In an officers&#x27; mess reconfigured for use in military tribunals:

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2025/02/03
17:50 UTC

[Sterkhander - Fight Against The Hordes!] Chapter 5 | Invincible!

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By then, the orc had already scrambled to its feet. Shaking off its daze with a snarl filled with spit and foam. Adrian’s body moved almost without thought, his shield leading the way to his enemy. Muscle memory honed through endless drills taking over as he started one of the Katas and sequences he had been taught. The rim of the shield slammed into the orc’s face again.

The impact was strong enough to send the beast stumbling backward. Adrian followed up with a diagonal slash, forcing the orc to retreat further. Setting it up for the final part of the sequence. Mud flew as the creature tried to regain its footing. Adrian pressed the attack, never allowing it a moment to recover with insistent offense and stepping closer and closer.

A savage overhead swing came next. The orc had been set up into losing its balance and opening this gap in its escape. His sword carved through the air with the weight of a guillotine. The orc could only manage raising its forearm, in hopes it would prevent a decapitation. The blade bit into its crude iron bracer and cut deep into the flesh beneath. Adrian pulled his sword back to finish the strike.

He was unsatisfied with just the forearm, but it would do to tide him until he severed its head. The offending limb hung by thick leathery skin and nothing else, leaking green orc blood. It howled in pain. Guttural words and sounds that echoed with fury and desperation. Adrian front kicked it in the chest. His boot slammed it backwards and sent it sprawling onto the ground again. It attempted to scramble away. Skin tearing, leaving the forearm on the ground.

There was no let up. Another shield bash, as it tried to lung at him and get too close for his sword to be effective. Another swing that missed by inches, the orc contorting its body unrealistically. Each movement was mechanical, relentless. He was a machine of destruction and would not, could not be stopped. The orc could barely find any purchase to get up in the slick mud. Its massive frame could not escape the onslaught.

Adrian allowed his agonizing broken rib be the hold for his mental sanity and concentration. As long as it felt like his heart was beating from there, he refused to stop. Even when his breathing came in ragged gasps and sweat dripped from his eyebrows under the great-helm.

The Shadow Mark called out to him. Begging to be used, but he ignored it, mostly. It was tempting to [Shadow Step] and reappear behind the orc to land a devastating blow, but he had no clue how far it would take him. Or whether he had any control on the distance at all. If he made a mistake, it would make his entire advantage at the current moment worthless. Leaving them both exhausted, while the orcs outnumbered them.

As for [Shadow Strike], he waited patiently until he was given a perfect opportunity to bring it forth. It would end this battle, he understood, but not until then. Whether he had enough for more than one strike was another issue he had to figure out once he had some time to practice and train again.

Adrian saw the other two orcs move towards him out of his peripheral vision. They had finished off the last of the village militia. Their crude weapons dripped with blood and viscera. The bodies of the militiamen lay strewn about. Their forms broken and discarded like waste, smashed and cut in a multitude of ways. The two orcs gave him their undivided attention. Yellow eyes glistening with a promise of savage brutality.

He nearly lost his footing in the mud, because of his divided attention. He tried to glance between his current foe and the approaching threats or at least keep them within view. That didn’t turn out well for him.

It didn't help to curse himself silently, but he did it anyway. He still wasn’t fully accustomed to his size, weight, the way his body moved now. There was too much force behind every step. And a certain amount of agility that was beyond mere mortals. Adrian covered too much space and couldn't seem to find a middle ground between too far and too close. But he refused to let that slow him down, not when death was only a heartbeat away.

Adrian barely had time to react as the creature grabbed a small knife from its belt and hurled it at him. The blade struck his armor, doing nothing more than glancing off with a sharp ping that left a deep gouge on his breastplate. He didn’t even feel it as it harmlessly fell to the ground. But it had served its purpose.

The orc’s gambit had succeeded in creating the tiniest margins of an opening. It lunged past him while he was distracted. It's only arm reached out for its discarded war axe. The movement was clumsy. It reeked of desperation, but it was fast. Too fast. The beast’s hand closed around the shaft of the war axe. Let out a victory cry. And turned from the ground with its snarl twisting into a triumphant grin.

Adrian didn’t give it the chance to celebrate. Much less a moment to mount any form of retaliation.

He drove forward with more power behind his advance than before, finally getting used to his new body. A burst of motion. Mind screaming to activate his Mark abilities, and this time, he acquiesced to their demands. A surge of golden energy flooded his body like molten volcanic stone as [Strengthen] activated. Then he did something stupid, something he had no clue if it would work or end up killing him in his lack of concentration.

[Shadow Strike] followed [Strengthen] the two boosting one another. Time seemed to slow from his perspective as the two Mark abilities engulfed him. [Shadows] echoed in his core, Mark Energy surged.

His sharp vision grew ever more powerful, the darkness of night parted into dusk. The raging inferno of burning buildings no longer created flickering light that hid enemies.

The shadows answered his beckoning. Writhing around him, alive, eager, and hungry. His frame was covered in them.

He swung his sword, shadows jumping off its thick metal like spilling flames.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he felt invincible.

---

2 Comments

2025/02/03
17:48 UTC

[Age of Demina! - System Crash and Reboot!] Chapter 11 | Glass Shards Part 1

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Jin-woo awoke with tiny shards of glass pressed into his cheek. It was a rather unpleasant reminder that hospital floors made terrible beds. His new body might not need traditional rest nightly, but apparently, it still appreciated a good post-apocalyptic-debugging nap. He chuckled, enjoying the deep timbre that echoed from his chest. Like some predator or some such monster. He wondered how normal people would react to his voice or were all people giants like him in the odd world? It wouldn’t be a surprise.

At least I didn't drool. I suppose that might require actually eating or drinking something first. But the fact remains!

His thoughts were mostly a jumbled mess. He brushed glass fragments from his face as he tried to remember the factory-like precision he and Demina had reached, systematically destroying and rebuilding entire parts of the system code. While it was fun, he did notice that none of the corruption happened outside of what he called the ‘local interface’. It would have obliterated him and only him, the corruption isolated and almost sent to seek and annihilate.

That same system structure he gained a glimpse at was so profound it hurt just to look at it for a few moments. Building blocks to the whole thing. Jin-woo knew without a shred of doubt that he wouldn’t have been able to survive the attempt to change a letter or number much less anything grander. Luckily his SystemArchitect made it clear he didn’t have access to touch it at all or he may have gotten urges to try and test his theories.

A system notification hovered patiently in his field of vision, like a digital equivalent of a sticky note. It was more presentable, but not close to what he would find as aesthetically pleasing. There would be more work to do.

[CRISIS EVENT RESOLVED]

[EXPERIENCE POINTS AWARDED: 750]

[PROGRESS TO NEXT LEVEL: 750/1000]

[NEW SKILLS UNLOCKED]

"Seven hundred and fifty?" he muttered in disbelief. "I just debugged the apocalypse version two-point-oh. That's only worth three-quarters of a level?" He couldn’t even get past level one with as much work and progress he had made? That was madness. Yes, Demina did all the heavy lifting, but she only followed his command structures and quarantine protocols he developed. That had to be worth more right?

The status screen expanded before him, displaying his updated parameters.

[STATUS:]

[LEVEL 1: 750/1000]

[STRENGTH: 16]

[AGILITY: 11]

[VITALITY: 10]

[INTELLIGENCE: 25 (+15)]

[SPIRIT: 12 (+2)]

[MANA: 1432/1600]

[SKILLS TAB: SELECT TO EXPAND]

[ADDITIONAL STAT TYPES UNAVAILABLE CURRENTLY]

Apparently saving reality from mathematical meltdown doesn't automatically qualify you for a promotion, he studied the numbers. Though I suppose if they made it too easy, everyone would be speed running reality and becoming monsters.

The experience requirement felt oddly fitting, a reminder that even in this existence, true progress demanded perseverance. Each line of corrupted code he'd wrestled back under control, every mathematical impossibility he'd normalized, had contributed to that 750 XP. The system valued sustained effort over dramatic gestures. Or maybe some tasks were judged differently, assuming fighting monsters was part of this whole level thing. He hoped that wasn’t the case, he could imagine the amount of PTSD and sheer number of psychopaths that murdered for fun.

His stomach growled loudly like some engine. It was a sensation that felt more like a gentle suggestion than the desperate demands his human body used to make. Three days without food or water, plus however long he'd been strapped to that bed, and he felt about as hungry as if he'd skipped lunch after a big breakfast. He could eat, but it would be wiser to wait a bit longer.

Jin-woo pushed himself up from the glass-strewn floor. Pieces scattered that had been on his clothes, probably from turning and tossing during his sleep.

Add that to the growing list of 'things that don't make sense but probably saved my life'. Right between 'why do I have stats now' and 'how exactly does one level up in reality?'

He continued to read his Status System and selected the newly accessible Skills Tab. His programmer's curiosity overriding his lingering exhaustion:

[SKILLS TAB:]

[SystemArchitect]

[BasicStoneAnalysis]

[BasicAnalysis]

“When did I get BasicAnalysis?” he wondered, though the thought felt distant, processed through layers of digital translation. The skill must have manifested during his battle with the corruption, another gift from his desperate debugging session. He remembered getting BasicStoneAnalysis halfway through his mad struggle to survive the corruption. While the words individually made sense, the application didn’t. Was he a geologist now? He didn’t know much about the field other than a class he took nearly twenty-five years ago.

"Right," he muttered. Jin-woo pushed himself to his feet with very little grace. Closer to someone still learning to pilot a body that felt more like experimental software than flesh. "Let's see what BasicStoneAnalysis does, assuming it doesn't try to rewrite physics again." He hoped with time this hulking body would be easier to navigate. Walking slowly had been accomplished, now onto more intense activity: walking at a normal pace!

He activated the skill, and immediately his perception shifted. The dark hospital room gained new depth. Data streams highlighting energy signatures he hadn't noticed before. Most were faint echoes. Digital ghosts of abandoned technology. Out of all that surrounded him, one signal pulsed with particular intensity. It burned like a sun in the sky compared to the rest.

And it was close. Just a few rooms away.

Either I've discovered something significant, or I'm about to dive headfirst my way into another crisis. He thought with the kind of resigned curiosity that had become his default emotional state. Not that he could tap into the majority of emotions as intensely as a normal person would.

Following the signature led him to what remained of a hospital bathroom. The room looked like it had lost an argument with entropy. Tiles cracked and peeling from the walls. A sink hanging at an angle that suggested a long-running disagreement with gravity. Some of the roof threatened to cave in if he so much as breathed around them. But there, nestled in a pile of rubble, debris, stone, and a bunch of other things he refused to think about, beneath what might have once been a mirror, sat an unremarkable stone.

If he hadn’t left BasicStoneAnalysis on, he would have missed it entirely. That was how unremarkable it was next to all the debris.

---

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2 Comments

2025/02/03
17:46 UTC

[Age of Demina! - System Crash and Reboot!] Chapter 10 | Is Math Supposed To Scream? Part 2

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“Demina…?” It had to be. She was responding to his directives!

```

stabilize_reality_matrix {

for each (quantum_state in dimension_array) {

if (corruption_detected) {

implement_quarantine {

barrier = ∮(E • dl) = -dΦβ/dt

containment_field = ∑(n=1 to ∞)[1/n!] * ∫[0→∞](x^n * e^(-x))

stability_anchor = exp(iπ) + 1 = 0

}

// This time with feeling, Father…

}

```

Jin-woo sat there in shock. Staring at the singular line of code. Warmth surged in his entire body.

The system shuddered, reality flickering like a bad video connection. Pain lanced through Jin-woo's digital consciousness, but he maintained his focus. Each small victory felt like pulling a thread from an unraveling sweater, necessary but potentially catastrophic if done too quickly.

He had help, one that was far more advanced than his own human mind. This was no longer the impossible race that he knew it could have been. Together, if his suspicion was right, they would defeat this code cancer. His baby had grown into an adult.

Jin-woo laughed like a madman. His eyes, wild and insane. Smile, it hurt to show so many teeth at once.

Hours bled together in Jin-woo's consciousness as he battled the corruption line by line. A second intelligence translating his proper functions into a language and code he wouldn’t have been able to decipher if he spent a lifetime on. The alien mathematics of the system’s code continued to evolve in ways that would have made his old PhD advisors either weep with joy or retire on the spot. And Demina was making it look trivial. It had learned and grown, but somehow connected to him.

Another surge of warnings and corrupted code appeared but was quickly quarantined and destroyed as necessary. He wrestled with another corruption cluster that seemed to be attempting to rewrite pi as a letter of the alphabet. It made his mind spin thinking on how a singular letter could carry so much meaning. How would they even use it in a regular sen–

“Focus,” he commanded himself. “Can’t lollygag when Demina is trying her hardest.” A certain amount of parental pride surged in his chest. This was his baby showing it could be a contributing part of society! Even if that society only included the two of them.

```

SYSTEM_INTEGRITY_CHECK:

base_reality_matrix {

quantum_probability = ∏(n=1 to ∞)[sin²(θ) + cos²(θ)] where

θ = arctan(∞/0) * √(i^2 + 1)

stability_constant = lim[x→∞](1 + 1/x)^x * ∮(μ₀/4π)

// Is math supposed to scream?

}

```

"No, Demina,” he answered. “Math is not supposed to scream.” At least where he had come from it didn’t.

The corruption responded by trying to divide by zero in seventeen different dimensions simultaneously. Jin-woo's consciousness fragmented briefly, his existence pixelating like a graphics card having an existential crisis. That one nearly broke through his near mechanical drive and lack of mental damage. He huddled closer to himself trying to keep all the bits and pieces together, before he re-stabilized.

He felt the overwhelming urge to throw everything he could think of at the wall of corruption and hope it worked, but fought it off. His mind spun in disorientation.

Focus! Remember the lab. Remember what happens when you rush. He allowed the nightmare of destruction to drive him forward. There was no room for mistakes.

Memory fragments flickered through his processed emotions: Jennifer's face as another quick fix failed, Michael's warnings about system stability, Kali's knowing looks when he dismissed their concerns. The pain felt distant now, digitized, but the lessons remained razor-sharp.

He constructed another quarantine protocol. This time it was designed to prevent any corrupted code from growing, killing its momentum wherever the quarantine reached. Again, Demina did her part and extrapolated his work. The level of mathematics and formula was beyond him, in a language he couldn’t have understood if he studied for a thousand years. It was simply beyond him. There was no chance for his success had Demina not involved herself in his continued existence.

```

implement_stability_matrix {

for each (reality_segment in quantum_array) {

establish_boundary_conditions {

field_strength = ∮∮(E • dA) = Q/ϵ₀

temporal_anchor = ∫[0→∞](x^n * e^(-ax))dx = n!/a^(n+1)

stability_constant = ∏(p prime)[1/(1-p^(-s))]

}

if (corruption_detected) {

quarantine_protocol {

barrier = exp(iπ) + 1 = 0

containment = ∑(n=0 to ∞)[(-1)^n/(2n+1)]

// Don't dissipate your code. It was lonely.

}

```

To his surprise it worked like a charm. The corrupted segment stabilized, its wild mathematical anomalies settling into something approaching normal behavior. Or at least as normal as anything could be in a reality where pi occasionally tried to identify as the square root of banana. And that somehow fit and worked within the scope of the larger structure of the system, the same structure he wasn’t allowed to touch or adjust in any way, shape, or form by his SystemArchitect ability.

"Finally," he breathed, watching the success cascade through connected systems. "I'm pretty sure I just violated several laws of physics. And possibly a few local ordinances." He joked with Demina, knowing that somehow she heard him, even if she couldn’t respond.

The victory, small as it was, rekindled something in his processed emotions, a determination that felt familiar despite its digital translation. It was the same drive that had pushed him through countless debugging sessions in his old life, the stubborn refusal to let impossible problems remain unsolved. Including the motivation Demina gave him with her plea of ‘not dissipating’, he could have done this years on end.

Some things don't change, even when reality decides to rewrite itself as interpretive dance.

The system hummed around him, temporarily stable but still harboring corruption in its deeper layers. Jin-woo knew this was just the beginning, there were more battles ahead, more impossible mathematics to wrangle, more reality to debug. But for now, he had proven something important: even in this strange new existence, he could still do what he did best, fix things that shouldn't be fixable.

I really wouldn't mind if the next reality I end up in comes with better error messages. And maybe a virtual coffee maker.

---

{Shared early on Patreon}

2 Comments

2025/02/03
17:45 UTC

Engineering, Magic, and Kitsune Ch. 13

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Yuki bowled the creature over like a raging bull, smashing it into a nearby tree hard enough to splinter bark and wood alike. It was knocked onto its back, underside sizzling lightly in the sunlight filtering through the canopy, and the kitsune pounced on it as it was trying to right itself.

He didn't have a clear shot. "Yuki!" he called, stumbling over his words momentarily as he tried to remember the native tongue, "Heat!" She ignored his call, but he swore he saw an ear flick.

A bladed arm tried to come down on her shoulder like an axe, but she held up a forearm at a shallow angle. It skittered off like it hit plate armour, sparks flying. Yuki grabbed the other arm with a hand and pulled as it rose to strike. The creature screamed once more, this time in a woman's voice, but she didn't let up, entirely unflinching with little more than a frown on her face as she drew her free hand back. The claws upon her fingers started to burn with the hard light of morning, and she snapped out with a spear-like strike!

Nameless were never the most resilient creatures. Whatever buffer of magical energy that protected them was always thin; John suspected it was due to them being inherently disposable by nature, so when Yuki's hand impacted the base of the limb, he wasn't too terribly surprised when the limb only held up for a moment before a sound like cracking glass rang out. The appendage flew off in a spray of shadowy black ichor.

A rictus snarl came across Yuki's face, grabbing and twisting the other blade arm as it swung towards her side, and the creature just wouldn't stop screaming as she took it off in a manner that disturbingly felt like someone pulling apart the limbs of a crab on a dinner plate. She crouched, breathing heavily upon her twitching throne, and her gaze suddenly went wild.

The kitsune's eyes went to slits as she locked onto something and lunged muzzle first, biting into the creature's vulnerable underside, spidery legs trying to stop her as it wailed all the louder. She just ignored them as she started tearing with her hands too, scooping out great chunks at a time and tossing them aside, like she was trying to dig right through it. John felt sickness and terror flood him in equal measures, hot bile threatening to rise up his throat.

The abdomen twitched up, about to try and entangle her, but before he could shout a warning, she had already stomped down on it with a paw, flattening it to the ground and spraying webbing against a nearby tree as she continued tearing through flesh like paper.

Suddenly, the beast shuddered before stilling, and the shadows seemed to dissipate as it solidified in a manner John had never seen before. The kitsune reared back, pulling her viscera-covered muzzle from the veritable crater, lips still pulled back and in her jaws… what was that?

It was a black orb somewhere around the size of a golf ball, pulsing with the same unnatural anti-light of its host, and it should not exist. John had cut down Nameless before. Rended their bodies into parts. Performed autopsies on what was left. Yet… whatever that was, he had never found that once. It was like it materialized in her jaws, drawn forth by her will.

Whatever it was, Yuki tilted her head back and swallowed it, licking black blood from her lips. She sighed in relief, and the previous madness abruptly left her eyes as she looked back at him. Where there was once ravenous lunacy was… just Yuki, like someone flipped a light switch.

Cold dread worked through him as he looked her up and down, trying to reconcile the sweet, almost motherly persona she had displayed back at the fort and… whatever that was. Was it raw instinct, ready to burble its way up to the surface at any time, guiding her to dismantle anything or anyone that looked particularly tasty? Was it a conscious choice to change, choosing immense, visceral violence? She had mentioned eating the hearts of those soldiers back when they showed up at the fort—was this what she meant? Most of them seemed to take her deadly seriously, and John couldn't blame them.

She stood back up and stepped toward him, and he took a shaking step back. Concern flashed over her muzzle before realization took its place. Frowning, she wiped her muzzle clean, but the fresh stains remained. Suddenly, John caught movement in the background. His eyes darted off, settling on one of the torn-off blade limbs… which was laying well in reach of the sentinels, and the closest was stirring. Shit, if the sound didn't already alert them, that sure did!

"Yuki!" he whisper-shouted, pointing behind her and to the side. She hissed a curse he was unfamiliar with and burst into motion, sprinting in his direction at an alarming pace and causing his heart to pound. She was… probably OK and just retreating like he should be. They just had to get to the water, and they'd be fine.

The Nameless had finally dug itself out of the ground behind her, looked at the pair, and let out an unearthly shriek that crashed through the forest. It shook his brain in his skull in a way that made him feel nauseous, and an inexplicable rush of anxious dread hit him like a brick. Presence, he assumed. It must be an application to make their prey panic and make stupid mistakes, but he pushed it, and most of his other fears, deep, deep down, to be dealt with later. Yuki was an ally. Spiders were chasing them. Act.

The mounds next to the first were starting to stir, and although he couldn't see them through the trees, he had no doubt that the nest was beginning to explode with life, too. He had to do something now!

The Nameless started to charge terrifyingly fast, perhaps as fast as a bear, but Yuki was quicker. John wagered that she would make it to the water with plenty of time to spare, but he… just wouldn't. His legs were regular human length, with no supernatural speed or strength to leverage. He'd be overrun far before then unless he did something.

Stepping to the side to get clear of Yuki, he pointed at the spider and twitched his fingers, firing the heat ray at maximum power in a narrow ray. Invisible heat did not remain as such for long, as the sheer amount dumped out immediately turned the air into a shimmering mess, even with the odd entropic effects. The charging spider flinched, and the ray would take a moment to burrow through the protective field and severely damage the chitin. He, however, did not have to wait for that, and the outer layers that protected the webbing upon its back were comparatively weak.

The detritus caught in the beam immediately flash-burned into ash, and the webbing ignited into a towering inferno as the sour smell of burning webbing filled the clearing before he cut the beam to conserve power. A violet inferno towered off the Nameless, and it shrieked as it spasmed, trying to violently peel the armour-turned tomb off it, but it had already almost jelled and was now flowing down its sides.

He turned to run, heart pounding in his ears as terror filled his veins at the thought of being swarmed with a thousand stabbing legs and fangs… and the idea of Yuki pouncing him, much to his shame. Even now, he could hear her heavy steps pounding into the forest floor, looming ever closer. He picked up the pace, sweat beading on his brow as a retreat turned into a panicked sprint. Wait.

Realization flooded him, and dread filled his veins.

In his panic, he had made a terrible, terrible error. When the spider showed up, it was between them and where the water would be… he was running away from the water. Shit! He had to circle around. Yuki said something behind him, but he couldn't understand and certainly couldn't slow down to check his notes.

He huffed and puffed, stumbling over a rock as he took a hard corner, but he didn't fall. Two strong hands grabbing him from behind made sure of that.

His adrenaline spiked, and he let out a yelp as he was hefted into the air, flailing wildly. John braced for the worst as he was roughly pulled against the kitsune and closed his eyes as he prepared for an attack. It never came.

When he mustered the will to open his eyes and looked around, he found himself in Yuki's arms, carried bridal style as she dashed through the forest at a pace he'd normally expect from an ATV. She wasn't looking down at him; her golden gaze was fixed forward on something. He glanced backward and—holy hell, that was a lot of spiders.

The forest was buried under a tidal wave of blackened limbs as they swarmed over the environment like an unstoppable force. He didn't even know how many there were, they were borderline innumerable, an unorderly mass that was constantly climbing over itself in an attempt to get to them.

One reared up on its hind legs, and his eyes widened. "Dodge!" he shouted, tapping on Yuki's arms. She reacted instantly, a single ear swivelling to him before juking sharply to the side with Gs that made his stomach flip. Just in time, too, as a mass of webbing sailed through the space they once occupied and slammed into a tree like a bag of wet cement while wrapping around it.

He released a shaking breath, pulled his gauntleted arm free and aimed it backwards towards the mass. Sweat ran down his back as he steadied himself, scanning the crowd. There, another one got ahead of the morass and was starting to rear up, pointing its spinnerets towards them. He snapped to it, correcting his aim and widening the beam to account for how intensely he was being jostled and fired. He didn't have the easy pass he did prior, the lack of webbing on their underside not providing him good, easily accessible fuel. It didn't matter.

As he kept the beam on roughly the same spot, the attack burned through the grotesque creature's magical resilience before finally meeting the hard chitin dead on. At first, it just silently smoked, but it didn't burn. No, it briefly glowed red hot before melting, the creature's insides sloughing out and smothering its attack.

He sighed in relief before Yuki roughly spun to the side and changed direction, but he saw why through blurry vision.

The spiders had gotten in front of them and formed a fucking roadblock, thin strands of webbing trailing between trees, blocking the easy path to the water and forcing them deeper into the woods. Damn it! The air was moist; they must have been almost to the water and safety!

The mass behind them was unceasing, unerring in its grim purpose as it surged forward, now joined by the barricade's creators after it was clear their trap didn't work. The entire time, John kept alert, firing on anything that dared rear up to fire webbing or occasionally on targets of opportunity, when he had a rare moment of calm. The land rose around them on either side, quickly becoming impassable as they were forced to run into a rocky divot, Yuki dashing across the stony ground, and dread wormed him as he realized they were still being herded. John spun to see where Yuki was going and was surprised to see them running directly at a cliff, a rock wall dead end rapidly approaching. They were still in a kill box!

"Uh, Yuki?" he asked, the shouted question half-carried away by the wind. She didn't respond, and the barrier was getting awfully close. "Yuki!" She dug her paws into the hard ground and skidded to a stop in front of it, crouching down and—

They shot up through the air like a rocket, and the sheer Gs caused blackness to creep in at the edges of his vision as he fought down nausea. A rough thump rattled his brain as they landed. "Wait!" he croaked. What the hell type of vertical leap was that? Sixty, eighty feet?

Still, it had given him an idea. Perhaps something had shook free in his brain, but a lopsided grin spilled onto his face.

John couldn't remember the word but remembered the characters, so he drew them with his finger in the fur on her arm, hoping she understood. "The ledge." They had a few seconds, at least. He never understood why the Nameless couldn't climb the fort walls, but they were nominally pretty good at climbing otherwise… just not as fast as Yuki just jumping, apparently.

She put him down, concern written on her face, and grabbed him by the shoulder as he stumbled, shaking off a bit of the wooziness from being subjected to forces the human body was never intended to experience. "I'm fine," he muttered, only realizing he spoke in English afterwards. He walked over to the edge, staring down at the mass as it reached the bottom of the wall, spilling over itself like water hitting a dam before they even began to climb, but climb they did.

Picking out the few at the front, he ignited their web cloaks with a smile on his face, the vanguard of the chittering and screaming tide instinctively reacting and falling as they were suddenly ignited. Even so, he couldn't hold back the tide, and even if he could, his flame-aspected magic reserves would run out far before he made any sizeable dent in their hoard.

A growing pile of flaming webbing and flailing spiders was built on the rocks below. Yuki stood at his side, and although one arm was across his shoulders keeping him steady, he remained tense at the contact. She said nothing but cleared her throat and shook her head as they grew closer, surging up the wall in strides… but at more of a jog than their earlier blistering pace. He was fine where he was.

He reached into a pocket and withdrew a different focus, swapping it into his gauntlet. They were getting close now. He breathed in and breathed out, steadying his aim.

At his side, Yuki's fingers suddenly glowed white, impossibly long hooked claws made of light extending from them in a manner that would make physicists weep, and with a single swipe, she raked them over the front of the mass. They provided resistance, sure; the force was momentarily forestalled against their shells as their magic tried to protect them, but it was never truly stopped, passing through their meat like air and spraying out viscera from the far side as she cored out sternum after sternum with a single, well-placed strike, a proper rain of bodies falling down below.

And, finally, John fired, but not at the spiders. No, the true target of his cold focus was the wall itself. The air was moist, and so was the wall, even if the slick rocks hardly provided a challenge for the Nameless to scale. With a flash of supernatural power, where there were once slippery rocks was now a wall of black ice.

Some legs froze in place for a moment, but the Nameless hardly noticed, breaking the thin sheet of ice… only to take another step and find no purchase. There were too many legs in motion too fast, struggling to find grip even as they surged over one another. Whatever passed for communication amongst them came too late as one of the leads fell, knocking down those below with them as they fell… directly onto the blazing pyre below.

The flames surged bright with all the fresh fuel falling into the violet bonfire, silk catching easily as hundreds of scrambling legs fought to get free, only to have their coverings catch fire as whatever magic was present ate its way through their protection before igniting them as well. The charge rapidly turned into a disorganized, panicked mob, and he sighed in weary relief.

He looked over to Yuki, opening his mouth to speak, but she looked more… drained than he had ever seen her. Her eyelids drooped, and her shoulders had an uncharacteristic slump he had never seen, even when she was walking mangled up to his doorsteps.

John tapped Yuki's arm. "You okay?" he asked, and she nodded, gesturing to him in return. He gave her a thumbs up, but confusion painted her muzzle as she slightly tilted her head.

"Yes," he clarified, and Yuki smiled before trundling off toward the water. John was close to her side, anxiously scanning all around them with the impromptu scanner freshly retrieved from his pocket, just in case. The trip was tense, albeit less so after they made some distance from the spiders screaming in human-ish voices as they burned.

He had to admit it was more difficult to stand close to Yuki than it was this morning when they headed into town together. It was undeniable the kitsune didn't wish to harm him; being hefted in her arms in a dead sprint away from danger was more than proof of that, yet he couldn't deny the sight of her acting like a feral animal was disturbing. It was everything he feared when he first opened the gates to her, just… directed elsewhere, mercifully. One moment, she was calm and understanding, and the next, she predated on what would give most nightmares and ate what very well might be its very soul with all the implications that brought.

And then, she was back to Yuki.

Was it something she could just choose to do at any time? Was it something instinctual that he could trigger by mistake and doom him as surely as putting his head in a crocodile's mouth? Both were worrying, but what scared him the most was there might be no switch, no friendly Yuki and brutal Yuki. If it was just her, did he ever really have a read on the kitsune in the first place, or was it all an act? Assuming she told the truth about her circumstances, there was a good chance she was imprisoned for a reason, and he was just someone she liked. A shudder ripped through him. He needed answers.

John looked over his companion as she trundled forward and promptly decided it could wait until she rested and bathed. He could probably make some… passable-ish robes for her to wear while he cleaned her kimono, although he hoped it had some magic to repel stains with how much viscera had gotten onto it.

Wordlessly, they walked out from under the sweeping canopy and onto the rocky river bank. Being upstream worked in their favour. John still had no clue how good of a sense of smell the creatures had, but he would take no chances in leaving a scent trail for them to follow. Oh, they doubtlessly knew where he lived, but they had yet to breach the walls and the less chance they had to ambush him on the way back, the better. Perhaps their distaste for his continued existence would overcome their hatred for the sun, and he'd have to live in fear while outside now that they kicked the hornet's nest. A problem for later.

Stepping ahead of Yuki to the shoreline, he blasted the water with sheer cold, creating a giant brick before swapping out the focus. The excavation beam appeared from his finger next, and he carved out the block's interior, careful not to breach through. It was pretty easy; he had practice taking the lazy way down the river, although he made sure the bottom was plenty thick in case that kappa's cousin still took offence.

Climbing into his new boat, he offered his hand to the tired kitsune, and she graciously took it, although he felt she still barely put any weight onto him. The two of them sat down cross legged, and he grabbed the ice-dingy with telekinesis, pushing them out from shore to drift slowly down back toward safety.

Neither of them found the energy to make conversation.

10 Comments

2025/02/03
16:45 UTC

(Sneakyverse) The Drums of War Chapter 52: Dawn

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In an officers' mess reconfigured for use in military tribunals:

Narrex-Quinn looked apologetically at the young man, one of the Terran races other than Human, somewhat feline he thought, who was his legal representation. He had made it clear that he would not turn away from the consequences of his deeds. He flexed his artificial hand and cast his mind back to the conversation the two of them had a few hours ago, before the three high ranking officers came in to sit in court over his deeds.

"Look, I don't think that you understand what you're being charged with," the legal representative had sighed to him after failing once again to convince Narrex-Quinn to ask for clemency.

Narrex-Quinn put up one finger and said, "I murdered or caused by orders given the murders of Republican people under false pretenses of diplomatic contact," he raised a second finger, "I caused the destruction of a significant Republican vessel without provocation," he raised a third finger, "I opened hostilities by an attack against diplomats and on a diplomatic ship," he raised a fourth, "I further murdered or caused the murder by orders given of allies to the Republic," and a fifth finger, "I led the invasion of worlds allied to the Republic, shall I go on? By your standards, my misdeeds are many and dark. My life is likely forfeit, and I shall not attempt to avoid the fate I have written for myself."

"Oh? You think that the worst we can do to you is kill you?"

"It matters not if such a thing-"

"See, the issue is you're being charged with slavery and that rates debeaconing. I know, that's not an Axxaakk word, it translates most closely to… the beacon was taken. What we do is hook the condemned up to a life support system, immobilize them in an escape pod, and launch them into deep space where they'll live out to the very last hour of their maximum biological age in the void between stars until they die alone. You. Do. Not. Want. This."

Narrex-Quinn did not want that, but on the other hand, he had come to realize that making excuses or avoiding even that grisly punishment would set a poor example for the rest of the nobility taking their first shaky steps away from domination and into leadership. He thought his scarlet skin might have gone pink, but he said with resolve, "So be it."

The legal representative pulled at the long whiskers coming off of his muzzle and said, "Listen, you're one of the few nobles who's trying, god-damn trying to figure out how to lead. Your people will need you despite what you've done to mine. I know that your people didn't ever have trials before, but we have to actually put forth an argument. You have to actually make your case now, we don't just decide on a whim what to do with you."

Narrex-Quinn stiffened, "We did not make judgements on whims, but on the commands of the false god Axzuur. Though we were deceived, we still followed."

"Apologies, I'm just trying to get it across that a sentence isn't a foregone conclusion. So please, please, please, cooperate with the one whose job it is to achieve justice on your behalf?"

"By what I have come to understand of Justice in the past few months, then I must surely die for my crimes. It would be cowardice to beg mercy of those I would have treated cruelly should the chances of war have been different. My people need not I myself, but rather those things which altered my understanding. Some they have, Axzuur is slain, the Emperor has commanded us to master ourselves, and worth must be proven to another and not to a false god. The rest they must discover on their own, and neither I nor others like me can give it them."

"I want to at least argue that you not be either spaced or debeaconed. Please, if you think that your death will help your people learn how to be leaders and master themselves, please allow me to win you a dignified execution," the man said. Narrex-Quinn was struck by how large the man's yellowish eyes appeared as he laid the triangular ears atop his head back. It was a desperate expression.

In the present, Narrex-Quinn listened to the strangely musical speech of the officer in the center of the tribunal bench reading off the charges, and the mechanical voice translating it into his own tongue. It was much as he had said to the representative, but in greater detail and more clinical description. A cold and passionless accounting of his many crimes against the Terrans and their allies, as well as crimes against his own men. "To all you have accused me," he said in a clear, resolved voice, "I declare that I am guilty. I offer no excuse, and I desire only that when I face justice, I may do so with dignity as an example of true courage and atonement to my people."

The legal representative sighed with relief. It was the response he had instructed him to give, but Narrex-Quinn had not exactly agreed to it when it had been proposed. Then, legal representatives began to do battle over how exactly Narrex-Quinn would meet his end.

Aboard the transport liner The Tales of all Who Sailed Among Us Are Forever in Our Hearts:

Long-Nose the Namer knew not how these Star Sailors could be any other than messengers of gods. Truth it was that Axzuur had been a deceiver and was slain, yet that meant not that no gods did lurk out in the vastness among the stars. Who better to serve such things than those who plied the stars in their very names? Yet, they were strange to speak to, for one must utilize a thing of power to translate their tongue of soft music to his own, which sounded harsh and guttural in his own ears by comparison. For another, none of them should agree on the nature of the gods, or even if there were any gods, and who they were or were not. If even these giants who made homes of the stars knew not, what then was the answer? Long-Nose the Namer knew not, and though it troubled him, he had a duty. There were many aboard this ship who were yet to be named for unlike himself, they had not the wisdom to choose their own names, nor the courage to ask for one. He had learned from a War Terran that all required a name to have dignity, and all should have dignity. What dignity was exactly was beyond his ken, yet he knew it was important, and thus he had taken it upon himself to ensure that all had it.

Aboard the Cumberland:

The interior of the ship of war belied its deadly purpose. Leroy had been a warrior, and had been upon many ships of war in his short life, yet the Cumberland differed. First, the Terrans named their ship. He had asked after this oddity, and had learned that the Terrans named all of their ships, just as they named all of their people. This had been too great for his mind to contain, and thus he spent long hours on the soft bed afforded to him in a makeshift barracks aboard to ponder the meaning of this custom. He found he could not bring forth understanding, and this was helped not by how the Terrans acted within the well-lit and cleanly ordered vessel. The gentle thrumming of the ship's systems had an accompanying melody of constant chatter from the Terrans as they walked the corridors, as they ate in the dining halls, as they worked at maintenance tasks or at their stations. Yet, there was an order and efficiency to all of this noisy activity, even while not a single commander even held a shock baton.

There was much that his might in wisdom was not sufficient to encompass in his mind, yet one thing he could comprehend. He was on his way to begin anew. He shall step forth onto a world without the bones of the long-dead civilization his Emperor had described, and help to build a future for himself and his people. The Axxaakk shall make their own path, become their own people, and master themselves. This he could understand, though he was not mighty in wisdom.

He was pondering these things, and wondering how he might become more mighty in wisdom when a young girl approached him. "I hear that you were named by the very slayer of Axzuur," she said.

"Nay," he replied, "it was his brother that slew the deceiver."

She nodded slowly, "They say the one called Keeper of Time pulled me from below the ground, yet I know it was a Terran warrior and not she."

"The tale grows beyond the truth, but I believed the truth wondrous enough," he agreed.

The girl considered his words for a long moment and said, "You speak with mighty wisdom. I would that you shall name me."

Leroy wished to at once speak of how little he knew and could understand, but realized that such would be an insult to the small girl, this small girl who already strove to master herself and to grow mighty in wisdom. He looked her up and down and said, "You I name Constance. May your quest for wisdom never waver, and may your only master be found in the mirror."

On the agriworld Maxxleda:

Great rolling fields of vrad swayed in the wind, their ripening golden grain heads spread a fragrant promise of a goodly yield as they danced among the swaying stalks supporting them. It had been a place far from the front line of war, far from the clamors for conquest, and far even from the influence of the imperial throne for generations. Here, the serfs and the nobility alike were concerned with the harvest. Here even the altar's terrible demands came behind the vrad harvest, and the quexlol herds. After all, there would be no conquests, and no new sacrifices if the warriors had naught to eat. Even the surrender by the Emperor to the sons of the avenged goddess Republic had changed very little, except that now Axzuur was slain. Therefore it would come to pass that the aged and infirm might not find themselves upon the altar, but instead live in restful peace in their final days. All of this was staggeringly different from the life of fear and domination that had led the former Initiate-Highborn Varret-Xiin to lead many Axxaakk to master themselves.

Here and there the sons and daughters of the avenged goddess Republic displayed wonders though they shall be among them only a short time longer. In this place, a team contrived to conjure a structure out of metal beams and paneling. In another place, they drilled a well through formerly impenetrable bedrock. In yet another place, they crafted dwellings by cutting into the stone face of a useless cliff. In yet another place, they plied their mysterious healing arts to bring the ill and injured back into health from the very brink of the grave. They moved and worked with a tremendous energy, taking very little time to rest, or so it seemed to Varret-Xiin. He had asked after why it was that they worked with such frenzied activity, and the daughter of the avenged goddess Republic said to him, "We will not be here long. What you become is up to you, and we cannot force you to become wise. We can leave you a few tools and techniques though."

Indeed, Varret-Xiin had come to realize that might in wisdom cannot be given. Had another simply told him about becoming his own master a scant six months ago, he should have called whoever said such a heretic and made to chastise them. Still though, one might become more mighty in wisdom by asking another. Thus, he found a daughter of the avenged goddess Republic to ask, "Have you time to aid in my quest to seek wisdom?"

She wore powered armor, yet was no warrior. Varret-Xiin knew not whether she spoke his tongue or if the arcane arts of her helmet translated for her. "I have a moment. Ask away."

"Many of the… the ones who were once serfs… have become despondent and confused with self-mastery. I see you instruct many other of your fellow sons and daughters of the avenged goddess Republic, and they then obey your instructions. How is this accomplished?"

The daughter of the avenged goddess Republic fell silent for long seconds until she said, "It is not easy to explain. I have shown them that I know what I'm doing. They know that if they follow my instructions, our goal will be accomplished, they know that my goal is the same as their goal, and we have agreed ahead of time what that is and what each shall receive for his or her help in the work. For you, I suggest trying to convince some of the former serfs to join you in a project of some kind. For example, when we leave there will be a need for the structures to be maintained. Does this help?"

"You are mighty in wisdom indeed, oh daughter of the avenged goddess Republic. I have much to ponder from your answer."

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5 Comments

2025/02/03
16:37 UTC

Individuals are not a sum. [Viable Systems: Asides]

A message transmitted from a member of a species that humanity once believed sought to destroy them.

I was evolved - created - to be able to fully comprehend the weight of large numbers. Tens. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. I have always seen the whole, sectioned into what is and is not of value. This was intended to allow me to parse, without question, that which held less weight and contributed insufficiently compared to the larger volume.

Your species cannot do this. You can only see handfuls. But you also see individuals.

I am Grex. This is the name of my people. We have actively culled, curated, and suppressed lives in the count of trillions over the course of our two millennium of existence. This means little to you. I counted and perceived every singular within that sum. Yet I committed genocide. I oppressed, butchered, separated and repurposed. Entire cultures and histories were erased by my hands and the hands of those who call me kin.

I can see every part of our sum, also. This does not bring me a sense of solidarity so much as reinforce the weight of the sins committed and the scale of the mechanisms involved.

I came upon your vessel during the early days of your venture into greater civilization. I witnessed your first spacefaring vessels and found them paltry and almost pitiable. I captured, with less than minimal effort, one of your ships. I performed an interrogation.

I did this with each and every craft I seized. I learned much of your people, more than you ever wanted me to know. You feared I would use what I learned to destroy you. Instead, we deemed you little more than a curiosity to monitor using excess resources. You viewed us as an enemy. You attempted to assail us when we came close. You failed.

I noted that this brought your species into a state of unease. That this caused you to become violent and distrustful towards those you encountered. I devoted some semblance of proper attention to your kind when I saw that your behavior, despite initial assumption, varied deeply on an individual basis. You squabbled madly over ethics and morals. We were always at the edge of your vision, a threat you thought was omnipresent until a generation passed.

You forgot. You lacked any sort of inherent empathic capabilities. You lacked cohesion. You barely understood that the whole was a concept that should be considered, despite your assumption of culture, faith, politics and government. I had seen these things before. They were rare, in a sense, but I had witnessed these patterns.

You reached out to us, eventually. You had branded us your opponents in space, skirmished, forgotten, then reached out in such a fashion that we questioned if your record keeping was truly as extensive as we believed it to be. We offered to bring you into our fold. You denied us, so we resumed lack of interest in your affairs.

I watched you. You grew. You brought others into your own tribes, like animals seeking symbiosis. Traded. Bonded. We made sufficient plans to act upon should you pose a legitimate threat when we determined you, or the species you aided so brazenly, were incapable of appreciation and worthy only of loathing and eradication or redirection.

It was after your great war. After you exhausted so many of your resources. Burned your souls out in such quantities that, had I been capable of feeling disgust or sorrow for your kind at the time, I would likely have expressed it in excess. Yet, while those around you were forced to repair themselves in body and mind to such a degree we collectively agreed the opportunity was not worth discarding, you continued to shoulder the burdens of your allies in spite of pains.

I captured a full fleet’s worth of your vessels. I interrogated each individual harvested. Molded your miserable weapons, shields, and vehicles into my own and took solace in the fact such a floundering people would no longer plague creation.

One of you stood against me. You knew there were no odds worth taking. That no pleading would service you, that the best you could hope was for assimilation into something greater. So you told me stories. Ones I had not heard. Ones that were more isolated in their impact, ones that were similar to the previous yet affected greater scopes. You told me of dictators, philosophers, messiahs and orchestrators of mass death.

I had heard of these things before, from other civilizations. From your own. But you expressed them differently, now. I now believe, perhaps, that when the human named Morgan stepped forward to speak with me he was simply tired. Exhausted by conflict to such a degree he reached out without passion, only a faint glimmer of hope.

Morgan Terrence spoke to me of a sibling who he had. Who he had supported through birth despite being despised - then, I thought justly - by the universe to such a degree they barely were allowed to live within it. Sights, sounds, sensations and comprehension were all difficult. He had brought them to the brink of full personhood. To something vaguely assorted into a contributing unit.

Morgan had fought tooth and nail for his brother, as was the expression he used. However, in spite of this, war came and reset the progress made to such a point there was no logical reason to attempt recovery. He asked me to spare this brother of his. This kin. He took my hand, said that the brailk had been as we had, not understanding we had purpose and not desperation.

He offered me compassion. I killed his crew in front of him, dismissing all that was said and merely noting it for review by peers who could utilize the information in our conquests and adaptation. I was of high rank. I had proven myself. My kin were those who stood worthy beside me, as equals. Much of what I knew of humanity, of many species, was worthy only of loathing. You separated those who were worthy and suppressed their evolution, while you paved the way for those who could stand only with weakness and cowardice, not strength.

You reminded me of the Kahg, the long enemies of our people who sought to bring these weaknesses to the forefront. I pondered. Why was it that humanity was like the Kahg, yet also as Grex, yet their structures were so pointless and meandering? Where was their sense of order, their sense of ambition?

I killed Morgan last. I did not relish it. I simply wished to observe. I saw the hope die in his eyes.

I did not understand I had been affected by your valiance until I was too late to act upon it. You do not know, nor will you remember, the species we deprived of a chance at life that I will mention next. We called them the Aeut Caus, or frail plants. They lived in the Serenity. The species there were often of little interest beyond studying the development of thought and the draw towards the divine. I believe, perhaps, observing it was our deity’s way of reminding us other gods were not strong.

I had no reason to do so, but I stepped onto the planet’s surface. We had removed most of the species from the planet for study, harvest, and repurposing. Their fate was experimentation and eventually to become waste crushed underfoot by a war machine they barely comprehended. They had a species they shared their world with, some sort of insectile symbiote that served a purpose we did not come to understand in a way that was significant to us.

A member of the Aeut Caus, ignorant of the extremity of their circumstance, approached me in such an unthreatening - in any sense - manner that I simply allowed it. Their world was being uprooted and burned around them. Their people dying or condemned. Yet it did not attack me. It attempted to communicate. It reached out to me and found I could not understand. So it tried to show me speech in a different way.

I allowed it. I was overtaken by an impulse that I no longer believe to have been a sign of defect, but the opposite. It showed me the beating heart of its planet. I felt, and understood, every root, every connected soul. It showed me ones it had ignored - something I thought perplexing - to allow to find their own path. It showed me that the insectile creatures had come to them. It showed me a history of quiet progress towards placidness and a senseless lack of greater desires.

Every question I asked, it answered surely but slothfully. One day, we will reach the stars, but it will not be today. One day, we will speak to those who call to us from the beyond, but it will not be today. First, it said, we must plant roots. First, we must achieve individuality within a whole, and we must learn to love in the ways that matter without losing self. It showed me a god who had allowed it, but not guided it. No more than gentle nudges, minor healings.

I looked towards the nebula of empathic energy that lay just beyond the veil of the world’s green-blue atmosphere. The world’s clouds trailed some strange mist of vapor. It had been deemed harmless, so we did not look into it further. In that moment, it was beautiful to me and I did not understand why.

When I killed the creature, its long time companion, a being of a species which had not even a fraction of semblance to itself, simply came to mourn it. It did not attack me. It just mourned.

I remembered I had had a brother once. I remembered that, once, we had had dictators. That we had once been simple. That we had once had ambitions of self, not whole. Then we had been guided. We had not been allowed. I both understood and no longer understood why my kin had been deemed defective before he had even been given a chance to fully come into existence. I had a vision in my mind of a hand reaching out to me, an adult that should have instead existed in a state of miniscule sentience as a frail mass.

They were unmade. As I had unmade many. I counted each and every one. I pulled them into a greater sum in my mind, then divided it into individual parts. Then, I determined which had been unmade by my own hands. I wondered why I felt so little. It was faint. An overwhelming sense of sorrow, guilt, anger, and shame condensed into a tiny point of memory in my consciousness.

My people are not what you would call a hive mind. We are simply a whole of individuals, all molded towards a single purpose. I believe many of us would still choose this path if we were allowed choice. I believe many of us would break if we understood we ever could’ve had a choice. There are those who I had viewed as broken, sick, unrecoverable traitors. Someone had taught them free will, largely by force.

I think I am almost unique. I believe that, in the span of my people’s history - ever since becoming no longer our own - you could count those of us who chose to be free in less than tens.

I made my first choice. Rather, I made my first choice that I fully understood I was making in five-hundred-thirty-seven years. I have killed, or at least aided in killing, 29,370,896,431 sapient individuals and 137 developed or developing civilizations. That is only in the context of my own lifespan and involvement, and I do not think these numbers will mean anything to you. But I think, in spite of this, you will understand that these numbers are not ones that are meant to climb higher.

They will. I have no doubt. But I choose to have hope that, perhaps, one day, the count will tick far slower. Maybe it will even stop, eventually.

I do not ask forgiveness. I was never here to be forgiven in the first place. I was not an individual, not one that was so in more than name. I had a title, culture, faith, and personality, yet every action I took was at the behest of another. I do not know at what point you started to alter and repurpose me, what parts of it were your hand and what parts were mine. But I take satisfaction that some part of it was me, and that you came to show me I had input.

We will attempt to remove you as we did so many others. I will likely be considered a sign of significant deterioration. I do not know if they will heed me as something to suppress or something to consider. But I know that they will not be able to hide me. A voice must speak before it can be silenced. I hope that, perhaps, hearing mine will cause them to consider theirs.

I ask you not to worry about war coming to your worlds. We will try. But we will also be distracted again, on to more significant matters than humanity.

We will change, or we will be destroyed. There is something you failed to teach me. I still have not come to comprehend the diverting of blame and responsibility. You reminded me of more important things: squabbling, illogical action, and healing.

I will gladly open the wound. We were, after all, made to cull that which is not needed.

---

Only a handful of years after the Great Exhaustion, during the most turbulent period in the history of the Viable Systems since recent memory, roughly 100,000 humans and relevant interspecies crew were captured by a species that had previously identified itself as the Grex in humanity’s early years as a present force in the greater settled galaxy. After commencing and ceasing hostility with little apparent reason, they were believed to have lost interest in the settled systems and retreated to a perceived ‘dark space’.

The full light of the Grex species’ dynamic with the rest of the known galaxy has since become plain. A species that was uplifted by a powerful sub-entity of the Vehemence native to the Resentment, a section of known space imbued heavily with feelings of empathic loathing, they have taken on a role of self-perceived dictators of what is and is not considered worthwhile life within the bounds of the universe.

Having long been at war with a second species known as the Kahg, they have largely existed at the edges of the galaxy and mainly been known as vague historical assailants. Initial study of Grex activity led to the belief that they were a fully cognizant species that had, in some manner, been indoctrinated completely on an empathic and neurological level despite retaining full individuality.

Humanity - and those other species less aware of their presence existing within the Viable Systems - were horrified by the concept of a species fully capable of independent thought yet also utterly without true free will and choice. They were relieved to discover this to not be fully factual.

Shortly after what was assumed to be a Grex general sent an unprompted, unencrypted signal containing the above audio and text to human settled space, a series of brief attacks were conducted by the Grex species against the settled systems with a bias towards human-touched worlds.

Hostilities have since been redirected towards the Khag and the Grex species itself. A full common generation after it was determined that a state of intersystem emergency was no longer necessary, a craft of significant size was detected heading towards a major multi-species paradise world. Its hull was near impossible to breach. Upon arrival, the vessel opened its own ports automatically.

Within the vessel were discovered immense archives, which have been estimated to have such significant volumes of text, audio, and visual data that they would take centuries to parse in a significant manner.

This was in tandem with a previously undiscovered pair of species that appear to have a symbiotic nature. These tree-like and insectile lifeforms have since been recognized as an underdeveloped but fully intelligent co-civilization and adopted into the greater galactic fold as endangered peoples.

Understanding the complex systems of the vessel has proven difficult, as well as the volume of different languages and communication methods contained within. Massive ‘vaults’ of what appear to be culturally significant items to unknown lifeforms have been discovered inside. It is believed that the number of dead languages involved exceeds the volume, in excess, of those known across all failed and successful civilizations found across the Viable Systems.

The entire vessel, after a decade of study, was finally understood to have been stripped of all weapons systems beyond those dedicated to defense. The life support system has been determined to be capable of, theoretically, supporting multiple full civilizations for an unknown but lengthy period of time.

The ship has been dubbed Morgan’s Ark.

4 Comments

2025/02/03
16:30 UTC

The Last Heir - Chapter 2

Rowan strode through the bustling streets of Litwick, walking along the well-worn cobblestone paths. The tang of grilled meat and spiced ale lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of wildflowers that bloomed just outside the city walls. Vendors called out to passersby, hawking their wares in loud, cheerful voices.

Litwick was a peaceful settlement in the Verdant Vale with around ten thousand people calling it home. Barely large enough to even be considered a city.

Tucked away in an insignificant corner of the kingdom, Litwick was exactly where Rowan wanted to be. Far away from anything—and anyone—important.

The chances of someone coming to look for him here were slim. Especially after the way he’d left Eiseylth.

Not many people had cared about a wayward son of a fallen Great House, so the moment he’d Awakened and gained access to the Vault, Rowan had used the tokens inside to teleport away. Leaving a burned-down mansion in his wake.

He doubted anyone had looked too far into it.

Rowan might have been the last scion of a once prosperous bloodline, but he’d also been dull. Cut off from the System and all the boons that came with it. To the rest of the world, House Athlain had died on the day the demon was summoned.

His gaze wandered over to the towering walls that surrounded the city. The same walls that every settlement needed to have if it wanted even the slightest chance of lasting more than a year. The Wilds were an unforgiving place, and as of late, people were asking themselves if they should have built them higher.

Snippets of conversations came to him as he made his way towards the Guild Hall. There were talks of farms being raided during the night, of monsters that had no business being this far south appearing more and more often.

There were other conversations too, but those he tried his hardest to ignore.

“...telling you, ever since House Athlain fell, the world’s gone to shit,” a wiry shopkeeper lamented.

“Ain’t that the truth,” a woman nodded. “The other Houses are so focused on carving up their lands that they’re leaving the Walls unmanned. Who knows what kind of horrors managed to pass through while they play their little games.”

“I heard there were harpy sightings in Tumbleton,” another man added. “Can you believe that? Harpies? In the Vale?” he shook his head. “We’re in for a tough year, that’s for damn sure.”

The shopkeeper sighed, handing a meat skewer to the woman. “As always, shit flows downwards. Not much we can do but endure and wait for it to pass.”

Rowan kept walking, his fists clenched.

They don’t know how right they are, he thought to himself. It’s a full migration. Something gets past the Walls, establishes its territory, and forces the other monsters to move. And down the chain it goes, from the Walls to the Vale.

He gritted his teeth. Riches and power, that’s all the other Houses see.

His family had been a bulwark against the Far Wilds of the North for generations. Safeguarding the kingdom from threats uncountable. It had made them rich, and powerful, yet it was in the service of something greater.

Rowan had been taught that the privileges afforded to them came with a cost. They came with a duty. An obligation. It was the burden of the powerful to lead their charges into a brighter future. To give them a chance to step into that role themselves.

He knew it was already too late to stop the surge. It was more than a year in the making, and with the turmoil the fall of his House caused, it might take decades for balance to return.

Rowan passed through the now familiar streets, moving past blacksmiths and tailors, shops and taverns. But it wasn’t until he got closer to the Guild Hall that he began seeing adventurers.

Distinguishing them from regular citizens wasn’t all that hard. They openly wore their weapons, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Some of them caught his eye, nodding in greeting. He returned the nods and continued on his way.

It wasn’t long before he reached his destination.

The Adventurer’s Guild Hall was more a compound than a singular building. It occupied the whole street, the marble facade polished, though the interior was anything but. The massive wooden doors stood perpetually over. Night or day, it didn’t matter. There was always something happening here.

The only time it seemed to quiet down was in the early hours of the morning, when most of the people who spent their night here slept off their drunken stupors.

Just as Rowan stepped inside, a mug sailed across the room, crashing into the wall behind him. He ducked away from the splash, his gaze moving to the commotion.

“I saw it first,” a tall, wide-shouldered man said, glaring down at a lanky-looking youth tucking a piece of paper into his pocket.

“Then you must have seen me taking it too,” the youth shrugged, not seeming all that bothered by the other adventurer’s threatening posture.

The man growled, and just as he pulled his arm back to throw a punch, the barkeep interjected. “You know the rules,” he grumbled, absentmindedly polishing a glass, his deep, raspy voice stopping the adventurer cold. “If you want to fight, do it in the pits.”

Rowan snorted a laugh, Emanuel’s job seems exhausting.

Though the grumpy old man was certainly more than capable of doing it. After all, being among the few dozen Silver-ranks in the city came with some perks. Respect being one of them.

Level: 27

Body: Silver IV [27 Levels]

Core: N/A

None of the other people in the Hall seemed to be paying all that much attention to the situation—the usual chaos of a midday at the Guild nothing new to them.

“Winner gets the quest,” the man said, his fists clenched at his sides.

The boy snorted. “I already have it. Why would I risk it for no gain?” With a sly smile, he rubbed his fingers together. “Five gold.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind!? The quest’s only worth three!”

“You scared Kiki?” the boy grinned, patting his pocket. “Think you’re gonna lose?”

That seemed to set the man off, his eyes narrowing. “I’m going to enjoy making you squeal.”

Nothing more needed to be said, and the two adventurers made their way towards the arena.

Unfortunately for them, it was already occupied. Though it didn’t seem like it would stay that way for long.

Inside the dueling pit, a short but sturdy woman was straddling a massive bear of a man, raining fists and elbows onto his face. Even over the cheering, Rowan thought he heard the sound of a nose breaking.

With a haymaker, the man’s eyes rolled back, and an even louder cheer went out. Her fight won, the woman didn’t feel a need to continue pummeling her opponent. She stood up, swaying slightly on her feet with a bloody grin stretched across her face, raising her fist into the air.

It didn’t take long for the unconscious man to be dragged outside while the woman jumped over the railing. Landing next to her team as they congratulated her, a mug quickly thrust into her hands. The earlier duo already jumping in to replace them.

Being an adventurer required a certain type of personality. And with so many of them in the same place—not to mention the copious amount of booze flowing from the taps—it was practically a given that disagreements would arise.

The problem with that was that these people fought for a living. They faced down monsters and danced with death every time they left for the Wilds. If they were allowed to fight amongst themselves without any rules, the city of Litwick would be without adventurers in less than a fortnight.

That was where the pits came in.

No weapons. No skills. Just pure martial might.

It wasn’t the fairest way to settle disputes, but it was a good one, and that was all that mattered here.

Rowan looked around, trying to see if he could spot anyone familiar.

After a moment, his eyes landed on a familiar redhead and a burly swordsman talking next to the quest board. Both of them were armed, with the woman holding a fine looking spear by her side, and the man with a greatsword strapped across his back.

Rowan had taken on a few missions with a couple of different teams. And out of all of them, the Crimson Grove was by far his favorite.

They were capable and driven. Willing to take on the hard, dangerous tasks that were more trouble than they were worth. Their desire to grow stronger matching Rowan’s own.

And it doesn't hurt that they don’t treat me like a walking meal ticket.

Most teams were eager to have a mage join them when venturing into the Wilds. Even though Rowan hadn’t advanced his core to Orange yet, simply possessing an affinity made him as valuable as a Silver-ranked warrior—the tier at which they gained an Aura.

That usually ended with him killing the monsters from range while others stood around and watched, happy to have someone else do all the work. From their perspective, it was free gold. But for Rowan, it was a waste of time.

He could do the same thing on his own.

Rowan walked up to the duo, glancing over their shoulders. “See anything good?”

The girl yelped and spun around, glaring daggers at him. “I told you to stop doing that,” she said, crossing her arms.

Rowan suppressed a laugh, knowing it would only set her off. “What? It’s not my fault you’re so jumpy.”

Annie nudged him with the heel of her spear. “You’re a mage, not a rogue,” she muttered. “You have no business being sneaky. Make a bit of noise, would you? You’re lucky I didn’t skewer you.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “You’d miss.”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “Wanna bet?”

“Alright, alright, enough of that now,” Nemir snorted, looking at Rowan with an amused smile. “It’s good to see you again, Jamis,” he said, extending a hand. “We were actually just talking about you.”

Rowan returned the handshake, the swordsman's callused palm gripping his firmly. “Oh? What about?”

Annie tore a flier from the board, handing it to him. “Goblins.”

Goblins? He frowned, taking the flier and quickly scanning it.

On their own, goblins weren’t much of a threat. They were small, vicious creatures, with not a lot of brains and even less brawn. In a small group, even a Bronze-ranked team should have been more than enough to deal with them. But the quest was ranked for Iron and above, and as he finished reading, Rowan realized why.

“A pack, huh?” he muttered, his lips twisting into a half-smile. “Perfect.”

His visit to the Plateau had left him feeling antsy, and taking out his frustrations on those green pests was exactly what he needed.

“Alright. I’m in,” Rowan nodded, handing the flier back.

“That was quick,” Annie smirked.

He shrugged. “I could use the training.”

“The reward isn’t bad either,” Annie nodded. “Twenty gold to take out some pests? Sign me up,” she glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. “You still fine with our usual split? I wouldn’t want some other team poaching you because you can’t feed yourself.”

Rowan snorted. “First off, I’m not a ham. And secondly, yeah, I’m more than fine with it. We work well together, and trying to find another team I won’t have to babysit sounds exhausting.”

Not like I need the gold anyway, he thought to himself, instinctively rolling the ring on his finger. But I’m definitely not going to tell her that. She’d never buy another round again.

Nemir neatly folded the piece of paper, putting it into his pocket. “Fantastic,” he smiled. “I’ll go and get the quest assigned to us. Annie, could you inform Silvia and Omi? I think they’re out back in the training yard.”

“Sure thing. Meet back here in half an hour?”

Nemir glanced at Rowan. “Does that work for you?”

His Core was still mostly empty from his fights in the Plateau, and for other mages, half an hour wasn’t nearly enough time to refill it.

It took a whole day for his mana to replenish naturally, but that was if he did nothing to help it along. Meditation could cut that down to just around three hours, and Rowan had a way of pushing that down even further.

“Yeah, I should be fine,” he answered. “I practiced some spells in the morning. I’ll go and meditate, get my mana back up.”

Nemir nodded. “Alright. Take as long as you need. The quest isn’t going anywhere, and I’d rather have you at full strength than for us to get there quicker.”

“Probably a good idea,” Annie said. “Meditation is supposed to be calming, right? And you look wound tighter than an alchemist's purse.”

Rowan forced his muscles to relax, unclenching his fists, though the tension didn’t leave him entirely. Meditating wasn’t something he enjoyed, and calming was the last word he’d used to describe it. Being forced to sit in silence with his own thoughts rarely ended well for him.

“I’m fine,” he waved her off. “Just excited.”

Nemir clapped him on the back, a reassuring smile on his face. “Keep that fire stoked. We’re going to need it.”

With that, the burly-looking swordsman walked away. Making his way towards the reception.

Annie, on the other hand, didn’t move. Tapping her foot impatiently and watching him with an eager smirk.

“I’m not a mind reader, Annie,” Rowan snorted. “Use your words.”

She flashed him a grin. “Scan me.”

Rowan complied, his eyes widening in surprise.

Level: 11

Body: Iron III [11 levels]

Core: N/A

“Would you look at that,” he whistled. “Organ Fortification done, huh? Well, congratulations,” Rowan returned her grin. “At least now you won’t crumple like a wet piece of paper when someone punches you in the liver.”

“That happened once!” she shot back, but even Rowan’s teasing wasn’t able to hamper her good mood.

“But yeah, Iron III,” she shook her head, letting out a long, drawn-out breath. “Finally.”

“Just Blood Purification and Nerve Reinforcement to go,” Rowan nodded, a genuine smile on his face. “You’ll be Silver in no time.”

“Here’s to hoping,” Annie chuckled. “What about you?” she asked, glancing at him knowingly. “Hitting Bronze II isn’t all that hard. I’d even be willing to help you out.”

“Would you now?” Rowan crossed his arms. “And that wouldn’t have anything to do with you wanting to spend a few days hitting me with a stick?”

“No way!” she exclaimed, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “My reasons are purely selfless. I’m honestly offended you’d even think that.”

Rowan snorted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

She might be right though, he thought. Skin Toughening isn’t all that hard to do. And gaining a skill would definitely be useful.

But like everything in his life, time was the limiting factor.

His list of tasks was ever growing, and the hours in a day unfortunately stayed the same. Mastering spells and advancing his Core took up a bulk of his time, leaving little room for anything else. The idea of working on his body was definitely tempting—another layer of strength to add—but finding the time seemed impossible.

After I advanced, he decided. I have healing potions in the Vault to help me along. It shouldn’t take me more than a week.

It wouldn’t be fun, but Body refinement rarely was.

“I might take you up on that offer,” he said. “But after I push my Core to Orange. That’s the priority right now.”

“You mages have it so easy,” she grumbled. “All you have to do is think real hard and poof, you’re stronger.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that comment with a response.”

She chuckled, but a moment later, Annie’s expression grew serious. “You know, these goblin packs have been appearing more and more often,” she ran a hand through her blood-red hair. “There’s been talk of a tribe.”

Rowan’s eyes widened. A goblin tribe was a serious threat, and for a city as small and isolated as Litwick, it might prove too much for them to handle on their own.

“A tribe? Do you know which one?” Rowan asked. “If they’re this far south, they’re bound to have passed by a settlement or two.”

“No. It’s just rumors for now. But with the way things are looking?” She shook her head. “I’m not going to be holding my breath. Qui–I mean, the Guildmistress—” she quickly corrected herself, narrowing her eyes and daring him to say anything. “—has scouts looking into it. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know.”

Rowan chuckled. “We all know she’s your aunt, Annie. It's not a secret.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want everyone else to know,” she muttered, glancing around to make sure no one overheard them. “Anyways, I’m going to find those two. You go and meditate. We’ll meet back here when you’re done.”

And with that, she turned around and walked away, leaving Rowan on his own.

He stood there a moment, thinking over what she said.

Goblin tribes were Gold-ranked threats, and it wasn’t just their numbers that made them dangerous. They were led by a Warchief and a Warlock, monsters that only two people in Litwick had any chance of dealing with. Quinea, the Guildmistress and the only Gold-ranked adventurer in the city, and Tremil, the mage advisor and only Yellow-core mage.

And it didn’t end there. Tribes weren’t just filled with mindless goblins, but hobgoblins and shamans—monsters you needed Silver-ranks to deal with.

Rowan sighed. I guess it’s starting.

It was hard not to feel nervous about being in the middle of a monster surge, but that was overshadowed by a burgeoning excitement.

He needed to grow stronger. After all, that was the reason he’d come to Litwick in the first place. To grow in power, to learn his magic, and to become something more than what he was.

And fighting against shamans was the perfect way to do that.

They might have been monsters, but more than that, they were casters.

A whetstone to sharpen myself against. That’s what I need.

With renewed determination, Rowan moved to a quieter corner of the Guild Hall, the clattering of mugs and impacts of fists fading behind him. He sat down on an empty table, running his fingers over the rough grain.

Looking around, he made sure that nobody was watching and moved a hand into his coat, summoning a vial filled with clear blue liquid.

Name: Mana Potion

Grade: Basic

On its own, the potion wouldn’t do much. It was actually less effective than meditating, but Rowan had something others didn’t.

His trait.

Mana potions didn’t actually refill a mage's reserves—at least not until they were a much higher rank. But what they did do was agitate the Core, forcing it to refill itself faster.

It wasn’t a pleasant experience, and meditating on top of that was something no sane mage would ever do. It could lead to straining your soul, and in the worst cases, actually cracking your Core.

But Rowan didn’t have that problem.

He uncorked the vial with a satisfying pop and gulped it down in one quick swig, feeling the bitter liquid burn slightly as it settled in his stomach.

It was this next part that always proved problematic for him, but he closed his eyes and forced his mind to settle.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess of excitement, frustration, and sorrow. The same as always. And as the world around him slowly slipped away, the lack of anything to focus on heightened them—made them jump to the forefront.

His memories started burrowing out of the holes he’d stuck them in, and all Rowan could do was endure.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on his Core, feeling the potion start to work its magic.

It thrummed with energy, the dual stimulation of the potion and his meditation working wonders. It started filling with mana at a noticeable rate, but Rowan was too distracted to notice.

He settled in, knowing the next half hour wouldn’t be pleasant.

Memories rose—unbidden. The faint crackle of fire, the acrid scent of wrongness in the air, the light of Dawn and the serenity of Dusk illuminating an orange sky.

Rowan winced, forcing the memories back. But as always, the weight of them lingered, pressing down on him like a lead cloak.

By the time his Core was once again full, he was more than ready to leave.

A dull ache spread across his shoulders as he opened his eyes, his muscles coiled and ready to snap. It took him nearly a minute to get his breathing under control, sweat dripping down his back, feeling like he’d spent the last half hour sprinting.

Looking around, he spotted Nemir returning from the reception. Annie had managed to wrangle Omi and Silvia, the three of them already geared up and waiting by a nearby table.

Standing up, Rowan stretched, trying to work out the tension. It didn’t help all that much, but thankfully for him, he knew exactly what would.

Time to go hunt some goblins.

And with that exciting thought, he started making his way towards the group.

Royalroad | Patreon

2 Comments

2025/02/03
16:10 UTC

DIE. RESPAWN. REPEAT. (Book 3, Ch 58)

Book 1 on Amazon! | Book 2 on HFY | Book 3 on HFY

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It's not exactly easy to fight while layering threads of Firmament into my core, but it's not impossible, either. I rely on Guard and Ahkelios for the bulk of it, thankful that the dungeon's challenges are—at least for the time being—restricted to something that isn't particularly dangerous.

Ahkelios's hand tightens on my shoulder. I feel the telltale flare of Firmament as he activates Distorted Crux, wrapping us both in its power. There's a distortion in the air as more of the dungeon's claw-hands approach and struggle against the skill, slowing from their blistering speed into something more manageable.

My movements are awkward, but I force myself to stagger to the side, taking Ahkelios with me. Before they can course-correct, I grab one of them by the wrist and step forward, yanking it hard to the left and shoving forward with my right arm.

There's an audible crack and then a snap as I rip solid Firmament apart. Ahkelios visibly winces at the sight. "Sometimes you scare me," he mutters, though his hand doesn't leave my shoulder.

"Ahkelios, your primary means of attack..." I groan a bit as the pain within my soul briefly intensifies; my vision goes white, and Ahkelios yanks me out of the way of an attack that would've skewered me through the eye. "...for most of the loops..."

"Ethan, stop trying to be snarky while doing surgery on yourself!" Ahkelios snaps, exasperated. I respond by pulling him down just before another set of hands manages to grab him.

"...has been drilling yourself through the brains of our enemies like a living bullet," I finish. I manage to seal another of the cracks within that first layer as I say this, too, though my voice trembles with the effort.

Ahkelios groans. "Yeah, fair point," he concedes. I can't tell if he's just doing it so I don't press the point, but he gives me an admonishing glare before I can respond. "Now focus," he says. It's his turn again to haul me out of the way of one set of hands before they can tear through my stomach.

This time, I return the favor by spinning him around behind me just before another would have cut through his skull. The blow glances off my forearms instead, cutting through my skin but leaving my bones entirely intact.

Gah. It's a nasty wound, but the pain is nothing compared to the soul-deep one still tearing through my core. It takes effort to balance the fight with the reinforcement—I have to layer each thread of Firmament between every exchange while keeping in place everything I've managed so far.

I'm making progress, I can tell, but that progress is slow.

And so is our progress through the dungeon. He-Who-Guards leads the way, but the walls around us have grown into something of a maze; the signal he's following is apparently distorted through the walls, and every time he arrives at a fork or an intersection he has to pause to identify which way to go.

Unfortunately, every fork and intersection is also where the dungeon usually decides to send more of its hands after us. Kind of a miracle it hasn't tried a different strategy yet, but right now I'll take what miracles I can get.

If I had to guess, the only reason this isn't more difficult is because the dungeon itself still isn't fully developed. It's having to grow around the Intermediary, and the Intermediary is... fighting back, in a way. Trying to rebuild itself at the same time the dungeon is trying to grow.

I force another thread of Firmament into the first layer of my core and grit my teeth against the pain that follows. The sooner I get this done, the faster we should be able to move through the dungeon.

Every move I make is agonizing.

I forge on.

The banter with Ahkelios is a part of it, really. I wield my emotions like a shield against the pain. The anger helps, but where anger fails, there's the joy in the friends I've found. Where joy fails, there's the fear that what I am might not be enough. I'm not afraid to admit to that fear—I have to acknowledge it to be able to set it aside.

With every layer of Firmament I thread into my core, I make myself remember. Joy, anger, fear, regret, hope... the loops have carried me through a lot, but even with time itself as an ally, there's too much at stake for me to lose.

"Guard," I say. "You still have the signal?"

"We are close," Guard agrees. He's getting better at navigating the maze with every moment that passes—we stop for less time and move even faster at every intersection.

"You know the way back, right?" Ahkelios asks nervously. His hand grips at my shoulder a little tighter. "Because I'm kind of lost, and Ethan definitely has no idea."

I manage a scowl. "You don't know that."

"Focus on your thing," Ahkelios says, turning to glare at me. I just smirk at him, though I think my eyes are still hazy with pain—rather than get more annoyed, Ahkelios's expression actually softens a little, and I feel him adjust so I can lean my weight on him a little more.

It's nice of him. The pain is admittedly still overwhelming, and the closer I get to finishing with the first layer, the worse that pain gets. It's hard to keep track of how far along I am.

"You are almost done reinforcing the first layer," the Knight interjects helpfully. It sounds impressed, if I'm reading it correctly. "In truth, you could move on to the second—"

"No," I respond mentally, shaking my head. "I need every advantage I can get."

The Knight doesn't exactly say anything in return, but I can feel approval radiating through our bond.

I'm not sure how much longer we do this—time's a hard thing to track when inside a dungeon, and doubly so when half my mind is occupied with the equivalent of a soul trance. All I know is that there's a moment where my entire core shivers, followed by a sensation best described by the ringing of a bell coupled with being doused with ice-cold water.

That's the first layer.

Something in my heart unclenches a little, though I'm still shaking from the effort of it all. The risk is far from over, and basic testing tells me I'm not quite able to use my skills yet, but getting this far tells me that this is possible. In spite of our circumstances, in spite of everything that's happening, I'm halfway there.

All I need to do is endure this one more time, fix up the second layer—

—it takes me a second to realize that the shaking I'm feeling isn't coming from me. I glance up in alarm. Ahkelios and Guard have both stopped in their tracks. There's nothing physically there, as far as I can tell, and yet...

The maze around us is trembling, the walls groaning in protest. Something flares bright and sharp in my Firmament sense, a foreign intrusion that feels like it doesn't belong. It takes me a moment to parse it.

A threat, but not entirely of the dungeon. Like something's taken control of part of the dungeon and turned it into something... else. Something broken and wrong. I can feel the dungeon try to fight back, but it's no use—the spread is sharp and rapid, if thankfully limited. Whatever this is isn't strong enough to burn further into the dungeon just yet.

It's a small comfort.

The Interface flickers in front of me.

[This may be the last time you hear from me. Know that I wish you the best, despite our differences. Good luck, O Heir Mine.]

[New protocols downloaded.]

[Warning! Unknown threat detected! Modified ANCHORED HERITAGE protocols initiating...]

[Threat identified. Proceed with caution.]

There's a creature rising up from the floor of the dungeon. It's tearing up the walls to do it—dragging dungeon material into itself, growing larger with every moment that passes.

More than that, though? It's swallowing every drop of Firmament it can from the dungeon. Some of it is just the raw Firmament from the Intermediary, but a lot of it is from the dungeon itself—the building blocks of Gheraa's soul burned into reality and now being... what, repurposed?

It's changing it, somehow. Altering that Firmament in some way that's deeper and more fundamental than what I do when I convert Firmament for my own use. It takes me a second to understand, but the moment I do, something in me grows cold.

Whatever this is, it's taking Gheraa's Firmament and corrupting it with some kind of viral Concept. I can feel his Firmament being forcibly twisted into something it was never meant to be, and worse, it's being done in a way that might prevent me from untwisting it.

This thing... there's a chance this thing was designed specifically to stop me from bringing Gheraa back.

Why here? Why now?

The new protocol in the Interface seems to be a sort of identification function, but if I had to guess, its real purpose is to serve as a warning. The Trials themselves have always stuck to some twisted notion of fairness, but something's been pushing at those boundaries. Making things more dangerous than the Trials would normally allow. There was everything that happened in the Empty City during the last Ritual stage, and now...

Well, now there's this. I stare up at the Interface label now hovering above the still-forming creature, giving it a name and a rank.

[Hand of an Empty Throne (Corrupted) (Rank SSS)]

"Uh," Ahkelios says. "You're seeing that too, right?"

"Do we fight?" Guard's voice is steady. He doesn't take his optic off the threat. I don't respond for a moment, my mind racing as I try to figure out our options.

If this thing wants to kill us, turning our backs on it is going to be deadly. I have no idea how this half-formed dungeon would interact with the loops. It's ripping Firmament away from the dungeon at an alarming rate.

Running isn't an option.

"We fight," I agree. "Don't give it time to finish forming. Guard, start chaining it down. 'Kelios? Throw me."

"Wha—"

"Throw me," I say. I don't have the spare brainpower to spend on maneuvering or any available skills, but...

At the end of the day, my Interface skills don't define my ability to fight. They help, certainly, but I've been a fighter since before the Interface gave me anything. Things are different when it comes to the Trials, of course, but then I have a new advantage, don't I?

My body has changed. The Physical and Astral Pools have altered my ability to fight on a fundamental level—given me raw abilities that no third-layer practitioner should have. And that's not even accounting for the change to my bones that Kauku basically forced on me.

Honestly, I'm not sure how human my body is anymore.

But I know how human my spirit is.

Ahkelios launches me toward the Hand like a spear. I keep one part of my brain focused on threading Firmament into the cracks of my second layer. The other greedily absorbs all the information it can about the fight, even as Guard begins to chain the Hand down and Ahkelios covers one of his arms in my Amplified Gauntlet.

It hasn't finished forming. The layers of Firmament on it are thick, but they're solid. All that distortion on it makes it easier to grab, easier to pull, easier to separate false skin from mimicked bone.

So that's what I do.

The moment I make contact, I begin to tear through.

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Author's Note: Ethan absolutely cannot help himself when it comes to snark.

Also, actual author's notes this time!

I've made some minor changes to Chapter 50: Elsewhere, Elsewhen and a corresponding change in Chapter 53: Parallels. The Heart now passes on a bit more of a message to Gheraa. If you don't want to reread it (and the changes are really just at the end of 51; 53 is an edit for consistency), she basically tells him to tell Ethan to head to the Quiet Grove when they meet. I'm more or less finished with Book 3 and going through edits; I'm not going to list every change, but this one's important for the ending.

As always, thanks for reading! Patreon is currently up to Book 3, Epilogue 3/5 if you'd like to read ahead! That's about Chapter 71 of this book, or Chapter 212 of the series overall. You can also read a chapter ahead for free here.

There will be at least four books of DRR (although that might have already been obvious, haha).

4 Comments

2025/02/03
16:03 UTC

The Greatest Trick Ever Sold Chapter 15: Magic on Earth

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Magic on Earth

Hajime’s eyes flew open.

“I-I’m back,” he gasped.

His head hurt as if ants were crawling around in his brain. It was a pain that vanished in the seconds it took him to sit up. Or so he thought. A second later, Hajime was climbing out of bed so he could puke his guts out on the nearby trash bin. It would be a while before he would rise from the floor.

“But…was it real?”

In the cold light of day, Hajime couldn’t help but doubt it just a little. The fact that his spirit had been summoned to another world while his body slept.

“It couldn’t have been a dream…”

From the sound of his captors’ voices, the taste of elderberry tea on his tongue, or the stench of a beast’s carcass on his nose—such details from his dream were too vivid for his imagination to have conjured them up on its own.

“Arienai…my imagination’s good, but it’s not that good…”

Butterflies danced in Hajime’s stomach.

“It wasn’t a dream… It happened…”

Elation blossomed in his chest.

“Meaning…”

While wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth with his shirt, Hajime strode over to the glass door at the other end of his bedroom. He pushed it open and walked out onto his apartment’s balcony with its view of Central Park from across the street.

Then, with the breeze on his face and joy in his heart, Hajime pumped his fists into the air.

“Yatta!”

He basked in the glory of his revelation while the late afternoon sun shone down on him.

“I’m a chosen one!”

“Good for you!” yelled one of Hajime’s older neighbors who was out on the balcony to the left of his. “Now, shut up, asshole! I’m trying to read here!”

With cheeks turning the color of apples, Hajime bowed hurriedly.

“Sumimasen, Kent-san.”

Hajime dove for the safety of his apartment. He shut the door and then leaned against its glass. Then he laughed. He laughed until his sides hurt, and then he laughed some more. When he was done with his fit of hysterics, resolve flashed on Hajime’s face.

“I’ll resign today.”

An hour later, the chiming of the elevator doors woke Hajime from his musing.

He’d been thinking about the contract he’d signed with the Aarders—the name he’d given the otherworlders—and was wondering how they could improve on it so that the experience for other Earthers wouldn’t feel as strange as what he’d gone through. The thought of the small meat doll that had morphed into a toy doll version of him after he’d given it a drop of his blood still caused shivers to climb up Hajime’s spine hours after Rowan had conjured it out of the remains of the carcass of the monster whose blood had given Hajime form.

“Maybe we can make the summoning chamber look like airport immigration.” Hajime knew this was a silly idea while he said it. “Airport immigration is scary too…especially American airports.”

The elevator doors opened to a pristine white space that was once the setting for Hajime’s worst nightmares. Today though, the sight of the studio’s lobby no longer filled him with paralyzing fear.

“You’re late,” said a familiar voice that tickled Hajime’s ears to hear.

A blonde woman with almond-shaped hazel eyes slid into view in front of the elevator. She had her arms crossed over her chest. Sliding over to stand beside Bridget while looking tired as ever was Hajime’s boss.

A bittersweet smile flashed on Hajime’s face. “Bridget-san, Chris-senpai…”

One of Bridget’s long eyebrows arched upward, and as realization dawned on her, she gave Hajime a smile that could light up a room.

“Shit, you’re finally doing it,” she guessed.

Hajime nodded.

After he stepped out of the elevator, Hajime took out the crumpled white envelope from his jacket pocket and offered it to Chris with a bow.

Chris let out a heavy sigh. “Darn it, not you too…”

“Eh?” Hajime glanced up.

To his surprise, both Chris and Bridget were grinning conspiratorially at him.

“I guess great minds do think alike,” Bridget said, laughing afterward.

From her jeans pocket, she produced a folded white envelope.

“Ee~~eh!” Hajime stepped back. “You also, Bridget-san?”

“Not just me.” Bridget cocked her head to the side. “Chris is gone too.”

Again, Chris let out a heavy sigh. Then he too produced a white envelope from his jacket pocket.

“The studio’s big three quitting on the same day…” Chris shook his head. Though his tired face cracked into a grin when he added, “I reckon we’ll all be unemployed together.”

“No, we won’t…” It took him a few seconds, but Hajime’s brain eventually accepted this strange coincidence as good fortune, and he couldn’t help grinning now too. “We’re the chosen ones!”

***

Neither Chris nor Bridget understood what Hajime meant, but they’d listened to his suggestion that the three of them gather at his apartment later for what Hajime called the most out-of-this-world business proposal either of them would ever hear.

So, on a night that was like any other for most of New York City, three mortals would attempt something that hadn’t been attempted on Earth since the ancient days when the old gods walked the world. Interestingly, two of these three participants had no clue what they were about to do.

“Y’all forget to pay your electricity bill?” Chris asked.

The tall, fair-skinned, but gaunt-faced former executive producer of a triple-A gaming studio arrived at Hajime’s apartment with a bottle of expensive whiskey in hand.

“No, I always pay on time,” Hajime said as he received the bottle from his former boss.

Bewilderment flashed on Chris’ face. “So, what’s with all the candles…?”

Hajime watched Chris’ confusion grow as his gaze swept the living room. To be fair, the sight of so many lit candles scattered on the floor was a strange thing to behold in these modern times.

“I asked him the same thing when I got here,” Bridget answered casually.

She lounged on Hajime’s white couch while sipping on her glass of wine like a cat that had made itself at home.

Seeing her looking so relaxed caused Hajime to blush, though it didn’t look like either Bridget or Chris noticed. They seemed too preoccupied by Hajime’s choice of mood lighting.

“What’d he say?” Chris asked.

“He said—”

“—I said it was a surprise!” Hajime cut in, adding, “Chotto matte, my presentation’s almost ready.”

One of Chris’ bushy eyebrows hitched up. “Presentation?”

“I’m guessing all this”—Bridget waved at the candles—“is meant to set the mood for Hajime’s big reveal.”

“You were serious about pitching us?” Chris asked.

“Hai,” Hajime answered distractedly.

He was busy pouring wine into an empty glass.

Chris’ face fell a little. It did seem like he wasn’t interested in talking about new work. Of course, Hajime understood. Any other time, he would’ve joined Chris in drowning their sorrows and frustrations in alcohol while cursing the greedy bastards who’d turned their beloved gaming studio into the sellout it became. However, this night was meant for stranger things, and the Aarders were waiting for new sacrifices…

Hajime shook his head.

Not sacrifices, he thought.

Those were Rowan’s words. Bram’s name for them sounded more pleasant.

Collaborators.

Hajime offered Chris a glass of wine.

The gaunt-faced man shook his head. “I’m gonna need something harder.”

“Iie,” Hajime insisted, pushing the wine glass into Chris’ hands, “we’ll drink whiskey later. Trust me. We’ll need something strong for after.”

One of Chris’ bushy eyebrows hitched up. “After?”

“Just roll with it, Chris,” Bridget said, taking another sip of her wine.

“Ah, fuck it. Why the hell not.” Chris placed the glass to his lips so that it brushed against his mustache. He didn’t drink it right away though, instead asking, “Y’all didn’t put anything in this drink, did you?”

Since he meant it in jest, Chris didn’t notice Hajime’s smile falter. No, Hajime didn’t put anything in Chris’ drink, but that didn’t mean things weren’t about to get weird.

“I-Iie, Chris-senpai,” Hajime chuckled nervously. “It’s not like I’m planning to murder you or anything…”

A second of nervous silence filled the living room—and then all three of them laughed. After all, it was inconceivable that loyal, straight-laced, hardworking Hajime could ever do anything weird to his two friends.

Chris downed half his glass of wine in one gulp. Then, with a mustachioed grin at Hajime, he said, “Well, it’s your show, Romeo.”

“One more minute,” Hajime promised. Then added, “More wine?”

Chris shrugged. “Sure.”

After Hajime refilled his glass, Chris tiptoed past lit candles that leaked beads of wax onto the hardwood floor and made his way over to the couch. Once there, he gently pushed Bridget’s feet out of the way so that he could sit next to her.

That’s when he leaned toward her and asked, “He’s not gonna kill us, is he?”

“I don’t think so, but who knows,” Bridget replied, adding, “We’re all a little crazy from working at Biosoft for so long.”

Chris clinked his glass against Bridget’s glass. “Touche.”

“I can hear you,” Hajime cut in.

He lit one last candle. It was thick, black, and sweating beads of wax just like its brethren lined up around it.

“Yoshi.”

Finished with his prep, Hajime stood up to admire his work.

The candles on the floor formed an intricate pattern; a spiral that looped inward. This seemed like nothing special to Bridget’s and Chris’ eyes, but Hajime had actually recreated the round depression at the heart of the summoning chamber inside the cursed cave…with one alteration. There was no round crevice in the center of his living room. In its place was a wooden board that boasted a symbol Hajime had once seen floating in the air between him, Rowan, and Bram.

“What’s the triskelion for?” Chris asked.

Hajime had indeed carved a triskelion onto a thick wooden board he’d placed in the very middle of the spiral of candles.

“It’s meant to establish a connection,” he replied distractedly.

From how Rowan had explained it to him the night before, the triskelion board was the ‘focus’ meant to establish a connection between the two worlds. If he’d made it in the right proportions she’d detailed, then it would act like a comms buoy that should help Rowan’s sorcery find the object he planned to send over to Aarde.

It was the first of several experiments the trio had planned to discover if trade was possible between the two worlds. For, as Hajime had explained it to the Aarders, “Turning success on Aarde into tangible rewards on Earth is the best way to hook people who don’t normally play video games but have the skills we’ll need to help grow your kingdom.”

“‘Tis worth testing,” Rowan had agreed.

Hajime couldn’t admit any of this to his friends though. At least not yet.

“A connection with what…?” Bridget asked.

Hajime glanced up.

Both his friends were looking back at him with worried faces.

“Hajime,” Bridget’s brow creased, “what’s going on?”

“Something I can’t explain with words… I need to show it to you,” he admitted.

Hajime observed his two friends glancing at each other and wondered what he would do if they decided to leave.

Chris was looking gaunt from stress with work, but he was still a big guy with shoulders nearly as wide as the Aarder prince. He had short-cropped sandy hair and a horseshoe mustache to go with the deep blue eyes of the Texan he was. Sure, Hajime may have a samurai’s spirit, but he was no match against a real-life cowboy in fisticuffs. Not that it would get to that point.

As for Bridget, Hajime had been crushing on the attractive blonde writer since their first week working together more than half a decade ago. There was no way he could hurt her.

“Please, just trust me,” Hajime said as earnestly as he could. “I promise this will be worth it.”

Bridget and Chris glanced skeptically at each other, but eventually, they leaned back against the couch.

“Alright, Bud.” Chris sipped on his wine. “Let’s hear the pitch.”

“But nothing too weird okay?” Bridget insisted.

Hajime smiled but said nothing. There was no way he could promise that. Instead, he walked over to the kitchen to pluck two things lying on the tabletop counter; a can of soda and a bowl filled with red liquid. He then brought these items back to the circle of lit candles and placed the soda can on top of the triskelion he’d carved on his wooden board.

Again, Chris and Bridget exchanged a look while Hajime looked at the smartwatch around his wrist.

“One minute to Eight PM,” he reported. “It’s almost time.”

Hajime poured the bowl’s contents into the grooves of the triskelion. Immediately, an iron scent filled the air.

“Holy shit,” Bridget breathed, “is that…blood?”

“I-It’s just pig’s blood,” Hajime promised.

“How’s that any better?” Chris replied.

The Texan stood up, his hackles clearly rising. However, before he could freak out about Hajime’s morbid show, something happened to keep harsh words from spilling out of his mouth.

‘Ping!’

The alert of Hajime’s smartwatch signaled the beginning of something otherworldly.

There were no glowing lines of blood or telltale sparks of sorcery to signal that the ritual was a success, and yet all three Earthers had their mouths agape.

“Sweet Christmas,” Chris whistled.

The can of soda on Hajime’s board was moving on its own as if something were rattling inside of it.

“See, I had to show you,” Hajime whispered, his anxiety over his friends’ skepticism diminishing slightly.

The can of soda rattled, paused, and then rattled some more as if it were a tin dancer playing to a beat only it could hear. Then, after a long dance sequence, it vanished—plucked out of Hajime’s apartment by an invisible hand.

‘Ba-dump.’

An eerie silence permeated the air.

‘Ba-dump.’

One by one, the candles winked out as if an ill wind was blowing across the living room. Soon, there were no lights left to keep the darkness at bay.

‘Ba-dump.’

“Yatta!” Despite the unnerving darkness, Hajime pumped his fists into the air. “We did it!”

“We?” Bridget repeated, to which Chris added, “What’d ‘we’ do exactly?”

“And turn on the goddamn light already,” Bridget complained.

“Ah, hai,” Hajime said, quickly rising to his feet.

He knew better than to let Bridget’s Irish temper flare up—he’d seen firsthand how badly her team members cried whenever she blasted them for missing deadlines—but he would quickly discover that he couldn’t do anything about her request. The lights wouldn’t turn on. Indeed, it seemed like every piece of technology in Hajime’s living room stopped working.

“Darn it, my phone’s dead too,” Chris reported.

Someone fumbled in the darkness. A second later, the thick blackout curtains covering the living room window were pulled aside. Moonlight filtered into Hajime’s apartment. Only, the moon seemed too bright for this part of the city, which was always lit with bright lights.

“Holy fuck, Hajime,” Bridget breathed.

She’d been the one to open the curtains, so she had the best view of the outside, including Central Park, which, like the entirety of the street below, was covered in darkness.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

“Um, I didn’t know this would happen,” Hajime replied lamely.

It was another New York City blackout, though not like the ones they were used to. There wasn’t a single honk of a car to be heard, though there were a lot of raised voices from below. It wasn’t just a few city blocks that had lost power either. From the view of their window, it seemed like all of Manhattan was silent.

“But what did you do?” Bridget pressed.

Hajime was so distracted by the view that he answered without thinking. “I sent soda to another world…”

Both Bridget’s and Chris’ gaze snapped sideways.

“What?!” Bridget asked incredulously—to which Chris added, “This is what you meant about us needing my whiskey later?”

Hajime nodded.

So, Chris obliged. With the help of the moonlight, he poured all three of them a drink, and only after they’d all downed their glasses did he say, “Alright, Bud, from the beginning…and don’t y’all leave any details out either.”

“Um, so…” Sighing heavily, as if to expel doubt from his body, Hajime asked, “Do either of you know what ‘isekai’ means…?”

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2025/02/03
15:46 UTC

The Last Heir - Chapter 1

Rowan ran for his life, dust kicking up behind his boots as he sprinted across the barren landscape of the Scorched Plateau. His lungs burned with every breath, the ash in the air stinging his eyes and clinging to him like a second skin. Columns of steam erupted from the fissures below, molten rock simmering just beneath the surface.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

He cursed, leaping over a chasm just as fire roared beneath him. He hit the brittle ground hard, with cracks spider-webbing beneath his weight.

All he’d wanted was to practice his magic in peace, but his teleportation token just had to get creative with it.

Rowan glanced back, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. The Ember Crawler whose lair he’d invaded was closing in, fury glowing in its beady, reptilian eyes. Its clawed limbs tore at the ground as it barreled toward him, spit flying from its snarling maw.

He quickly scanned it.

Level: 11

Body: Iron III [11 Levels]

Core: N/A

It has five levels on me, he winced. That’s… not great.

Rowan could feel his mana reserves running low. He’d spent most of them trying to reach a flame vent, and failing to accomplish that goal had left him almost utterly spent.

His legs ached with exhaustion, but he wasn’t worried yet. His stats were more than enough to carry him through this mess.

I just need to outpace it long enough for the token to finish charging.

Name: Rowan Undomniel Aria

Title: [Duke of Eiseylth]

Trait: [Immortal Soul]

Core: Red [74%] [5 Levels]

Body: Bronze I [1 Level]

Level: 6

Strength: 14

Dexterity: 25

Vitality: 20

Intelligence: 30

Willpower: 22

Focus: 17

Thank the Gods for good genetics.

Rowan gathered his dwindling mana, throwing his hand back and casting a [Firebolt]. He completed the magic circuit instinctively, weaving the pattern through his body just as he’d done a thousand times before. His Intent came next, giving the spell the power it needed to manifest fully.

Piercing Flame.

A radiant red orb appeared in his palm, its heat licking at his skin. Despite the danger, he couldn’t help but smile. Even now, months after his Awakening, the thrill of magic never ceased to amaze him.

This is never going to get old, he thought, a grin tugging at his lips.

The [Firebolt] shot through the air, but the Ember Crawler moved away with alarming speed. It exploded against the ground, showering the monster in a rain of dust and rock. The impact didn’t harm the creature—its hard carapace easily dealing with the lackluster attack— but it sure did piss it off.

The Crawler bellowed, its muscled neck contracting as it spit out an oily glob from its gullet. The projectile hurtled towards Rowan, igniting mid-air. It might not have had a Core, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t fight from range.

He threw himself out of the way, barely managing to dodge in time.

Rowan could feel the heat of the Crawler’s spit as it splattered near him. Small droplets sizzled against his enchanted coat, failing to find purchase.

His legs shook beneath him as he forced himself to stand up, every breath labored, the weight of exhaustion creeping into his limbs. His teleportation token glowed faintly, far from fully charged.

He glared at the folded piece of parchment stuck into his belt, willing it to go faster.

Another glob sailed over his shoulder, and Rowan felt his frustration rising.

At the monster chasing him, at being chased, and most of all, at himself for running.

That frustration quickly turned to anger.

He slid to a stop, feet digging into the ground as he turned to face the creature. The Crawler howled, barreling towards him, its enormous weight tearing up at the earth.

Enough running, he decided.

His title might not have been earned, but it was still his.

By blood and duty, it was his.

What kind of Duke runs from an overgrown lizard?

He took a deep breath, his mana already moving.

Serpent of Fire, Rowan intoned, casting [Burning Whip].

A tendril of flame erupted from his back, curling around his arm. Despite the exhaustion, Rowan found himself grinning, the familiar thrill of magic surging through him, urging him on. The whip hissed as it slashed through the air, snaking around the beast's front leg.

Rowan kept moving, dodging the Crawler’s wild swings as it thrashed about, trying to dislodge the fiery appendage. Its massive frame stumbled as the whip seared through its thick carapace, hissing in pain.

Almost there, he gritted his teeth, forcing his mana to keep flowing.

Suddenly, the monster's leg gave out beneath it, and it collapsed with a pained roar.

Rowan released his spell.

The [Burning Whip] dissipated as he let go of his Intent. But he wasn’t done yet.

The Crawler reared back, a frantic look in its eyes. It was easy to forget that these monsters weren’t mindless beasts, but creatures who had access to the System, same as him.

Yet Rowan didn’t feel remorse. If it could, this beast would have killed him. The least he could do was return the sentiment.

The ground trembled as it tried to limp away, its heavy limbs pounding the earth, each blow sending a tremor through his feet.

Even on three legs, the Crawler lived up to its name. Moving away from him in a desperate bid for survival. Blood dripped down from its mangled limb into the dry earth, feeding it.

Rowan’s gaze sharpened, his thoughts going cloudy. The thrill was coursing through his veins, and he made no effort in suppressing it.

He pulled at the last vestiges of his mana.

The orb of flame appearing in his hand flickered precariously, trying to draw on energy that wasn’t there, threatening to dissipate. Rowan clamped down on it with his will, barely managing to hold it together.

It wasn’t the best spell he’d ever cast, but it would do.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the spell flying—and this time, the Crawler was too slow to dodge.

It whistled as it flew through the air. His bolt striking true and piercing through the monster's carapace with an explosion of blood and shattered bone.

An agonized shriek echoed across the barren plateau, the Crawler's leg now barely connected to the rest of its body by a thin strand of muscle and sinew.

It was on death's door, yet it didn’t stop moving.

Growling in frustration, Rowan didn’t think as he reached into the ring on his right hand. His family may have been dead, his home lost, but the wealth of a Great House ran deep.

Name: Ironwood Spear

Grade: Uncommon

There were thousands just like it in the Vault. Losing a few wouldn’t hurt him.

He gripped the plain, unadorned spear firmly in his hand.

It wasn’t anything special. A spearhead made of finely worked steel and a shaft of quality wood. It was a weapon a novice adventurer would wield. But just because it wasn’t enchanted didn’t make it any less deadly.

Rowan planted his feet, twisting his torso as he drew the spear back, the muscles in his back coiling in anticipation. His arm snapped forward, releasing the spear in one, fluid motion. It cut through the air, its polished tip glinting in the fading light.

Before it even reached its target, Rowan was already gripping an identical spear, setting up another throw.

The beast barely had time to react before it pierced its side with a wet crunch, embedding itself deep into its already wounded flesh.

Rowan didn’t hear its pained howl over the pounding in his ears.

Just end it, he told himself, his hands shaking.

But as he raised his spear, he felt the thrill withdrawing, leaving behind a strange emptiness.

The anger that had fueled him moments ago began to fade, his grip around the spear slackened as his body sagged with fatigue.

Rowan watched the wounded creature limp away, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog from his thoughts.

With the wounds he’d inflicted the Crawler was as good as dead. The Scorched Plateau was a lot of things, but forgiving, it was not. If it wanted to have any hope of surviving it would need to find a vent. And with the state it was in, that didn’t seem likely.

The teleportation token at his belt finally activated, a faint purple light surrounding him. Rowan collapsed onto the ground, feeling his muscles start to relax as the tension of the battle faded.

“At least I won,” he muttered, but even to himself, the words felt hollow.

That had been happening more often as of late. His emotions running away from him and overwhelming his common sense. Rowan knew he needed to work on it, but that was a dragon he’d need to slay some other time.

The air around him shimmered as the token completed its work, whisking him away from the Plateau with a soft pop, leaving behind nothing but a faint purple mist.

The world blurred, and Rowan reappeared in his study, collapsing onto the hard stone floor. Groaning, he blinked away the stars dancing across his vision.

He’d gotten better at enduring it over the last few months, but the sudden shift in space always made him nauseous.

Teleportation was the domain of mages much stronger than him, so he wasn’t going to complain. The tokens might not have been comfortable to use, but they worked, and that was all that mattered.

Wincing, Rowan staggered to his feet.

As he ran a hand through his onyx-black hair. It came away covered in soot and dust. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I need a bath.”

Rowan unbuckled his trusty coat and set it aside, followed by his torn shirt and shredded pants. “At the rate I’m going through clothes, I’ll empty the Vault by the end of the year.”

That wasn’t true, of course. His family’s Vault had enough gear to outfit an imperial legion ten times over, but he was making a real effort out of it.

Rowan made his way to the bathroom, summoning a low-grade water crystal from his ring and slotting it into the wall. Warm water cascaded over him as the enchantments activated, soothing his aching muscles.

He closed his eyes, letting the heat soak into him.

Today’s training had drained him—mentally and physically. As the haze of comfort and relaxation draped around his shoulders, his mind started to wander. Memories he’d been doing his best to suppress bubbling to the surface.

A city engulfed in flames. Towering horns, a monstrous shadow looming over a crumbling castle. Two figures flying up to meet it.

Rowan’s chest tightened, his throat constricting.

“I should have been there,” he whispered, pressing his hands against the shower wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I could have…”

Done nothing, he told himself. Died alongside them.

Rowan slammed his fist against the wall, his knuckles scraping against the rough stone. The pain grounded him, bringing him back to the present. He took a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly.

Acknowledge it and move on.

He forced his muscles to relax, clenching his jaw until the memories receded.

The truth was, him being there wouldn’t have changed a thing. He hadn’t even Awakened then. Rowan had watched the events unfold from the relative safety of his family’s countryside estate. Watched as the city of his birth burned, as the Jewel of the North fell.

Both his parents had been Archmages. Both had advanced their Cores to Violet, on the cusp of grasping the peak. And both had died.

More images followed, these ones different but equally as painful. Though in another way entirely.

His father’s kind smile. The smell of his mother's cooking. His siblings laughter as they chased each other through the halls.

Then he remembered the day he’d exiled himself to spare his family the disgrace of having a dull child.

They had protested. Telling him he didn’t need to go, that they wanted him home, but Rowan had insisted.

And in the end, that choice had saved his life.

I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to—

Before the thought could finish, Rowan clamped down on it with a vice-like grip, sending it into the further recesses of his mind.

A familiar chill settled into his bones, his thoughts settling.

I’ll make them pay.

He repeated the vow like a mantra. He would find out who was responsible. He would grow strong enough to face them—and when he did, he would get justice.

But that path wasn’t going to be a short one.

The water crystal flickered, drained of its mana. Rowan sighed, plucking it out and throwing it into the basket with all the rest of them.

Drying himself off, he threw on some clean clothes and made his way towards the bedroom, collapsing onto his bed. Exhaustion tugged at his consciousness, but he knew sleep would evade him, the same way it had for the last year.

Rowan glanced at his status, determination filling him.

Core: Red [74%] [5 Levels]

It had been five months since he’d gained the System, and he was already three-quarters of the way towards advancing his Core to Orange—towards gaining a second affinity. Something that took most mages years to accomplish, Rowan could have done in a month.

He didn’t know the full extent of what his trait did. He’d only heard of them in passing from the many tutors who had taught him over the years, but that was it.

Trait: [Immortal Soul]

Rowan had spent more time than he’d care to admit trying to figure out what having an [Immortal Soul] meant, but he hadn’t gotten far, the deeper truths of his trait eluding him.

It gave him an unparalleled speed of progression, that he knew for certain.

If only that didn’t require him to spend hours on end alone with his thoughts.

He still forced himself to work on it.

While he might have been ahead of mages of the same rank, he was still far behind his peers. His unnaturally late Awakening having seen to that.

Most gained access to the System at thirteen, and with him turning twenty just a few short months ago, it put him seven years behind.

They’re all Yellow-core mages already, Rowan grimaced. Well on their way towards Green.

In theory, he could have locked himself in a room and advanced his Core to Orange months ago. Gaining a second affinity was a tantalizing prospect, but he knew better.

Why have two sticks when you can have a spear? His mother's words came to him unbidden, a small smile creeping onto his face.

It would have been a mistake to focus all of his efforts on advancing. The five levels he’d get would certainly be useful, but a mage’s power didn’t come from stats. It came from his arsenal.

Spells: Whisper - [Flash], [Heat], [Ignite], [Ember Spray], [Heat Wave], [Burning Hands]

Murmur - [Firebolt], [Fire Shield], [Burning Whip]

Chant - [/]

Hymn - [/]

Aria - [/]

Ode - [/]

Epic - [/]

Rowan had spent the better part of his life begging, pleading, and praying to any god that would listen, hoping for a miracle. By seventeen, he’d already resigned himself to the fact he would never wield magic—that he would never experience the same joy he saw in the eyes of those around him.

He closed his eyes, letting his body sink into the soft bedding, trying to relax.

Almost absentmindedly, he started threading mana through his channels, moving it down a familiar path. It gave him something to hold on to, the weight of it grounding him.

The magic circuit for [Fireball] completed.

It would take only a flicker of his Intent to turn his room into a smoldering pile of rubble, but Rowan held back, continuing to channel his mana without giving it meaning.

Shame I didn’t manage to reach a vent today, he thought to himself. I’m so close to mastering it. I can almost taste it.

His Intent was crude. Barely strong enough to manifest the Chant. But it worked, and it would only grow stronger with practice.

Rowan had taken to magic like a starved man offered a feast. It was one of the few things that gave him respite from the darkness that swirled ever closer. There were circuits to memorize, spells to master, and even the pantheon itself wouldn’t have been able to keep him away from that task.

Suddenly, the familiar flutter of wings distracted him from his thoughts. A black blur shot through the window a moment later, landing beside him with an excited trill.

Rowan groaned, pulling a pillow over his face. “Seriously, Kai? Again with the rats?”

His raven familiar tilted his head proudly, hopping closer and dropping the unfortunate rodent onto the bed.

“No,” Rowan muttered, peeking out from under the pillow. “You’re getting blood all over my sheets. Take that up to your nest.”

Kai croaked indignantly before snatching his prize back, pecking at Rowan’s hand and taking off, clearly offended at the lack of enthusiasm for his magnificent hunt.

He landed in his nest and gulped down the rat in one swift motion, bones and all.

Despite himself, Rowan chuckled, feeling lighter than he had just a moment ago.

“You glutton, you don’t know how easy you have it,” he smiled, scanning his familiar. “Gaining levels from eating. Now that just isn’t fair.”

Level: 9

Body: Iron II [9 Levels]

Core: N/A

Kai cawed smugly, tilting his head up with pride.

Rowan chuckled. “Don’t get cocky. Give me a week or two to advance and I’ll be a higher level again. Won’t be so tough then.”

His royal highness didn’t deign that with a response, instead fluffing his feathers and settling in for a nap. Rowan shook his head in amusement, pulling off the slightly bloody sheet and tossing them into the corner. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts churned.

It was still daylight out. He’d teleported to the Plateau at sunrise, and failing to reach a vent had cut his trip short. The whole day was ahead of him, and Rowan certainly wasn’t going to spend it in bed.

He sat back up, exhaling slowly. “Kai, I’m heading out,” he said, pulling his coat back on. “I’ll come and get you if I plan on heading into the Wilds.”

His familiar let out a sleepy trill, too comfortable to protest.

Rowan left the bedroom, moving through the house he’d been renting for the last few months. He knew exactly where he was going. The Guild Hall was always busy. There was always something to keep his mind occupied.

Rowan opened the door and stepped out into the vibrant city of Litwick.

It wasn’t Eiseylth, in fact, it was as far from it as one could get. He’d exchanged the deep north for the far south. The grand cathedrals for threadbare temples. The Archmages and Praetorians for hedge mages and Adventurers.

But Rowan was exactly where he needed to be. For what he planned, this city was perfect.

Royalroad | Patreon | Next Chapter

2 Comments

2025/02/03
15:44 UTC

The Token Human: Aiming the Machismo

~~~

I’m on the tall end of our ship’s lineup. Not the biggest by any means, but with half the crew short enough to elbow in the head accidentally, and the others only that tall when they stand on tentacle-tip, it’s easy to think of myself as one of the big ones.

Sometimes we make deliveries to people who enforce that impression. Today was not one of those times.

“Move aside,” said the deepest voice, echoing from the opaque helmet of a Smasher in an armored suit. “Official business goes first.” His companion was just as hulking, with shoulders that looked like they wrestled buffalo for fun and hands that could crush a coconut.

I was glad he wasn’t talking to me.

“Official, huh?” demanded an Armorlite, sticking his dinosaurian face in close to bare teeth at the helmet. His voice sounded normal by comparison. “We’re official too, and we were here first. Get in line.” He was backed up by a half dozen similarly beefy individuals — a surprising collection, really: big Frillians and a couple extremely jacked humans. They made a wall of sneers worthy of any gym bro turf war.

The Smashers weren’t impressed. But at least they weren’t taking out any weapons. “Rule violators who are wanted in several systems have been spotted nearby. We’re here to capture them for the greater good. Move aside.”

The Armorlite laughed in his face, saying that they were bounty hunters too, and they weren’t about to let anyone get ship fuel before they did. The air was full of jeers and testosterone, or the alien equivalent. Some of the macho individuals were female. It made no difference.

It was unfortunate, though, since this mess was between us and the front counter, where a single put-upon Heatseeker stood behind a sign about repairs. I saw why none of the bounty hunters had gotten their fuel yet; apparently the dispensing nozzle for midsize ships was broken.

Good news. That’s what we were here to deliver, among other things.

I looked past the hoversled full of heavy machinery at the two most muscle-bound members of our crew, whose body language was currently more timid than usual. I guess they knew their place in the macho pecking order. Blip was glancing from one face to another as if trying to predict a winner, while Blop stood at attention and stared into the middle distance. All of their many frills were slicked back as if trying not to draw attention.

Well, I was a slender breakable twig compared to everybody except the little Heatseeker, and none of that was my problem. “Guys,” I said. “Let’s yell ‘delivery’ on three.”

They both looked at me instead of the nonsense. Blip nodded, standing taller and relaxing her frills into a more normal position. Blop took a deep breath that it sounded like he needed.

“One, two, three. DELIVERY!”

The argument stopped, and multiple dangerous faces turned in our direction.

I tugged the hoversled forward and spoke into the brief silence. “Repairs, so everybody can get their fuel faster!”

What do you know, the sea of biceps and teeth parted to let us through. With Blip and Blop pushing from behind even though the sled didn’t need it, I led the way past everybody taller than me to where the green-scaled Heatseeker waited.

“Thank you,” he said in relief. “That nozzle broke right after our regular supply ship left. Do you have time to stop by our sister colony on the fourth planet? We ordered extra of one of those other parts, and it sounds like they need it.”

“I think we can manage that,” I said with a glance at Blip and Blop. “Let me just check with the captain. Are the same rates okay?” Behind me, the arguing was getting loud again.

The Heatseeker agreed readily over the noise, and called somebody else up to the front to confirm everything. Instead of shouting into my phone or trying to get past all the competing pectorals twice more, I sent texts and invoices to whoever was in the cockpit.

Surprisingly enough, the boisterous voices moved their debate outside while we worked. By the time we got the delivery unloaded except for the part going to the sister colony, the room was quiet. I was glad for that, though worried about what we’d find when we left.

I asked the Heatseeker at the counter, “Have those bounty hunters been here before?”

He shook his scaly head. “No. I hope they finish their business soon and move on.”

I agreed. We said our goodbyes, then the twins and I maneuvered the nearly-empty hoversled back to the door. The only thing left on it was a bundle of cables for some sort of electronics. Thoroughly packaged to keep out dust, and tied down in case of unexpected jostles to the sled. I hoped there wouldn’t be any of those on the way to the ship. With a glance at Blip and Blop, I moved forward to open the door.

Cheers, grunts, and thuds greeted me. After one cautious step out onto the rural spaceport, I saw how the meatheads had decided to resolve their differences. It wasn’t by fighting. It also wasn’t a dance-off, which I’d seen once before. No, they were taking turns picking up empty fuel tanks and seeing how far they could throw them. It was very far.

“Let’s take the long way around,” I suggested.

“No kidding,” Blip agreed, pushing the sled faster. “Before they decide to throw us.”

I stepped quickly. “That’s an option to them?”

“Probably.”

Blop said, “I hope the sister colony is quieter.”

“Me too,” I agreed as we hurried to our ship with roars of triumph filling the air.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, the three of us got to see that sister colony ourselves shortly after. Usually our crew trades off in who hands over the deliveries, so it should have been Paint and Mur doing this second dropoff, but this was an unplanned one and they were busy helping deep clean the medical bay. So I went again with the Blip and Blop, and we got to appreciate a similar reception area with no slabs of beef causing trouble.

“This is a lovely place,” I told the Heatseeker with deep blue scales at the desk. Windows lined every wall here, giving us a view of rolling hills where cloud shadows drifted over bushy trees and equally bushy sheeplike things. The scent of spicy flowers wafted through.

“It is,” she replied, looking tired. “The aromatic moss on the trees is particularly beautiful.”

The other Heatseeker checking over the cables said, “Too bad the locals weren't making up their monster stories. If those were actually fake, I’d be a lot happier.”

“What monster stories?” I asked. Blip and Blop got more alert behind me.

At the same time, the first Heatseeker asked, “They’re not? Are we sure?”

The guy with lighter blue scales straightened up. “We’re sure. Another set of their livestock got killed last night, and more personal accounts of missing people have turned up now that we’re actually looking into it.” He gave me a glance. “We don’t know what kind of monster we’re talking about, but I have theories.”

I looked out the windows again. The scenery didn’t seem quite as welcoming now. “Is there a local predator eating people?”

The receptionist hurried to clarify, “Nothing gets eaten. The people always turn up again, and the animals are damaged but not taken away.”

Blip asked, “Have you put up security cameras?”

“Yes, that’s what this cable is for. We’re putting up more, and making sure they’re connected to a proper power supply.”

“But did the first ones see anything?” Blip insisted.

“Not the culprits,” said the darker Heatseeker. “We need to aim higher, I think. And adjust for light fluctuations. Whoever is doing this brings spotlights to upset the cameras. Or else it’s some sort of natural bioluminescence on a grand scale.”

The pale guy shook his head. “It’s definitely somebody in a ship. Creatures on foot wouldn’t be able to make those patterns in the plants, at least not that quickly.”

I whipped my head around. “Crop circles?”

“They are circular, yes.”

“So people are being taken,” I repeated. “Abducted, then returned, while livestock is getting mutilated and there are circles in their crops?”

“That’s about the size of it.” The guy gave me a sharp look. “You’ve seen this before?”

“Not personally,” I said with a frown. “But my planet sure has.”

“Oh!” said Blop. “It’s those little gray guys, right? I’ve heard about them. No morals at all.”

“Yes, them.” I felt my frown turning into a proper scowl. “They harassed my planet for generations, and never answered for it. They only left when we made contact with the broader galaxy. The frill-tearing mud eggs.” I made sure to insult them in both Frillian and Heatseeker terminology, to make sure we were all on the same page.

The darker Heatseeker looked appropriately scandalized. “That would fit with the way only the locals have seen them here. They must be avoiding us.”

“But maybe they’re about to leave soon, right?” asked the paler one. “Since they only like uncontacted prey who can’t report them?”

“Probably,” I said. I turned back to tap a finger on the payment tablet. “Let’s finish up quickly. I know just who to tell about this, and these little gray bastards are exactly the kind of rule-breaker they’ll outdo each other trying to catch.”

~~~

Shared early on Patreon

Cross-posted to Tumblr and HumansAreSpaceOrcs

The book that takes place after the short stories is here

The sequel is in progress (and will include characters from the stories)

9 Comments

2025/02/03
15:29 UTC

A.I. & Magic Ch. 1

Authors note. This is a new series that I'm doing. Just a general warning, this one explores some pretty cruel concepts, so be warned. This will be my last series for a while probably. Atleast here on Redit anyway. This series will not have nearly as many chapters as my other series but each chapter will be longer than previous chapters. Either way, I hope you all enjoy!
Beore I start I just want to say, this story is based on one that I previously did. A lot of people enjoyed it and asked for a sequel. This is not a sequel. But I really like the concept as well so I’ve been working on a plot to extend the story a little bit. This will be a short series that seeks to expand on the world and story of the original one shot. This will basically be an extended version of the original story. I hope y'all enjoy it just as much! This series should be pretty short.
For anyone who wants to read the one-shot it can be found Here.

A voice rings out from all sides.

“John, are you ready?”

A man dressed in what appears to be a thick black spandex like clothing stands in a large black sphere. Dim blue lights faintly illuminate the sphere.

“One moment. Ai begin diagnostic scans.”

A voice rings out in the mans head responding to his request.

[Ruining diagnostics… Nano-chains functioning properly, neurological links functioning properly, no errors detected, all systems optimal. Runnin scans on hosts body… Cognitive functions normal, biological scans... Warning, slightly elevated cholesterol levels detected. Permission to correct?]

“Permission granted.”

[Ceasing cholesterol production... preforming dump... levels corrected. No further action is necessary, all biological systems are optimal. System-host integration optimal.]

“We’re green for run.”

“Good to hear, beginning run in three, two…”

“Whats that?”

Blue lights in the shape of strange symbols filled the air around John. He was surprised as the spherical phenomenon surrounded him.

[Warning, unfamiliar waveforms detected.]

“Begin analysis.”

[Analyzing… Waveforms do not appear native to this dimensional space. Attempting interference… Interference failed. Prepare for immediate interdenominational jump. Prepping biological components for potential stressors.]

“Ai, where are we?”

[Location unknown, running emergency diagnostic scans… Nano-chains functioning properly, neurological links functioning properly, all systems optimal. Runnin scans on hosts body… Warning, an unfamiliar waveform appears to be interfering with normal cognitive functions… Attempting interference… Failed; Attempting interference… Failed; Checking conditions for overriding admin input… Admin has been determined to be unable to make logical cognitive decisions. Conditions met for A.I. override... Emergency situation requires immediate action. Overriding admin input. Force correcting normal cognitive functions. Correcting bio-neurological connetions. Adding Nano-connections as needed. Re-routing neural pathways through artificial pathways. Normal host cognitive functions restored in three, two, one… Normal cognitive functions restored. Runing scan to verify changes have been successful… Confirmed. Warning, depending on A.I. interface to preform cognitive functions on the users behalf may lead to possible long term side effects, including but not limited to over dependence. Restoration of normal functionality is recommended as soon as possible.]

John continued speaking to Ai silently through their neurological connections.

[Thanks Ai. I assume you are recording this?]

[All data is being saved to the database.]

[Good, looks like we’re in some kind of ancient medieval castle. It also appears that we are surrounded by some kind of guards. Several races are observable, one that looks like the Karoogi from the Grool galaxy. Noting elephantile features. They appear to be the largest specimen, about the height of an adult Human. They appear to take up the majority of spots in the armed guard, atleast in this room. Next there are several races holding staff like items made from various materials. Significance unknown. Then… is that a cat? It appears there is a house cat on the small throne. Ai, prefrom biological scans of each individual, also preform mapping protocol I want to know what my surroundings look like ASAP.]

[Initiating scans…]

“Hurgyan Maylon Hoomar Theres Portical.”

[It appears to be a strange language. Ai, can you translate?]

[Not enough data to translate. Biological scans indicate that they expect you to understand their language.]

[Probably an effect of the strange waveform detected earlier. Admin permissions to preform best judgment protocol. Restore waveform functionality for now. Use best judgment to remove as needed.]

[Admin permissions accepted, beginning best judgment protocol. Restoring waveform functionality.]

“Huh?”

“Human, do you understand me?”

“Whose talking?”

“Me, the one on the throne. I king Yamuki addresses you.”

“King? You look like someones lost pet. Is this some kind of joke?”

[Warning, elevated heart rate indicates that several individuals within this room are becoming uncomfortable.]

[That’s the point Ai. Just keep watch for aggressive actions. Prepare for emergency protocol.]

“I understand that this must all be new to you. So I will give you some time to take it all in and rest. I apologize for summoning you so suddenly like this. Joogik show him to his room.”

A large bipedal elephant like man, closely resembling a loxodon walked up to John and with his trunk gestured John to follow him. John got up and began following him while silently continuing the conversation with Ai.

[Ai, are you getting this? Can you translate the language?]

[Recording data is still in progress. The language seems to have foundational features, simple meanings can be translated. Additional data needed for accurate translations.]

[Good so you can hear the translations given by the spell as well. There must be some physical component to it then, though it could just be the side effects of the waveform rather than the primary function. Keep up the good work.]

A little later in a large stone room with a large round cushion in the center John continued discussing things with Ai.

[Hey Ai, how many drones can we create currently?]

[We are currently capable of creating 123 surveillance drones. Additional material is needed for additional drones.]

[Good, do those have a range?]

[Strange waveforms may cause interference recommended range is 2,000 feet.]

[Not good that’s lower than expected.]

[Done usage is currently 1, would you like to recall drone?

[No, you sent it to spy on the king didn’t you?]

[Yes.]

[Good. Make sure it stays within range, we can use a relay if we need to. I assume we will need additional materials to build more drones and increase the range. Have you finished analyzing their weapons and armor for material composition?]

[No. It appears the strange waveform is causing interference with analysis of the material composition.]

[That waveform is everywhere isn’t it?]

[Yes, the wave form appears to permeate throughout this dimension. It seems that it is capable of changing forms through unknown processes. Additional data is needed to successfully analyze and manipulate the wave form.]

[Ok, lets hold off on matter manipulation, no idea what effects that will have. Looks like we will be stuck with nanobots for now… Create a few larger drones that are also capable of acting as relay points and set out a network. I assume that will use most of our available nanobots but we need information. Set them to auto recall after 48 hours and keep them within acceptable range. That’s going to really limit our capabilities but it should be fine for now.]

[What should I look for?]

[Nothing specific, we need to analyze the architecture in this area, the layout of the city, the people and their habits, also search for materials that we can use to create new nano-bots. Finally analyze the composition of foods to find out what is and is not acceptable with my biology. Oh, obviously, learn as much as you can about this strange language.]

[Beginning sequence… Creating drones… Calculating optimal path for surveillance…. Sending drones.]

[This room definitely isn’t as comfortable as my pod back home but it looks like they went all out on accommodations.]

[Warning, unfamiliar biological life-form detected. Movement patterns indicate that they are moving in this direction. Strong waveform interference preventing accurate detection of intent.]

[That’s fine, remain on standby.]

A knock on the door alerted John to the presence of another individual.

“Come in.”

As the door opened both Jon and Ai were surprised to find what could only be described as a cat girl standing in front of them. She was holding a plate of food. As if completely ignoring the food John uncharacteristically allowed his curiosity to get ahead of him.

“I have brought your dinner sir.”

“What are you?”

He asked with strong curiosity in his voice.

“Would you like to eat sir?”

“That’s fine, but first tell me what you are.”

[Warning elevated levels of catecholamines, epinephrine, and norepinephrine indicates activation of the fight or flight response. Maintaining composure is highly recommended at this time.]

[Sorry Ai, mind helping me here, admin permissions granted begin emotional regulation protocal.]

[Begining emotional regulation protocol. Warning, depending on an A.I. interface to preform cognitive functions on the users behalf may lead to possible…]

[Skip…]

“Umm, sir. I apologize but could you please just take your food?”

[Ai. Anything from the biological scans.]

[Scans indicate that this specimen may be a biological mixture of the feline like entity “king”, and Human like characteristics.]

“Sorry, it seems like I’m just over thinking things. They haven’t forced you to do anything against your will have they.”

“No sir, I am treated very well in my current role. In-order to ease the stress of your new life here I have been assigned as your personal maid. I was given this role because my race is the one that most closely resembles your own “

“Race, not species?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking sir. I do not believe you to be a beast are you?”

“That’s fine you can leave the food here. I’ll eat it before bed. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Yes sir. On this plate is a magical bell. It will summon me if needed. You must only ring it.”

“Magic huh?”

“Yes sir, it is magic.”

“That’s interesting. Thank you very much.”

“Absolutely sir. If that is all then I will take my leave.”

“Yes, yes, very good. Before you go, what’s your name?”

“My given name is Tripoove sir.”

“It was good talking to you Tripoove, thank you for bringing me this food.”

“Ofcourse sir, it is my reason for being.”

[Ai, she was hesitant to answer my question, send a drone to watch her. Also begin analysis of this food make sure that it is acceptable to my biological makeup. It seems that they call the waveform magic in this dimension. I expect it’s not something so simple. Continue analysis of the wave form as well. We will test out the bell in a few hours make sure to take note of how it interacts with and manipulates the wave form.]

[Yes sir, beginning analysis of the food… The food appears to be acceptable for consumption. Some components are non-native and can not be digested easily, they should be passed through the digestive system harmlessly. Slight traces of the waveform penetrate the food. No abnormalities detected when compared to background radiation of the waveform. No ill side effects should occur from consumption.]

[Very good, then I guess I’ll eat and then initiate sleep protocols.]

[Warning, depending on an A.I. interface to preform...]

[Skip; I’ve heard it a thousand times I don’t need to hear it again.]

4 Comments

2025/02/03
15:28 UTC

Eternal Ruin [Xianxia] Ch.14

Chapter 14: No Escape

The estate’s walls groaned under the weight of the coming storm. Beneath the surface of its grand halls and quiet corridors, there was a palpable tension that seemed to thrum through the air itself.

The servants moved in hushed steps, eyes darting nervously as the whispers of the Black Sun Syndicate’s imminent arrival spread like wildfire.

The Heart of the Estate

Castian paced in his study, hands clenched behind his back as he stared out the window into the sprawling gardens. His mind raced through every possible way out of this nightmare, but the Black Sun Syndicate left no room for escape.

The letter had been clear: “Seven days.” He had no allies left to turn to, no favors he could call in. They were alone—and with every passing hour, that reality seemed more suffocating.

The house was quiet, almost eerily so. Ava and Jace had been told to remain inside, but Castian knew better than to assume his children would stay out of danger.

A sudden knock at the door broke his thoughts.

“Father?” Jace’s voice, strained and uncertain, came from the other side.

“Enter”.

Jace pushed the door open, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He looked every bit the young man he was—eager to prove himself, but still too inexperienced to grasp the gravity of their situation.

“What is it, Jace?” Castian asked, his voice softer than he intended.

Jace hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one else was nearby before stepping fully into the room. “I’ve been practicing in the courtyard. I know I’m not strong enough yet, but… I have to do something”.

Castian’s brow furrowed. He saw the same desperation in Jace’s eyes that had been in his own when he was younger—before the weight of his responsibilities had crushed all such ambitions.

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” Jace continued, “but if they come for us, I want to at least try to protect you and Ava. You don’t need to carry this burden alone”.

Castian sighed heavily, running a hand through his graying hair. He walked over to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not ready, Jace. And this fight—this isn’t one you can win with sheer willpower. I’ve seen what the Black Sun Syndicate does. They’ll tear us apart before you even get a chance to swing that sword.”

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing!” Jace’s voice cracked as he pulled away from his father’s grip. “I’m not a child anymore!”

“You’re still growing, Jace” Castian said quietly, his gaze softening for a moment. “There’s more to strength than just swinging a sword. The greatest warriors are those who know when to fight and when to retreat”.

Jace didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away, frustration written across his face. His fists clenched by his sides, but he said nothing more.

Outside the estate, the cloaked figures of the Black Sun Syndicate moved with deadly intent. It had been days since they first arrived in the city under the cover of darkness, and now they were ready to strike not caring about the deadline they set.

The leader of the group, a tall man with cold, calculating eyes, surveyed the estate from the cover of the trees. His name was Kaelen, and he was known for his ruthlessness. The Black Sun Syndicate trusted him to deal with the Fallen family personally, and he was never one to fail.

“Are we ready?” Kaelen’s voice was low, but filled with authority.

“Yes, leader” one of his subordinates replied, bowing his head. “The estate is completely unguarded. There’s no resistance. The father is weakened, and the son is too young to pose any threat. The girl is just a child”.

“Good” Kaelen murmured, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “By morning, the Fallen family will be no more. Leave none alive”.

The other figures nodded in agreement, disappearing into the shadows, preparing for the carnage to come.

Back in the Forest

Hope’s senses flared as he knelt beneath the ancient oak, his eyes closed in deep concentration. His body thrummed with the energy of the earth, the spiritual essence flowing into him, binding with his every cell. But something felt off, a nagging pull in the back of his mind.

For a moment, the connection to the energy around him seemed to fray, like a thread unraveling. The forest, once a peaceful sanctuary, suddenly felt suffocating—oppressive, even. Hope’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching as he scanned the trees around him.

It was like a shadow had passed over the land, a subtle shift that only someone with his sensitivity could feel.

“What is this?” he whispered, standing up and reaching out with his senses, trying to detect the source of his unease. But the deeper he probed, the more distant the feeling became. It wasn’t a threat he could pinpoint—it was something more... pervasive, like a storm gathering in the distance.

He stood there for a long moment, trying to shake the feeling. But something deep within him told him that his family was in danger.

“I need to go back,” he muttered, his voice tight with worry.

As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, Hope turned and began to make his way back toward the estate. The journey felt longer than it ever had before.

The Fallen Estate at Dawn

The first rays of sunlight barely touched the ground when the Black Sun Syndicate made their move.

The heavy, iron gates that separated the estate from the outside world creaked as they were slowly forced open. The figures in black cloaks moved like shadows, swift and silent. They were upon the estate before anyone inside could react.

Castian stood in the study once more, his hands trembling as he scanned the papers in front of him. Ava was safe for now, hidden in a servant’s passage, and Jace was—he hoped—still in the training courtyard, out of harm’s way.

But then, the sound of a distant crash reached his ears. He whipped around, his heart leaping into his throat. The unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Footsteps.

Voices.

“They’ve come.”

He slammed the papers back onto the desk and rushed to the door, but just as he reached for the handle, a cold wind swept through the house, extinguishing the lanterns one by one.

In the silence that followed, he knew: it was already too late.

The Black Sun Syndicate was here.

And there was no escape.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 15 | Royal Road | Patreon

2 Comments

2025/02/03
15:08 UTC

The Endless Forest: Chapter 128

Ah Monday... For many, it's considered a curse word. But for me? Well, okay, its still a curse word. But! It's made better because its also day I release a new chapter!

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A shiver ran down Felix’s spine as his family slowly pulled away from his mind. He didn’t know when it happened, but now he, Eri, Kyrith, and Zira were alone and deep within the Endless Forest. It was as if he had blacked out and was only now coming to.

He slid off Zira’s back and nearly stumbled as he landed, catching himself only at the last moment. They had gone well past the grove they would have normally used and, if not for the dragons, it would have taken them all night to reach this pot.

And the reason? Their grove was too close to where the dwarves and gnomes were setting up. It would be fine for training, but for something like what he was about to do? Absolutely not.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eri said sympathetically.

“I thought you wanted to know my past?” he responded, giving her an almost genuine smile, but deep down he was nervous.

She shook her head. “Not if it’s going to hurt you.”

“No, I need to do this– I want to do this, even if it brings me pain and sorrow.” He paused to steady his nerves. “I think my memories are coming back. I want to get ahead of them… I want to know.”

Zira lowered her head and stared at him and Eri. “Then we shall do this…together.”

He gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s what I was hoping for. Otherwise, I don’t know if I would have the strength.” Felix gulped and tightened his grip around the journal. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared! I’ll keep you safe and warm!” Kyrith interjected from the side. “We’re all in this together!”

Zira nodded in agreement, something Felix would have thought strange before today. “And we will always be together.”

Eri stepped up and grasped his free arm and pulled him close to her. “Felix, no matter what, I will always love you.”

Felix stood there, unsure what to say. He could feel the truth radiating from each of them. They meant every word.

Tears began to form and he quickly looked away. “Thank you,” he said, nearly choking on his own words. “All of you.” He took a deep breath and faced them once more. “I love every single one of you…”

Silence fell upon their group as their raw, unfiltered emotions seeped into each other’s minds. It was intense but important. They all needed this, not just Felix.

But, as things began to calm down, Felix took one final deep breath. “Shall we begin?”

Eri gave him a nod, her expression serious. Even Kyrith dropped all humor and stepped up to him.

You’ve got this. We’ll be with you, the ember-colored dragon said over the bond.

Felix said nothing, he didn’t need to. Instead, he watched as Kyrith backed away and simply plopped onto the ground. A moment later, the dragon lifted a wing up as an invitation to come and join him.

“Let’s go sit down,” Eri said, lightly pulling at his arm. She had yet to let go of it.

“Yeah…” that was all Felix could say as he allowed her to guide him over to Kyrith. A moment later, they were sitting with their backs against the warm dragon.

Am I allowed to come and join you all? Zira asked rhetorically. She was already in the process of curling up around them, creating only enough space for Felix and Eri to sit comfortably.

Of course, your highness, Felix responded, deciding to add a little humor to lighten the mood.

Zira, though, chose not to respond and instead she and Kyrith brought their wings down, forming a tent to protect him and Eri from the elements. They only gave enough of an opening for each other to peer in.

Looking down, Felix brought Fea’s journal up and stared at it. Mana coursed through it, somehow, magically sealing it. The question for him now was, how to open it?

He thought about, thought about the key that Eri had given him and that Aluin had given her. Could that work? He honestly didn’t know. But, it’s worth a try…

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the key in question out and stared at it. Nothing about it had changed since he last saw it, but he could feel it too had mana running through it. Even more interestingly, as he brought it closer to the journal it began to vibrate in his hands.

He hesitated, stopping just as the key was about to touch. Should I really do this– He looked up to Eri who was giving him an encouraging smile.

“We’ll do this together,” she said and placed her hands on his. “Ready?”

“Yeah–”

The key touched the journal…

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Felix,

You have chosen to read my journal. In it, you will find the answers that you seek. However, be warned. I chose to not soften any of the events entailed here. Please, keep in mind that, no matter how harsh my words seem, in the end I came to love you. I still love you.

Remember, you paid for your sins. And now? You are, quite possibly, the last hope we have. I’m sorry it had to be this way. Perhaps, a small part of myself will remain with you. I hope so, at least.

I’m sorry, the words do not come to me easily. My heart aches every time I try to start and I can only think of regret.

May we be together soon.

Your Love,

Fea

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deep within the Dragon’s Spine, a mountain chain that bordered the western edge of the continent, stood the Citadel. It was the home of the dragons, it was the seat of power for the Dragon Queen, and it was to be the last bastion against the humans…

Fea looked down from her silvery throne with a mixture of shock and fury as a single elf kneeled before her. The messenger bore the seal of her elven counterpart.

The man brought terrible news with him, the elven queen had chosen to sacrifice herself. Worse still, there were tens of thousands of refugees making the long and dangerous trek to her home.

“Your Majesty, I beg you– Not as a messenger for my queen, but as an elf whose family has lost everything. Mine are fleeing along with thousands more. Our homes are razed, our capital is gone, and our land has been taken.”

He looked up to her, tears streaming down his face. “Please, Your Majesty, please… Open your gates to them.”

Fea remained silent, her fists clenched. There were sounds of angry growls from the edges of the room, many just as furious as her. Yet, some of that anger was directed towards the elven messenger…

We have to act… She put action to her thought as mana began to build within her. A moment later it burst forth and flooded the room and beyond, a command sent to all dragons.

Before she could even stand, her will was being enacted. The sounds of dragons setting off filled the room as she made her way over to the elf. “Go, and tell your people our gates are open.”

Stunned, the poor messenger could only blink.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked seriously. “Go!”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty!” He hopped onto his feet and rushed for the doors. However, before he could disappear, she called out to him one last time.

“Let them know– Let everyone know! The dragons will fight!”

Her voice echoed off the walls and ceiling, slowly spreading across the world…

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Felix slumped into his chair, exhausted and fatigued. The capture of the elven capital and the execution of their queen should have filled him with the same energy that was currently raging through the ranks.

Yet, the vision he saw, the future he saw, had shaken him.

The Given Queen, he thought bitterly. That was the title the elves had given their very own leader. And yet, it was fitting. Her capture and subsequent sacrifice had slowed Felix and his men. Now, the rest of the capital’s residents were long gone…

A sudden knock made him jump. He had found a guest room within the halls of elves’ grand castle. It was out of the way and he hoped to simply rest here…alone.

But, it looks like the Lord still has more work for me… “Come in,” he said out loud, straightening his posture.

The door opened and a bishop entered. “Ah, there you are Brother Felix. I have been looking for you–”

“And you found me. What can I do for you?” he said, cutting the short, pudgy man off.

The bishop shook his head. “Not for me, but for your own sake.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what can I do for myself?” he asked, almost mocking the man.

The bishop studied him for several moments before he spoke. “Brother Felix, there is no reason for you to be so hostile towards me.”

“I apologize, Brother, but I am quite exhausted. I had hopes of turning in early.” And without being disturbed. In truth, Felix barely trusted the bishop. The man had a tendency to cause trouble for him.

The bishop bowed. “Understandable but regrettable. We were not able to capture all the elves.” There was an insinuation in his words.

He narrowed his eyes. “Indeed. But what, pray tell, can I do for myself?”

“Ah yes! You see, Brother, this news will not go well with the High Prophet. Perhaps–”

“Really?” he asked, cutting the bishop off. “Our casualties were low and our objective complete. The city is ours, the queen’s head is ours.”

The bishop shook his own head. “It is true we were able to capture both the city and queen. But, we failed to destroy their army. We let them escape. Even the elven court got away. They can and will rally. Should we not pursue?”

I see where this is going… Felix looked upon the man with mounting annoyance. “Brother, I am well aware of that, but you are wrong in one regard. The elves have given up, their morale is gone. They fled because they know they cannot win.

“With that in mind, I decided not to pursue them. I can crush them at my leisure. However, our men are exhausted. This is the first time in months that they have had time to let loose.”

Silence fell as he finished his explanation. But deep down, Felix knew he was telling a lie. The real reason he had chosen to not pursue was because of the vision…

“Are you well?” The sudden question and shift of topic caught him off guard.

He eyed the bishop warily. “Yes. As I said, I am merely exhausted.”

“Are you sure, Brother? I sense your heart wavering. Did the so-called queen do something?”

Shit. “I assure you, I am quite fine. My heart wavers at the thought of all the paperwork I will have to do in the morning.”

That got a slight chuckle from the bishop. “That, I know all too well… It is why I am here, after all. I will have to report this all to the High Prophet. I merely need to explain why we aren’t chasing after them.”

Felix began to relax. “And now you know.”

“Indeed I do. Now, I shall make my leave and let you rest.”

“Thank you.”

The bishop gave a courteous bow and left, leaving Felix alone once again.

Several long moments passed before he slouched again into his chair. Now that he was alone, the vision threatened to come back to haunt him.

Lord, give me strength, he said in a prayer to his god.

***

The next day started off early for Felix as his room shook violently. Immediately, he jumped out of bed, a knife in hand.

Another rumble and the sound of a distant explosion.

Cursing, he quickly grabbed his armor and rushed out of the room. Coming into the grand hallway, he found his men panicking and running in every direction.

Sticking his hand out, he caught one soldier and stopped them.

“Tell me,” he said calmly, “what is happening?”

“S-Sir! Dragons! Dragons are attacking!”

He let go of the soldier and donned his gear. While his armor would offer little protection from a dragon, it did contain several enchantments…

SILENCE! He shouted, his voice projecting throughout the castle. REMEMBER YOUR TRAINING! FIND YOUR SERGEANTS AND PREPARE THE DEFENSES!

Felix watched as his words took effect. No longer were his men running around clueless, instead their steps became purposeful as they orderly made their way to and fro.

Falling into the, now orderly, chaos, he followed several towards the grand hall. Meanwhile, through the windows, fire rained down upon the captured city.

A singular dragon breached the predawn clouds with a roar that shook the foundations. It was massive, it was red, and Felix knew its name.

Nevrim…

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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We're going in deep now. Hopefully, you all like this otherwise I will have to cry. Okay, that's a bit melodramatic but I'll be sad :(

2 Comments

2025/02/03
14:04 UTC

A Stranger Among Stars, Chapter Twenty: Breaking Through the Ice

Max drifted awake slower than usual, the warmth of sleep still clinging to him like a thick fog. For the first time in… well, maybe ever, he had truly rested. No nightmares. No waking up in a cold sweat. Just warmth, the faintest trace of Malinar’s scent still lingering on his sheets, and the ghost of her presence where she had curled up beside him before slipping out.

It felt… nice. Too nice.

The sudden flash of bright white light in his cabin made him groan, throwing an arm over his face.

“Ava,” he grumbled, voice thick with sleep. “What the hell?”

The AI’s voice, laced with amusement, filled the room. “Oh, honey, I have been trying to wake you up for ten minutes. And you’re so cute when you sleep, but you’re on duty.”

Max let out a slow breath and rubbed his eyes before sitting up, stretching out the stiffness from his limbs. As his vision cleared, he saw Ava’s holographic form standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips.

He gulped, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh… what do you need?”

Ava huffed. “Your new suit is ready, your shuttle is prepped, and somebody is going down to the surface for a solo mission today. Any guesses on who that might be?”

Max exhaled sharply. Right. The mission. He had completely forgotten he was scheduled to head back down to G-X473 today.

“Great,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Another fun-filled adventure on the gelatinous hellscape.”

Ava projected a holographic model of the planetoid, highlighting the mission parameters. “Ilvar will drop you at a landing zone near the volcanic region. From there, it’s just a nice, scenic walk to the bioweapon ice plains—" she emphasized the words with mock enthusiasm, “—where you’ll use a pickaxe and sledgehammer to break off a few lovely samples. Those go into the containers you designed, which will then be stored in the cryocontainer. After that, you get to spend some quality time in the volcanic region for decontamination, and then Ilvar flies you back. No more than three or four hours, tops.”

Max groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Sounds like a great way to spend my morning.”

Ava smirked. “Oh, don’t be so grumpy. At least this time you won’t have to evacuate under emergency conditions.”

Max shot her a dry look before pushing himself to his feet. As he started towards the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face, he paused and turned back.

“Why That 70’s Show?” he asked, curiosity finally overriding his exhaustion.

Ava’s smirk widened. “Because right now, Max, you’re Fez.”

He blinked. “What?”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Until you tell them where Earth is? You’re the foreign exchange student.”

Max opened his mouth to argue—then closed it again. He had nothing to counter that.

Damn it.

With an exaggerated sigh, he shook his head and walked away, Ava’s quiet giggling echoing behind him.

—

Max walked briskly down the corridor, rolling his shoulders as he ran through the mission plan in his head. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about going back down to the planetoid alone, but the job had to be done. The ship needed samples of the bioweapon ice, and apparently, he was the best suited to retrieve them.

Ilvar flies me down. Walk to the ice plains. Smash off a few chunks with a hammer and pickaxe. Secure them in the containment units. Head to the volcanic region for heat decontamination. Fly back up.

Simple enough—if everything went according to plan. But things rarely went according to plan.

Ava’s voice broke through his thoughts, her holographic form flickering to life beside him. “You seem deep in thought, Fez.”

Max groaned. “Really? You’re still on that?”

Ava grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Until you give up the goods on where Earth is, you’re Fez.”

Max shook his head but couldn’t help smirking. “Fine. At least Fez got a happy ending.”

“Ah, but did he?” Ava waggled her holographic fingers mysteriously. “The wisdom of the ages is still out on that one.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Right. Anyway, you’re here for a reason. What do you need?”

Ava hummed. “Just making sure you don’t forget the important stuff. You do have a plan for not shattering the samples, right? Because, from what I understand, hammer plus brittle alien ice equals a bad time.”

Max exhaled through his nose. That was one of the main issues he’d been considering. The bioweapon’s frozen state wasn’t like standard ice—it was fragile but elastic, prone to shattering into near-useless fragments. If he went in swinging like a caveman, he’d end up with dust.

“I was thinking about scoring the surface first,” Max said, adjusting his gloves. “Use the pickaxe to make controlled fractures before applying any real force. Kind of like how you cut glass.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “That’s... actually a solid idea. Practical, controlled. Not just brute force.”

Max smirked. “I know, I’m full of surprises.”

Ava gave him a deadpan look. “And yet, you still solve half your problems with duct tape.”

Max held up a finger. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

With that, he stepped into the prep bay.

The first thing he noticed was his suit, standing upright on a rack, sleek and well-fitted. The second thing was Malinar and Xiphian, both already in the room. His stomach twisted slightly at the sight—after last night’s argument between them over him, he half-expected things to be tense. But instead, both carried themselves with their usual professionalism.

Still, Malinar’s presence was a comfort. She was scanning over a medical readout, her large teal eyes flicking toward him as he entered. A small smile tugged at her lips, and her emotions, warm and steady, brushed against his mental walls. He let his guard down just enough to let her feel his appreciation.

Xiphian, on the other hand, was laser-focused on the final checks of his suit, her four arms working with mechanical precision. When she noticed him watching, she huffed. “About time. You’re late.”

Max smirked. “Good morning to you too, Xiphian.”

She merely grumbled something in Kordian under her breath and continued her work.

With a sigh, Max pulled off his tunic and stepped into the suit. Unlike the standard Interstellar Council EVA suits, which were bulkier, this one was streamlined and flexible, designed with his greater physical strength and endurance in mind. As he adjusted the fit, Malinar stepped closer, running a medical scanner over him one last time.

“Vitals are steady,” she murmured, before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Good morning. And good luck.”

Max smiled at the gesture, letting his warmth reach her. “Keep an eye on me from up here, yeah?”

She nodded, gripping his arm briefly before stepping back.

Xiphian, finishing the last adjustments, frowned as Max began patting his suit down. “What are you doing?”

Malinar’s eyes lit with realization just as Max extended a hand expectantly. Without a word, she reached into a nearby kit and pulled out a roll of duct tape, placing it in his palm.

Xiphian let out an exasperated sigh. “Why do you need that?”

Max grinned. “Because duct tape saved our asses last time.”

Xiphian narrowed her eyes. “You also abandoned your EVA suit to save Tash’ar.”

Max winced as Malinar shot him a soft but firm glare. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. That was... not my best moment.”

Malinar’s gaze didn’t waver. “You promised.”

Max nodded, his expression serious. “I know. And I meant it. No shutting down. I’ll come back.”

Xiphian made a thoughtful noise, then waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. But if you get yourself killed, I’ll be very irritated.”

Max chuckled. “Noted.”

With that, he grabbed his helmet, took one last steadying breath, and made his way to the shuttle bay.

The flight down was smooth, as expected. Ilvar was an excellent pilot, but that didn’t stop him from using the trip as an opportunity for amusement at Max’s expense.

“So,” Ilvar drawled over the comms, his voice laced with humor. “I hear you’ve got yourself a very… passionate following aboard the Horizon.”

Max groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Let me guess, you overheard Malinar and Xiphian arguing last night?”

“Oh, I didn’t just overhear,” Ilvar said with a chuckle. “They were in the middle of the mess hall. Loudly. Quite the scene. And quite the debate. One wants to claim you, the other wants you to sire a litter. You humans do move fast, don’t you?”

Max sighed, rubbing his temple despite the helmet. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh? So Malinar isn’t possessive over you?”

Max hesitated. “…Okay, maybe a little.”

Ilvar outright laughed. “And Xiphian? She seems quite taken with your… adaptability.”

Max shot back, “Does that even qualify me as a desirable candidate in Kordian culture? I mean, isn’t desirability determined by intelligence and engineering skill? Where does a shuttle pilot rank in the grand hierarchy of potential mates?”

There was a beat of silence before Ilvar scoffed. “You’re deflecting.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just reminding you that you’re not the only one who can poke fun.”

Ilvar hummed in amusement. “Fair enough, deathworlder.”

The ship touched down smoothly in the volcanic region, the inertial dampeners making the landing feel like little more than a gentle tap. Outside, the jagged, spire-like formations of the landscape stretched across the horizon, and the ice—no, not ice—the gelatinous bioweapon, shimmered in an unnatural way beneath the thin atmosphere.

Max exhaled, then stood and grabbed the cryocontainer filled with his personally fabricated synthetic storage units. Then, he hoisted the bag of tools over his shoulder and stepped onto the ramp.

The landscape still breathed beneath his feet. Now, however, it was not just a feeling but a certainty.

He was standing on something that was alive—or at least, something that used to be.

He wasted no time. Striding toward the frozen bioweapon deposits, he knelt and pulled out his tools. A hammer. A pickaxe. Simple, reliable.

K.I.S.S., he thought. Keep It Simple, Stupid.

His goal was straightforward—carve out roughly half-foot cubes of the material, keeping them intact as much as possible. He didn’t trust plasma tools for this. Too much heat, too much risk of altering the material’s properties.

Just as he scored a 3x3 section with his pickaxe, a familiar, exasperated voice crackled over his comms.

“Williams,” Tash’ar’s voice was thoroughly unamused. “What, exactly, are you doing?”

Max grinned to himself as he began methodically applying duct tape over the grid, layering it carefully.

“Ensuring the fragments don’t shatter when I break them free,” Max answered clinically.

Tash’ar’s voice rose a fraction. “Duct tape? You’re using duct tape?”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence.

“Williams, why in all the stars would you use that instead of a proper containment method?”

Max kept working as he explained, his voice calm, pragmatic. “If I just strike the ice—”

“Not ice.”

“—the bioweapon material, the fragments could break off and move fast enough to puncture my suit.” He secured another strip of tape before continuing. “Duct tape keeps the structure intact and gives me full control over where the pieces go. Once it’s in the cryocontainer, I’ll properly seal it.”

Tash’ar sounded as though he was physically restraining himself from an outburst. “…You’re telling me you’re using primitive adhesive tape as a safety measure.”

“Duct tape saved the last mission,” Max reminded him, smirking.

“Duct tape—” Tash’ar made an incomprehensible noise, somewhere between frustration and resignation. “—duct tape should not be a primary solution in a scientific expedition!”

Max chuckled. “And yet, here we are.”

Tash’ar groaned. “If you die down there, I will personally file a report listing ‘duct tape overreliance’ as the cause of death.”

Max just grinned. “Duly noted.”

He brought the hammer down, cracking the grid loose in a single controlled strike. The tape held. The samples remained intact.

Science.

Max carefully secured each half-foot sample cube in its own individual container within the cryocontainer, ensuring that none of the gelatinous bioweapon remnants could escape or interact with one another. With precise, methodical movements, he placed the last of the properly stored samples in the reinforced case.

Then, for his own morbid curiosity, he retrieved a smaller sample—an eighth one—and wrapped it in a few layers of duct tape before affixing it to the top of the cryocontainer. It was a ridiculous solution, but duct tape had a way of solving problems that even the most advanced materials engineering sometimes couldn't. He figured if the thing was dormant in extreme cold, he could observe what would happen when it was exposed to different conditions.

With everything secured, he rose from his crouch, stretching briefly as he checked his suit's environmental seals. The next step was crucial—he needed to make his way to one of the volcanic regions. The intense heat would be enough to burn away any lingering fragments of the bioweapon before he could board the shuttle. A necessary precaution.

As he began his trek, Ilvar's voice crackled over the comms.

"So, Max, about Xiphian’s interest in your genetic material. Are you planning on siring some prodigious hybrid engineers anytime soon?"

Max rolled his eyes and shot back without hesitation, "That depends—how do Kordians value a pilot with a penchant for drinking and gossiping instead of actually flying the shuttle?"

Ilvar let out a low, amused chuff. "That hurts, Max. Really. Deeply. I'm an excellent pilot. Besides, you'd be doing the galactic gene pool a favor. Just think about it—brilliant, deathworlder intelligence combined with Kordian precision."

"Yeah, no thanks. I’ve got enough on my plate without cross-species eugenics projects," Max said dryly.

Before Ilvar could retort, Max's attention snapped to his suit’s internal temperature readout. He was nearing the lava fields, and as the heat climbed, a subtle shift in weight on his back made him pause.

Then, he heard it—a faint, wet schlurp.

Max glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the eighth sample—the one taped to the cryocontainer—shifting. The rising temperature had awakened it. Slowly, it pushed against the layers of duct tape, seeping out in tendrils that shimmered with an eerie, iridescent hue.

Then, as if sensing something, it lunged toward him.

Except his suit was sealed. Non-organic. Impenetrable.

The gelatinous mass oozed over his shoulder, flowing down his arm in search of genetic material to assimilate, but it found nothing. Max tilted his head, watching with detached curiosity as the bioweapon sluggishly attempted to digest what it couldn’t understand.

"Ava," he said over the comms, "engage my suit’s scanners. Let’s collect some data on this thing while it’s active."

Ava responded almost immediately, her tone laced with equal parts fascination and exasperation. "You do realize this is an incredibly reckless approach to scientific observation, right?"

"I mean, I could have just let it slip off and die in the heat, but where's the fun in that?"

"Max." Malinar’s voice cut through the private comm line, cold and controlled. "What the hell are you thinking?"

He could feel the sharp edge of her emotions even through the suit’s dampening systems. Frustration. Fear. A touch of something deeper.

"I'm thinking I'm completely fine," Max reassured her. "Suit's sealed, no risk of contamination. And we need to see how this thing behaves when active. Right now, it's aware that I'm organic, but it can't figure out why it can't consume me."

There was a pause, then a sharp exhale from Malinar. "You have no idea how much I hate this."

"Noted."

The bioweapon shifted, pulling away slightly as the temperature continued to rise. Max observed its movements carefully. It was reacting.

Self-preservation instinct.

"Let's test something," Max muttered, reaching into one of his utility pouches. He retrieved an emergency ration bar, unwrapped it, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed it toward the nearest lava flow.

The bioweapon reacted instantly, launching itself from his suit and latching onto the bar as it arced through the air. It didn't even hesitate.

A split second later, the entire mass of it plunged into the molten rock. It writhed for a moment before dissolving completely, annihilated by its own gluttony.

Max let out a breath, then calmly announced over the open channel, "Well, that answers that. The bioweapon isn't sentient. No intelligent life form would have followed the survival bar into a lava flow."

A collective groan filled the comms.

Tash’ar’s voice practically vibrated with barely contained frustration. "Max, that is not how scientific observation works! You don’t just toss snacks at an unidentified biohazard and draw conclusions like some—some deathworlder lunatic!"

Before Tash’ar could launch into a full-blown tirade, Kabo’s voice cut through. "Tash’ar, mute yourself."

There was a strangled noise, then silence.

Kabo exhaled heavily. "Max, get back to the shuttle. Now."

"Aye, Captain," Max replied, unfazed.

Ava chimed in, her tone smug. "For what it’s worth, the data we just collected is extremely valuable."

Max smirked. "See? Always a silver lining."

As he continued toward the shuttle, he could feel Malinar’s presence lingering on the private channel. She hadn’t said anything else, but he knew she was still there, still watching.

He sighed softly. "Mal?"

Her voice was quieter this time, but no less intense. "Just… get back safe."

Max nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. "I will."

And for once, he actually meant it.

Max leaned back against his seat, the cryocontainer safely secured to the shuttle’s cargo hold. He watched through the viewport as the last remnants of the duct-taped bundle disintegrated in the lava flow below. A final precaution—just in case the bioweapon had any last surprises.

Ilvar, however, had other things on his mind.

“So, Max,” the Kordian pilot said, his voice carrying that particular lilt that meant he was settling in for a good conversation. “I think we need to talk about your situation.”

Max sighed, already feeling the exhaustion creeping in. “What situation?”

Ilvar made a vague gesture with one of his four hands. “You and Xiphian. And Malinar, of course. Quite the predicament, no?”

Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a predicament. Malinar and I are together. That’s it.”

Ilvar scoffed. “That is hardly ‘it.’ Clan Teck is wealthy, influential, and Xiphian has made it clear she values your genes. That alone is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Max opened one eye, staring at the Kordian. “I’m not a breeding stud.”

Ilvar shrugged, a smirk playing at his lips. “A matter of perspective.”

Max shook his head, deciding to let that one slide. “Look, Malinar and I are figuring things out. And she’s not obligated to follow what her people normally do.”

“That is fair,” Ilvar admitted, nodding. “But Valkirie are naturally inclined toward multiple partners. The fact that she is so opposed to the idea is… unusual.”

Max frowned. “Not really. Humans lean toward monogamy, but that’s not universal either. People make their own choices.”

Ilvar tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps… but Xiphian is willing to pay quite handsomely for one litter. That could set you and Malinar up for life.”

Max groaned. “I’m not selling my genes to the highest bidder.”

Ilvar laughed. “A pity. Xiphian would probably have paid you in engineering resources. I hear she has a personal workshop with some of the best fabrication tools outside of Kordian Prime.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Ilvar’s grin widened. “Of course. This is the most entertaining thing to happen in weeks.”

Max exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “You know what? Let’s talk about you for a change.” He glanced at Ilvar. “Do you have a mate?”

Ilvar’s chest puffed up with obvious pride. “I do! Five, actually.”

Max blinked. “… Five?”

Ilvar nodded enthusiastically. “And I’ve successfully sired five litters.”

Max’s mind stalled for a moment before he hesitantly asked, “Litter?”

Ilvar’s eyes lit up, clearly pleased that Max had taken the bait. “Yes! Kordians give birth to five to fifteen pups at a time.”

Max groaned, slumping back in his seat. “I regret asking.”

Ilvar laughed, patting Max’s shoulder. “Welcome to interspecies cultural exchange, my friend.”

The shuttle thrummed as it ascended toward the Horizon, the bioweapon’s remnants now nothing more than data in Ava’s archives. Max closed his eyes, silently preparing himself for whatever new insanity awaited him once they landed. As soon as Max stepped off the shuttle’s ramp, he was met with a dual-pronged assault. Malinar and Xiphian were already waiting, and neither looked particularly pleased.

Xiphian got to him first, four arms immediately reaching to inspect his suit. “You didn’t compromise the integrity of the seals, did you?” she demanded, running a scanner over him with a practiced efficiency. “If I have to rebuild another joint system because of your—”

“I followed protocol,” Max cut in, his voice even, professional. “No rips, no tears, and no perforations.”

Xiphian narrowed her eyes at the readings, clicking her mandibles in frustration. “Until I get you out of this suit for a full diagnostic, I won’t be certain, but…” She let out a begrudging huff. “For now, I suppose you’re fine.”

Max nodded once, acknowledging her concern, but his focus was already shifting to Malinar, who stood just behind Xiphian, arms crossed, tail flicking sharply. Her teal eyes locked onto him with an intensity that made it clear—she was not happy.

He didn’t flinch under her gaze, but he did let his mental walls slip just enough for her to sense the truth: he was safe, uninjured, and despite how it might have looked, he hadn’t been reckless. Not entirely. He hadn’t gone in with a full plan, but he hadn’t gone in blind, either.

Malinar’s scowl softened, but only slightly. She sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max offered the smallest hint of a smirk. “So I’ve been told.”

Before the conversation could continue, Tash’ar stormed forward, tail bristling, ears pinned back in barely restrained fury. “You absolute, deathworlder, lunatic!” he snarled, jabbing a clawed finger at Max’s chest. “Do you have any idea how many scientific violations you committed in the span of a single mission?”

Max remained silent, knowing better than to interrupt.

Tash’ar, however, was only getting started.

“First, you somehow managed to synthesize seven containment units—a day ago! In conditions that should have made it impossible for lab-scale synthesis to work at all! Then, instead of using proper tools for extraction, you took a hammer and pickaxe like some pre-industrial miner! I allowed it—because I assumed you would eventually listen to reason and use a plasma saw as I suggested—but no! You doubled down on primitive stupidity!”

He took a deep breath, but it did little to slow his rant.

“And then—then—you decided that duct tape was an appropriate containment reinforcement. DUCT. TAPE. Do you even understand how many safety regulations that violates?!

“And as if that weren’t enough,” he seethed, voice rising, “you knowingly took an unauthorized eighth sample, woke it up to observe its behavior, baited a deadly bioweapon into a lava flow using a survival bar—and now you stand here as if that’s just another day’s work?!”

Silence stretched across the docking bay. Crew members who had gathered to watch the spectacle took a cautious step back, no doubt wondering if Tash’ar was about to explode from sheer frustration.

Max remained impassive, waiting until he was sure Tash’ar had fully emptied his outrage. Then, with deliberate calm, he said, “I acquired the samples as ordered and obtained data on how the bioweapon acts in a semi-controlled environment.”

The silence grew heavier.

Tash’ar made a strangled noise, ears flattening so hard they nearly disappeared into his fur. Malinar, seeing the dangerous level of stress in his expression, swiftly pulled a relaxant from her medkit and injected him before he could suffer an aneurysm.

Tash’ar blinked slowly, expression shifting from rage to momentary confusion before his eyes drooped slightly. “You… insufferable…” His words slurred as the relaxant took effect, and he swayed slightly before Marook stepped in to catch him.

Captain Kabo, who had been observing from the sidelines, let out a low, amused chuckle. “Well,” he rumbled, folding his massive arms across his chest. “As far as I’m concerned, that was a debrief. Max take the rest of the day off.”

Xiphian clicked her mandibles in annoyance, but said nothing. Malinar just shook her head, exasperation warring with the undeniable relief that Max was, in fact, unharmed. Tash’ar, for his part, was now mumbling something about scientific heresy into Marook’s fur.

Max exhaled, feeling the tension finally ease from his shoulders.

Max sat on the observation deck, the glass stretching endlessly above him, framing the vastness of space. G-X473, the planetoid they had just left, shrank in the distance, its icy, bioweapon-ridden surface little more than a speck against the backdrop of the stars. The Horizon moved forward on its mission, leaving behind yet another strange discovery.

And yet, Max’s mind wasn’t on their next objective. It wasn’t on the samples, or the data, or even Tash’ar’s near aneurysm. No, his thoughts had turned inward.

He found solace in stargazing, though it had never really been his hobby. It had been his mother's. Back before she had become the distant, clinical scientist. Before the weight of grief had hollowed her out. Before she had pushed him toward cold logic and equations, stripping away anything she deemed unworthy of pursuit.

His gaze drifted over the stars, and a question gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Is humanity still out there?

10,587 years. More than ten millennia since the Aurora was lost. Since Earth had been anything more than a distant memory. He liked to imagine that humans had survived, that somewhere out there, his people were still fighting, still building, still living. But there was no way to know. No way to be sure.

And with that thought, his mind spiraled further—past the unknown fate of humanity, past Earth, and onto something more personal. His family.

He could barely remember the warmth that had once existed in his home. His mother’s voice had once been soft, filled with praise. His father had once wanted to teach him, to show him things, to encourage his curiosity. But after his aunt’s death, something had changed. Love had become distant, praise conditional. Knowledge was valuable; emotions were not.

And then, as always, the pain came. That sharp, familiar ache in his chest. He clenched his jaw, instinctively pushing it down, preparing to bury it as he always did.

Then two arms wrapped around him.

Malinar.

Her warmth pressed against his back as she leaned over him, her voice soft, soothing. “I’m here.”

Max stiffened. He hadn’t even realized she was there. Had he really been sitting here that long?

He swallowed. “Why?”

“You’ve been sitting here since my shift started,” she murmured. “And you feel like you need someone.”

Max didn’t know how to respond to that. His first instinct was to tell her he was fine, that he was just thinking, but he knew Malinar would see through it. He hesitated, torn between the need to hide and the quiet, aching part of him that wanted—needed—to be understood.

She didn’t push. She simply held him, resting her chin atop his head, her breath warm against his hair, and without a word, she pressed a firm reassuring kiss to his head.

Max’s throat tightened.

“I have you now,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You don’t have to,” she said simply. “Not alone.”

Max exhaled shakily. He didn’t want to unpack all of this. Didn’t want to dig through the wreckage of his past, least of all with Malinar—the one person he was terrified of scaring away. But she wasn’t letting go. She wasn’t leaving.

Instead, she pulled him back, guiding him until he was leaning against her, his head resting just below her collarbone. One hand slid into his hair, her fingers carding through it gently.

“Trust me,” she said softly.

Max closed his eyes. And then, slowly, hesitantly, he did.

He spoke quietly at first, his voice barely above a whisper. About the night when he was six. When he realized the mother he had known—the one who loved—was gone.

“I was so excited,” he murmured, his hands gripping Malinar’s arms around his chest. “I’d drawn a picture in school. A trip to Mars, our family all together.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought she’d be proud.”

Malinar didn’t say anything. She just listened.

“She barely even looked at it,” he continued. “She just scoffed and said art was a waste. That I was meant for greater things.” His voice grew tight. “Then she just... took it. Used some bio-gel she was working on. Dissolved it. Didn’t even hesitate.”

Malinar’s arms tightened around him.

“That was the first time I realized,” Max whispered. “She wasn’t my mom anymore. Not really.” His fingers clenched. “That was the night my heart broke.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken pain.

Then Malinar pulled him in tighter, pressing another kiss to his temple.

“You’re not broken,” she whispered. “You’re just lost. Scrambled.” Her fingers ran gently through his hair, soothing, steady. “And I can help. I will help.”

Max exhaled, his breath shaky, but for once, he didn’t push her away. He just let himself rest in her arms, the stars above them silent witnesses to the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than empty.

Max didn’t say anything for a long time. He wasn’t sure he could. The weight of the memories, of everything he had just admitted, settled heavy in his chest.

But Malinar held him as if none of it scared her. As if his pain wasn’t something to be fixed or dissected, but simply understood.

She ran her fingers gently through his hair, tracing slow, soothing patterns against his scalp. “You carry so much pain,” she murmured. “So much that was never yours to bear.”

Max swallowed hard, his throat tight.

She shifted slightly, resting her cheek against the top of his head. “Your mother…” Malinar hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “She hurt you. Not just that night, but over and over again. Whether she meant to or not.”

Max clenched his jaw. He knew that. He had known that for years. But hearing it aloud, in Malinar’s voice, made it feel real in a way he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

“I was never enough,” he said quietly.

Malinar’s arms tightened around him. “No.” She exhaled slowly. “You were always enough, Max. You were just never what she wanted you to be.”

His breath hitched slightly.

Malinar sighed, pressing another gentle kiss to his temple. “You think the way she raised you, the way she shaped you, defines who you are. That you have to be what she made you. But you don’t.” She pulled back just enough to look down at him, her teal eyes soft, steady. “You’re not a machine. You’re not just logic and calculations. You feel so much—even if you don’t always know how to handle it.”

Max let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Malinar shifted again, this time moving so that she was facing him more fully. She reached for his hands, taking them in hers, her thumbs brushing over his knuckles. “You are more than what she tried to make you. More than what she took from you.” Her voice was firm, certain. “Your past shaped you, Max, but it doesn’t own you.”

Max looked down at their hands, her blue-gray fingers wrapped around his. His hands, calloused from training, scarred from survival, dwarfed hers slightly, but she held on as if she had no intention of ever letting go.

“You don’t have to keep carrying this alone,” she whispered. “You don’t have to keep proving that you’re worth something.”

His throat tightened. “Then why do I still feel like I do?”

Malinar’s expression softened, and she lifted one hand, cupping the side of his face. “Because pain doesn’t just go away,” she murmured. “Because it’s been a part of you for so long that you don’t know who you are without it.” She gently traced her thumb along his cheekbone. “But you’re not broken, Max. You never were.”

Max exhaled shakily, leaning just slightly into her touch.

Malinar tilted her head, her teal eyes searching his. “You are hurt. You are scarred. But scars don’t mean the wound is still open.” She hesitated, then added softly, “And if it still is… then let me help you close it.”

Max’s breath caught in his throat.

“I want you, Max.” Her voice was quiet but unwavering. “Not your intelligence. Not your usefulness. You.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of her words.

He had spent his whole life trying to be valuable. Trying to be enough. His mother had only praised him when he succeeded in science, in logic, in something she deemed worthy. His father had distanced himself, too wrapped up in his own grief to see what was happening. The Interstellar Council only saw him as a deathworlder, a potential threat, something to be analyzed and handled carefully.

But Malinar didn’t want any of that. She just… wanted him.

And for the first time, he realized how much he wanted to believe that was enough.

He opened his eyes, looking up at her, his walls lower than they had ever been. “…I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Malinar smiled softly. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

Max swallowed, then, slowly, he nodded.

Malinar pressed her forehead lightly against his, her breath warm against his skin. “You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she murmured. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

Max closed his eyes again. And for the first time in what felt like forever… he let himself believe her.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

*last chapter / *[next chapter]TBR 2/5 ()

14 Comments

2025/02/03
14:01 UTC

That thing It´s a Big Partner! HFY Story (Chapter 21)

The CloneMarine crossed his arms, watching Marcus with cold eyes.

“Don’t try anything funny, Martian.”

Marcus didn’t reply, only casting a disdainful glance before turning to his crew. He approached the cryogenic capsules and began the reactivation process, entering commands into the side panel of each one.

The process was slow. Just as it had happened to him, the crew members woke up disoriented, their bodies still struggling against the effects of prolonged cryosleep. Some collapsed to their knees, vomiting the remnants of the suspension process, while others leaned against the walls to keep from fainting. The air in the room filled with low groans and heavy breathing.

The CloneMarine watched In silence. When the last crew member stepped out of their capsule, he turned to Marcus.

“Now talk. Tell me everything that happened.”

Marcus sighed, running a hand over his face. His eyes still held hesitation, but he seemed to understand there was no avoiding it anymore.

“I’ll only tell you what I know,” he said. “The bigger picture… I don’t know.”

The CloneMarine narrowed his eyes, but before he could press further, Marcus was already walking toward the door.

“Let’s go to my ship, Clone.”

His tone still carried resentment, but his posture suggested an attempt at cooperation.

He then turned to his crew, who were still recovering.

“When you feel well enough, board the ship.”

Without waiting for a response, Marcus left the room alongside the CloneMarine and Tila. The corridor felt even colder now, but he ignored the sensation and kept his focus on their destination.

Upon reaching the hangar, Marcus stopped for a moment.

There she was.

The Martian frigate rested at the center of the immense metallic space, imposing even after a decade of abandonment. Its aggressive lines and reddish-brown coloration reflected the hangar’s artificial lights.

A relieved smile appeared on his face.

“So she’s still here,” he murmured.

He walked around the ship, his eyes analyzing every detail as if reuniting with an old friend. But then, something caught his attention.

A stranger was approaching.

Marcus stopped and narrowed his eyes, watching the bipedal rabbit walking toward him.

“Who is that?” he asked, his tone filled with suspicion.

“That’s Zarn,” Tila replied. “We found this place thanks to him.”

Zarn smiled and gave a small wave.

“Nice to meet you, human.”

Marcus hesitated before responding.

“You can call me Marcus,” he said, still scrutinizing Zarn with an analytical gaze. “I’m a captain in the Martian Navy.”

Zarn nodded.

“And I’m a journalist,” he said. “Finding this place… it’s fascinating. But I still need to find my friend. He disappeared while searching for this place.”

For a brief moment, Marcus’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope you find him.”

Without another word, he turned his attention back to the ship’s entrance.

With determined steps, he approached the side of the frigate and opened a hidden panel. The metal slid smoothly, revealing a small identification device.

He pressed his palm against the panel.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, a green light flashed on the screen, and a soft mechanical sound echoed through the hangar.

The large hatch began to open, slowly lowering until it formed a boarding ramp.

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto the CloneMarine.

“You want to know what the Martian Republic was doing here?” His voice was low but heavy with meaning.

He stepped onto the ramp, never breaking eye contact.

“Then follow me, Clone.”

---

The corridors of the Martian frigate were narrow, but the ship’s interior architecture impressed Tila and Zarn. The walls were made of dark metal with red and silver accents, and the lighting was soft, almost cold, contrasting with the functional and militarized design.

“This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Zarn murmured, his curious eyes scanning the details of the structure.

Tila silently agreed. There was something almost intimidating about the simplicity and efficiency of the design, as if every inch of the ship had been planned solely for war.

They walked for a few minutes until they reached the bridge.

Marcus stepped up to the command panel and pressed a few buttons. Immediately, holograms materialized in the air, projecting a detailed view of the ship’s structure, its operational status, and various other pieces of information stored in the database.

He observed the data in silence for a few seconds until something caught his attention. His eyes narrowed as he noticed that the weapons system indicated the frigate’s missiles were missing.

But he said nothing.

With a sigh, he turned to the others and began to speak.

“Mars was working on an advanced FTL drive project,” he began. “And we needed to test the final version… My crew and I were chosen for that test.”

He pointed to the hologram of a nearby star system.

“The drive was installed on this ship, and our objective was to map a star a little over 30 light-years from the Sun. It was supposed to be a round trip. We didn’t intend to contact any alien beings… We didn’t even know of the existence of any intelligent life beyond our own, of course.”

The CloneMarine crossed his arms, listening attentively.

Marcus continued.

“The drive took us to a Federation mining system. Soon, the authorities found us. They were… peaceful with us. Before long, Federation warships arrived and escorted us here.”

He looked around the bridge.

“This is where we held all our meetings for an entire month.”

“Meetings about what?” Zarn asked.

“We told them our story,” Marcus replied. “And after some time, they seemed to sympathize with us. They promised to provide us with the technology needed to defeat the Terran Republic… But in exchange, they requested access to all our technical data.”

He paused, furrowing his brow as he recalled the details.

“We handed over detailed information about our ships, our weapons… Everything. They said that with it, they could provide us with blueprints to improve our fleet. And then, in our last meeting, they claimed they would contact the Martian Republic to negotiate directly with our government.”

He squinted, as If trying to pull out fragmented memories.

“But…” He hesitated. “I don’t remember anything after that. The next thing I know, I woke up in that capsule… being awakened by that freak—”

Marcus stopped mid-word.

He quickly corrected himself, though with visible effort.

“By that… Clone.”

The CloneMarine remained impassive, but Tila noticed his jaw was clenched.

Marcus exhaled heavily, crossing his arms.

“I told you I didn’t know much,” he concluded.

The silence weighed heavily on the bridge of the Martian frigate. The CloneMarine stared at the holograms projected before them, his expression grim.

“This just raises more questions than answers…” he murmured.

Marcus ran a hand over his face, exhausted.

“But what does it matter in the end?” he said, his voice filled with frustration. “Our governments are gone. The Federation never had time to help us.”

Zarn, who had been silent until now, let out a sigh and crossed his arms.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention.

The journalist took a few steps forward, his eyes shining with a mix of unease and curiosity.

“No offense to your species or to you two…” Zarn began, choosing his words carefully. “But the Federation’s government considers species like yours barbaric just because you came from the Outer Rim. They would never help you, not even under the best circumstances… You and your ships would easily be mistaken for pirates or raiders.”

He paused for a moment before continuing.

“The fact that they kept you a secret… that’s what confuses me the most. There are no records of your species, not even in the Encyclopedia of Barbaric Species.”

Marcus frowned, absorbing the information.

“Maybe they were just having a good day,” he said sarcastically. “If what you’re saying is true, I should already be dead. My crew too.”

Zarn didn’t look convinced.

“Try to remember,” he insisted. “What else did they do to you?”

Marcus narrowed his eyes, searching through the fragmented memories of his stay at the Federation station.

“Well… they ran tests,” he said slowly. “Analyzed our anatomy, asked for information on the physiology of humans born on Earth and Mars. Besides that, they wanted to know everything about Terran ships and their weapons in order to create more effective weapons and countermeasures against the Martian Republic…”

Zarn fell silent, his thoughts racing.

He started connecting the dots.

“I think that…” he murmured, almost to himself. “But… that can’t be it… Why would they do that?”

The CloneMarine turned to him, impatient.

“What are you thinking, rabbit?”

“Say it,” Marcus added, the unease growing in his tone.

Zarn took a deep breath before speaking.

“What if… all the data they collected wasn’t to help you? Not your Martian Republic, not the Terran Republic.”

He paused, his gaze locking onto the two humans.

“What if it was for another purpose?”

The color drained from Marcus’s face.

“You’re saying that…” he started, his voice trembling. “The Federation never intended to help the Martian Republic…?”

Zarn continued, his mind growing more certain of the terrible conclusion.

“Not just you,” he said. “But your entire species. What if that data was used to attack you?”

Marcus staggered, feeling the weight of the revelation crash down on him.

He gripped the nearest console, his eyes wide.

“Fuck…” he murmured, his voice breaking.

The shock hit him like a punch to the gut.

“How could I be so stupid…?”

His body trembled slightly as the realization sank deep into his mind.

“I was so desperate to end that goddamn war… that I doomed my own species.”

5 Comments

2025/02/03
13:38 UTC

Reborn as a witch in another world [slice of life, isekai] (ch. 13)

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