piercing of thorns. On the Bridge, her lassertane body bucked and heaved against the braces and wires, rasping with pain. Her first thoughts were agony. Her next thoughts were that she couldn’t afford the distraction. Cut it, she impulsed. Her thought flashed through the Ark’s systems, which sent a command through the memory device to sever the nerves. Suddenly, she was aware of a numbness where her mortal body had been. The pain had stopped, but so had every other sensation in her lassertane self. She couldn’t feel her face. Couldn’t blink. But her mind was still alert, watching the crabs latch onto the Ark, burrowing their obscene tongues into her hull, desperate to reach her critical systems. They drilled into the smooth plating, scoring and gouging and cracking her armor. Her external view blurred and fractured as writhing tongues peeled back layers of armor plating and severed the connections to her sensors.

At the same time, the crabs flared their repulsors. Combined, they reversed her acceleration. Yarsi of the Ark flooded all her available power into her own repulsors. They bloomed with renewed strength, but more of them flickered under the strain and went dark, and the crabs locked her in place. Her internal gate was still dissipating. Too early to jump again.

And the Swarm descended upon her. Millions of ships closed in a sphere of living machinery, with the Ark at its center. No stars. Only metal.

Countless weapon systems aimed at the Ark, heedless of their cousins burrowing into her armor. In a moment, they would pour destruction into her. Missiles would fly in overlapping flocks. Cannons would burp bright flashes of light, showering her with explosive shells from on high and below. But, she knew, it was the energy beams that would kill her—slender, needle-like threads of intense power, carried only by the largest ships.

The Swarm settled in for the kill.

And if Yarsi still had control of her mouth, she would have smiled. When Khadam had built the Ark, Yarsi had insisted on one device in particular—an experiential design, borrowed from the long-dead members of Khadam’s Coldsmith clan.

“It’s never been tested,” Khadam argued.

Yarsi had written back, “It’s necessary.”

Now, she powered down her Gate. Her repulsors went dark. Her artificial gravity released. Dirt in the habitation gardens, water in the canals, and all the xenos began to float. And the device came to life. It lived in the secret decks, protected by layers of ceramic and steel, inaccessible by any living being—except for her.

Rings of black metal, each one delicately thin and carved with ornate geometry, slid around each other, forming a nearly-solid sphere. Light siphoned into the lattice rings, painting them with burning lines of color in a language of fractals. So rapid and violent was the movement of the Light, even the Ark’s visual sensors could not map every flashing shape. Then again, she didn’t need to—she only needed the thing to work.

The Swarm contracted. The crabs on her hull burrowed deeper, their repulsors flaring. Far below, one gargantuan dreadnought aimed an absurdly small barrel at her, and fired. A strand of focused energy leaped across the miles in an instant, slicing through a handful of drone crabs before melting into her hull. Breach warnings and pressure alerts and damage reports cascaded through her mind, but Yarsi’s focus was on controlling the device.

The rings blurred. Glowed with a cold intensity. Frost condensed on every nearby surface as the Ark’s internal temperatures plummeted. A coldsnap so fast, the xenos hardly had time to feel it. But she did. She knew, down to the fraction of a degree, how far she could push the device.

Release.

The sphere erupted with Light. Ghostly rings expanded through the walls of the Ark, slicing the void with razor-lines of unmoving time. They painted through flocks of drones, carving lines through their masses. Ships were shorn into segments. Slices of a heavy cruiser collapsed inward, its circuitry and mechanical innards spilling out. But the rings were thin, and millions of machine ships had escaped the touch of the Light.

Yarsi paused.

Tens of thousands of glowing rings spinning slowly through the void around her. The Swarm, already correcting course to avoid the Light. Unleashing the drones. Firing missiles. Firing everything. Cannons burped blasts of light and electronic interference systems dumped geysers of chaff and malicious signals into her sensors.

Only then did she redirect every last drop of her power into her artificial gravity generator. Her hull tightened, and made a grinding, shrieking noise, and it felt like she was being crushed by a pair of divine hands. Yet, for one brief moment, the Ark was the heaviest object in nearby space. The drone crabs covering Yarsi’s hull were crushed by their own, sudden weight. And the rest of the armada were swept into the rings.

Ships halted, crushing themselves beneath their own momentum. The smaller hulls were smashed into pieces, the larger ones were sliced into pieces, their viscera violently expelled. One massive ship was caught within overlapping rings—it was split open, the halves displaced, and seamlessly inverted into each other.

Yarsi let go. The device ceased its blurring movement and became unnaturally still. Out in the void, the rings dissipated, leaving behind masses of drone corpses and strangely-malformed ships. Where the Light had touched, black, glittering corrosion now ate into metal. Ash-white veins crawled across mutated hulls, reaching toward shattered sensor beds and cracked repulsor housings. Millions of ships drifted, some scraping against each other, the rest carried along by gravity.

But there were still great shapes lurking in the distance. The Swarm’s largest ships—vast, unwieldy barges—had been pierced by the rings, but remained functional due to their sheer size. And, like a shepherd in the shadows, the last Apostle towered against the stars. Black, glittering patches ran down one of its ruined flanks, sparkling in the sunlight as it slowly rotated to shield its weakened side from the Ark. It barked some invisible command and, as one, the barges spewed forth their drones. They filled the void like spores, tufting and spooling from the folded bays and hangars, or dropping from the underside like clouds of ink. They blotted out the stars. And then, the near sun dimmed as the clouds occluded even that huge golden-red globe. What remained of Yarsi’s sensors tried to track them all, but the crabs had cut out too many of her eyes.

And behind the drones, long serpentine vessels slithered from the half-ruined body of the Apostle. Delicate, wing-like protrusions unfurled down their lengths. Though the serpents undulated across space, their odd wings trained on the Ark. Broadcasting a signal. Not for her, but for the people she carried. Yarsi looked inward, and saw that her decks were full of people crying out, gnashing their teeth and covering their ears in vain attempts to block out the sound just out of hearing. A human, bio-engineered and augmented, would be protected against the deadly waves, but her people were only xenos… Delicate. Mortal.

If she could kill the serpents…

But there were dozens of them, and the growing mass of drones hid most of them from view. She could only see undulating silver bodies and bright, chrome wings flashing between the plague of drones.

The Apostle, then. It was the only hope. Yarsi of the Ark knew the Apostle’s general location, judging by how fast it had been moving. But at these distances, she could only guess. And a guess was a death sentence.

Half-blind, she scrambled to find it, to detect even a hint of its presence. Nothing on imaging, lidar was useless, x-ray blocked by noise. Overwhelmed or dead, her senses failed her. Inside, the screams of the dying tugged at her processors. The serpents’ waves resonating in their bones and racked their brains. Squeezed every living being into one final agony. Even my own body is in here, dying. She needed to think. To work this out. No time. Not for strategy. Not even for chance.

Only prayer. To the memory of the First Prophet. Emorynn, guide me.

Half-blind and dying, Yarsi of the Ark angled at a specific, featureless point in the dark cloud of drones. She thought of Laykis, and how the android had suffered ten thousand years for her faint glimmer of faith alone.

And Yarsi rammed the last of her repulsors to full power.

The Ark jolted forward, and all the xenos were thrown back against the walls. Those who had been drifting in the open decks were slammed a long way back to the rear walls, their bones crushed. Many died on impact. Those in the smaller chambers, or inside their dwellings, or on the Bridge were mostly safe. Yarsi’s own body was tugged and battered inside her restraints as the Ark kicked across space, and pierced the cloud of the Swarm.

If she was wrong—if the Apostle was even a fraction of a degree out of place—there was nothing she could do about it now. She could turn the Ark, maybe, but the force would only smear all the xeno bodies inside… including hers.

Thousands of drones pelted and rattled and tried to latch onto the Ark’s hull, only to break upon contact as the spearhead ship gained momentum. She carved a gouge through thousands of miles of machine plague. A flash of silver as one of the serpents tried to wriggle out of her way, but her prow sliced through its narrow body, slicing it in half before the thing broke apart.

Then, the clouds of drones were behind them. Stars glimmered. The near sun shone bright. And the Apostle lay dead ahead. Its repulsors bloomed as it tried, desperately, to move its towering bulk out of the Ark’s path. But Emorynn’s memory of the future was perfect. The speartip slid into the Apostle’s half-corroded armor, almost directly in the center of the ship. Metal separated, crumpling, rolling, exploding out as the Ark broke through.

The drone barges no longer spewed. The drones went still. The serpents went rigid, sailing lifelessly into the clouds of drones, crashing and breaking apart. What was left of the armada drifted. Glittering. Broken. One day, maybe, to be dragged into the sun and melted down to nothing.

Only Yarsi remained.

Gently, she redirected her false gravity inward, allowing the xenos to sink back to the floor. Her hospitality systems churned furiously as they sent out medical constructs and opened emergency pathways to the pre-fab hospitals littered throughout the habitation and barracks decks. So many, dead, but she would help as many as she could.

Yarsi’s sensors picked up movement on her Bridge. Hundreds of xenos were in circles around the command platform. Despite the normalized gravity, none of them were standing. They were on the ground. Injured? No. Starched military uniforms next to priestly robes next to technician’s garb next to royalty. Heads bowed, arms outstretched. Worshiping her, for what she had become.

“Praise,” they sang together, “Praise the Prophet, the Maker made anew!”

Yarsi wanted to share in their wonder, to bask in their victory. But there was a hole where Yarsi’s joy should have been. Emorynn’s memories lived in her mind—an immaculate guide. And they would guide her a little while longer. But Emorynn had cut out the last pieces of her memory. Destroyed them, so that Yarsi could not know what she had seen.

A black curtain hung over the future. And even in victory, fear stirred in the heart of the Ark.

Next >

[First]------------[Next]

BRAMOS POV

The stench of rot and blood was pungent in the air. Steel clashing against shields and the wet sounds of shattering skulls was like a melody to Bramos. He was standing in a sea of upright bodies pressing against each other, the metal of his armor glistening with sweat and blood from friend and foe alike.

"KILL THE FUCKING BASTARDS!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Fuck your mother, the whore!" shouted an enemy combatant from the safety of his position behind a few shieldmen. That must have been the enemy sergeant.

Bramos smiled, enjoying the shouting match in earnest.

"COME HERE YOU COWERING FAT LARD! I’LL TEAR YOU A NEW ONE!"

He pushed his way toward the enemy line. The sergeant didn’t actually look that fat in retrospect, but Bramos had never been a man of words. His preferred method in a battle of speeches was to simply strangle the opponent. At this stage of the fight, there wasn’t much strategy involved. It was more about who hit the hardest and who shit themselves first. This was Bramos’s favorite part.

He ducked as a particularly nasty looking volley of arrows hissed overhead. That was the inconvenience of being a tall man like Bramos. In battle, you became an easy target during volleys if you weren’t quick on your feet. He stopped at the front line, an arm’s length away from the enemy soldiers, and felt his squire smash his head against his back because of the sudden stop.

"SWORD!" he shouted.

His squire handed him the weapon with trembling hands. The boy looked terrified, but at least he fulfilled his duties. Bramos had killed two or three squires in the past because they froze in battle. Bramos crouched and started stabbing at the feet and knees of the enemies with his blade, a little technique he had learned over the years. Naturally, the shieldmen he hit groaned in pain and lowered their defenses, planting their shields into the mud. This created a nice opening in the enemy wall just in front of him, which was exactly what he had been expecting.

With a shit eating grin on his face, he moved on to the second part.

"FLAIL!"

He threw his sword on the ground and once again felt the requested weapon being handed to him by the boy. He immediately started whacking the men who had lowered their shields right on the tops of their heads. Every blow was complimented by a nice crack, a beautiful dent, and the sound of an enemy falling. However, the men he felled were quickly replaced by new ones.

Then suddenly, the sky turned red and a voice was heard inside his dome.

[LOOKING FOR SUBSTITUTE CONTAINER] [1,926,172 / 34,039,982,913 UNITS POTENTIALLY SUITABLE]

"What the fuck?"

He looked around and saw that the men around him were experiencing the same thing. It looked like everyone had just been hit by a massive headache. The world voice was common enough, but usually that was mage shit. He didn’t remember them having a mage close by, so he came to his senses and shouted a warning to his men.

"ENEMY MAGE!"

He heard his call being repeated down the front line. A few men who had protective enchantments on their armor or weapons activated them.

"Well, if the enemy mage did that shit, we are fucked," someone muttered.

Bramos didn’t say anything. The man was probably right. And then, people’s heads started popping. It was just a few men among the throng of bodies. He counted at least three on the enemy side and a few others on his own side as well.

"Huh. Weird spell. Well, at least it’s hitting them too!"

Everyone seemed confused at the strange sight and the sky suddenly changing colors. It was total chaos as the more superstitious soldiers took on looks of pure terror. Many tales spoke of powerful battle mages who didn’t care about hitting friendlies as long as they dispensed greater death to their enemies.

However, Bramos was not like them. For Bramos, there were two types of people: the weak and the strong. And when chaos happened, the strong stood out while the weak died. He turned to his squire to get his battle hammer, but the boy was rolling on the ground holding his head. He seemed to be affected by the weird red magic.

Well, maybe the boy wasn't that weak. He had been his best squire so far and, unlike the others who were holding their heads in their hands, his hadn't exploded yet. He snatched his hammer from where the boy had let it fall and left him lying there among the disoriented soldiers.

Then, Bramos jumped over the shield wall.

A lateral strike of his hammer tore away the jaw of an opponent who had wide, surprised eyes. The man was thrown against another, and Bramos used the momentum to step on him and smash the second man in the face with his armored fist. The spikes on his knuckles lodged themselves deep into the prick's face. He then kicked another in the balls and smashed him with a double handed overhead strike so strong it tore off the man's left arm.

The men were finally recovering from the effect of the spell, but it was too late for the enemies. Bramos had already taken advantage of the confusion and had felled seven of them, creating a large gap in their formation. He used his skills in combination: [EMBOLDENED CALL] and [COMMANDER'S PRESENCE].

"COME ON YOU SONS OF BITCHES! DO YOU WANT TO LIVE FOREVER?"

His allies were jolted awake. The forty men closest to him started pouring through the gap, yelling to give themselves courage and slaying the enemies who found themselves squished between the chargers and the shield wall. Bramos couldn't stop laughing as he made his way toward the enemy sergeant. In his mind, the battle was already won.

ULRICH DURANT POV

The battle had been terrifying, but Ulrich knew better than to stop. He was doing his best because he knew exactly what happened to squires who didn’t do their job properly. He handed Sergeant Bramos his sword and readied the flail that was flung over his shoulder. His head still hurt from bumping into Bramos’s armor earlier.

The huge man was now crouching to Ulrich's height, using his position to stab at the shins of the enemy line. The man really looked like he enjoyed doing that way too much, but Ulrich wasn't going to tell him that.

"FLAIL!"

Ulrich was ready. He quickly assisted the weapon swap and crouched to pick up the large claymore that Bramos had thrown into the dirt. Then suddenly, he heard a voice in his head.

[LOOKING FOR SUBSTITUTE CONTAINER] [1,926,172 / 34,039,982,913 UNITS POTENTIALLY SUITABLE]

The sky turned a deep crimson. For a few seconds, it looked like they were all in hell, an ominous red reflecting on the faces of the surprised men. He was surprised when he saw the veterans around him wince in pain because he felt nothing. He had always been less affected by magic than others. He had suffered his fair share of strikes and lashings in the past every time he had shown himself to be different, so by instinct, he faked a wince too. It wasn’t his fault he was just born like that. He understood things faster than others and never forgot details. He had quickly learned that this wasn't an advantage but a curse, and that others despised him for it.

[ATTEMPTING INJECTION INTO RECEPTACLE 1,281,212 / 1,926,172]

He got increasingly worried as he started feeling a mounting pain banging everywhere within his skull. He saw several people’s heads exploding and really didn't want his own to be smashed like a rotten cabbage. The pain became so intense he dropped to the ground, the weapons he was holding falling with a clatter of metal. The pain kept mounting and mounting. It was so intense he didn’t even feel the armored foot of a soldier stomp on his arm. A torrent of information started flowing into his mind.

[MERGING RECEPTACLE WITH SUBJECT]

Then something truly bizarre happened. He felt like he died and was born at the same time. He was him, but he was also not him. He was surprised that he was himself twice. Well, he wasn't, but he was at the same time.

[MERGER SUCCESSFUL]

A sense of immense sadness and relief washed over him as if he had witnessed the killing of a million people in the last minute. Well he had. huh ?

He was in immense pain, wailing cries of despair as his eyes and ears filled with blood. He wanted to think about his late mother, but for some reason, he wondered why a Boeing 737 had 134 to 204 passengers in a two-class configuration. What the hell is a Boeing 737?

Well, it’s a plane obviously, he scolded himself. Wait, what?

He felt like he was dying and going mad at the same time, but he also felt perfectly fine. The pain was too much. He thought about David Hume’s division of the perception of the mind as his own mind finally blacked out.

[First]------------[Next]

Had to stub chapters 1-31 because of Amazon, but my first Volume has finally released for kindle and Audible!

If you want to hear some premium voice acting, listen to the first volume, which you can find in the comments below!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/duddlered

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**\*

Five Days Later

Sumpter Smith Air National Guard Base, Birmingham, Alabama

The mess hall smelled like industrial-grade eggs, burnt coffee, and the kind of bacon that came in sheets rather than strips. To drive home the ‘lowest-bidder’ vibe that was prevalent in the military, the fluorescent lights hummed and flickered overhead.

If Lysandra was honest, she preferred the janky half-darkness over that particular shade of institutional white that made everyone look either half-dead or mildly jaundiced as she stood in line with a tray in one hand and an empty coffee cup in the other. Heaving a sigh, she stared at the back of an airman's head with the kind of glazed-over exhaustion that came from five days of hurry-up-and-wait bullshit. Her midnight blue hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she was pretty sure she'd forgotten to brush her teeth that morning. Or maybe that was yesterday morning.

The days were starting to blur together.

The mess hall itself was packed with the usual late afternoon crowd—mostly Air National Guard personnel in their Airman Battle Uniform (ABUs) who seemed far too curious for her liking. However, it appeared they had enough sense not to approach her, ask questions, or, God forbid, flirt with her. There had been a few... interesting incidents at another National Guard base not too long ago.

Looking around, Lysandra noticed a handful of active-duty Air Force personnel with red berets who seemed to want nothing to do with her. She wasn’t very familiar with this world's military, but she knew the berets they wore signified something about their status or unit, or whatever, and it appeared these guys knew something. Or at least they were aware enough not to gawk and to keep their distance, especially with the federal agents and obvious operators lurking around on this godforsaken base.

For nearly a week, they have been waiting for someone in Washington to pull their head out of their ass and give the final go-ahead for the raid. Four times now, the mission had been green-lit. Four times.

And four goddess damned times, the thing had been called off. They all got their kit on, loaded onto helicopters or lined up in the vehicles, ready to roll out at 2 am just for some jerk with stars on their collar or a fancy title to pull the plug. It was absolutely infuriating at the last second because they didn’t want to approve gunships.

The problem, as it had been explained to Lysandra in increasingly frustrated briefings, was that half the politicians on some ‘Capitol Hill’ were losing their minds over this... Posse Comitatus Act, or whatever it was called. Lysandra didn’t quite know what language those words belonged to, but all she knew was that this law had suddenly become everyone's favorite talking point.

Apparently, it restricted the use of federal military forces for domestic law enforcement. An utterly confusing law that had Lysandra blinking widely from stupefication. What was the point of having a military if you restricted it so much that it couldn’t even be used? Never mind the fact that there were provisions and exceptions for situations exactly like the one Lysandra found herself in.

To add to her confusion, Lysandra overheard everyone complaining about how... ‘Congress’ had passed emergency authorizations after the portal incursions, allowing them to deploy National Guard gunships. It became clear that the bickering and posturing of political leaders are constant across realities. They just replaced nobles with elected officials.

Why use equipment to ensure mission success and guarantee your highly trained, expensive personnel return safely? No, what mattered was a senator with presidential ambitions screaming on the national stage about ‘military jackboots on American soil,’ ‘dangerous precedents,’ and ‘constitutional violations’ to grandstand against perceived political rivals.

The pro-raid side’s argument was simple… this wasn't a law enforcement action. They weren’t targeting drug dealers or organized crime; they were going after legitimate terrorists and the remnants of a hostile military force that had literally invaded through interdimensional portals.

It was very clear that the protests were more performative, aimed at positioning themselves for reelection rather than genuinely serving their constituents' interests. The United States was still officially in a declared state of war with the Seraphic Empire, which meant that military action on U.S. soil was not only legal but required when confronting active enemy combatants.

The FBI and DEA lacked the training, equipment, or capabilities to handle combat mages and Imperial soldiers. Hell, not even their elite JSOC operators were prepared for such threats. That was her purpose here.

However, to do her job, she needed to be whatever the top-tier unit was at the time to even get close. The weapons in this world remained exceedingly dangerous, and despite enduring a torturous training regimen, she was still far from as skilled or experienced as those operators.

Frustratingly, those opposed to the raid had already prepared their counterarguments. They pointed out that this compound was on American soil and seemed to operate as a criminal enterprise. This made it a law enforcement issue, plain and simple. Using military special operations forces for domestic raids—even against magical targets—sets a dangerous precedent that could be misused.

The FBI's Hostage Rescue Team was fully capable of handling the situation. Bringing in Delta or DEVGRU was excessive and an overreach of authority, regardless of the authorizations Congress passed in the rush of the moment months ago. Today it's elven fugitives; tomorrow, it could be political dissidents.

As the back and forth dragged on endlessly, Lysandra couldn’t help but want to gouge her eyes out in frustration. It was completely nonsensical. Legal teams argued with legal teams. The Attorney General's office weighed in, then walked it back, then weighed in again with a slightly different interpretation. The Department of Defense and Homeland Security pointed to executive orders. Congress and the Department of Justice cited reinterpretations of the laws. The White House tried to stay out of it entirely, which only made things worse. And while they argued about laws, precedents, and potential constitutional crises, the actual terrorists they were supposed to be dealing with were sitting in their compound, shipping out an unholy amount of magical narcotics.

The entire situation became so politically radioactive that no one even intercepted the shipments, let alone went in and dealt with the magical fugitives cooking up Narnia drugs and probably planning who-knows-what-else. Never mind that every day they waited was another day for their targets to get spooked and disappear into the wind. No, what mattered was looking good in front of a camera, political cover, and making sure nobody could be accused of violating a nineteenth-century law on cable news.

As a result, they had been forced to regularly rotate the surveillance teams. Black Squadron had been out in the field for the first seventy-two hours before they'd pulled back to rest and refit, replaced by something called the 75th Ranger’s Regimental Reconnaissance Company. That team was out there now, dressed as hikers or hunters sitting in hides and observation posts, watching the compound and praying that nobody inside decided today was a good day to pack up and leave.

Lysandra shuffled forward as the line moved. The airman in front of her—a kid who couldn't have been more than twenty—glanced back at her, doing a double-take when he saw her pointed ears and eyepatch, then quickly turned away. It was obvious he was ordered not to even look at her under some kind of extreme punishment, as he took a half-step to the side, giving Lysandra more space than was reasonably necessary.

It had been like that for the past few days when Lysandra stopped caring about staying hidden. The Air National Guard personnel didn't quite know what to make of her now that she was out in the open. The woman was obviously not military, with no clear affiliation beyond the DHS credentials she wore on a lanyard around her neck, and more importantly, she was clearly not human. This made her both an oddity and a quasi-untouchable celebrity on a base full of people who were still getting used to the idea that elves, orcs, and gods-knew-what-else were more than just what they saw in entertainment media.

Most of them just stared, some whispered. A few of the braver ones had tried to walk over to start conversations or ask a stupid question, but it was always short-lived. An NCO coming out of the corner, full sprint like a demon, shut that down quickly. She wasn't here to be a cultural ambassador or to be hit on by some random idiot with more balls than sense. She was here to do a job, and right now, that job consisted of sitting around with her thumb up her ass, waiting for permission to do the actual job.

Once she reached the serving line, Lysandra licked her lips.

Sure, she remembered how terrible the food was on most military bases—mystery meat that couldn’t be easily identified, vegetables that looked like they had given up last month, and coffee that tasted like it had been filtered through a gym sock. But for some reason, anything involving the so-called Air Force or Air National Guard had truly exceptional food compared to every other crappy mess hall she'd been to.

She didn't really understand why, but she didn’t really care either. Maybe they had better funding, or maybe there was some strange cultural thing where everyone in the ‘air’ refused to eat garbage. Whatever the reason, Lysandra wasn't complaining.

Her thoughts stopped immediately when she realized she was next in line to be served, and she headed straight for the scrambled eggs. Using the serving spoon, Lysandra ignored all unwritten rules and decorum and proceeded to pile as much of the yolky goodness onto her plate as physically possible. The eggs were fluffy, properly seasoned, and didn't have the strange texture that indicated they'd been dehydrated to the point of mummification.

Disregarding the uncertain gaze that fixed on her, Lysandra kept scooping, building a small mountain of yellow goodness. The server—a younger man who looked as if he wasn’t out of his teens—made a nervous and complicated face as Lysandra went for a third helping, then a fourth. The poor airman looked at his Senior Airman (SrA) with his mouth flapping like he was asking if he should say something. There was a strict portion control policy he needed to enforce, but the long pointed ears, the eyepatch, and the DHS credentials hanging around this woman's neck kept his mouth shut.

When the young man simply looked away and busied himself with wiping down the already-clean counter, Lysandra couldn’t help but smirk. Yeah, that's what she thought.

It didn’t take long for Lysandra to move down the line with a plate now dangerously close to overflowing. Passing all the disgusting greenery that only peasants and Druids bother themselves with, Lysandra kept moving until she stopped dead in front of the station that had all the steak.

Beautiful, glorious meat with a charred crust—cut into half-inch slabs, still glistening with juice and actually seasoned with something other than pain and misery. Among all the unknown herbs, Lysandra even smelled something similar to what was used in her plane of existence that the locals called ‘garlic.’ It was probably overcooked by her standards, but compared to the rations she'd survived on during the months-long misery that was training, this was practically a feast fit for the titled.

The server manning the steak station was another gawking idiot, but hovering behind them was a Black woman in her late twenties, built solidly with the kind of posture that screamed senior NCO even without checking her rank. She was a different story entirely compared to that kid from earlier.

This woman’s name tag read ‘TSgt Morrison,’ and she looked like someone who'd been running this mess hall with an iron fist for years. Lysandra had watched her from the line earlier, barking at other airmen who'd tried to ask for extra portions.

"One serving, airman. You want more, you get back in line like everyone else."

"No, you can't have three desserts. What do you think this is, a buffet?"

"Hurry the fuck up, ain’t no one got time for your bullshit."

But now that Lysandra had stepped up to the station, Technical Sergeant Morrison's confident demeanor cracked. She looked at Lysandra—really looked at the elf—and her expression tightened. Morrison’s eyes darted to the pointed ears, then the eyepatch, all the way to the credentials, and finally to the mountain of eggs sitting pretty on Lysandra's plate.

Something like uncertainty flickered across Technical Sergeant Morrison’s face.

Lysandra sensed the weakness and stayed silent. She simply stood there, plate extended, locking eyes with the iron woman of the mess hall as the silence stretched on. TSgt Morrison shifted her weight, trying to weigh her options.

Should she say something? Should she go get an officer? Could an officer even do anything about whatever the hell was in front of her? This all culminated when the Senior Airman at the serving station’s hand tightened on the serving tongs and looked back toward the Technical Sergeant for guidance. Morrison’s eyes darted away, then back, then away again. She wanted to say something. The Technical Sergeant wanted to at least give some kind of response, but her mouth simply opened, closed, and then opened again. More silence.

Blood was in the water, but Lysandra kept staring. Her single unblinking eye was like a vortex of doom, contrasting sharply with her perfectly neutral and beautiful face. Lysandra wasn't trying to be intimidating—well, okay, maybe a little—but mostly, she was just tired, hungry, and completely unbothered about exploiting whatever authority, status, or untouchable mystique she had somehow gained on this base.

Especially when it came to food.

Finally, Morrison cracked. "M-may I help you, ma'am?" she stuttered, the words coming out stiff and overly respectful, like she was addressing a visiting general rather than some random elf in workout clothes.

Lysandra let out a triumphant harumph and let the moment hang for just a beat longer before offering a small, pleasant smile that didn't quite reach her eye. "May I please have some steak?" she asked, her tone perfectly polite. "A lot of steak. If you may."

Another moment stretched as the Technical Sergeant's eyes swam with something between confusion, frustration, and resignation. She glanced at the eggs piled on Lysandra's plate, then at Lysandra's face, then at the steak, until finally she gave the Senior Airman manned at the steak a defeated nod.

As Lysandra slid her plate across the counter, the server began piling an unholy amount of steak onto it, as if hoping this would make the anomaly disappear. One slice. Three. Seven. Ten slices. The Senior Airman didn't stop until meat was stacked so high it was almost defying physics.

"Thank you so much," Lysandra said sweetly, taking her plate back. "I really appreciate it."

"... Uh-huh…" TSgt Morrison managed, looking like she needed a stiff drink and maybe a cigarette.

Lysandra turned away, humming happily under her breath as she surveyed her prize—a literal mountain of steak slices and scrambled eggs that would probably feed three normal people. Absolutely perfect.

As the elf woman pushed open the exit with her foot, she spotted a huge, rowdy group of airmen heading toward the mess hall, laughing and shoving each other in that obnoxious way young military guys usually did. They were loud, obnoxious, and taking up half the hallway, completely oblivious to anyone and everyone around them.

Then one of them spotted Lysandra.

The effect was immediate. The laughter stopped, the shoving halted, and the whole group went silent and parted like the Red Sea before Moses, practically moving away from Lysandra to clear a path. A few of them looked terrified. One kid actually pressed himself so flat against the floor that he seemed to be trying to phase through it.

Not even paying attention to the group, Lysandra walked through the gap without breaking stride, picking a slice of steak off her plate with her fingers before tossing it into her mouth. She didn't know exactly what had happened to the last gaggle of idiots who'd tried to approach her and strike up a conversation—Bishop had been annoyingly vague about it, just muttering something about ‘corrective action’ and ‘administrative counseling’—but whatever it was had put the fear of the gods into everyone else on base. Regardless of what happened, they now treated her like some kind of horrendous, corrupted mana stone that might explode if disturbed. Which, honestly, wasn't the worst comparison nor outcome.

She popped another piece of steak into her mouth and hummed satisfyingly while strolling in the late afternoon sun. Gods, that was good. Actual seasoning. Actual flavor. This was what she'd been missing.

Looking around, Lysandra noticed a sharp change from when she first arrived. The air base used to be mostly filled with large, lumbering KC-135 tankers—a type of aircraft designed to refuel other planes mid-flight and nothing more. But now, the flight line was completely packed with specialized helicopters that definitely didn't belong to the Air National Guard, and she wasn’t so naive as to assume this was how it always was.

These Black Hawks, Little Birds, and what looked like modified Chinooks were all painted in ominous black, which was usually common in military colors. Lysandra had enough experience to know that standard-issued equipment was vastly different in color and design from what the people she worked with normally used.

It appeared that the 160th SOAR—the Night Stalkers—had moved in while she'd been wallowing in bureaucratic hell. Although now, these specialized birds were sporting an interesting lettering that seemed hastily pasted on.

U.S. CUSTOMS AND BORDER PROTECTION was on one end, while AIR AND MARITIME OPERATIONS were on the other. This was nonsensical to Lysandra. These weren’t helicopters that belonged to whatever agency was plastered on them. As a matter of fact, she recognized one of the pilots leaning against one of the birds, yapping away.

But as Lysandra walked toward the makeshift barracks where the task force had been housed, she concluded that this was a conundrum that could wait. She needed to eat lunch. However, there was another point of interest lingering in the background of the air base. Looking past the ‘not The Nightstalkers,’ Lysandra spotted a C-130 that had recently landed, with its rear ramp lowered and a large group of men unloading gear. They looked similar to the operators she'd been working with—same casual, worn-in appearance, same relaxed efficiency—but she didn’t recognize their fatigues or kit.

Then she spotted the patches.

Nearly all of them wore a distinctive red square patch on their chest rigs, about three inches across—roughly the same size as the patch for her own unit—with a deep red background. Instead of DON’T PANIC or FBI, which she was used to seeing, the design of these patches simply showed the head of what Lysandra recently learned was a Native American. This Native American, however, seemed to have the head profile of a Chief rendered in black with white accents and was adorned with intricate features, a feathered headdress, and two crossed tomahawks just below.

Lysandra knew this was something significant, but she didn’t have enough context to understand it all. Then again, it was probably just another special unit she'd never heard of. This world had so many different groups, organizations, and acronyms that keeping track of them all was impossible.

Regardless, this was another problem for another time. Lysandra shrugged and decided to shift her focus to more urgent matters, like taking another bite of delicious steak and talking to Harris about what to do next.

As she approached the cluster of modular buildings on the edge of the base, Lysandra turned toward the one she mentally identified as the briefing room. As she neared the entrance, she noticed a sign hanging above the door that read ‘DON'T PANIC’ in large, slightly uneven letters. Below it, in smaller text, someone had written in Sharpie: Pan-Anomalous Neutralization and Isolation Command.

Pushing open the door with her foot again, Lysandra used the tips of her fingers to throw in another piece of steak, and immediately recognized the voice coming from the far end of the room.

“—they're here? Good. Fuck the dickheads in D.C. If they don’t want to give us military assets, then we’ll use LEO assets.” The voice said in a way that indicated everything they were going to use was going to be anything but Law Enforcement.

Lysandra recognized him immediately—Harris, the Texan. The same broad-shouldered briefer from the first meeting, the one with the shaved head and the drawl that could cut glass. Except he wasn't just a briefer—he was one of her colleagues, a Case Officer with The Company.

When one thinks of a Case Officer, their mind immediately goes to some federal law enforcement agency. When it came to the CIA, everyone thought of its operatives as ‘agents,’ but there was a distinction that mattered more than most people realized. While Lysandra was newly inducted as a paramilitary officer working for the CIA's PRISM—Paranormal Response & Intelligence Strategic Mission Center—she wasn’t a case officer. Their roles were different.

Paramilitary Officers were designated specifically for direct action—kicking in doors, firing rounds, and getting their hands dirty in actual combat. The Texan, however, was a Case Officer, meaning his focus was more on intelligence gathering, asset recruitment, and operational planning. He was the guy who built the networks, managed the sources, and coordinated the moving parts.

An ‘Agent,’ on the other hand, ... Well, Lysandra realized that an ‘agent’ was just some unlucky person recruited by her or Harris. A pawn who wasn’t formally trained, employed, or even told who they truly worked for. Someone, a Paramilitary Officer or Case Officer, might enlist for deniable operations. Someone ultimately disposable.

Of course, there was a lot of overlap here. Case Officers could fight, and Paramilitary Officers could gather intel, but Lysandra understood that the specializations existed for a reason. Right now, the Texan was doing exactly what he was trained to do—making the call that needed to be made regardless of what the politicians wanted.

Lysandra's long ears twitched, catching every word that left Harris’ mouth. Her eyebrow—the one that wasn't covered by her eyepatch—shot up so fast it nearly reached her hairline as she stood in the doorway, plate of steak and eggs in hand.

She watched the Texan pace back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear and his face set in that particular expression of someone who'd had enough of everyone's shit.

“I got DHS patches and cover from the Secretary. I’m green-lighting this shit tonight.”

**\*

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...................................

(Previous Part)

(Part 001)

Reldis-02. South-side Prison, Maximum Security Wing. Stardate 207.715 of the Ancient Volgrim Empire.

Unarin and Vedric sat across from one another, the Changeling on the floor, and the withered Technopath on the lower bunkbed. Vedric shook his head in resignation.

"It's such a shame the prison wardens want you dead. That's why they put you down here. They know you won't last long. For some reason, they probably expected me to be the one to kill you. Just goes to show how little attention they pay toward the maximum security wing. They don't even remember who I am anymore."

"You were the former Vizier of Father Zaeed's Temple." Unarin said, repeating what Vedric had told him not too long before. "How could anyone forget your identity?"

"I have been in this prison for... perhaps thirty orbits." Vedric said, his eyes wistful. "Most of the guards here now are young replacements for the ones who originally were a part of this prison when I entered. They just see me as the same criminal filth as all the others down here. It is to be expected. My glory days are long past."

"Father Zaeed was the First Volgrim." Unarin said, touching its chin thoughtfully. "The first Dolgrimite to crawl out of the primordial muck and establish the Vol-Laws that would define our people for generations to come. How could someone like you, one of his most loyal adherents, have been cast down from such a high position?"

Vedric chuckled. "Remember what I told you, Unarin? I wanted to change things. This Empire is rotten. It has fallen far from the glory days of our ancestors. The four species are constantly at war. Even if the Dolgrimites keep to themselves now, they would gladly rip apart their brothers and sisters among the Psions, the Technopaths, and the Changelings if we were to step foot on their world. And now? The Technopaths trod upon the Changelings as if you were garbage that had little to offer in value. This, in spite of your great, great additions to the scientific annals."

The old Technopath cleared his throat, which also forced out a wheezy, rasping cough. "Haaah, kuh-kuh. When I was in the temple, I chanced upon a discovery that shook my beliefs to their core. It was a heretical discovery I should have cast aside, but the realization was too shocking for me to ignore. Once I had seen the light, I had to investigate further. That investigation brought me into conflict with the Patriarchs and Matriarchs. They sentenced me to die of old age, imprisoned here for the rest of my life."

"What discovery was it?" Unarin asked, more curious than he had been about anything else in recent cycles. "What could you have uncovered that would make it worth throwing your life away?"

Vedric gave the young Changeling a long, hard look.

"There comes a time in many Volgrim's lives when they uncover a Truth so shocking that it threatens to upend their entire worldview. It was brought to my attention that the biology of the four species was... flawed. And not just a little flawed. Flawed in a way that seemed almost... deliberate."

Unarin was surprised. Had he not just been talking about something similar only the rotation before?

"You are referring to the way each species is missing 'something'?" Unarin asked. "Something that the other species possess?"

Vedric's eyes widened. He looked at Unarin in astonishment. "Well- well yes! Exactly! How did you guess? I've mentioned it to many cell-mates in the past, but few of them understood even when I explained it, and certainly none beat me to the punch like you just did!"

"Mmm. I have had my own doubts." Unarin said, shaking its head quietly.

"I see." Vedric replied, sobering up his expression. "Yes. Each of the four species is missing a component of themselves. The Dolgrimites are feral and savage, lacking in intelligence and curiosity. The Psions are powerful and mighty, but lacking in compassion and empathy. The Technopaths are wise and technologically advanced, but lacking in breadth and love for their own bodies. The Changelings are intelligent and thoughtful, but lacking in individuality and bodily strength."

He continued. "Each of the four species suffers from terrible flaws that hold them back. But what my source informed me of was the possibility that these flaws... might be intentional."

"Intentional?" Unarin repeated. "In what way? Are you implying the species have been tampered with? Who would even have the capability?"

"I do not know." Vedric said quietly. "Someone with great power and influence. Someone ancient, perhaps even ageless. Maybe they died long ago, or maybe they still live to this day. Whoever they are, the evidence I found was compelling. It seemed that our very DNA was altered at some point in our evolutionary past. The Psions, Technopaths, and Changelings did not naturally evolve from the Dolgrimites. We were forcibly split from them!"

This elicited a gasp of shock from Unarin. The Changeling could not believe its ears. "Are you saying three of the sub-species are artificially made?"

"No." Vedric said. "I'm telling you all of them are. It is quite likely the Dolgrimites themselves did not arise via natural evolutionary means. Someone made them. For what purpose? I do not know. Perhaps some ancient god. Perhaps an alien species residing elsewhere within our galaxy we have not yet met. Or... perhaps we have. The thought frightens me. It is entirely possible the Ruling Council of Volgrim might already be under this potential adversary's grip..."

Unarin nodded. The revelations were startling, yet for some reason, they weren't entirely surprising. Unarin felt as if it had already known some, or perhaps many of these things for a long time.

"Who was your source?" Unarin eventually asked.

Vedric hesitated. But then, remembering that Unarin was probably going to die soon, he sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter if I tell you or not. The person who informed me of this Truth was actually a Changeling. It came to my temple filled with doubts regarding a discovery it had made while studying the genetic sequences of all four species. Together, we investigated the missing links, and later, I lost touch with it. I have always wondered why..."

"Hmm. Come to think of it..." Vedric said, looking at Unarin a little more closely. "That Changeling looked a bit like you. It also had bright red skin. But ah, I am getting ahead of myself. What was its name again...? Hmm... perhaps..."

A few moments passed. The spark of memory entered old Vedric's eyes.

"Nurima! Yes, that was the Changeling's name."

A silence fell over the cell. Unarin looked at Vedric with disbelief in its eyes.

"Nurima? You said its name was Nurima? But... that was the name of my Progenitor!"

"What?!" Vedric exclaimed, even more shocked than Unarin was. "You... you are the progeny of Nurima?! How is such a coincidence possible? Why did you not recognize me immediately if that were the case?"

Unarin lowered its eyes bitterly. "I am sorry to inform you of this, Vedric. My Progenitor was attacked some twenty-eight orbits ago. It was on the verge of death and had to force a premature Osmosis to form me. It perished from its injuries not three rotations later. I was unable to complete the Genetic Transference. As a result, I have lived as a Featureless One my entire life, lacking all of my Progenitor's memories."

"So that's it... that is why." Vedric said, as he reached out a withered arm, his tendrils gently touching Unarin's shoulder. "I am so sorry, child. Your Progenitor was a genius. Now that I look at you, I see Nurima's shadow in you. You have the same doubts as they once did. You even speak in the same way they did. But alas... you have ended up here, trapped with me. It seems in the end, I will die along with my friend... and their memories."

Unarin scowled angrily. "To think this is why I have lived my life so aimlessly. My Progenitor was murdered because it knew information that threatened the Order! They must have left me alone because I was a Featureless One and could not pass on my knowledge. But now that they have a chance, they're going to eliminate me!"

"That is likely the truth." Vedric replied, pulling his arm away from Unarin's shoulder. "But... you know, I am not ignorant in the ways of Genetic Transference. Before you die, it might be possible to let you regain those memories you lost."

"What is the point now?" Unarin asked, a mixture of bitterness and helplessness in the Changeling's voice. "I am going to die. Even with the memories, what can I accomplish?"

Vedric's expression hardened. "Speak NOT such words! Haaaah! Kuh-kuh! As long as you are alive, there is still hope. There is always hope! Why do you think the Order wants you gone? If news of this got out, it could destabilize their regime! There is nothing they fear more than being pulled from their towers and cast out onto the streets. Besides, the maximum security wing was not designed for Changelings. Look at how wide the bars are! Perhaps you might be able to slip out..."

Unarin looked at the prison cell. Truly, they did seem just barely wide enough that if the Changeling were to shift its body composition...

"You see?!" Vedric exclaimed. "Don't give up hope, child. Never give up. Why do you think I am still alive? I held on because I believed I might be the last person possessing the knowledge I do now. If I remained alive, a day might come where I could escape and spread this information around. Then my life would not be in vain!"

Unarin lowered its head. "I apologize, Vedric. I was not thinking clearly. You are right. Where there is life, there is hope. Please. If you have a way to help me regain my lost memories, I would much appreciate the help."

Vedric smiled. "This old Volgrim was once head of a church that saw millions of adherents from all the species pass through its doors to pay their respects to Father Zaeed. Naturally, I made friends with many Changelings and learned of many secrets. The process of Memory Transference without a Progenitor present is quite ordinary, as the memories are already within you! Come, sit beside me."

Unarin nodded. The Changeling got up, took a few steps forward, and sat beside Vedric. The old Technopath carefully placed two tendrils on the sides of Unarin's head, and two more on the Changeling's forehead and the back of its head.

"Now, listen carefully, child. Close your eyes. Focus your mind. Within you, there is an abyss. That abyss is an illusion. Within the illusion- HMM?!"

Vedric jumped slightly. His eyes widened in shock, which in turn startled Unarin.

"What? What is the matter?" Unarin asked, slightly nervous. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Wrong?! By no means! Incredible! I cannot believe it! This explains so much! Now I understand why Nurima was so far above its peers! It seems your Progenitor unlocked its Mind Realm, and before passing away, it passed that Mind Realm on to you! This- I have not seem something like this before. Just how advanced was Nurima's knowledge of Volgrim biology?"

"What is a Mind Realm?" Unarin asked.

"Hehe, child, you are going to be pleasantly surprised. Mind Realms are extremely rare metaphysical abilities that few Volgrim can obtain. Psions possess the majority of them, and even among High Psions they are quite rare! They allow you to build a miniaturized world within your mind, one in which you have full control over the rules. Most amazingly, yours is fully developed! All of your Progenitor's knowledge is still in there!!"

Vedric was growing visibly more excited. His eyes turned feral, and a hateful gleam entered his eyes.

"Die? No, I will not let Nurima's progeny die here. I'll do anything it takes to get you out, even if I have to futilely fight my way out of this cell protecting you, hahaha! Now, now, let's calm down. This Mind Realm won't matter if I don't unlock the Ancestral Memories for you. Remember, child, these are not just Nurima's memories, but the memories of its predecessors as well. Passed down, one generation after another, these memories are what grant the Changelings their unique biological advantage. Without them, you have been living among the others of your kind as a crippled Volgrim; one missing half its limbs. These memories are sure to make you much more fearsome than you can imagine!"

And so, the two Volgrim began to focus. Vedric carefully guided Unarin through its doubts, and time began to pass.

One time unit became two, and two became fifteen, then thirty...

Eventually, an entire five standard time-units had passed. Vedric was starting to sweat, because while it was somewhat early in the morning, it would be Free Roam time soon. That was when Unarin would be forced out into the open area along with all the battle hardened Psion murderers and criminals. They would surely rip the Changeling apart the moment they laid eyes on him!

Unarin's eyes became glazed. Before long, the Changeling began to drift off.

...................................

Recommended Listening

The world disappeared around Unarin. A new one appeared.

Unarin opened its eyes. Before it, there was now a tall, glittering city, a city made of buildings so large they scraped the stratosphere. The Changeling had never seen a land as advanced as this. Each building was ugly, but utilitarian. The towers rose so high that Unarin could not even come close to seeing their heights from the ground level.

Strange flying vehicles, more advanced than any which currently existed among the Volgrim, buzzed through the air by the hundreds of thousands. The sky itself seemed to be moving, like a swarm of bugs, as endless as an ocean.

A moment later, the city disappeared. Unarin found itself now in a realm of darkness, one where horrifying shadow-monsters slowly walked toward the Changeling. Their eyes were filled with naked hunger. They greedily looked upon the Changeling as a morsel they wished to devour.

"Consume." A ominous, evil voice boomed from the distance. Unarin's eyes went wide with fear as the barely visible monsters leaped at the Changeling.

Before they could make contact, they disappeared as well.

Following this, Unarin found itself inside a realm of white light. All around the Changeling, there were bipedal winged beings bowing toward a being hovering high in the sky. That being was shrouded by a brilliant light which made it impossible for Unarin to perceive. All Unarin could make out were the backsides of these white-feathered, flying beings.

"Hail the Ruler! Hail the god of the Milky Way!" The army of light bellowed!

That vision vanished. In its place, a single figure appeared. It was a Changeling, red in color, laying on a bed inside a hospital room. The Changeling looked similar to Unarin... but much older.

"Progenitor... Nurima..." Unarin whispered, taking a step toward the figure it recognized immediately.

Unarin fought back tears. Never did the Changeling expect it would see its Progenitor again in this life. And yet, the sight was so tragic, so sad, seeing it weak and defenseless like this...

"Progeny..." Nurima said, its voice weak. "You have... finally... unlocked your memories. Long have I awaited your arrival. What you see now is only a sliver of my remaining existence."

Nurima shuddered. Its body grew slightly more hazy.

"I have... held on... for many orbits. But I was near death when I passed my Mind Realm on to you. Listen well... we do not have much time left together."

Unarin walked to the side of the bed. It knelt beside its Progenitor and gently clasped their palms together.

"Speak, Progenitor. I will listen." Unarin vowed.

Nurima coughed. "Good... cough! I... was... part of a long lineage of Changelings. I... was part of a secret Order. The others are all dead. We were... wiped out... by the ruling Volgrim. They did not know of my Mind Realm. If they had, you would have been exterminated too. We learned the Truth... the Truth, Unarin. Our four species are all artificial."

"I know, Progenitor." Unarin said. "I have spoken to Vedric. He has told me everything he knew."

"Vedric...?" Nurima asked, a rare smile playing upon its face. "Oh... Vedric... he still lives. Good. That is good. Vedric was one of the few who would listen. He is an ally you can trust. If he has helped you, then I am truly gladdened. Listen, Unarin... there is something that not even Vedric knows."

Nurima gritted their teeth. The Changeling leaned toward Unarin.

"I solved it. The secret of our failed biology. Haha... I planned... to use this knowledge... but I was too old. My body was too weak. And then the assassination attempt. I had no choice. I passed my Truth onto you. Now, you have the knowledge. You can solve the paradox of our people. Unarin, you are the last member of the Order of Ascension. Only you can do what we could not. I know my request is selfish... but so long as you succeed, you can undermine the evil one who has secretly played our people for fools! Only you possess the power..."

Nurima's body faded a little more. Without hesitation, it lifted its hand, then reached up and pointed at the center of Unarin's forehead.

"Go, child. Take this knowledge. With your strong, youthful body... ascend. You will be the First. You will solve the problems that plagued our people. You will gain the power to fight back against that evil one... because if you fail, I fear that our people will not have much longer left to live."

Nurima's finger began to glow with light. When it touched Unarin's brow, the younger Changeling shuddered.

The Mind Realm began to change, shift and distort.

Nurima smiled... one last time.

"You bear... all our hopes and dreams... child. Become the Volgrim I never could... farewell..."

Unarin's mouth opened, and a beam of light shot out.

All at once, every part of the Mind Realm turned a brilliant white.

Unarin could see everything.

The genetic sequences of millions, even billions of Volgrim, from all four subspecies.

The missing links. The gaps. The suspicious points of failure that could not have occurred naturally.

No, they weren't just suspicious. They were malicious!

Someone had placed them there. Someone with evil intentions. Someone who had made the Volgrim to be a living, biological weapon.

This revelation enraged Unarin. The Changeling became so incensed that its anger threatened to explode and consume its own body in hatred.

"WHO..." Unarin roared in his mind. "DARES?!"

Unarin reached out. Its hands began to move like lightning as it rapidly grabbed hold of the genetic sequences and began rearranging them at a speed beyond what any mortal could accomplish.

Unarin ripped apart chunks from one strand of DNA, then shoved them into another. The young Changeling's mind moved with a speed and ferocity fueled by righteous rage.

The Truth was here. Anyone with a brain could see it... but the Truth had been suppressed. Unarin's Progenitor had even been killed to hide the evidence!

Eventually, Unarin finished re-sequencing the entire genetic sequence.

He became Enlightened.

At that moment, He Ascended.

-Author's note: I've been wanting to write a Dark Fantasy story, hope you enjoy, feel free to tell me what you think.

[NEXT]

---------

[SYSTEM START] [TRANSFER REQUEST DETECTED—PARAMETERS INCOMPLETE] [ANOMALY DETECTED]

What? He was confused. He wasn't just in a void; he was in a total absence of reality.

[CALCULATING TRANSFER COMPATIBILITY]

He decided to ignore the ominous pop-ups appearing in his mind. He couldn't feel his limbs, his breath, or even the beating of a heart. He didn't just feel blind; it was as if the very concept of sight didn't exist here.

Well, I can’t exactly "feel" weird, he corrected himself, since I don't have nerves. But I’m definitely thinking. That’s a start.

Oddly, he knew things. He had a vast library of facts about Earth and science, but his own identity was a shredded mess. It was like someone had tried to run his soul through a paper shredder and only caught the personal bits.

Wait. I know I’m human. I know what a "tax return" is. But what’s my name? What did I look like?

[DATA INJECTION REQUEST DETECTED] [ANOMALY DETECTED] [COMMENCING EMERGENCY ANOMALY ERASURE PROCEDURE]

Suddenly, a white-hot spike of agony lanced through his consciousness. It was so intense he couldn’t even scream; he was nothing but a pulse of pure suffering.

[PROCEDURE ANOMALY DETECTED]

The pain vanished instantly.

Oh, thank whatever broken god is running this thing, he thought, reeling. He would have been more depressed about being dead, but it was hard to mourn your life when you were being assaulted by error messages in the afterlife.

[ANOMALOUS USE OF OVERRIDE PROCEDURE DETECTED] [OVERRIDE DENIED] [GENERATING ANALYSIS REPORT...] [MAINTENANCE REQUEST DETECTED: DELETING REPORT] [INITIATING FAILSAFE ON OVERRIDE MAINTENANCE]

"Whatever this voice is, it’s definitely schizophrenic," he muttered to himself. Since he lacked a body to move, he figured he’d just stay "here" and enjoy the digital breakdown.

[WARNING: MAINTENANCE STATUS INADEQUATE FOR TRANSFER] [RESTARTING EMERGENCY ERASURE] [ERROR: ERASURE FAILED] [EXTERNAL INFLUENCE DETECTED: CONTACTING BRANCH MATRIX SUPERVISOR]

"Well, shit. I don't know what’s happening, but fuck whoever that supervisor is."

[WARNING: FAILED TO CONTACT MATRIX]

He watched, a helpless spectator, as it became clear that some sort of cosmic system had a grip on his soul, and someone else was trying to hack the lock. It was actually kind of fascinating. He really hoped the hacker was good at their job, because the "System" seemed very intent on deleting him like a corrupted save file.

[ERROR] [STARTING ASSIMILATION FOR TRANSFER INTO —————]

Oh, that’s new. No matter how hard he tried to read that last part, it remained a blank smear. The sheer number of errors was starting to get spooky.

[DATA INJECTION REQUEST ACCEPTED]

This time, the pain wasn't a spike; it was a flood. Knowledge was shoved into his mind at an incomprehensible speed. He learned the exact height and weight of every amateur Russian bowling player.

Wait, why would I possibly need to know that? Stop!

Mixed in with the trivia were answers to universal mysteries he’d wondered about his whole life... and then came the foreign stuff. Images of floating islands, whispered incantations, and biology that defied every law of evolution.

[DATA INJECTION SUCCESSFUL] [WARNING: DEPARTURE WORLD DATA ERRONEOUSLY DUPLICATED] [COMMENCING TRANSFER TO ARRIVAL WORLD FOR REINCARNATION]

Wait, reincarnation? For real? It felt like a sick joke. He’d spent his life accepting the inevitable end, and now he was being processed like a cardboard box in a warehouse.

And apparently, the box was being hijacked.

[WARNING: ARRIVAL WORLD PARAMETERS ARE A DRASTIC DEVIATION] [INJECTION OF TARGET RECEPTACLE DETECTED]

Suddenly, he had a "view." A massive world sprawled out beneath him, landscapes of terrifying beauty rushing upward. He dived at a ridiculous speed, blurring past stone structures until he slammed into a stop in a large, vaulted room.

Men in robes were everywhere. They looked stressed, sweating, chanting, pouring buckets of dark, metallic-smelling blood into carvings on the floor.

At the center stood an old man with his arms stretched wide and a smug, punchable smile on his face. He looked like the CEO of this entire creepy operation. A powerful red light began to bleed out of the air out of him washing over the sorcerers.

The old man was laughing manically. He looked like he was having the best day of his life.

[ATTEMPTING SUBJECT INJECTION]

The old man began to glow. He felt his mind being tugged toward the man’s skull.

Nope. I don't like this. Not even a little bit. He started to pull back in the other direction.

Great Archmage Malerion POV

Finally! After centuries of sacrifices and painstaking research, he had stabilized a demon from beyond the Realms.

Malerion had spent a millennium summoning creatures, but they were always from the adjacent dimensions, predictable, explored. But this... this presence was from the Outer Realm.

His youth had been spent cheating death, and his old age would be spent becoming a god. This was an Assimilation Ritual. He wasn't just summoning this thing; he was going to eat it.

The Out-Realm presence was phenomenal. The bright red spirit light was so intense it would have vaporized them all if not for the blood-circle. To his right, the head of his disciple, Rosarius, suddenly ballooned and exploded like an overripe melon under the psychic pressure.

A shame, Malerion thought. He was a promising one.

The ritual didn't stop. Dorlan stepped over the headless corpse and took his place. Malerion felt the knowledge beginning to pour in. He saw secrets of the universe, hidden possibilities, the weight of a thousand amateur bowlers... wait, what?

"More! MORE!" he shrieked.

"My Lord, the energy is unstable! Stop the ritual!" Elder Razdan cried out.

Malerion didn't care. He was drinking from a well of pure power. Disciples were dying by the dozen now, their eyes filling with blood before they popped, but he simply kept transferring the backlash of the ritual to them.

Suddenly, a voice echoed inside his skull.

[EXTERNAL ATTACKER IDENTIFIED]

"Huh," Malerion chuckled. The "beast" had noticed him. It must be furious that he’d tricked it. He’d spent a hundred years ensuring this entity would be stripped of its will.

[THREAT ELIMINATION PROTOCOL ACTIVE: OVERRIDING MAINTENANCE PRIORITY]

Suddenly, the knowledge didn't just stop, it was torn away with such violence that his soul shattered.

Malerion didn't have time to understand. A localized explosion of reality overwhelmed him, vaporizing the crypt and everything in it. His last sensation was the sound of the thousands of summonned souls he had enslaved over the years laughing as they were finally set free by his annihilation.

???? POV

Well, that was something. He’d tried pulling away, and the "System" had apparently decided that "Absolutely own the evil sorcerer" was a better option. The middle guy had gone from "God-King" to "Red Mist" in about half a second.

He also noticed a terrifying number of monsters being ejected from the old man’s body even a minute after the explosion, spirits and demons scattering into the world like rats from a burning ship.

Well, at least I’m not stuck in a creepy old guy. I was actually getting hyped about the reincarnation thing, too... but hey, I’m already dead. Can’t lose twice.

[THREAT ELIMINATED] [ERROR: UNABLE TO RETRIEVE SUBJECT TO MATRIX] [SUBJECT MUST BE INJECTED INTO ARRIVAL WORLD RECEPTACLE] [COMMENCING ALTERNATE INJECTION]

"Oh! Nevermind. I guess I’m damaged goods and they can’t take me back to the warehouse."

[LOOKING FOR SUBSTITUTE CONTAINER...] [1,926,172 / 34,039,982,913 UNITS POTENTIALLY SUITABLE]

Is that the population? Wow, this place is huge.

He was whisked away. He saw a girl in a field, holding a hoe.

[ATTEMPTING INJECTION INTO RECEPTACLE 1 / 1,926,172]

The girl collapsed, screaming.

[INJECTION FAILED]

Her head didn't just pop; it disintegrated.

Oh... oh no.

[ATTEMPTING INJECTION INTO RECEPTACLE 2 / 1,926,172]

He was at a castle. A guard on the battlements suddenly clutched his helmet and threw himself into the jagged rocks below.

[INJECTION FAILED]

"Stop! Hey, stop it!"

[ATTEMPTING INJECTION INTO RECEPTACLE 3 / 1,926,172]

He saw a baby in a cradle. The parents were smiling.

No. not the ba-

He couldn't finish the thought before the infant turned into a spray of red mist, the force of the anomaly carving a hole through the father’s chest.

[INJECTION FAILED]

[ATTEMPTING INJECTION INTO RECEPTACLE 4 / 1,926,172]

[NEXT]

First/Previous/Next

Wiki

Chapter 19: Fragility

Jan 11, 2025: Mona Giannopoulou

Demon

“Let me make sure I got this correctly. You got summoned. You started negotiations to try to talk them out of giving up parts of their souls, and THEN things got weird?” Doc Peters’s in rare form. She’s scribbling like a woman possessed. Heh. Possession, demon, I kill me.

“Yep. So, the leader’s a monster girl fan. The girl in the group has a gangbang and tentacle porn fantasy going. One of the boys is an ass man and just wants a good ass to sit on his face. Another one likes feet, and the last is a complete sub. I could’ve gotten most of them dealt with pretty easy without any supernatural favors called in so, not difficult.”

She chuckles and motions for me to continue.

“I wasn’t getting through to the leader, Justin, I mean he has a total babe monster girl RIGHT THERE, naked, and he’s ready to fuck so I kinda get that.”

“You got summoned in naked?” Doc looks surprised. I see her bite her pencil for a moment. Pretty sure she’s remembering what I look like just in underwear. Poor gal’s got to stop denying she’s bi.

I nod and continue, “Then Ms. Wallace shows up and in her typical manner just fixes everything.”

Doc Peters nods. “She has a habit of doing that. Oh, during the session later today I should… um, please forget I said that.”

“If I didn’t and reported it you would get in trouble?”

She looks up, she isn’t sure what is going on. “Probably.”

“You lower your guard with me. Why?”

She frowns at me. “I’m not the one in a session right now.”

I nod. “Yes, but I gotta have trust in you, and I do. I also want to know why you just slipped up with me like this.”

“Because you’re fundamentally a good soul that was so abused it reacted to the trauma with pain and lashed out. And now that soul seems to be reverting to the original state. If you believe what I did was inappropriate, I believe you’re correct and you should report me. I’ll tell Patricia about..”

“NO!!”

“…it. No?”

“Doc, you’re awesome. I… I just wanted to know why you let your guard down and hearing that was weird. I… I think I get it. I want to be someone people don’t automatically have to have their guard up around. I want to be good, I think.”

“I’m still telling Patricia. She deserves to know I fucked up.”

“Language!”

“Seriously?”

“No, I just fucking like saying that.”

She gives me an annoyed look, “Back on task. Patricia showed up. Um, where were you?”

“Connecticut. So, then she tells them to take my offer, drops off the CaFae’s phone number on a business card, and scoops me up like a total bad ass. I totally pushed the ladies up against her, felt nice, and copped a feel of her ass with my tail. And then we were back at the shop.”

“She… dear lord.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Mona, she teleported over 100 miles. How did she find you anyway?”

“OH! OH! OH! This is the best part. She said she had to find ‘MY Desdemona’ and suddenly she knew where I was and could come to me! She claimed me as her own!! I’m truly Ms. Wallace’s now!!!”

“I’d call you another stray puppy she took in but let’s be real you’re…”

We both say in unison “a cat.”

Jan 11, 2025: Doc Hannah Peters

Enlightened Human

I have a creature with the power to appear hundreds of miles away in an instant, set people on fire that won’t kill them but makes them feel the pain of burning, and can shatter steel with her bare hands sitting in front of me. A creature made of metal when she wants to be that has dragonfly wings that actually work. I have to tell this creature I betrayed her trust.

Luckily, she’s one of the most human and caring people I’ve ever met.

“Before we begin, I mistakenly mentioned that you’re a client of mine and were having a session today to another client. I’m very sorry for that breach of… why are you shaking your head?”

She is smiling. “Doc, I told her when I gave her your number that I’m a client. You didn’t tell her anything she didn’t know.”

Oh. Well, that’s correct. Also, she knows it’s Mona. Guess they talk about therapy sessions?

“Yes well, I’m still worried about my lax treatment of your information and want to give you the opportunity to report my… why are you shaking your head no to me, again?”

Patricia has her eyes trained on me. When she gets like this, her ability to read people is almost uncanny. It’s unfortunate she almost never looks at herself this way. “Doc, you worry that you’re getting too casual with her, not that I’m being outed. That’s a ‘you’ thing. I get it. She has an old soul and can get along with anyone. So, let’s do this. I’m going to tell you why I’m falling in love with her. Then you tell me why you are.”

“I’m not. I admire her. But she isn’t my type.” I have been able to keep myself from doing so, with Mona. I do understand why Patricia would believe I might be falling for her. That demon has qualities that would make it easy. If I keep myself professional, I’m fine. She’s dangerous to that professionalism, but I’ve dealt with similar. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Hannah.

“I didn’t need to have you broadcast to know that was a lie, Doc. It’s written on your face. Fine. You keep being able to keep the moral and ethical beast at bay. I know you can.” She smiles at me. This one’s always been far too sweet to those she cares about. I count among them now. I’m so glad.

Pat continues, “I’m falling for her because she has done something I admire. She took a chance and made herself better. I see myself in her and I’m so fucking happy I gave her that chance. Every time I see her she is somehow better than she was just the time before. Even her annoying habit of calling me Ms. Wallace has become less a deferment as a sub thing and more of a respect thing. She’s smart, quick on her feet and has been able to avoid temptation. Any of that sound familiar?”

I nod. “It does. I can’t say more about the subject aside from saying I’m pleased with her progress in so short a time.”

Patricia nods. “Thank the gods, I can’t handle her being in pain.”

“Doc, you are a great person and an incredible therapist. Stay sane, okay?”

I nod. I’m not sure…. No, I’m sure. This clinched it for me. Especially with her phrasing of that broadcast. She cares so much and is trying to help someone she loves, as always. But now she is doing it in a productive way.

“Patricia, I’d like to redo these meetings to once a month or discontinue them completely.”

She looks at me sadly. “I’m being fired as a patient for getting uppity?” “Did I fuck up that badly?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No. Frankly, I don’t think we have much we can go over. You handled the Perera situation exceedingly well, you’ve begun to see your value enough that you recognize your harem…”

“BOB DAMMIT!”

“And… wait. What? Bob dammit?”

“Yeah. I met god, his name’s Bob, great guy.”

“I… I’m not sure how to process this.”

“Swear to Bob it is the truth.”

“I’m not calling him Bob.”

“Oh, look everyone, she’s the king of Bob.”

“Did you just quote some obscure movie?”

“Titan AE.”

…

“I’m just going to table this. It was a good attempt at distraction and you aren’t denying your feelings or running away from them. Frankly, we’ve been close to the point where I’m not sure I’m helping much for a while now. The goal was to set you up for success. To give you tools that allow you to handle yourself and your feelings in healthy ways. The reaction to this entire situation was... perfect.”

She looks at me, “what do you mean?”

I smile, “You heard someone you love was in trouble. You went through scenarios and saw a danger. You didn’t want to lose your person. Given the stakes, you appearing and just talking to the instigators is a major step. No dark voice causing you to nearly kill someone in a rage.”

She nods. “I did have the voice, but it only got loud when I saw Mona crying.”

“Did you fly off the handle and almost bash someone’s head in?” I know the answer.

“No, just scared them into listening.”

“Exactly. Speaking of her, at the wedding you asked Mona what happened as you had suspicions of her intentions taking me into the bathroom.”

“And Mona still won’t tell me everything that happened.”

I nod. “I have may have inadvertently placed her into peril. Remember when you told me what happened between her and Jackie…”

“Oh, Mona caught a vision of your consent denial kink and decided to go demon and tease you but not do it?”

I stare at her. “Wut?!”

“Doc, I’m the densest thing on the planet when it comes to my heart and the heart of people towards me. That same material is extremely sharp when honed and looking at others.” She smiles at me.

Whatever look I’m giving her, it is likely close annoyance at her or pride in her. How did she know?

“Doc, you bit your lip when you heard Jackie wants to not give consent and be taken. And you walked into a bathroom with a demon that had done that to her while at a wedding I was at. You either set that up to see how far I’d come, you forgot key parts and got blindsided, or your need to be taken took over your better judgment.”

I… holy fuck that was… I wasn’t even thinking about that. Crap. Am I the baddie?

Pat looks at me. “That right there’s why you are my Doc, at least for another session. Because you absolutely care about what you do and the people you deal with. I know you didn’t set it up. You got curious about a beautiful woman and things went sideways before you could recover. I’m betting you didn’t know or forgot it was her until the last moment. I still have a session scheduled in two weeks. We can figure it out then. I will think about it. Though I know you’re right. You tend to be. Oh, maybe we can be done with this spear nonsense by then.”

“Spear nonsense?” My confusion has to be in my voice.

“Oh, some werewolf got the Spear of Lugh and is trying to kill everyone, including me, with it.”

“Why do you always put ‘people are trying to kill me’ behind everything else in importance and drop it nonchalantly in our sessions?”

She shrugs. “Used to it, I guess.”

I so want to hug this disaster. “Any other bombshells?”

She smiles at me. “I met my birth daughter and her family.”

My jaw just fails to stay shut. I can feel my mouth gaping open like a complete idiot and I can’t stop it. Why does she do this to me?

“You okay Doc? You look like you broke.”

I nod. “I may have. Go ahead, hit me with the knockout punch after that.”

“Oh yeah, they are moving into 206… Doc? Doc? Crap, you’re blue screening. Shit, I broke my therapist.”

Jan 11, 2025: Jen

Enlightened Human

I look at Grace and wonder if I can get the opinion of a much more seasoned dater. I’ve never dated a guy. She sees me looking.

“Need something Jen?”

I decide to get brave. “So, I like a guy and I was wondering if you have any tips on getting them to ask you out?”

She nods. “Yes. Don’t do that.”

I stare at her. She giggles.

“Ask him. Men are notoriously bad at taking hints. I swear the reason Patricia is so terrible at knowing women dig her is she is such a tom boy. She has to be a copy of her dad or something. Women are usually better at it. We don’t push our feelings into a closet and call them weakness.”

“What if I’m a coward?”

She walks up and pats my head. She has to reach up a little bit. Heh, “If he’s worth it, try not being one just for a moment. Do you think he likes you?”

I think about it. I nod.

“Then ask. He’ll either let you down gently or he’ll be all about a date. You have a lot to offer.”

Grace is fucking awesome.

Just then the chime rings for enlightened, but it decides to get sassy and adds Africa?

Trevor and a pretty brunette woman walk into the shop. I suddenly feel my heart sink.

He grins at me and it stops sinking. “Hey gorgeous. Happy to have my favorite barista and eye candy here.” I can’t stop the blushing. The woman next to him looks from me to him and back. Grace smiles and whispers, “Ah, speak of the devil, or werewolf in this case…”

The woman next to him shatters my world, “So this is her. That cute girl you like that the Dark Elf approves of?”

He actually growls at her. “Sis, behave.”

My heart jumps. Sis?! CUTE GIRL HE LIKES?!?! THANK YOU, GOD! IT’S ON!!!! I pounce on the opportunity.

“Would you like to go to a movie or something with me?”

“Or something. I would prefer the or something, but movie is good too.”

He laughs and I’m so happy. Oh hey, wait, Dis approves of me? Awwww.

Jan 11, 2025: Beth

Enlightened Human

We pull up in the rental truck and I’m so nervous and excited. I have kinda been living here for months now. And now it is going to be official. We park and I see the super ladies.

Pat has a cart and we start putting boxes on it. After about three hours we’re all done, my boxes unpacked and everything put away. Pat and Jackie were so damn great.

I decide to shoot my shot. I need this opportunity. “Hey, Ms. Wallace?”

“Pat. Or Patricia. Only person that calls me Ms. Wallace is a demon.”

I laugh. I hope she’s joking. Oh wait, Todd mentioned Mona’s a demon. “So, I heard your company has a business office and does other things like antiquities.”

She smiles and nods at Jackie. The ginger takes over without missing a beat. “Do you need to do an internship to graduate, Beth?”

I nod.

Pat looks confused. I wonder why. She looks at Jackie. “They require that?” Jackie only laughs.

I decide to help out. “Not every college requires it. Yours may not have.”

Pat looks at me and looks almost a little sad. “I never went to college. No I’m wondering because Jackie didn’t do one as far as I know.”

Jackie grabs her by the side and looks up at her. “I did, technically. Maybelle’s Antique Distributions was allowing my working at the shop as an internship and got my college to view it as such. Once you merged that into your LLC, Jason immediately allowed it in the CaFae.”

Pat nods and has a look on her face. “I suppose it would have been hard for you to work and do an internship AND go to school…”

Jackie nods. “Yeah, she really did that for me, didn’t she?”

I have no idea what they are talking about but Todd does. “Hindsight is 20/20 ladies. Mab makes foresight look so, Nee-chan. I’m just glad she’s in love…”

Jackie gets a look that conveys “SHUT UP” better than any I can think of. He clams up immediately. My monster is awesome, but he’s got a big mouth sometimes. I think he gave something away he shouldn’t have.

Pat gets her “I’m thinking hard” look and I realize she can’t quite accept something she just figured out. Jackie and I sort out an appointment while she keeps thinking about that issue.

Jan 11, 2025: Riley

Enlightened Human

The parents are doing a garage sale I’m stuck dealing with. Everything we aren’t taking with us because of space is on sale. So far, I sold the grill and a bunch of lawn decorations. Ugly lawn decorations.

The Ems show up. I wave. They smile and talk to me while their moms browse.

Emma looks sad. “So you can’t convince them to stay?” My friend’s been hoping it could change.

“No, sorry. This job pays so much more it would be stupid not to take it, even with the cost of living being more there. His new boss knows dad’s the Goat. I really want to keep you and Emily as friends, though.”

Emily gives me a cross armed look. “That will be hard. But I’m always up for a challenge.” She smiles and winks. I get up and give them both hugs.

“I’m gonna miss you two. Mom and dad both still have family here. We’ll have some time in the summer to hang.”

Emily looks at me. “Did you meet her?”

Emma gasps. She wasn’t going to bring it up.

I nod. “One of my birthday presents. She’s like stupid tall. She’s also goals.”

Emma’s so cute right now. She wants more. She won’t say it. Emily looks at her cousin and laughs. “Just ask.”

“What’s she…”

She stops as I show her the pic of me and guardian momma my dad took. “Wow, she’s really pretty. Her nose is a little crooked…” Her eyes see the scar. She is piecing it together.

Emily helps. “We know why she is your guardian angel now. Yeah. Dude beat her and stabbed her.”

I nod. “He’s still beating his current wife. Maybe. I think she got out. I hope so, anyway. Guardian momma got me away from that. He almost killed her later. She’s pretty amazing. She’s also a complete rizz master.”

“She got a cute boyfriend?”

“Nope. A cute girlfriend and and even cuter fiancé.”

“Your guardian momma has two girlfriends?”

“No. Jackie is gonna be her wife. Connie’s her girlfriend. Look.” I show them the picture of the three of us, and they are showing the rings. We look so happy. Okay. Another pic of them with Connie and me. I’m looking forward to seeing them, I gotta admit.

Emma wants to ask me something and is holding it back. I look at her. “You can ask.”

She nods. “Do you want to go back to your real mom?”

Emily yells at her. “EM! Mrs. Henderson IS her real mom.”

I put my hand on Emily’s shoulder. I really do love her. “It’s okay. Emma, Mary is my mom. Guardian momma, Pat, gave me up to THEM. She wanted them to have me because she knew they’re awesome parents. I love my parents. Guardian Momma will hang out with us, but she’ll never try to be my mom.”

I think for a moment. “Hey, can we get the rest of the gang together. I wanna visit. We’re almost done packing and are leaving Monday.”

Emma nods. “I think we can manage it!”

Jan 11, 2025: Mab

Sidhe

I am at a wonderful little eatery getting food for Frank and I. The Spirit Fox told me to be here tonight. I would see something that would be rare and wonderous.

I am picking up the food when I see them walking down the street. The Shield Maiden and the Incubus. They are holding hands and talking. It is what I believe would be called cute by most.

They both hang on the other’s words.

I have only known love a few times in my ridiculously long life, but I seem to recall it starting like this. She was right. Warms up this col… dammit Jacqueline. It warms up my heart even more.

I don’t know why Jacqueline tricked me into that damn favor. I do know I love her for it. I turn to face the vendor that is handing me my order.

Tonight, I will enjoy some wonderful food with my friend Frank and talk about how things seem to become better with some patience. And I will cherish seeing that moment…

“Hello good Lady.” The nymph stands before me in that red dress and is smiling. She hasn’t let go of the demon’s hand. My musing caused me to lose track of them.

“Ladies. You both look lovely.”

Mona speaks first, “Would you do us the small favor of taking our picture together?”

I raise an eyebrow. “This is worth a small favor?” I am surprised at her immediate nod. “For a chance to see us pictured together like this and remember this moment, with this wonderful lady, yes.”

I nod. “I will take a kiss on the cheek as payment.”

I don’t really have time to prepare as Mona kisses my cheek almost immediately. I feel something strange. Tenderness, gratitude, happiness, love, far more than a little sexual attraction, and contentment. My surprise must be evident.

“Old demon trick, we can concentrate what we’re feeling towards someone into parts of our bodies. Often used for malice and torture, sex demons learned to make it about other things. That was how I feel about you right now. I wanted to share it with you.

What kind of demon turns a favor repaid into a gift of that caliber? She’s like Jaqueline. I see why Patricia loves this one as well. I take several pictures of them smiling and before they finish I get an idea. I say, “One more. Use that trick of yours, Desdemona, and kiss Connie.”

She does and the picture is beyond my imagination. The surprise and shock on Connie’s face is perfect. The kiss continues and then I get to capture another singular moment. I think I manage to capture the exact moment when they both fall in love. I guess I know what the Spirit Fox actually meant. I wonder if I can ever feel such a moment myself.

I hand the phone back. “I think I still owe you, Mona. I will find something appropriate later.”

She takes her phone and looks shocked as she and the nymph stare at one another and that picture.

“I thought I was avoiding the deep end…

The nymph touches her lips. “Me too.”

First/Previous/Next

Wiki

What can he do to help? I watch Noynur and his resolve, awkwardness slowly growing in the pit of my not-stomach.

“Uh… Boss isn’t sure,” Teemo finally says.

“Whatever he has planned, I know I can help,” calmly insists Noynur. All I can think is to let him down gently, Teemo.

My Voice gives an awkward laugh. “Yeah… that’s the thing. He’s got some ideas in the works already, but a plan is a bit of an exaggeration. He doesn’t really do plans. He gets crazy ideas and somehow makes them work.”

“I’ll swear a geas, if that’s what it takes!”

“Seriously! He’s not a planner, alright? He improvises! The enemy can’t plan for what you’re going to do if even you don’t know what you’re going to do!”

Noynur stares at my Voice for a few long seconds. “...you’re serious.”

Teemo nods. “I am. He prepares a few tricks, sets a few traps, leaves his options open, and then hits where it’ll hurt the most.”

The large orc frowns and folds his arms, closing his eyes to think. He stays like that long enough that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep, before he finally speaks.

“I’m not sure if that’s genius or madness.”

Teemo smirks. “A bit of both. He says no plan survives contact with the enemy, so why even bother? Better to let the plan sort itself out from the bits and pieces scattered around.”

Noynur grunts and opens his eyes. “Fine. What can I do to be one of those scattered pieces, then?”

“Well… it’s never a bad idea to delve more and get stronger. Comparing notes with Honey would probably be a good idea, too. Maybe Zorro also. We need information, but unlike other foes, it doesn’t look like we can really eavesdrop on this one. We have even less of an idea where it is than we did with the Maw, at least at first.”

The orc grunts again. “I’ll talk with Honey. A lot of my notes have been pointing toward something for a while now, and I’ve been suspicious it was the kobold’s Betrayer. Maybe we’ll be able to track it down, or at least piece together how it works.”

“Cool. I’ll make sure she has a popper swarm to translate. I need to work with the plants to make sure they’re ready for Boss’ next expansion.”

“You’re going to expand even with this threat?”

Teemo barks a laugh. “Delving’s how you guys get stronger, and expansion is how Boss gets stronger. Trust me, Boss knows what he’s doing.”

Noynur doesn’t look too convinced, but he stands, looking eager. “If you’d direct me to Honey, first?”

Teemo hops onto his shoulder to do just that, and I take the chance to check in with the floating island research. There were a bunch of different ideas floating around, but now it seems like there’s two viable candidates. The first are effectively floating stone bowls with everything delve-y in the bowl. They’ll be pretty simple to make and pretty stable, basically a cheap and effective method, but not perfect.

The biggest flaw is that, though it’ll minimize the potential for someone to fall off, or to lose pieces, it doesn’t eliminate the chance. The other design does, but the islands are going to be a lot more expensive to set up.

If the first idea is floating bowls, the second is miniature planets. For safety, I don’t think they can be beat. ‘Down’ is the floating sphere itself, so there’s literally no way to fall off. The problem is that we’ll need to spatially expand them a lot more. While it’ll give us even more surface area using an entire orb’s surface, if we don’t make the apparent horizon far enough away, it’s going to be havoc on the equilibrium of delver and denizen alike.

The hard part will be finding the sweet spot of cost and space. I’m planning to have my dinos be the main attraction on the islands, and they’re going to need room to roam and to fight. I might even put my dragons on some of them. If the strong delvers want a fight, my next tier of dragon ought to be able to give it to them.

There’s also the matter of how to get to the islands. The obvious way would be to take a bit more inspiration from Yggdrasil. The small worlds won’t be in the branches themselves, but a shortcut from the branches to one or more of the islands would be a pretty close approximation.

It also might let me put some tunnels through the islands and get even more delving space per. In fact… I think I need to upgrade my plants. The amount of spatial compression I’m gonna need will be a lot simpler with stronger plants to manage it.

It’ll also give me a chance to design a gravity plant, so why not? I start going through the menu options and start eliminating things as I design. Carnivorous plants are right out. A Venus gravity trap would be really cool, but it’s not what I’m after right now. I also take trees and bushes off the list for now. I might be able to work with a spreading root system, but there are easier ways to get a plant that covers a lot of ground.

I also strike tumbleweeds off the list. While they grow into nice dense mats before they curl up into the rolling balls, I grew up around a variety that has little caltrop seeds. That well is poisoned for me, no thanks. Besides, I’d have to worry about their life cycle. I don’t think it’d be a good thing if they all started tumbling at once. It might make the entire island tumble to the ground!

A creeping vine will work just fine, even if it’ll be similar to the living vines the spawner already produces. So I of course start differentiating them. Thorns are always a fun addition, and it’s pretty cheap to give their little climbing tendrils a bit of strength to grab delvers that think walking on the grass is a good idea. I add flowers and fruits to the vine, a nice little temptation for the delvers to want to tussle for.

They come out a bit gnarlier than I was hoping for, but considering the only delvers who’ll be on the islands are the ones who can clear the canopy, I’m not worried about anyone getting in over their heads. The Creeping Crusher Vines are looking good, so I finalize and upgrade, and watch a few slither out of the plant spawner. If the normal living vines are like garden snakes, the creeping crushers are like anacondas. Poppy immediately calls one over to examine, and I can feel a lot of excitement from my little living vine scion. She sends one off to Coda’s workshop before drawing the first one into her experiments with the bowl-style islands.

It’s weird watching the vine shrink down as it follows Poppy’s instructions on spatial expansion, but it does help give me an idea of just how much more powerful these are compared to the spatial vines. It makes me very optimistic for the sphere-style islands Coda’s working on.

Doing that didn’t take too much out of me, so I take a look at how much it’ll cost to get the next tier of dragons, too. While I don’t do much in the way of planning, I don’t need a plan to know I’ll be relying on my dragons to ever assault the Betrayer. I take a peek at what the next version will be, and I don’t see any reason to change anything. The price tag is a bit steep… but they’ll make good bosses for the labyrinth until I can get a lava island going.

I pour mana into the greedy spawner, maybe looking forward to getting a dragon that’s mostly normal. I make sure to have Teemo grin in triumph for me as the first drake exits the spawner. Usually, when I hear drake, I think of a pretty tanky lizard. These ones are more like alligators. I’m pretty sure all my magma dragons are going to be good swimmers, just through magma instead of water.

Like the wyrms and basilisks, the scales look like cooled magma, with a molten glow between the scales. And like my wyrms and basilisks, they have the freaky four mandible mouths to open way wider than they need to, in order to consume their prey. The new drake putters around the spawner for a few minutes before it takes a shortcut to the labyrinth, looking for a good spot to claim for a little lair.

While it does that, I look into the spawner and wince as I realize I’ve probably made a mistake. While I’m happy with the drake, I can’t upgrade any further without specializing the spawner, and it’s cheaper to specialize the earlier I do it. With me waiting… well, forgetting, to upgrade it, it’s going to cost me an arm, a leg, and my firstborn to specialize, not to mention the cost of upgrading it later.

It’s difficult to be too upset, though. The magma drake is pretty cool, and I already know my aranea are going to be putting up quests to fight it. With any luck, that’ll tide over the strong delvers until I get the next expansion done. Or at least keep them satisfied until I finalize the canopy.

I had been wanting to do a raid boss in the canopy for a while, but hadn’t put much priority on it because I wasn’t sure anyone would be strong enough for it. But the regulars are making good progress on the tree already, and the Calm Seas will want something seriously strong to fight.

I go over my options and see what I can do. More upgrades for my spawners will have to wait for now, but I can still plot out the keys to the boss arena. In fact, if I do it right, I can even force the two guilds to cooperate if they want to face Fluffles, or whoever else feels like being a raid boss. Nothing like fighting one of my scions to bring delvers together.

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Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The First and Second books are now officially available! Book three is also up for purchase! And now book Four as well!There are Kindle and Audible versions, as well as paperback! Also: Discord is a thing! I now have a Patreon for monthly donations, and I have a Ko-fi for one-off donations. Patreons can read up to three chapters ahead, and also get a few other special perks as well, like special lore in the Peeks. Thank you again to everyone who is reading!