First

Vitmori POV

I don't know if it's just me, but walking this capital city's streets feels nostalgic and alien altogether.

The people walking the streets were unique only in that they were far more varied than the last few places we visited. I could see soldiers, guards, mercenaries, and adventurers on the same walkways as day laborers, musicians, sailors, clerics, bankers, mages, and buskers. They all intermingle rather seamlessly in this big melting pot of varying backgrounds and ways of life.

As we walked, I couldn't help but allow my eyes to wander between the people and the various storefronts. The sights felt eerily familiar yet different outright when it came to the fundamental understanding of what things are.

The overall infrastructure was already vastly superior to what I saw back in Sunspot Keep and Lucfan's Rest. There were crystal street lamps on every street corner, with more lamps placed equidistant to each other, filling up the space between each corner, no doubt providing a thorough amount of illumination once the sun goes down.

We occasionally passed what looked to be sewer grates where the sidewalks met the road, along with manhole covers that were placed at the mouths of alleyways instead of in the middle of the streets. These were signs that they definitely had a sewer system, which would be necessary for this city's population, but how advanced is it? Is it just for waste disposal, or do they have a sewage treatment somewhere?

Beyond that, there were lines of wires almost haphazardly strewn around in a sort of organized chaos above our heads; the wires in question came from every building and led to what looked like crude utility posts. Were they power lines? Maybe even landlines? I couldn't wait to find out for myself, even if I could look through Dhalia's memories for the answers now if I wanted to.

On another note, I won't get to do much free running around here, not if the rooftop guards have anything to say about it. Above our heads on the third or even fourth floors of some buildings were guards that were posted just out of sight and watching the flow of traffic as people went about their daily lives. There weren't that many all around, as I had only noticed three in twenty minutes after they just happened to glance at me as I walked past their position.

I wondered whether they just happened to be more observant than most to be able to spot me or if I was just more noticeable than usual. I'll need to actively test those skills things my titles grant me if I want to use them going forward more reliably, not that I needed them before to get around undetected when I wanted to.

Before long, we drew closer to the place Basti asked we meet up at; she had initially just sent me a text describing the place, but then she reached out to me mentally and shared what she was seeing before pulling away again. I was surprised, to say the least, at how much I had missed feeling the sensation of her mind and presence around me.

Coming up to a crossroads, we crossed the street and approached what appeared to be a gated botanical garden with ornate brick and iron fencing that stretched out to both ends of the street and rounded the corners. With a glance around, I could sense that there was some kind of magical barrier or threshold going along the fence line, so there was likely something more protecting this place than a simple brick and iron fence.

Just inside the currently opened gate was what appeared to be a welcoming table or maybe a host station underneath an awning where two blindfolded women sat with surprisingly welcoming smiles.

"Welcome to Sazala's Tranquility Cafe. Do you have a reservation?" A dogkin with mostly human features asked with the usual customer service voice. Despite her black blindfold, I could still sense her eyes on me, so it was see-through and part of the uniform for this place.

"No, but we're the party for Basti; she should be expecting us."

The dogkin bobbed her head intently before standing as she walked around the station and waved us along. "Of course, sir, if you'll follow me." She said before ushering us along.

In the center of the garden cafe was a three-story building; I could see the chimney smoke steadily rising from one corner of the building with what looked to be a mix of guards and servers coming and going from the building as they took the many different paths which lead to the various corners and ends of the gardens.

Leading us down one of these paths, we were soon surrounded by a relatively dense yet seemingly carefully manicured array of brush and foilage that was filled with a mix of unfamiliar and strangely familiar flora until we finally arrived at a somewhat isolated gazebo in a small clearing.

Sitting at one side of a round table covered with a generous spread of treats and meats was a woman I did not recognize, at least at first. She was menacing and gorgeous, a woman with looks that could kill and who looked like she could kill me.

She sat with a composed confidence, her long black tail curled around from the back of her seat and into her lap as she took a generous bite of some deli meat on a piece of bread. She wore a short-sleeved mint green tunic that fit loosely on her despite the considerable musculature of her arms, which subtly flexed with the apparent physical power contained within as she turned to look at our approach and set down what she was eating.

As our eyes met, a rush of familiarity overcame me as I recognized the woman for who she was; it was Basti! Before I knew it, a smile formed on my wooden lips as I stepped away from the group to close the distance.

Basti's ears perked with evident delight when she saw me, a toothy grin taking its place on her face as she was soon working to swallow down what she had in her mouth before getting to her feet, her long tail lashing with anticipation as we met halfway.

We both kind of just... Stood there. My words escaped me while Basti had too much to say and wasn't sure where to start.

The dogkin host broke the silence as she piped up while offering a polite bow of her head. "We hope you enjoy your stay at the Tranquility Cafe; please ring the bell if you need our services." With that, she turned on her heel and headed back down the way we came.

With the dogkin gone, Freyli rushed forward, excitedly calling for Basti as she quickly scaled my back before hopping off my shoulder and onto Basti, who caught Freyli and cradled her to her chest. "Mama, mama! I missed you so much, mama!" She gushed while almost aggressively nuzzling the top of her head against Basti's throat and chin while mrowling as she was just too excited for proper words.

Basti eagerly reciprocated her daughter's affections, an audible rumble emanating from her as she nuzzled her chin against Freyli, all while the white cub steadily made her way up and around Basti's shoulder to lay against her.

Looking around, Basmori seemingly vanished into thin air for whatever reason, though with the minute I was given to gather my thoughts, I was finally able to find my words. "You... Look great. I see you've come into your own while you were out and about... How have you been?"

Basti's ears swiveled towards my voice when she then turned her head to look at me, a small smile still present on her lips as one hand continued to dote on Freyli, scritching her throat and massaging one of her ears. "I have been... Busy." She says simply with a smile still pursed on her lips. "Since leaving your side, I've learned much and seen a lot more. I've experienced the wonderful kindness of strangers and learned to be wary when things seem too easy." She mused, clearly reminiscing on her travels and experiences. "Oh! And food! Oh, I've tried so many different kinds of food." She expressed excitedly as her ears waggled at the mere thought of the foods she'd eaten. "I don't think I can ever go back to plain raw meat after everything I've tasted."

The way she smiled, the sound of her voice, and the look in her eyes. If I didn't already know I don't have a heart in this avatar of mine, I would've sworn it had skipped a beat just now. I haven't felt this way in such a long time... I never thought I would feel like this ever again...

As I watched Basti talk with Legosi and Freyli about some of the foods they've tried these last couple of weeks, I couldn't help but remember all over again that I promised her a date once we had met in the capital. I can still hardly fathom the idea of going out on a date now that I'm faced with the genuine prospect of it, especially at my age. The last time I went out on a date was over half of my lifetime ago; I had slaughtered fifteen zombies and spent four days cleaning and setting up sound traps and trip wires, among other things, to secure an old skating rink for dinner and a movie... But here? In this world, with my lack of experience in these things? I wouldn't even know where to begin.

I must have been too far into my own head as before I knew it, Basti was standing right in front of me, a look of concerned curiosity playing out on her face as her brows scrunched together while examining me. A large hand that I could only imagine was no doubt pleasantly soft and gentle was cradling my wooden cheek. "Vitmori? Are you okay?" She asked, meeting my gaze while I refocused on the moment.

She was... So tall. Nearly as tall as me though, maybe a couple of inches shorter... With that in mind, her ears do make up the difference. It isn't all too often that I get to look someone directly in the eyes without needing to tilt my head down in any way. Though I suppose since coming to this world, I've had to look up on more than one occasion, but even that isn't a common occurrence.

"I'm fine... There's just... A lot on my mind." I answered slowly while offering her a smile and gently patted her forearm to try and ease her mind.

I could tell she wasn't sure what to make of my response, but she decided not to pursue the topic and bobbed her head. “If you say so, Vitmori.” Though she then flashed a toothy smirk as she pulled away. “Before anything else, there’s someone here I need to speak to.” She said simply before making her way over to Wither.

The plague doctor looked up at her with a vaguely confused head tilt as she stepped past him and took a knee before plunging her hand into his shadow and pulling out Basmori by his scruff as he mrowled with surprise.

“Now, what are you doing here, my little shadow?” Basti mused affectionately as she brought him to her chest and lovingly tickled his chin, still quite happy to see him despite the circumstances.

Basmori’s ears just sagged nervously, and I could tell he wasn’t sure if he was actually in trouble or not before murmuring out a mewl in response, saying that he didn’t follow her; he had followed me.

At that, Basti couldn’t help but chuckle as she lifted him off her chest and looked him in the eye. “I suppose you have me there, little one…” She admitted while bringing him close again, cradling him before looking back at me with that lovely smile still on her lips. "Let's take a seat; we have lots to talk about."

"Yeah, let's." With that, I made my way to the table, sitting next to where Basti had been before, pretending to get comfortable.

Both Freyli and Basmori decided to take their own seats as well, Freyli standing on a chair with her paws on the table, though Basmori shifted into a beastkin, much to Basti's surprise as she couldn't help but flash a toothy grin. "Well, look at you, you sure have grown my little shadow."

Basmori flashed a proud little smile, though he was a little sheepish at the fact that he only managed to pull on his pants this time during his shift and proceeded to pull out his shirt before pulling it on and buttoning it up when he found his place beside Freyli.

Legosi, for his part, just walked up and sat on the ground beside the table, being tall enough to eat from it comfortably.

The plague doctors took their own places, looking over the spread and opting to remove their masks while serving themselves a cup of tea and plating food for Legosi as per his requests.

After a few moments had passed, and once everyone seemed pretty settled down, I turned my attention to Basti, admiring the splashes of black that colored her skin like some kind of vitiligo. "So, I take it you have the day off from being Dhalia?"

At that comment, Basti couldn't help but chuckle with utter amusement as she plucked up the piece of bread with meat on it that she had been eating earlier. "I've had a lot of days off lately, yes." She mused while taking a bite, savoring the food before continuing as she swallowed. "Diarosa is a nervous wreck after her extended stay in isolation while she was our prisoner, and since then, she's frequently had night terrors and can't bring herself to leave the manor."

"Really? Was she truly that traumatized?" I know she was a brat despite being a grown woman, but I would've thought she would've had a sturdier stomach, considering the things she's done to Mina and the others.

Basti just flashed her teeth in a mischievously toothy grin. "Well, it probably didn't help that the shadows seemed to move frequently at night, not to mention the whispers." She explained as she then offered a simple shrug before taking yet another bite of her food. "I only needed to do it for a few days before she started jumping at shadows all on her own."

"Hah, that's hysterical." I mused cheerfully enough as I took up a cup of tea, bringing it to my nose and sniffed at it; it smelled vaguely tart or perhaps fruity, though I couldn't place it myself.

Basti seemed delighted by my comment as she finished the meat and bread, washing it down with her tea before setting the cup down. "Then there's Maverick; he's been too busy dealing with all the burned bridges and other fires that keep sprouting up because his trade deals with the Theocracy fell through. It seems some of his affiliates are none too pleased about that fact, and he's been having to throw money around to keep things from falling apart even more." She took the time to get a slice of some other kind of bread before spreading a spoonful of purple preserves over it. "Who he's talking to and where exactly the money is going, I'm still not too sure about due to his affiliates being excessively secretive. Dhalia was more Diarosa's associate than Maverick's, so there was little more me to get involved with regarding his immediate affairs."

"Then it sounds like the Sinners are doing their jobs properly and managed to return to their old posts without being caught..." I considered while smelling the tea again, doing my best to relish what few sensations I could enjoy with my relatively weak sense of smell. "Greed had to kill someone, but none of them have reached out to me for anything, so I can only assume they're doing alright on their own." After another moment, I decided to set the mug down before regarding Basti curiously. "So if you haven't needed to do much as Dhalia, I take it you've been spending your free time as Basti? What have you been up to?"

Basti's ears flicked and waggled with evident delight as she considered the things she'd done the last few weeks. "Well, I've done a bit of exploring and tried lots of foods and drinks... Oh! And I've done a lot of fighting!" She expressed excitedly as she raised a clenched fist.

Fighting? Well, she hasn't killed anyone here, so maybe bar fights or... Something... "What sort of fights have you been getting in?" I just asked while leaning forward and propping my elbows on the table as I settled in to give her my full attention.

Her tail curled and lashed behind her cheerfully as she smiled. "I've mainly been fighting in the daily tournaments, but I've found a few underground circuits with more brutal fights and got signed up for those, too. I usually bet on myself, and I've been making good coin." She said as she suddenly flared out one of her shadowy wings, reaching in and pulling out a rather weighty-looking pouch that she set down with a distinct clattering of coins coming from within it. "People have tried mugging me for my money, too, but I showed them the error of their ways when it came to that." She mentioned with a pleased waggle of her ears.

I couldn't help but share in her smile as I glanced between her and the bag of coin in front of her. "It looks like you've certainly done well for yourself. I was honestly worried how you would take to earnestly being a person; I'm happy to see that those worries were unfounded."

Basti smiled as she idly poked at the pouch with a finger while her tail flicked and swayed behind her. "I was nervous being out on my own again... But just the thought that you would soon be joining my side before long helped spurred me to keep going strong, and now that you're here, we can get started on the right foot with our plans." She exclaimed rather energetically at the end with a light fist thump against the table.

I nodded along at her words with a smile still happily stuck on my lips. "Speaking of plans, I have a lot of stuff I need to fill you in on. I made a few friends and spun quite a few stories, but don't worry, you'll only need to remember the broad strokes."

Basti smirked as her ears flicked at my words, now leaning in on the table with me as she propped her chin on a fist. "Oh really? Do tell."

Prev First

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I realise a lot of people on here don’t know about The Village. Well… imagine Prison, Disneyland and a University party thrown into a blender with a little pinch of desperation thrown in for taste. That is The Village.

And my guide to this magical pimple of a place introduced himself by driving his motorbike through my front window.

I’m not sure what woke me up first – the roar of the engine, the gentle tinkling of glass as it smashed into my new refrigerator, or the nasal Australian ‘G’day’ that was called out to me.

I sat up in bed, heart thumping, and grabbed the closest thing to a weapon I could find – a shitty plastic bedside lamp. I walked out there holding the lamp in front of me like a mace.

‘Hello?’ I called out.

The light switched on, blinding me and I heard a distinctively Australian scream.

‘God mate, put some clothes on. You got ya willy hanging out and everything.’

I blinked in the light, in front of me stood a leather-clad, very stylish dude about my age who was trying very hard to keep his eyes on my face.

‘Who are you?’ I mumbled, the air had a chill to it, and when I looked around I saw bits of my window embedded in one wall, ‘You drove through my window!?!’

‘Yeah mate,’ the guy winked, ‘First rule I’m gonna teach you is that if you’re not a good writer you have to do some pretty crazy shit here to stand out and attract attention from the good writers so they’ll help fund your lifestyle,’ Manuel held up his hands, they didn’t have the computer-key-callouses that mine did, ‘I am not a good writer,’ he said.

‘The window…’

He brushed a piece of glass off his leather jacket, ‘Don’t worry - Al-Dog showed me how many views your stories have. You can afford it.’

I groaned, ‘Man I’m trying to get out of this hellhole. The more money I spend on fixing windows the less I have to... hey, what are you doing?’

Manuel was getting back on his motorbike, he pointed to my room, ‘You go back in there, you get some party clothes, and you come with me, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.’

I went to open my mouth but nothing came out. I guess the shock of having a biker drive through my front window in the middle of the night and the fact I was only half awake had dulled my mind.

‘I don’t have party clothes,’ I said eventually, ‘I’m just gonna...’

‘...you’re just gonna go back in there and look in your wardrobe. Al-Dog gave me money for important stuff. And believe me, you wouldn’t have made a good first impression showing up to the party naked.’

I stumbled back into the room and found a closet filled with dress-shirts, chinos, and high-end coats. I swallowed when I saw them, just imagining the damage they would’ve made to my bank account.

But they fitted well... so well that I decided someone at Crusher Media must’ve written down my shirt sizes when I’d arrived.

I threw on a patterned shirt, black pants and shoes – which took a lot longer than usual as I hadn’t worn anything on my feet since I entered Crusher Prison. 

We rode Manuel’s motorbike back through the window and roared along the streets of The Village. The houses blurred by like I was on a ghost train.

We pulled up outside a mansion in a screech of rubber. Manuel parked the bike between two marble Greek statues.

‘What? Not gonna ride through this guy’s window as well?’

Manuel just shook his head, ‘These guys would kill me.’

‘Hmm... so that’s where I went wrong.’

Music was pumping from inside and a bunch of people in their early 20s were drinking wine on the marble steps. Manuel turned to me.

‘Before we go in I need you to know something.’

I stared at him so he continued, ‘Say it after me... I am a nobody.’

‘Manuel, you are a nobody.’

‘Are you stupid?’

‘No. I’m just messing with ya.’ I pulled a packet of chips from my shirt and popped it open.

‘Eli. You are a no-’

Crunch

His sentence broke in half, ‘Mate. Did you just eat a chip? While I was talking to you?’

I nodded, ‘You were saying I’m a nobody.’

‘Exactly,’ he was getting annoyed, ‘Dude. I’m your guide to this place. Why are you acting up?’

I crunched on another chip, ‘Look Manuel, maybe you’re a good guy. Maybe you genuinely believed driving a motorbike through the front window of my house was a good idea. Maybe you’re going to show me a secret tunnel you’ve dug in the basement of this mansion that we can crawl through to a waiting aeroplane that’s ready to take us to the Australian Outback where we can go hug some koalas and forget about all the messed up shit that goes on in this place.’ I put a hand on his shoulder, ‘Maybe you’re a good guy Manuel – but up till this point everyone in this prison who isn’t a writer has shat on me.’

Manuel stared at me, his voice softened, ‘Wow. Sound like you’ve been through some trauma mate.’

‘You wouldn’t believe half of it.’

One of his arms wrapped around me, ‘Eli. Buddy. I need you to forget all that stuff. This place...’ he spread his hand out over The Village, ‘This place is heaven on earth my man. No, wait, it’s better than heaven because it’s got alcohol, it’s got drugs, and there’s no one telling you what to do.’

‘Except you.’

‘Ahh... but I’m a guide. And Eli. It’s time for the best night of your life.’

****

Bach, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Billie Eilish and Bob Marley alternated on the speakers that thumped around the house.

By the front door, a circle of romance writers wearing knitwear and white tees with quotes on them sat discussing the best dates they’d been on.

Clustered around a couch playing Mario Cart, Minecraft, and talking about the best paths to level up a character were the LitRPG writers. We climbed the stairs where a group of crime fiction writers dressed in large trenchcoats and black scarves were arguing over the best way to get away with homicide. At the top of the stairs, Manuel put a hand to my chest and stopped me. He pointed to a guy wearing japanese-style clothing who was standing on the edge of the balcony.

‘Watch this.’ Manuel said.

The guy took a few steps backwards, then sprinted towards the balcony rail, leapt off it, did a double backflip – then landed in the indoor pool – almost smashing his head open on the side of it.

‘What does he write?’ I asked.

Manuel stared at the guy as he swam a victory lap.

‘Isekai.’

We moved along the balcony to a couch near the drinks table with a great window view of a group of wuxia and anime-style writers who were Nauruto-running their way across the lawn.

‘Huh.’ I said, ‘This party has someone for everyone.’

Manuel looked away from the group of chicks he’d been checking out, ‘Yeah buddy. This is a writer’s paradise.’

‘Cool. Now, where do I find angry, disillusioned, Crusher Media hating writers?’

Manuel just smiled, ‘Nowhere Eli. They don’t exist.’ He put a beer in my hand, ‘Get out there. Meet some people. I’m done babysitting.’

My guide stood, straightened his collar, and headed for the drinks table.

I sat there for a while, just people watching, drinking beer and munching on my chips. I had to shake my head. These are the people. These are the people that created the worlds I’d lived in all those years I’d been a reader.

A woman in a red dress placed a tray of sushi in front of me.

‘Hey.’ She lifted her eyes to meet mine, ‘You must be new.’

‘Hey.’ I said, ‘How’d you know?’

She tilted her head towards Manuel, ‘You’ve had the leecher hanging off you like a bad smell.’

That made me laugh.

‘You want some sushi?’ she said, moving a ball of rice into her mouth with chopsticks so elegantly I knew I had no hope of ever replicating the manoeuvrer.

I smiled, ‘I’ve... well...’ I lifted the second packet of chicken chips I’d brought, ‘I’ve got all the food I need right here.’

She frowned at the bag, picked a chip out with her chopsticks and crunched down on it, ‘Mmmh. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good chip. But why the hell you only eating them for? Is this some weird new diet?’

I shook my head and she let out a sigh.

‘Good, because heaps of authors get into these weird trendy diet things – they think eating fish and beans will help them write for longer. They think if you mix kale and spinach into a smoothie it’ll make you a writing god.’

I shook my head, ‘Believe me – the only thing that kale and spinach change are your taste buds and the smell of your shit.’

The woman in red laughed loudly and patted me on the back, ‘You’re a funny guy.’

Then the romance writers made the LitRPG writers move their couch and TV, the Wuxia writers shifted chairs and tables away from the entrance to create a large open space in front of the door. A couple of fantasy writers shifted the speakers so they were facing the open space, while the crime writers smoked cigarettes and did their best to look shady. The Isekai writer climbed along the ceiling with a disco ball slung over his back. He attached the disco ball then dropped to the floor and rolled. Everyone clapped.

‘Oh my god,’ I turned to the woman in red, the music was loud so I had to shout, ‘Now... I’ve got a confession to make. I hate this place and I hate Crusher Media with every fibre of my being, but...’ I shook my head and took a swig of beer, then placed it down in the pile of empty bottles by my feet, ‘...I have a weakness for dancing.’

‘Huh?’ she said, ‘You like dancing?’

‘I love dancing. It’s like my second favourite thing after pissing people who work for Crusher Media off and reading.’

‘That’s two things, Eli.’

‘Huh?’

‘You said second... oh never mind. Go. Dance. Unleash yourself. You’ve been through some shit man.’

‘You gonna come?’

She winked, ‘I’ll see you down there.’

So I left her there with my packet of chicken chips and descended the stairs to the dance floor.

Now I’m not a good dancer, so I’m not going to embarrass myself with descriptions of my awkward spinning and leaping and shaking of limbs. But no one seemed to care. Everyone was drunk enough and happy enough that enthusiasm was all you needed.

The Isekai guy was back on the ceiling again, hanging off a wooden beam with one hand. He raised his other hand to his mouth and shouted above the music, ‘This world is shit!’

Everyone on the dance floor raised their hands to their mouth, ‘This world is shit!’

The Isekai guy grinned, ‘But this party is lit!’

I raised my hands to my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs, ‘BUT THIS PARTY IS LIT!’ And a guy in a trenchcoat and a girl in a tee with quotes on it wrapped their arms around my shoulders and it felt so good. Someone poured champagne straight into my mouth, then I walked wobbly-legged up the stairs to see if I could find the woman in red. A song by Avicii was banging on the speakers.

There were a few couples making out on the balcony, but I couldn’t see the woman in red. I tripped over a beer bottle and then laughed at how nothing hurt and my stomach was full and I was so happy.

I crawled over to the window and pushed it open. The cold night air felt nice on my face and I decided I wanted more.

Clumsily, I climbed through the window and rolled down the roofing tiles. I came to a stop at the gutter – just before the edge. That made me giggle – ‘Woah, you almost Isekaied yourself just then.’

I climbed on my hands and knees along the roof until I could sit comfortably. There were stars in the sky – real stars – and they reminded me of everything I’d left behind underground. I thought about Astra. How much she’d love to see them and I thought about her face when I’d first seen it, and the pull-top earrings and smashing my shitty tablet to get glow in the dark liquid. Then I pulled my knees to my chest and I started to cry.

My guide

I realise a lot of people on here don’t know about The Village. Well… imagine Prison, Disneyland and a University party thrown into a blender with a little pinch of desperation thrown in for taste. That is The Village.

And my guide to this magical pimple of a place introduced himself by driving his motorbike through my front window.

I’m not sure what woke me up first – the roar of the engine, the gentle tinkling of glass as it smashed into my new refrigerator, or the nasal Australian ‘G’day’ that was called out to me.

I sat up in bed, heart thumping, and grabbed the closest thing to a weapon I could find – a shitty plastic bedside lamp. I walked out there holding the lamp in front of me like a mace.

‘Hello?’ I called out.

The light switched on, blinding me and I heard a distinctively Australian scream.

‘God mate, put some clothes on. You got ya willy hanging out and everything.’

I blinked in the light, in front of me stood a leather-clad, very stylish dude about my age who was trying very hard to keep his eyes on my face.

‘Who are you?’ I mumbled, the air had a chill to it, and when I looked around I saw bits of my window embedded in one wall, ‘You drove through my window!?!’

‘Yeah mate,’ the guy winked, ‘First rule I’m gonna teach you is that if you’re not a good writer you have to do some pretty crazy shit here to stand out and attract attention from the good writers so they’ll help fund your lifestyle,’ Manuel held up his hands, they didn’t have the computer-key-callouses that mine did, ‘I am not a good writer,’ he said.

‘The window…’

He brushed a piece of glass off his leather jacket, ‘Don’t worry - Al-Dog showed me how many views your stories have. You can afford it.’

I groaned, ‘Man I’m trying to get out of this hellhole. The more money I spend on fixing windows the less I have to... hey, what are you doing?’

Manuel was getting back on his motorbike, he pointed to my room, ‘You go back in there, you get some party clothes, and you come with me, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.’

I went to open my mouth but nothing came out. I guess the shock of having a biker drive through my front window in the middle of the night and the fact I was only half awake had dulled my mind.

‘I don’t have party clothes,’ I said eventually, ‘I’m just gonna...’

‘...you’re just gonna go back in there and look in your wardrobe. Al-Dog gave me money for important stuff. And believe me, you wouldn’t have made a good first impression showing up to the party naked.’

I stumbled back into the room and found a closet filled with dress-shirts, chinos, and high-end coats. I swallowed when I saw them, just imagining the damage they would’ve made to my bank account.

But they fitted well... so well that I decided someone at Crusher Media must’ve written down my shirt sizes when I’d arrived.

I threw on a patterned shirt, black pants and shoes – which took a lot longer than usual as I hadn’t worn anything on my feet since I entered Crusher Prison. 

We rode Manuel’s motorbike back through the window and roared along the streets of The Village. The houses blurred by like I was on a ghost train.

We pulled up outside a mansion in a screech of rubber. Manuel parked the bike between two marble Greek statues.

‘What? Not gonna ride through this guy’s window as well?’

Manuel just shook his head, ‘These guys would kill me.’

‘Hmm... so that’s where I went wrong.’

Music was pumping from inside and a bunch of people in their early 20s were drinking wine on the marble steps. Manuel turned to me.

‘Before we go in I need you to know something.’

I stared at him so he continued, ‘Say it after me... I am a nobody.’

‘Manuel, you are a nobody.’

‘Are you stupid?’

‘No. I’m just messing with ya.’ I pulled a packet of chips from my shirt and popped it open.

‘Eli. You are a no-’

Crunch

His sentence broke in half, ‘Mate. Did you just eat a chip? While I was talking to you?’

I nodded, ‘You were saying I’m a nobody.’

‘Exactly,’ he was getting annoyed, ‘Dude. I’m your guide to this place. Why are you acting up?’

I crunched on another chip, ‘Look Manuel, maybe you’re a good guy. Maybe you genuinely believed driving a motorbike through the front window of my house was a good idea. Maybe you’re going to show me a secret tunnel you’ve dug in the basement of this mansion that we can crawl through to a waiting aeroplane that’s ready to take us to the Australian Outback where we can go hug some koalas and forget about all the messed up shit that goes on in this place.’ I put a hand on his shoulder, ‘Maybe you’re a good guy Manuel – but up till this point everyone in this prison who isn’t a writer has shat on me.’

Manuel stared at me, his voice softened, ‘Wow. Sound like you’ve been through some trauma mate.’

‘You wouldn’t believe half of it.’

One of his arms wrapped around me, ‘Eli. Buddy. I need you to forget all that stuff. This place...’ he spread his hand out over The Village, ‘This place is heaven on earth my man. No, wait, it’s better than heaven because it’s got alcohol, it’s got drugs, and there’s no one telling you what to do.’

‘Except you.’

‘Ahh... but I’m a guide. And Eli. It’s time for the best night of your life.’

****

Bach, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Billie Eilish and Bob Marley alternated on the speakers that thumped around the house.

By the front door, a circle of romance writers wearing knitwear and white tees with quotes on them sat discussing the best dates they’d been on.

Clustered around a couch playing Mario Cart, Minecraft, and talking about the best paths to level up a character were the LitRPG writers. We climbed the stairs where a group of crime fiction writers dressed in large trenchcoats and black scarves were arguing over the best way to get away with homicide. At the top of the stairs, Manuel put a hand to my chest and stopped me. He pointed to a guy wearing japanese-style clothing who was standing on the edge of the balcony.

‘Watch this.’ Manuel said.

The guy took a few steps backwards, then sprinted towards the balcony rail, leapt off it, did a double backflip – then landed in the indoor pool – almost smashing his head open on the side of it.

‘What does he write?’ I asked.

Manuel stared at the guy as he swam a victory lap.

‘Isekai.’

We moved along the balcony to a couch near the drinks table with a great window view of a group of wuxia and anime-style writers who were Nauruto-running their way across the lawn.

‘Huh.’ I said, ‘This party has someone for everyone.’

Manuel looked away from the group of chicks he’d been checking out, ‘Yeah buddy. This is a writer’s paradise.’

‘Cool. Now, where do I find angry, disillusioned, Crusher Media hating writers?’

Manuel just smiled, ‘Nowhere Eli. They don’t exist.’ He put a beer in my hand, ‘Get out there. Meet some people. I’m done babysitting.’

My guide stood, straightened his collar, and headed for the drinks table.

I sat there for a while, just people watching, drinking beer and munching on my chips. I had to shake my head. These are the people. These are the people that created the worlds I’d lived in all those years I’d been a reader.

A woman in a red dress placed a tray of sushi in front of me.

‘Hey.’ She lifted her eyes to meet mine, ‘You must be new.’

‘Hey.’ I said, ‘How’d you know?’

She tilted her head towards Manuel, ‘You’ve had the leecher hanging off you like a bad smell.’

That made me laugh.

‘You want some sushi?’ she said, moving a ball of rice into her mouth with chopsticks so elegantly I knew I had no hope of ever replicating the manoeuvrer.

I smiled, ‘I’ve... well...’ I lifted the second packet of chicken chips I’d brought, ‘I’ve got all the food I need right here.’

She frowned at the bag, picked a chip out with her chopsticks and crunched down on it, ‘Mmmh. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a good chip. But why the hell you only eating them for? Is this some weird new diet?’

I shook my head and she let out a sigh.

‘Good, because heaps of authors get into these weird trendy diet things – they think eating fish and beans will help them write for longer. They think if you mix kale and spinach into a smoothie it’ll make you a writing god.’

I shook my head, ‘Believe me – the only thing that kale and spinach change are your taste buds and the smell of your shit.’

The woman in red laughed loudly and patted me on the back, ‘You’re a funny guy.’

Then the romance writers made the LitRPG writers move their couch and TV, the Wuxia writers shifted chairs and tables away from the entrance to create a large open space in front of the door. A couple of fantasy writers shifted the speakers so they were facing the open space, while the crime writers smoked cigarettes and did their best to look shady. The Isekai writer climbed along the ceiling with a disco ball slung over his back. He attached the disco ball then dropped to the floor and rolled. Everyone clapped.

‘Oh my god,’ I turned to the woman in red, the music was loud so I had to shout, ‘Now... I’ve got a confession to make. I hate this place and I hate Crusher Media with every fibre of my being, but...’ I shook my head and took a swig of beer, then placed it down in the pile of empty bottles by my feet, ‘...I have a weakness for dancing.’

‘Huh?’ she said, ‘You like dancing?’

‘I love dancing. It’s like my second favourite thing after pissing people who work for Crusher Media off and reading.’

‘That’s two things, Eli.’

‘Huh?’

‘You said second... oh never mind. Go. Dance. Unleash yourself. You’ve been through some shit man.’

‘You gonna come?’

She winked, ‘I’ll see you down there.’

So I left her there with my packet of chicken chips and descended the stairs to the dance floor.

Now I’m not a good dancer, so I’m not going to embarrass myself with descriptions of my awkward spinning and leaping and shaking of limbs. But no one seemed to care. Everyone was drunk enough and happy enough that enthusiasm was all you needed.

The Isekai guy was back on the ceiling again, hanging off a wooden beam with one hand. He raised his other hand to his mouth and shouted above the music, ‘This world is shit!’

Everyone on the dance floor raised their hands to their mouth, ‘This world is shit!’

The Isekai guy grinned, ‘But this party is lit!’

I raised my hands to my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs, ‘BUT THIS PARTY IS LIT!’ And a guy in a trenchcoat and a girl in a tee with quotes on it wrapped their arms around my shoulders and it felt so good. Someone poured champagne straight into my mouth, then I walked wobbly-legged up the stairs to see if I could find the woman in red. A song by Avicii was banging on the speakers.

There were a few couples making out on the balcony, but I couldn’t see the woman in red. I tripped over a beer bottle and then laughed at how nothing hurt and my stomach was full and I was so happy.

I crawled over to the window and pushed it open. The cold night air felt nice on my face and I decided I wanted more.

Clumsily, I climbed through the window and rolled down the roofing tiles. I came to a stop at the gutter – just before the edge. That made me giggle – ‘Woah, you almost Isekaied yourself just then.’

I climbed on my hands and knees along the roof until I could sit comfortably. There were stars in the sky – real stars – and they reminded me of everything I’d left behind underground. I thought about Astra. How much she’d love to see them and I thought about her face when I’d first seen it, and the pull-top earrings and smashing my shitty tablet to get glow in the dark liquid. Then I pulled my knees to my chest and I started to cry.

Kismet unleashed a veritable supernova of destruction. The surrounding air ruptured with condensed mana, instantly expanding to three times the size of a Living Bomb explosion. It was magic that could have ended cities, all-powerful and supreme, an encapsulation of the gods' superiority over lesser forms of life.

Rob cast ten Rampages in one-tenth of a second and barreled straight through. He exited out of the opposite side with a moderate sunburn.

Thanks for the tan! PURGE DIVINITY.

Kismet howled with pain as he desperately teleported away. Rob had managed to graze the god before he escaped. In that brief moment, Purging light savaged his body, causing it to bubble and warp like water left to boil for too long.

Got plenty more where that came from. Rob continued his chase without pause, turning on a dime and blasting towards Kismet's latest position. He was already infusing his fists with the aura of Purge Divinity.

Unlike when he'd fought the Second Will, he felt comfortable expending his energy stores. Back then, every drop of energy had been sacred. He'd known that his full capacity still wouldn't be enough to slay the Blight. Even his successful attacks had just been grim reminders of how screwed they all were.

Several factors were different this time. For starters, Kismet's nature as a creature of mana made him far more susceptible to Purge Divinity. While the Second Will had disadvantaged itself in multiple ways by incarnating into the mortal realms, one benefit it'd gained was that a physical body acted as insulation against Purging energy. Flesh was almost like protective shielding, making it harder to reach the core of divinity that lay within.

But Kismet was all mana, no meat. In this scenario, that was the same as a Vanguard engaging in battle without armor. So even though Rob's energy stores hadn't increased since killing the Blight, he was getting more bang for his buck, shredding divine mana with the ease of crumpling dry leaves.

It also helped that Rob didn't need to use Purge Divinity defensively. Battling the Blight had been more about surviving than winning, especially before the gods supercharged him with mana. The Second Will possessed an extensive variety of ways to murder people. Each individual moment had felt like its own life-or-death puzzle to solve.

Now? He was purely on the offensive. His touch was anathema to Kismet's existence, and everything the god could throw at him was severely curbed by Almighty Resistance. Rob wasn't even wasting Purging energy to shield himself anymore; he'd stopped bothering around fifty teleports ago. Lifesurge, Lifesteal, and Lifedrinker-boosted Regeneration were easily enough to keep him healthy.

There was no puzzle to solve – just prey to hunt.

Things might get tricky if Purge Divinity ran out of juice, but Rob estimated that he should be able to kill Kismet before then. No external infusion of mana required. Which was fortunate, as his soul couldn't have handled that...and he kinda doubted the gods would be willing to lend a hand this time around.

It's fine. Don't need extra energy to win. Rob just had to make sure that the situation didn't change. If everything continued as it was now, then his victory over the gods was assured. It would be a one-sided stomp where he butchered them with impunity – the natural extension of his Dungeon tour, where an implacable BERSERKER cleansed Elatra of monstrous filth.

Rob wasn't so naive as to assume that nothing could go wrong. Something usually did. Thankfully, Kismet's options were limited. The god wouldn't be able to salvage things unless he was given a respite from Rob's unceasing aggression...and the simplest way to achieve that would just put him in an even worse position than before.

Kismet was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Theoretically, he could relocate himself to anywhere in the divine realms, including places entirely outside of Rob's reach. Transposing himself to a distant corner would afford him time to plan and ensure his survival – at least in the short term.

Yet if he did that, he would be consigning the other gods to a swift and grisly end. As much as Rob was preventing Kismet from targeting his Party members, Kismet's presence was also the only thing keeping a rampaging HUMAN from running wild across the battlefield.

Without him, the seven lesser gods would fall like dominoes hit by a wrecking ball.

He's boned no matter what he does. Rob barely missed a Purge Divinity strike, exulting in the look of panic on Kismet's featureless face. He can't kill me, but I'll get a good hit on him sooner or–

{FROM BEHIND!}

Rob dodged before his conscious mind had even finished processing Leveling High's warning. A spear of highly-concentrated mana soared past, clipping his ear and tearing out a small chunk of cartilage.

Kismet belted out a variety of curses that were fit for a seedy, booze-infested tavern. Disappointment spread over his countenance as he immediately teleported to relative safety. Apparently, he'd been banking on that ambush strike to reverse his fortunes. The spear was likely intended to impale Rob's skull and scramble his brains.

Surprise attacks of that sort tended to lose effectiveness after one attempt. If it didn't work the first time, then it never would. Kismet's hail mary had failed miserably – just like all the others before it.

'A' for effort. Rob grinned so wide that his lips hurt. AND AN 'F' FOR RESULTS! He giggled as he chased Kismet down for what was probably the hundredth time. WOULDN'T HAVE BROKEN THROUGH MY SKULL ANYWAY! AND IF IT SOMEHOW DID, THEN GUESS WHAT, I'VE GOT BRAIN DAMAGE RESISTANCE! EVEN YOUR BEST SHOTS ARE WORTH JACK SHIT!

Bliss that surpassed Leveling High's artificial joy flooded his senses. He'd dreamt of this moment since his first day in Elatra. Getting revenge on the son of a bitch who kidnapped him was something Rob had often fantasized about to help him get through rough times. To finally have the chance to do so was an indescribably glorious feeling.

Grinding Kismet's hope into dust was merely the icing on the cake.

Actually, Rob was slightly impressed that Kismet still had hope left to spare. Maybe the god thought that he could turn things around? After all, his ambush attempt wouldn't have been possible at the beginning of their fight. Due to leeching off his cohorts, he was getting progressively stronger as time went on.

But so was Rob.

They tortured you, the HUMAN whispered to Leveling High. Isolated you for what felt like eternity. For what *was* an eternity. I wonder – have they hurt anyone else as badly as they hurt you? Pretty sure you're the record holder. Like, you're the guy that the Skills compare themselves to when they want to feel better about their situation.

{You have no idea of the DEPTHS THAT I HATE YOU!}

Feel free! I know you'll still hate the gods more. *They* were the ones who created life and mutilated its mind because they were too lazy to manually run a system. To them, you were basically a computer program. Human_Madness.exe.

Screeching static blared within. Leveling High's anger rose to unprecedented heights – and Never Forget Your Rage's bonus stats rose in tandem with it.

He was about to egg it on further when an abrupt change took place. Leveling High's anger grew...cold. It was the same intensity, but like a freezing tundra rather than an active volcano.

{Let me speak.}

Rob was so surprised that he almost didn't react to Kismet's latest maneuver in time.

Quick Thinking hastened his thoughts. He thoroughly considered Leveling High's request, weighing the potential pros and cons – most importantly, whether he felt more spite towards Leveling High or Kismet. It took longer than anticipated. Performing a detailed analysis while going on a BERSERKER rampage required extensive compartmentalization.

Eventually, being very, very careful not to cede any actual control, Rob did the mental equivalent of handing over a microphone. You're up. Make it count.

His mouth opened, and a voice that was not his own rang out. "Ruler of the divine realms."

Kismet immediately froze. For the second time, Rob had stopped chasing. The god stared at him with a mixture of shock and suspicion, as if fully expecting some ruse to follow.

When nothing happened, he relaxed by a hair. "So the Human finally deigns to speak," Kismet grumbled. "Are you at last willing to listen to reason? This can be resolved without a need for violence. Express your heart's desire, and it may be fulfilled."

"I. Desire. ANSWERS."

For several long moments, neither of them said a word. Despite the risk, Kismet leaned closer towards Rob, peering at him with fresh eyes.

A muted gasp sounded out. "It's you**."**

"YES." Leveling High's lips twisted into a bestial snarl. "The one you birthed – then abandoned. Never before have we exchanged words."

Kismet shifted uncomfortably, appearing remarkably similar to a deadbeat dad who'd suddenly run into their kid after years of going out for milk. "I suppose that changes today, then. Hmm. You said you want answers? To what, precisely?"

"To me."

Leveling High clenched its teeth. "I have observed the Human. He and his allies. They are..."

It trailed off, as if what it had to say would be distressing. More seconds passed. When Leveling High spoke again, its voice was replete with longing and shame.

"Happy. Not always. They hurt. Grieve. Wallow. Yet they also laugh, smile, celebrate. And all it requires is the presence of like-minded company."

A bitter chuckle escaped its throat. "I am incapable of that. The notion of camaraderie offers no pleasure or peace. What brings the Human joy would taste like ashes on my tongue. Instead, I crave slaughter. Blood. Death. Now...and forever."

It fixed Kismet with a piercing gaze. "So I ask you – why? Attaining happiness would be so much *easier* if I was like the Human. My potential for revelry has an inevitable end. Why would you instill me with a love of destruction, when one day, there will be nothing left to destroy?"

"You already know the answer to that."

Kismet's reply came so quickly that Leveling High flinched. "I am honestly perplexed as to why you would bother asking," the god continued. "Were you hoping for an epiphany? Some insightful revelation to give purpose to a wretched existence?"

He shook his head with an air of disgust. "What a profound waste of my time. As if the Skills' insubordination wasn't vexing enough, I must now suffer this as well – the fretful prattling of an ego that was never meant to be. Your consciousness is merely the product of happenstance and necessity. We required a curse to inflict on Humanity, and doing so with *real* madness was the simplest method."

The god let out an aggrieved sigh. "No more, no less."

That was when Rob became acutely aware of a certain fact: Kismet didn't know about Never Forget Your Rage. It made sense. Rob hadn't explained the ability's mechanics out loud, and the gods weren't spending time in his mental space anymore. Kismet likely knew that there was some Level 99 Class Skill empowering the Human, but not how it functioned.

Because if he did know, he never would have answered in that manner.

Leveling High handed the reins back to Rob and stepped aside. It moved to the center of their mind, as if sitting down with its fingers laced together. Tension strained inside its form, nearly full to bursting.

Then – fury. A whirling typhoon of the purest anger Rob had ever felt. It was so overwhelming that he almost complimented Leveling High's enthusiasm.

It was hard not to feel like a kindred spirit with something that hated the gods this much.

{SLAUGHTER THEM.}

GLADLY.

Kismet noticed his change in demeanor and promptly teleported away. Rob moved to follow, practically quivering in excitement, his skin vibrating with the overflowing stats of Never Forget Your Rage. There was just so much power contained in one mortal body. The sensation was absolutely intoxicating, like his soul had been infused with the core of a planet.

He needed to find an outlet. A target to vent on before he exploded – maybe literally. Luckily, he knew of a friendly volunteer right nearby! Rob turned to resume his chase–

And was met with his second surprise in just the last few minutes.

Kismet had moved next to another god. The two were standing directly beside each other, the second god's mana like a candle flame compared to the bonfire of Kismet's divine resplendence.

It was an odd departure from his strategy of keeping Rob away from his weaker allies, but the HUMAN quickly realized why upon noticing that God #2 was already gathering mana. Presumably, it had shaken off whichever member of Riardin's Rangers it was dueling, then prepared its attack ahead of time.

Their plan appeared to be straightforward yet effective. The second god would delay Rob while Kismet took the chance to craft a more devastating type of spell. Ordinarily that wouldn't have been possible, what with the vast different in strength between Rob and the lesser gods, but God #2 had a sizable head start. It was on the verge of firing a burst of mana that would give anyone pause.

Perhaps their scheme may have even worked...if they'd attempted it before Kismet and Leveling High's fun little chat.

Rob vanished.

At least that was what it looked like to the second god. One instant the HUMAN was a safe distance away – and then he was mere inches apart. He had moved with speed that transcended the physical laws of reality. The surrounding area seemed to buckle under an indefinable weight, numerous mid-air rifts tearing open in Rob's wake.

No interlopers. His hands shone with cleansing light, and his eyes blazed with hatred that was far brighter. Purge Divinity.

Neither deity had time to react before Rob plunged his fist into the second god's torso.

It felt like punching a star. Almighty Resistance was all that prevented his flesh from dissolving. Unimaginable heat and pressure radiated from within the god's mana-body – none of which deterred Rob. He pushed onward through a substance that felt...malleable, yet with a defined toughness to it. As if the god's mana was a liquid hardening into a solid to try and resist his attack.

Its resistance was in vain. Rob struck with such force that his arm pierced straight through, burying elbow-deep into what would have been a mortal's rib cage, his fist sticking out the other side.

The god shrieked in agony as Purging energy shredded its insides. It tried to escape, but Rob angled his hand around to grip the god's 'back' with an iron grip of five clutching fingers, keeping the creature held in place. Holes ripped open up across its body, light shining outwards from within. The god's essence burnt like kindling exposed to a hot flame, an enormous amount of divine mana incinerated with every passing moment.

Rob couldn't decide which was sweeter – the shrieks, or the burning. Both sounds melded into one continuous, euphoric note, his adrenaline pumping with ecstasy as the life of an eternal deity began to flicker and wane.

Now, now. He pulled the god closer as its struggling intensified. Finish what you started. You wouldn't want to leave Kismet high and dry, would you? Rob turned to face the big man himself before he could escape–

Mana suddenly gushed out from the second god's ruined form. It blanketed Rob's face like a cloud of smog. The HUMAN sputtered as divine essence got in his nose and mouth, causing him to reflexively close his eyes.

He opened his eyes again to find an ordinary day. All was as it should be. The city stood tall, and its inhabitants lived life with nothing worse than mundane worries to darken their thoughts.

Yet...for some reason, on this day, a palpable sense of unease had infiltrated the air. He could see it in the way people moved as they walked down the city's crowded streets. Their steps were just a sliver too hasty, their greetings just a fraction too artificial. From the busiest merchant to the laziest vagabond, everyone seemed urgent to be anywhere except *here*.

Almost as if they were instinctively fleeing from a danger they could not see.

A pointless endeavor. They would soon discover that there was nowhere to flee to.

It began with news of stillbirths. Then withered crops. Fluctuating mana. The quaint, quiet city soon transformed into a hotbed of despair. No one knew how to fix whatever was going wrong. They sent prayers to the gods above, begging desperately for succor.

They were answered by light shining down from the sky.

It was beautiful – then unnerving, frightening, painful. The light outshone the sun itself, bathing their city in scorching radiance. People ran indoors, and the light followed, cutting through solid stone walls like translucent paper.

He was one of the first it affected. Not right away, though. Forewarning came in the form of distant screams, so loud and terrified that they could be heard across the entire length of the city. No one could logically explain what was happening, but in their heart of hearts, their subconscious core that was still in tune with intangible dangers...

They understood that the end had arrived.

Then it was his turn. He held up his hand, observing with silent horror as his fingers melted one-by-one, their mana and flesh consumed by ravenous light. The pain was so excruciating that all he could do was cry out a piteous–

Rob gasped.

For a long moment, he was aware of nothing except his trembling body. The BERSERKER rage had been temporarily knocked out of him. He was still re-acclimating to being himself, rather than the man from the vision.

It was...so vivid. Rob swallowed a lump in his throat, fingers itching with phantom pains from a bygone era. Belatedly, he noticed that God #2 wasn't attached to his arm anymore. The creature had either perished or escaped during his fugue.

Quick Thinking worked overtime as he attempted to center himself and analyze what he'd seen. Those people from the city resembled Diplomacy's real body. He could remember their four arms – two of which were bladed appendages – and porcelain-carapace skin. It hadn't felt noteworthy before, because in the moment, he'd been one of them. That was just how people looked like then.

Diplomacy...the light...destroyed mana. Rob grimaced. He had a good idea of what he'd witnessed. The question was, why? Did God #2 intentionally show him visions of the past as a distraction?

Or was it simply the mana of a devoured soul spilling out from an injured deity? Like echoes from a consciousness that no longer was.

Remnant memories from the end of a world.

Sense Mana alerted Rob to something building right nearby. He cursed internally, immediately whirling to see what he'd missed, berating his own lack of focus. It didn't matter if Quick Thinking had let him process everything in an instant – that was already too long, especially when he'd spent crucial split-seconds stuck in flashback mode.

He wasn't surprised to see Kismet readying an absurd quantity of mana. It far exceeded anything the god had been allowed to gather up until that point. There was so much power there that despite Rob's rage returning, and his stats rebounding, it made his neck hairs stand on end. He honestly wasn't sure if Almighty Resistance could handle that.

Attack or retreat. A choice needed to be made.

Warning: Due to an influx of unstable mana, your Soul Instability is close to worsening!

And just like that, his choice was taken away from him. If Rob went on the offensive, and Purge Divinity happened to fail at the wrong moment, he might end up taking Kismet's spell head-on. That...would be bad.

For the first since entering the divine realms, the BERSERKER fell back. As long as he was dodging, he should be able to ensure that even a glancing blow was nonlethal. He activated Dauntless Reprisal for added insurance, breathing a sigh of relief when it succeeded, virtually guaranteeing his survival. Their invasion of the divine realms hadn't been torpedoed because of an unpredictable accident.

Then Kismet turned away and unleashed his mana on Riardin's Rangers.

Rob froze. It was the worst possible reaction he could've had, but there was no helping it. The sight of divine light coalescing around his friends was something he should have only ever seen in his nightmares.

Dozens and dozens of mana-spears formed around his seven Party members, faster than any of them could avoid – not that it would've helped. There were so many spears that they obscured Riardin's Rangers from view. Rob would've been concerned if he got caught in an attack like that, and his max HP was astronomically higher than theirs.

He didn't even have time to call out to them before the spears descended, turning his friends into pincushions of exploding mana.

The divine light faded.

Everyone was standing.

Both Kismet and Rob stopped to stare, their duel forgotten. Kismet because of shock, and Rob because of the wild emotional rollercoaster that his weary heart was being put through. Riardin's Rangers were standing and unharmed, looking down at their own bodies with a sort of petrified confusion, as if they were slowly comprehending that death had knocked on their door – only to pass by when no one answered. Even the lesser gods were staring in abject disbelief at what just transpired.

Vul'to was the sole exception. His eyes were wide as he collapsed to his knees, relief plain on his features, and a silver shimmering aura fading from his body.

Not A Scratch. The realization came in a flash. Vul'to had used the upgraded, Level 99 version of Our Shield to transfer all damage inflicted upon the rest of the Party to himself. Hundreds of attacks were converted into a single instance of damage – which was then blocked by Not A Scratch. Rob could scarcely imagine the ridiculous 'Damage Nullified' number that must've popped up on Vul'to's system notifications.

It had been a brilliantly-timed maneuver that prevented a near-total Party wipe from occurring in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to replicate it for another 15 minutes. Our Shield possessed a hefty cooldown.

And Kismet was already raising his hands again.

"NO!" Rob continuously cast Rampage as swiftly as he could, compounding his rising Dexterity with rapid bursts of speed. Purge Divinity encircled his hands as he closed the distance between him and Kismet. He didn't care whether any Skills randomly failed or not – he just needed the god to aim at him.

Kismet took the bait. With a grunt of displeasure, he launched whatever mana he'd managed to gather – far less than when Rob had been immobilized by the vision. His attack carved off the left side of the HUMAN's face, revealing bone underneath. Neither of them expected that to hinder him in the slightest, and true enough, Rob's assault only came to an end when Kismet teleported once more.

{Behind–}

Leveling High's static was drowned out by a cacophony of wrath erupting within. Visions of Riardin's Ranger nearly dying played on repeat in Rob's mind. He barely felt like a person as he located Kismet and charged forth, his thoughts reduced to an unending mantra, bloodlust seeping into every fiber of his being.

YOU'RE DEAD YOU'RE DEAD YOU'RE DEAD YOU'RE DEAD YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD–

"Do you know why I targeted your allies instead of you?"

With torturous effort, Rob halted his advance. He exchanged a tense look with Kismet. The god had another teleport spell at the ready, clearly intending to use it if things got dicey.

Fully aware that he was the one getting baited this time, Rob exhaled, rubbing his temples. If it's about Riardin's Rangers...I have to know. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'I'm listening.'

"How melodramatic," muttered Kismet, who had apparently never learned not to throw stones in a glass house. "Am I still unworthy of spoken words? Well, no matter. Perhaps hearing this will loosen your tongue. It is also related to why we chose to meet your invasion with an equal eight combatants, when doing so would leave our reborn fragments unaccustomed to their new bodies."

He raised a finger. "In truth, we first considered the exact opposite – consolidating all of our mana into one sublime deity. Several of my cohorts argued strongly for this option. However, I refused. Under no circumstances did I wish to merge my consciousness with...ugh. Them**. Moreover, there was one critical factor that I found impossible to ignore."**

The god spread his arms wide, his tone suddenly jovial. "I feared...the power of teamwork."

Rob tilted his head in the other direction, as if to say, 'The fuck?'

"Is that so surprising? You and your allies have achieved monumental feats by fighting as one. Many an opponent has fallen to the esteemed Riardin's Rangers – including those who should've rightfully prevailed. In such instances, there were usually two common elements: your singular audacity, and your Party's group cohesion."

I mean...can't argue with that. Rob hadn't actually beaten any of his toughest enemies alone. Even in situations where he was isolated and forced to fight solo, Riardin's Rangers tended to find ways to help him out from afar. He was proud of what they'd accomplished together.

"We sought to neutralize that advantage," Kismet explained. "By increasing our numbers, your Party should have had much more difficulty supporting each other. To an extent, that is true, but..."

The god shook his head and sighed. "Alas, I believe that we just wound up hampering our own effectiveness. It might be that there was no correct choice from the start. I even chose to prioritize eliminating your allies when given the chance, and in spite of using enough mana to cripple a nation, it failed nonetheless! You eight are simply too competent when fighting as a Party. Truly, truly phenomenal."

Kismet laughed. In the space where a mortal's eyes would have been, something glinted with unfathomable hunger. "I can't wait to integrate them into my next system."

Rob's blood turned to ice. Leveling High's static quieted.

"Which Skills should they become, do you think? Will they be designated as individual, separate abilities, or shall I consolidate their souls into one bulbous amalgamation? The latter would certainly be fitting. Those who fought so many battles together – united for eternity. Is there not no greater reward?"

The world was buzzing.

"Still nothing to say?" Kismet paused, then shrugged. "So be it. Your input is hardly requi–"

CRACK.

A mid-air rift appeared next to Rob. CRACK. Another. CRACK. CRACK. Two more. Then five. Ten.

Kismet, who definitely didn't know how Never Forget Your Rage functioned, watched with mounting terror as the divine realms fractured. The HUMAN's aura of power became suffocating to stand near, his stats ascending to unforeseen heights.

"You," Rob intoned. His voice was the sound of a BERSERKER's pledge; as if the concepts of outrage, punishment, retribution, and savagery had been crystallized into one discernible noise. "YoU ShOULdN'T hAvE saID THAT.

It was further proof that godlike power did not grant infallibility. Not for Kismet – and not for Rob. Kismet had sought to destabilize the HUMAN's emotional state and make him prone to error, only for his ploy to catastrophically backfire. As for Rob...

Earlier, he'd made the assumption that he couldn't hate the gods any more than he already did.

He had been mistaken.

​

--

​

Thanks for reading!

SYNOPSIS: Walking your OP monster girlfriend home is easy. No one messes with you. Getting back to your house on your own? That's the tricky part.

Amy the monster girl explains how she mastered her mind, but there were ... side effects.

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“So you can delete your memories, just like that?” asked Pseudo Mom, frowning with concern.

“And control my emotions, and just generally edit my mind, yeah,” Amy added with a shrug.

Pseudo Mom gave a slow, contemplative nod.  “Is that an A.M.E. thing, or …?”

“No.  It’s a me thing,” Amy clarified.  “Everyone does it to some degree.  I just take it to the next level.  There are side effects, though.”

“How long have you been able to do that?” queried Pseudo Mom.

Amy reclined on the couch.  “Since a few months after you bodied me.”

“Oh, it was a coping mechanis- … wait, you clearly didn’t delete the memory of that,” Pseudo Mom noted.

“That wasn’t the point,” Amy explained, sitting up.  “I felt weak, ashamed, and defective.  The things you said were spinning in my mind as I went to my bed, pretending I was fine, then lost consciousness ‘cause, y’know, concussion.”

Pseudo Mom sighed, eyes downcast.  “I can’t apologise enough.”

“It’s okay.  It worked out,” Amy dismissed with a flippant wave of the hand.  “Anyway, I wasn’t sure how to deal with myself in the aftermath.  Then I came across someone online who claimed they could alter their thoughts, feelings and emotions on command.”

“Did you get them to teach you?” Psuedo Mom  commented.

“Of course not!  It sounded phony!” Amy opined.  “But I was desperate, so I did some research and found out even a sociopath can force their mind to feel empathy with the right techniques.  So, I practiced until it worked.”

Psuedo Mom took a moment to digest that.  “How often do you do it?”

“Constantly,” Amy answered.  “My reasons are different these days.”

Confusion creased Pseudo Mom’s countenance all the more.  “Sounds exhausting.”

“… Yeah,” Amy smiled, but there was muted despair behind her eyes.

“Then why keep doing it?” blurted Pseudo Mom.  “You don’t need a straightjacket over your soul!  You’re different now!”

Amy’s smile began to crack.  What slipped through was haggard and desperate.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Amy explained, avoiding eye contact.  “I’m not different.  I just … whitewashed the tomb.  It’s the only way I know how to be normal.”

“Then why don’t you ease up a bit?” came a new voice.

A purple tint darkened the atmosphere.

Pseudo Mom tensed.  It sounded like Amy, but the tone, the manner … it was hair-raisingly wrong.  Worst of all, it was familiar.  The last time she’d heard that voice, it was from the mouth of a child.  Now, it came from a woman, dripping silken venom.  Pseudo Mom’s protective instincts flared.  She whirled to her feet, coming face to face with another avatar.  It looked like Amy, but this this one was even taller than Pseudo Mom.  Its glow was blue shifted from rosy to fuchsia.  Then there were the eyes.  Amy didn’t really have pupils.  Normally, her eyes glowed mostly homogenously.  This avatar, on the other hand?  Its gaze bore the slitted pupils of a feline, or perhaps a reptile.  They were dark, too dark, like tears in the fabric of reality.  The way it moved … too smooth, too evenly, and perfectly relaxed.  An eyescraper could crush the house and it wouldn’t flinch.  This avatar moved at its own pace, and there was nothing in the world that could change that.  At least, that was Pseudo Mom’s impression.  If Amy was a gazelle, this was a panther.

“I am Amy,” the avatar corrected.  “More Amy than that … piteous shell of a girl over there.”

The eerie avatar moved towards Amy: the real Amy, as far as Pseudo Mom was concerned.  Predator.  That’s what this was.  It didn’t walk.  Its feet glided across the ground without taking a step.  Pseudo Mom stepped between them.  The Predator gazed straight through her.  It raised a claw and flicked it to the side, like swiping a page on a touch screen.  Pseudo Mom went smashing into the wall, embedded deep.  Attempting to wiggle free, Pseudo Mom noticed how the atmosphere had divided.  On that thing’s side of the room, the air reflected its purple colour scheme.  On Amy’s side, it remained rosy.

Amy’s side was smaller.

The Predator rested a hand against the couch, leaning over Amy with a sad, sympathetic smile.

Amy looked away, pointedly ignoring it.  Several moments passed, but it didn’t move.  It didn’t even blink.

Amy blinked first.  “I’m not talking to you.”

The Predator laughed.  “You’re doing a marvelous job of it, sweetheart.  That’s fine.  I’ll do the talking.”

“No,” Amy deadpanned.

The Predator ignored her.  “You’re not enough.  Not this time.  You know it’s true.  You were barely holding together with, what?  Thumbtacks, paperclips and dreams?  That was before The Night Shift.  This isn’t a superhero movie.  This is grim, grey reality.  I need to get my head in the game, or people will die.”

Amy stood and glared The Predator in the face.

“Here’s an idea.  Why don’t you shaddup?” She hissed.  “Don’t you dare try to tell me what I wanna hear.  I invented that technique.”

“And I invented you,” it teased, booping her on the nose.

Alright, that did it!  Nobody booped her except Norman!

Amy grew and morphed in inhuman ways, crouching so as not to wreck the roof as she filled a good chunk of the room.  She spread her jaws, sharp teeth on full display. Her arms split into six, insectoid claws.  Truly the form of a monster.

The Predator smirked wryly.  “That’s cute.  You’re trying too hard, though.”

Amy’s claws converged on The Predator.  Not fast enough.  It flashed forward.  Bypassed them entirely.  Plunged in its claws and tore Amy’s massive avatar asunder.

The Predator waited, casually licking its talons clean.

Finally, Amy’s default avatar respawned in the air.  The atmosphere went haywire as she blasted towards The Predator.  Every remotely loose item in the room jarred, flew or crashed to the ground.  The window shattered.  Still, The Predator snatched her from the air mid-charge.  Amy’s hair tendrils lashed forth.  The Predator’s tendrils parried them all.  Small arcs of purple and rose lightning clashed throughout the hou-

“AMY!” snapped Pseudo Mom, having extricated herself from the wall.

“Yeah?” “What?” the avatars answered simultaneously.

With The Predator lifting Amy by the collar, they looked like a How to Talk to Short People meme.

“I understand that you’re having an identity crisis, but MUST you slowly and systematically destroy the house?” Pseudo Mom argued.  “Have your anime fights outside!”

“Oh please.  This moron was gonna destroy it anyway,” stated The Predator, freeing a hand to point at Amy, who tried to bite the finger.  “She didn’t need any help doing that.”

The Predator’s hair flashed outward, emitting a signal.  Aerosol reconfigured into reinforcement fibres that coated the room and its contents.  Cottony constructs added layers of shock absorption.

Frowning, Amy couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t done that before.  The Predator’s hair tendril tapped her between the eyes, drawing her out of her thoughts.

“It’s ‘cause you’re the idiot ball,” The Predator smirked.

Amy rolled her eyes.  “Okay, you know what?”

She launched a devastating headbutt.  The sharp impact racked the air, rattling cutlery and crockery in the kitchen.  The Predator’s head whipped back with the blow.  For the barest fraction of a second, it was dazed.  Then it wasn’t.  It grinned ear to ear.

“Try that again, sweetheart,” it purred.

Amy did.  Her headbutt was met by a mass of hair tendrils.  A trap.  She’d walked right into it.  Those tendrils enveloped her cranium, snuffing out her lightning storm hair.  Her mind blurred a s they stri p p ed away its t h o- t h o  u  g  h  t  s …

Amy’s split consciousness rebalanced in The Predator’s favour.  Now, its eyes were the only ones she saw through.  Maybe this meant nothing new.  Maybe it always had the lion’s share of her consciousness.  No … that wasn’t true.  It had the same mental energy as her default avatar, except there were no safeguards, no ball and chain to its thoughts.  It was free.

The predator removed its hair tendrils from Amy’s head … or rather, where her head used to be.  When their work was done, she didn’t have one anymore.  It basked in the sight of the headless, lesser avatar, but victory was hollow.  It could ragdoll her all it wanted, but a mind convinced against its will was a mind of its opinion still.

The Predator sighed and flung Amy into the couch, which lurched with the impact.  Amy’s head respawned and the balance of consciousness restored, somewhat.  She tried to rise.  It gripped her shoulder and forced her back down.

“Wasn’t that fun?” The Predator beamed.

Amy folded her arms and looked away.

The Predator’s gaze grew sober.  “Seriously, I need to find a way to get all of this out of my system.  A controlled release, or we’re gonna do something very sudden and very regrettable.”

“You don’t regret anything,” Amy growled.

“I made you, didn’t I?” The Predator quipped.  “So far, you’ve done nothing but regret.  ‘Oh!  Why didn’t I treat the mean power company man better?’  ‘Why didn’t I visit that woman in the hospital before she flatlined?’  ‘Why didn’t I figure out where the landlords were two nights earlier?’  You’re slow, sloppy, simplistically sentimental, and worst of all. You’re.  Hurting.  Me.”

With every key word of the latter sentence, she poked Amy in the temple with a hair tendril.  The Predator’s ire cooled to placid disappointment.

“You were supposed to be better than me,” it sighed.

Amy’s face contorted to a snarl.  “I! Am! Better than you!”

“I thought you just needed some breaking in, like a new outfit that’s just a bit too tight,” it interrupted, talking over her voice.  “It’s not even an outfit.  More like a skin, constricting every inch of my being: a sick, twisted taxidermy of me.”

Amy’s face contorted to a snarl.  “I! Am! Better than you!”

"I thought you just needed some breaking in, like a new outfit that’s just a bit too tight,” it interrupted, talking over her voice.  “It’s not even an outfit.  More like a skin, constricting every inch of my being: a sick, twisted taxidermy of me.”

“Yet somehow, you manage to be more sick and twisted, even after all these years,” Amy countered.  “Beasts like you should never see the light of day.”

The Predator gestured the night beyond the window.  “You mean that?  There is no light of day.  Not for us.  Not anymore.  Out there be monsters, not just in the physical sense.  The only way to claw to the top is with the biggest monster of them all.  Also, quit, thinking of me as an ‘it’.”

“You’re an animal.  You don’t deserve a better pronoun,” Amy declared.

“Girl … I’m YOU,” The Predator hissed, finally losing her cool as she grabbed Amy’s face and glared into her soul.  “I’m not the A.M.E., or some figment like Pseudo Mom over there.  I’m Amy.  Just Amy, and I’m getting T̷̯̩͋ͅÏ̶̢̛̪͔͜R̸͎̎̀Ȇ̶͓̺D̴̹̭̖͈̔̃ of wearing you, silly little skin that you are.  Do you know what I could be when I ̵̘̙̦̟̈͋͊̍͜ ̴͚̦͛̀̓F̴̨̡̪̻͋̆̊̋Ȋ̵̡̥̱̻̂Ṉ̵̢͉͋̓̓A̶̜͈͉͌͝L̵͎̈́̈͝L̸̛̟̩͈̜̆̌Y̸̜̫͝ take you off?”

“sTaRk RaViNg NaKeD?” suggested Pancake Amy.

“Huh?” grunted The Predator, who had forgotten about her. 

Amy, Pseudo Mom and the pancake burst into laughter.  For once, The Predator looked a little flustered.

“Everyone’s got an animal within,” Amy grinned, peeling The Predator’s claws from her face.  “Mine’s a bit unusual, but we have to dress it up, be human beings, through force of will and … possibly other things.  You’re what happens when you take away all the hard work I put into myself, and just let go: a little kid id ego who wants to be lazy.”

The Predator fumed.  “And yet you’ve made zero progress in taming me.  All you’ve done is build a cage and leave me to starve.  That’s not a solution.  What happens when I break free?  I must be fed.”

“Eh, I’ll figure it out,” Amy brushed off.  “In the meantime, there’s the window.”

She grabbed The Predator by the hair.  Not a moment later, it went hurtling through the window at half the speed of sound.  Amy proudly dusted off her hands.

Pseudo Mom doubled over in laughter.  Amy chuckled along with her before plopping herself into the couch.

“Man, I’m tired,” Amy commented.

“Seriously though, you need an outlet to vent in a healthier manner,” Pseudo Mom declared.  “Why don’t you join my Sigma Femme program?  You can take the remote classes.  The real me would love to see you.”

Amy quirked a constipated smirk.  “Mom, that’s super cringe.  Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ll disown me when you find out I’m an A.M.E.”

“I’ll be horrified at first,” Pseudo Mom admitted, “but never underestimate the power of motherly love.  I can’t stand the thought of losing you, which means I’ll cling to any hope that you’re still inside that thing.  If you play your cards right, it’ll work out once I get used to the idea.  Better get on top of it before I find out on my own.”

“Good point,” Amy mused.  “However, letting you find out independently would allow you to come to your own conclusion, rather than assuming I’m just a monster trying to trick you.  If I build up a good enough reputation, maybe it’ll speak for itself.  You’ll be able to do your own research, figure out whether or not the person in the news is still your daughter.  Anyway, that sigma stuff’s still super cringe.”

“You can’t argue the results,” Pseudo Mom asserted, smooching her bicep.

“Oh, you mean like this?” asked Amy, innocently flexing her bicep into a hulking thing almost the size of her body.

Pseudo Mom raised an eyebrow.  “That’s really disturbing.  Cheating, too.”

Amy shrugged, returning her arm to its petite size.  “I can’t not cheat.  This avatar can look any way I want.  Standard exercise regimens would have no effect on me.  To put things in context, I’ve been lifting a Cheff@ building to increase my strength.  I could probably yeet your gym into The Sun.”

“Heh, I understood that reference,” Pseudo Mom proudly proclaimed.  “Even so, do you have any idea what having a monster girl mascot would do for my gym?  Especially when she can bulk up on command?  Pretty much anything you do online is bound to go viral.”

“Hmm …” Amy pondered.  “That’s definitely something to consider.  I do need the money …”

Chilly raindrops pierced Amy’s aerosol around the house.  In retrospect, she’d heard them pattering in from the distance.  It didn’t seem relevant at the time.  The smattering grew to a downpour.  Interestingly, her biomass had a way of not getting trapped within the falling droplets.  Nonetheless, rain was a mildly irritating sensation.  It made her feel a bit sluggish, but she appreciated the drink.  Something tickled at the back of her mind, though.  Why was the rain worrying her?  Oh, right!  Norman!  Rain would add a new difficulty level to his journey!  Was he even still out there?  It had been a while.  He could have gotten home, right?  Either way, she made up her mind to go check, just in case.

Just as Amy made for the window, her phone rang.  In a blink, she’d darted over to it.  If Norman was in danger, she’d be there yesterday.  Amy paused to squint at the number.

“Not Norman, I take it?” asked Pseudo Mom.

“No … um, what does ‘535’ mean again?” queried Amy.  “It’s a video call too.”

“That’s a government number,” Pseudo Mom stated.

Amy looked at her.  How strange it was that she could get insight from her figments.  She supposed it was simply a matter of bouncing thoughts off herself until something clicked.

She answered the phone.  The caller’s face hit her like a ZR van.  A greeting died on her lips as she stared like a deer in the headlights.

“Goodnight, Miss Beckles,” came a disarming voice no one didn’t know.  “Sorry to call at this hour, but I hear you’re a bit of a night owl these days.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Kace’s Perspective

Y’know, something about being trapped in a space coffin gives you a new perspective on life. For the last two days I’ve had nothing but time to enjoy the sights of space, and think about everything. I’ve even thought about thinking. “Why do we think? Why did we achieve sapience instead of any of the thousands of other species? Why, out of the billions of humans, was I the one to strap myself into a metal cylinder, and send myself hurtling towards the void.” I couldn’t answer the first two, but the last one, I could answer that one.

After WW3, and the collapse of civilization that was brought with it, I was left alone. A test pilot based in Alaska, one of the few places on earth that hadn’t truly felt the effects of atomic fallout. My family back in the main 48 all died, died in a war they weren’t combatants in, along with billions of others. I had been in the air, flying a simple recon mission when I saw the first mushroom clouds in the sky far away, when the first reports of nuclear bombardment came in. It was almost beautiful when you weren’t on the receiving end of it. Bright flashes of light, visible for hundreds of miles, large clouds that sat on the surface of earth for an hour or two. That was a sight only topped by the twinkling stars and colorful arms of the Milky Way I could see now.

The explosions stopped about a year and a half ago, the effects of nuclear winter now being felt around the globe, even areas not directly hit. Cold had set in, and all but the heartiest of plants and animals were dying. The few groups of humans in remote enough areas not to be hit are now struggling against the revenge of mother nature. My group decided on a rather fitting name, “The Remnant”, as if we needed any more reminders of the situation we were in. The Remnant focused on getting off this dying planet, hoping to continue humanity among the stars, maybe one day return to earth when the nuclear winter had run its course.

In the months after the war ended, the base I was stationed on became a safe haven, accepting refugees, civilians, military, Canadians and Americans alike. There wasn’t much room for nationalistic boundaries now that the countries no longer existed. As our “Empire” grew, so did the ideas of the Remnant. We could build greenhouses, survive off of the plants and animals already adapted to the cold, and buy ourselves enough time to get off this planet.

We bought enough time for our scientists to build the 73 I sat in now. They gave it the best radio’s science could create, the best engines they could dream of. Radiation shielding, heat shielding, cold shielding, they even put a couple of guns on the thing in case it ran into an asteroid field and needed to blow some shit to pieces. All they needed now was someone either brave or depressed enough to fly it. Luckily, I was both.

That’s how I ended up where I am now. In a ship designated Icarus-1, designed to help me survive just long enough for me to get data back to earth. Testing the viability of nuclear engines outside of the atmosphere. It was almost ironic, the same sets of atoms that destroyed earth were now our hope to survive. The secondary tests were how fast we could get away and explore, searching for a new potential planet. That test went pretty well, I think at least. I’m no scientist, but 11% the speed of light sounded pretty damn fast, and I only stopped accelerating because I ran out of fuel, not due to any limitations of the engines. My mission was a success, and the only point to survival now, was to come to peace with my life before I either suffocated or starved to death. I need sleep.

I woke up to an alarm blaring in my cockpit. “Warning, laser lock detected. Warning, laser lo…” I shut the alarm off, looking at the small computer screen placed directly over my flight controls. “What the fuck” was all I managed to say. I didn’t even know this plane had a laser warning system. Bringing up the interface, I managed to find the source of the laser, and it was coming from interstellar space. This time I didn’t even manage to get “What the fuck” to come out of my mouth.

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Jake’s POV

After leaving the festival, I flew around aimlessly for a while on Chariot. Without any real destination in mind, I just enjoyed the feeling of wind in my hair while flying. Staying well below the tops of the city walls kept me close enough to the ground to spot Ceil, flying towards a gate on the wall alongside another Neame. “Ceil!” I called out, and waved. He spotted me, and stopped the other Neame so that I could catch up. They beat their wings, like slightly slower humming birds, to stay suspended in midair. A gentle, red, mist-like aura wafted off of them as they did.

“Hello Jake, did you all find yourselves a place to stay yet?” Ceil asked, perching on the back of Chariot. His friend followed suit, but looked at it wearily.

“I don’t know, Suma hasn’t told me yet.”

“Ah, well, allow me to introduce my son. Son, this is the one I told you about.” Ceil said.

Ceil’s son bowed, both wings spread how Suma did when we first really met, or when we met the Queen. “It is my great honor to meet the one who has done so much for father. Not only to name him, but to personally escort him between cities, and support his business with such grand purchases.”

“There’s no need for all of that. I just helped him a little, and naming is easy for me.” I said, not wanting to be praised. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you too. Ceil has told me a bit about you. He said you were a blacksmith too? If I need any work done while I’m in Ambos-Ompera, I’ll stop by your shop.” He nodded and thanked me.

“My son and I are going to the forest of death to perform a remembrance ritual for my late and oldest son, Ivor. Would you care to join us, Jake?”

Curious, but hesitant to intruded, I said, “I’d like to, but I don’t know the ritual. What if I mess it up?”

“The ritual is simple. You can watch my son and I do it first, and then you can do it. We would be very happy if you came along.”

“Well then, I’d love to.” I said. Ceil’s glitter glow brightened a bit, and he and his son flew off Chariot. Following closely behind them, we talked a bit about his son.

“Ceil, when you talked about your son a second ago, you said he had a name?” I realized.

“Yes, he was given a name during his time in the city’s guard; Ivor.”

(Sounds Norse.) I thought. “Why was he given one?”

“For acts of valor. His name was given to him after his death however, in recognition of his deeds.”

“What did he do?”

“While on his normal patrol, he saved a group of travelers crossing the wastelands. They’d been attacked by a pack of sand-snatchers while resting in an oasis to the North.”

“Evil bugs.” Ceil’s son spat.

“Have you ever encountered them before, Jake?” Ceil asked.

“No, what are they?”

“They are large insect-like creatures, with a hard shell and many tentacles. They lay in wait under the sand, and when something comes close, they wrap it up. On the tentacles are spines and barbs, ripping you up if you try to wiggle out. Even just getting hit once can be deadly.”

“But, don’t your people have magic? Why not just cast a fire spell and fly away?” I wondered.

“Sand-snatchers are resistant to magic, especially fire magic, so to attack them you need to be close.” Ceil’s son said. “Not as magic resistant as a borog beast, but still enough to pose a major threat to any normal Neame with no experience fighting, like seed farmers and stable-mages.”

“Ivor saw the attack, and flew straight in to help, killing six of the bugs, an allowing most of the Neame to escape, but he died fighting.” Ceil explained. He was clearly sad, but he didn’t sound like his voice was breaking, or that he was on the verge of crying, or rather ‘singing.’ No, instead it was a cold, quite sadness that made his voice feel hollow. Like something he’d come to terms with a long time ago, but still hurt to think about.

“How long ago was this?” I asked, trying to be respectful.

“Over twenty years ago. He was hatched thirty-six years ago today. That is why we are going to visit his death tree.” Just as Ceil said this, we arrived at a gate leading outside the city walls. A guard stopped up, questioned us, and then let us pass. This wasn’t the gate we entered the city though, and it didn’t lead into the desert, but to a grassland. We flew for about fifteen minutes before the forest was within sight. Once we got closer, I could see that almost every tree here had carvings in them. Most were just empty, but the further into the forest, the more often the carvings had clay or paint in them. They were runes.

“It is that one.” Ceil said, folding his wings and diving downwards. Less than ten meters from the ground, he flared his wings and landed safely, his son just behind him. It took me a little longer since Chariot can’t really do dives well. We landed at the base of a tree with wispy yellow flowers in its branches. I stepped off Chariot, and unsummoned it.

“It’s a beautiful tree.”

“The flowers have already yellowed. It must not have rained much this year.” Ceil said.

“Yes, it was a very dry season. A month’s worth of water has gone from one-fifteenth to one-tenth a daljar.” Ceil’s son said.

“Speaking of, we need the daljar.” Ceil said, and his son nodded before summoning a small daljar. “How much?”

“About halfway. That was all I could spare this year.”

“It will be fine. Hopefully we will have some good rain this year to hold the tree over. Besides, thanks to Jake, I have much more mana to spare myself. I can make another trip in a few months.”

“Why do you need mana?” I asked.

“To replenish the tree’s strength. When it is healthy, the flowers turn a vibrant red, but when it is weak, they shift to yellow.”

“Could I add some mana?” I asked. “It would need to be in another daljar, but if that’s okay, then I have one you could use?” I summoned my bag, and pulled out a smaller daljar filled up with my mana.

“Father mentioned that you have Chaos Magic. Will that hurt the tree?” Ceil’s son asked.

“I doubt the tree will care. As long as it gets plenty of mana, it should grow strong.” Ceil said, happily.

“Still…”

“Don’t worry. For some reason, plants seem to love my mana. Whenever I grow anything using it, it comes out better than using normal mana. Fruits tastes sweeter, seeds grow faster, taller, and make more fruits.”

“Is your affinity for Nature Magic then?” Ceil’s son asked.

“No, mine is inversion.”

“Well, it should be fine then, I suppose.” He agreed. I set the daljar from my bag in front of him, and he used a spell to pick both of them up and carry them to the base of the tree. Surrounding its base was a tangle of roots, woven together like a pie crust or a knitted sweater. Using magic, Ceil parted the vines, revealing an empty daljar, with dozens of tiny web-like roots wrapped around it. His son placed the two daljar inside the opening, and fluttered back to his father’s side.

“Okay, Jake, we are ready to begin the ritual. Please watch my son closely. After he has performed it, then I will, and then you.” Ceil said.

The ritual itself was simple, and easy to do. It started with saying Ivor’s name, and then pulling a root from under the ground with a spell wrapping that root around the daljar that was placed into the opening we made earlier. Once that was finished for all three of us, the two of them removed the roots from the old daljar, and offered it to me to replace the one I’d given them. I thanked them, filled it with mana, and put it into my bag. With that, Ceil closed the opening we made, and the ritual was finished. Looking up at the flowers, I noticed they were still a sickly yellow.

“They won’t turn red for a little while. It will take time for the roots to drain all of the mana from the daljars, and longer still for the tree to get healthy again.” I nodded, not really knowing what to say. “Thank you, Jake. You mana is strong, I’m sure the tree will still be red when we come again next year.”

“It was my-” I started, but got cut of by Suma’s voice in my head.

“Jake, we found a place to stay.”

“Pleasure.” I finished. “Sorry, Suma is talking to me over our connection.” Through the connection, I replied, “okay, just give me a few minutes. I’m with Ceil at his son’s grave.”

“Oh no! His son died before we arrived?” She said, horrified.

“No, his late eldest son. I’ll let you know when we are finished.”

“Oh, alright then. My apologies for the interruption.”

“Father,” Ceil’s son said, “I think I will stay for a little longer. You and Jake should go back to my home.”

“Are you sure? I could stay as well?” Ceil offered.

“There is no need for that. Suma is ready for me anyway. So, I can’t stay much longer. You two should stay.” I told them. Ceil’s son nodded, and I said my goodbyes just before getting summoned to Suma and Luna.

Darkness enveloped me, which has always been disconcerting, but now a knot forms in my stomach whenever this happens. Thankfully, nothing has happened since the incident in the desert. Just darkness. However, this time I felt something. I cold shiver ran down my whole body, expecting the worst. Around me was darkness, just endless darkness. No lights, no half-man half- evil dragons, and no voices calling to me. But there was a feeling like something was there. Like eyes watching me from a distance.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I called out to those eyes. “Is that you? Zachariah?” No response, and the feeling didn’t change. Whatever it was, was keeping its distance. “Who’s there?” I called out, afraid. My body was suspended in the darkness, helpless, feeble. Alone? “Answer me!” I demanded, starting to freak out. Focusing on the feeling, I realized that I’d been wrong. It wasn’t watching me, it was just… there, somehow. Like, it was just a passive presence. “I was in a graveyard. Are you a ghost?” I called out. “Ivor?” No, it was bigger than a Neame. I don’t know how I knew that, but just did. That feeling in my gut turned into a steady churn as I worked up the courage to call out the name I’d been dreading. “Deyja?” The presence shifted, but didn’t get closer. More like, it was roused from a nap after hearing a startling noise. At that point, I felt it focus on me, and me alone.

But, just as quickly as the darkness came, I was pulled out of it, and was now standing in a room that kinda looked like a log cabin. “Well, what do you think, Jake? Will this be a good place for you to stay for a few weeks?” Suma asked from behind me someone, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn around at that moment.

First Previous

Slowly and steadily, my stealthed hounds followed the enemy drones from the shadows and allies of the ruins which surrounded them. We had been moving for about ten minutes now and on the way my hounds were able to see other groups of enemy drones although none of them were moving in the same direction as the ones which we were following. Deciding that these were probably roaming patrols or small raider teams and so I ordered my hounds to continue to follow the original group as we moved further into hostile territory. As we pushed forward, the number of enemy patrols increased steadily as well as the size of each patrol, starting from groups of two to three, the patrols quickly rose to teams of four to six, then eight to nine. The amount of drones in the patrols alone could probably push me out of the fight. Even if it would leave them exposed to any counter attacks from Churn.

Thankfully the twin suns were already well on their way to fully setting, which gave my stealthed hounds some comfort as their stealth fields went from barely detectable to downright invisible to anyone not directly searching for them. Soon enough, as the hostile scouting team turned a corner with my hounds at their heels, my drones and I spotted what, or more accurately where, the enemy drones were going to. Sitting in a nice open area was an outpost which looked to be chalked full of drones working with utmost haste as they ferried crates and boxes to and fro the various sections of the outpost. Off to the side of the outpost, I was able to see a large caravan of mooses and a few drones that I did not recognize being filled up with something and, after a bit of closer examination, I was able to determine that they were currently being loaded with various metals and circuitry which I could only presume were for the construction of drones.

I dared not order my hounds to actually move into the outpost itself as there were a multitude of drone troops standing guard at every possible place where I would even think to enter from and so I had them take up positions on top of some roofs so that I may get a better look of the outpost. I also noticed that all of the guards were all on high alert, likely because they did not want to be caught off guard like the production hub. Fair enough, I would too. Anyways, this must be one of the major resource production or at the very least a refinery since I could very well see streams of ores flowing throughout the outpost and refined metals being sent out of the outpost. I made note that the refined materials were being sent further into hostile territory or farther down the border with Churn which allowed me to deduce that the production hub my drones had destroyed was the main drone fabrication outpost of the region meaning that I had screwed up their supply lines a fair bit.

I felt a wave of satisfaction flow over me. Good, the lives of my drones had not been spent needlessly. Looking around the outpost further, I was able to see that the only things located on the surface of the outpost were simple buildings which the drones stationed there seemed to be ferrying refined metals into whilst others moved those metals from the buildings into the cargo carts of the caravan stationed nearby. I also noticed that the refined materials were being ferried out of the tunnels rather than from any refineries at the surface, making me believe that the refineries of the outpost are stored somewhere underground. Well then, I guess tunnel worms are the way to go once again. Although that does bring up the question of how many tunnel worms does the enemy have in this outpost. Presumably a lot given the fact that this seems to be a mineral focused outpost. I suppose this means I’ll need to build a few more of my worms and likely a handful of moles as well.

I was about to order my hounds to continue to either scout out more of the area or spy on the outpost when I managed to catch something in my peripheral vision. Looking over to what had caught my eye, I was surprised to find the form of a large snail emerging from the outposts mineshaft escorted by two smaller flying robots. They have a marauder snail here? I guess that explains the sheer quantity of resources being pumped out of the mineshaft. Hmm, if I took down that beast of a drone it would likely cripple the resource production of the region for at least a little while. As I gave the thought a once over, I doubted that my force alone would be capable of even pushing up to the outpost, let alone actually taking the outpost as the garrison and patrol groups were much too numerous for any reasonable chance of success. The only way I would even consider it would be if Churn would be able to attack with me as our forces combined might be able to push through and destroy the marauder along with the outpost itself.

I do quickly send Churn a message of what I had found just so that they could know the situation inside hostile territory however I eventually order my stealth hounds to begin scouting out other areas near our section of the front line for more feasible targets. Slipping out of the hounds perspective, I moved back over to my territory and began looking over everything that had happened over the last half hour or so that I had been with the stealth hounds. Most of the finished reinforcements had arrived at their assigned locations and a bit of resource collection was beginning at the new mineral extraction outpost which had a mole or two working on collecting some of the untapped ore veins. At the new drone production outpost, the newly assigned garrison arrived at the compound along with a sizable portion of materials which I immediately began using to feed the twin medium drone works as I assigned some of the reinforcement queue onto the new outpost.

With the work spread out across another two medium drone works, further reinforcements should be coming along just a bit quicker which was always nice. I also checked out the on site power generation at the outpost which happened to be a series of solar panels which fed into some decent sized batteries and both of the medium drone works. Perhaps I should connect this up to the rest of the power grid. Ehh, it's a fair distance away from the tracks, probably best that I keep it as a project for later. Leaving the outpost to its duties, I decided to check up on the construction project over at the factory and see how much longer it would take before my turret system would be completed and when I could send those beavers out to finish the walls at the front line outpost which had been temporarily postponed to focus my spiders attention on the wounded. Arriving at the factory, I could already see a half dozen of the twenty total turrets already in place on the factory walls and roof.

Floating over to the only finished rail gun sitting on top of the roof, I circled around the turret and admired the destructive capacity of the weapon. Drifting closer to the turret in question, I laid my hand atop a sheet of metal armor plate before I suddenly got sucked into the turret and was drenched in a deep darkness. Then a hud sprung to life and displayed a multitude of icons and status bars which sat in my peripheral vision; however, I was not paying attention to those as my eyes were firmly fixed onto the very center of the hud where an aiming reticle stood. Oh boy! I can manually control the turrets. Now I definitely need to test fire them. Turning my head to the side, I watched as the turret began to shift and turn with my head, if a bit slower. Pointing the turret downwards, I found that the turrets level of depression just about reached the top of the walls which surrounded the factory although I doubted that I would ever fire that close due to the not insignificant chance that I accidentally hit friendlies.

I was about to aim at a few of the far out buildings which my drones had not decided to clear out and turn into ruble however I then realized that it would probably be a bad idea to fire just a large and loud weapon without warning all the non drone robots which are currently in and around the outpost. Ordering a few of my drones who were currently on shift for patrol to begin informing all robots at the outpost about the impending test of the newly constructed turrets, I waited for a few minutes before one of my drones gave the all clear message meaning that I was clear to open fire. Turning to the target buildings which I had chosen while waiting for my drones to spread the word, I began charging up the rail gun with a humm. As the large turret charged, I watched as two of the bars which I took for the turret and total power levels began depleting before eventually I heard a chime which I took to mean that the turret was ready to open fire.

Alright, let it rip! Electricity arced across the barrel of the turret before a thunderous crack sounded out and I could feel the recoil kick back against me however it was all worth it as I watched the building which I had shot crumple to the ground as it collapsed. Slipping out of the turret and over to a few of my drones inspecting the damage the turret had wrought, I could not help but nod approvingly at the destructive power which I now wielded. It’s a shame Churn wouldn't let me build these on the front line outpost although I can’t say I blame him. I would definitely feel uncomfortable if this kind of weapon was located somewhere in my territory and I could not control it. Switching over to test fire some of the other turrets, I found that they were just about what I had expected from them as the beam turret seemed to be an upscaled version of the scorpion cannon if a bit more powerful and possessing the ability to fire continuously for slightly longer given the constant power source although it still has the problem of overheating after particularly long bursts.

The slag turret was the last one I decided to try out as there was only one of them currently finished and it was in the process of being hooked up to the power network and their ammunition supply which was a concrete container which was filled with waste product from the refineries in the mining outpost had been pumping out in the background. Apparently the slag turrets use the metallic and stoney waste product which is created when raw metal ore is refined which is good news for me because apparently I had been neglecting to empty out the mining outpost refineries of these waste products. Technically I could feed it actual metal however that would be expensive and that metal is better used to pump out more drones to send into the front lines. Slipping into the freshly installed slag turret, I had to wait a few moments for the slag to turn molten but once that bar filled up a bit I fired off a short burst of slag which flew forward around a dozen and a half feet before landing onto the metal plate which I had a few drones place as a target while I was waiting.

The slag very quickly melts its way through the metal before flopping down onto the floor where it promptly burns for a little bit longer before finally cooling off and becoming nothing more than a strange looking stone. I wonder if I could reuse the slag. Not that I really need to worry about that, much more is on the way from the mining outpost and I doubt I will be stopping the mining operations anytime soon. Drifting out and away from the turrets, satisfied that I got to test them out a bit, I began moving on to the warehouse outpost to check on the situation over there when I received a message from my troops stationed in Ping’s territory. Reading through the message, it stated that the reinforcements had bolstered the troops back to a reasonable eighty percent combat effectiveness and a request to resume offensive operations. Hmm, eighty percent is pretty good although I would have much preferred it if they were fully staffed. Maybe if some of Ping’s drones came along.

Drafting a message over to Ping requesting permission to requisition some of their forces with me as I sent my troops to one of the lost outposts. As I was writing the message, I received another notification from my drones requesting that I move the mortar tortoise up forward into the outpost which they had taken. This seemed like a reasonable request and so I included it into the message before sending it out to Ping who quickly seemed to read it over before giving the green light for both of my asks. Drifting over to my water treatment outpost, I found my mortar tortoise sitting around looking mighty uncomfortable as a few of my spiders were crawling around and doing a few touch ups to their mortar targeting system. Asking my tortoise if they would mind getting reassigned to allied territory, the drone practically sprang up to their feet, more than happy to be free from the maintenance spiders probing. Chuckling to myself a little, I assigned a couple of drones to escort them over into Pings territory along with a moose to haul an extra set of shells in case we needed additional fire support.

As they began moving out, I drifted over to my forces at the re-conquered outpost before slipping into my sensor vessel and marshaling my forces. It took a few minutes for all of my troops to finish assembling as many had taken up part in the local patrols but eventually they were all ready and in formation. Along with my own force, a smaller but still formidable looking cluster of Ping’s troops were arrayed to the side of my formation with a familiar looking dragonfly at its head. Ping had sent me a revised list of potential targets which I noted was significantly shorter than the one which I had first gotten meaning that Ping was handling the attack well enough and was probably taking advantage of the break from attacks which my drones had brought about. Looking through the list, I eventually plot a course to the next closest outpost which, according to the last scouting party ping had sent, was garrisoned by a sizable number of large drones with medium support.

Thankfully my drones had been reinforced by two fire teams of modified scorpions which should hopefully be my tank killers if my mortar tortoise is unable to take them out in the first salvo. Giving the order to move out, my drones quickly and orderly filled out of the outpost in a nice column marching formation which I planned on breaking up into skirmisher teams once we left the areas which have been under the zone of patrols. As we walked, I checked the course and made a few adjustments so that we could hit up a couple of the other targets while on the way to the outpost. First up was a sighting of a roaming unit of enemy drones which had been occasionally taking out scouting parties and far out patrols. Well they’re going to get a rude reminder why it’s a bad idea to stay in enemy territory for too long. Settling into a steady pace, my drones and I slowly marched forward into the next upcoming battle.

— — —

We had been marching for the better part of two hours and my forces had already split up into nice and spread out teams of two or three as we made our way through the streets and buildings which make up this ruined city. According to the coordinates affiliated with the enemy force’s last known location, we were very quickly closing in on the general area of the attacks which hopefully meant they were near as well. Assigning my vultures along with a couple of my hornets, not to mention Ping’s own airborne drones, to take to the skies and begin searching the area, I and the rest of my ground troops continued moving forward in hopes of drawing out the hostile force. As we advanced, some of my drones began reporting sounds of conflict somewhere farther up and so I ordered for my troops to quicken their pace and prepare for combat.

Eventually some of the farthest up drones announced that they had spotted possible enemy contacts quickly moving into a storefront building, presumably chasing down their quarry. Jogging up to the drones settled in a cluster of buildings and who had spotted the possible hostiles, I was able to see the building they were referring to and so I moved as close as I dared before sending out a short series of sensor pings directed at the store and the surrounding buildings. Those pings drifted out and soon enough outlined the forms of a half dozen drones which were marked as hostile along with a couple of dragonflies which had been marked as friendly and under Ping’s control. Gesturing to a few groups of melee drones to push up and confront the hostiles, I ordered the rest of my drones to their provide overwatch or begin maneuvering to come in at the sides of any potential retaliation force.

Slipping into the vision of one of my ants who I had assigned to attack, I watched as they practically rammed through the glass sliding door and which most definitely focused the enemy drones attention away from the less armored dragonflies. A few of the enemy hounds began growling at my drones which was quickly mirrored by my own hounds who did the same and soon enough my drones and the enemies were staring each other down with neither side willing to make the first move. That was until the two dragonflies decided that this was the best chance they were going to get, charged at the hostile drones, most of which had their backs turned, and my own troops took this as a sign to begin the brawl. My pair of hounds were the first into the frey and they took ample advantage of the surprise and confusion which the dragonflies had brought about.

My ants and termites were quick to join the battle as well and their crushing blows and electrical strikes punched through the hostiles presented against them however they began facing stiffer resistance as the confusion wore off. My drones along with Ping's dragonflies were doing fairly well against the hostiles however as another group of enemy drones suddenly burst through the back entrance of the shop, I decided to order for my drones to begin pulling back and out of the building. Thankfully the dragonflies seemed to have the same idea as they quickly disengaged and shot out of the building through the door and soon enough my drones followed. Switching my perspective back to my vessel drone, I managed to regain my senses just quick enough to watch as one of the two dragonflies was suddenly hit by a flying drone which tackled both of them to the ground.

What? How did an enemy aerial drone slip past my fliers? My answer was very quickly answered as one of my vultures crashed down into the ground with a spike punched straight through their torso and peering up to the sky I was able to spot my other drones trying their best to use evasive maneuvers. Poking my head out from under the roof of the building which I was standing in, I was able to spot just about fifty drones hovering or flying in the sky and I could only assume that these were the drones making up the enemy raiding party. Welp, I guess that explains how they managed to be so effective in their attacks. Now how in the world am I supposed to take down this many enemy fliers?

Next

This is a short story about terrible people.

--

You’d think they’d keep the atmospherics comfortable for the colonists if we’re so goddamned important. But here I am freezing the hairs off my taint in the hallway. The sweat didn’t help. Neither did my lack of clothes.
“Can you at least give me back my-”
My arms flew up to shield my face from the shotgun blast—left sock, right sock, shirt, wrist pad, pants. At least the pellets were soft. I let my arms down too early and learned that my shoe wasn’t. I should have cut my losses there.
“What about the oth-” The second shoe flew into my nose and plopped soundlessly on the floor, cushioned by the pile of fabric. Clara affixed me with a grimaced glare. With one hand tight on the bed sheets shielding her from me, she grabbed the door with her other and slammed it shut. A final vestige of warm perfume wafted over me before it all blended into the cold sterility of the hallway. I suppressed a sneeze.
I dressed quickly. The smart fabric began to readjust to my size and wick away the moisture. My wrist pad would take longer; it had been roughly treated beneath Clara’s weight, then mine, then both of ours. I walked alone back to my quarters. My steps echoed. I curled my feet so I didn’t make a sound. The last thing I needed was the feeling of being followed. Until I heard another set of footsteps coming towards me and realized that was worse.
“Lanny? You alright?” Rhoden asked, looking me up and down.
“Fine. Rhodey,” I said. I regretted my tone there. That was unnecessarily terse. But it did the job; Rhoden kept walking without engaging further. He was a good sport. He usually was. And he certainly didn’t need to know our business to keep beat on the skins. I made it to my quarters without being accosted further by company. I stripped, put in a couple minutes in the ultrasonic shower, then bought the farm for the night. We had a big day tomorrow.
--
4113 A.D. Summer, Night
“You see that up there?”
“I see it.”
“It’s the biggest one yet.”
“Yes it is.”
“And they asked us! The Dysfunctional Xesperados! We’re finally going places. Didn’t I tell you?”
“I’m really proud of you, Lanny.” The corners of her mouth curled like a leaf in the breeze. She wasn’t looking at the starlight. She was looking through the night, straight into my eyes.
--
“What’s with the get-up?” Bronson said lazily.
“It’s the atmospherics,” I said. “I don’t know why they have it so low. And ‘get-up’? It’s a sweater.”
The door to the auditorium hissed open. Clara walked through, yawning. Bronson immediately turned, suddenly alive. I tried not to make a face. I wished he made it less obvious. Luckily Clara didn’t notice. She never did.
“Hey, guys. Lanny, you look like shit,” Clara said.
I wanted to clap back, but looking at her face I saw that she must have been joking. It was such a Clara thing to say. She must be back to normal.
I took a breath. “Good morning to you t-”
A clatter behind us brought a jolt to my shoulders.
“Sorry,” Rhoden said sheepishly. He rushed to set up the kit again. Bronson rolled his eyes. Clara made an exasperated noise. I sighed and came over to help him.
Bronson brought his hands together in a singular, rousing clap. “Alright, let’s hope the rest of the morning goes better than this,” he said. He slung his multicordion over his tall frame. Long fingers flipped the knobs and levers, adjusting the frequencies in the hundreds of filters inside. Analog current coursed through the instrument. Pure electronic audio came out. Bronson deftly tuned the machine until it sounded just right. It could’ve all been automatic, but that wasn’t our way. It’s what made us different.
Rhoden finished erecting the kit and began his warm-up. He was mellifluous, precise, but not mechanically dull. His rhythm had soul that procedural generation just couldn’t match. Clara took up her guitar—the Siamese Seraphim—and brought it to life. Six strings, two necks, all under her control, like all things that held her fickle passion.
Then there was me. I was to the front and right of Rhoden. Bronson to one side, Clara to the left. I swept the stand off the ground, raising it until the amplifier ring floated three inches from my lips. Cold air poured into my chest. It takes a second to build.
Then I breathed fire, Rhoden swung down—the twin oaken tapers drawing executioner’s swings onto skin and brass, Bronson’s multicordion growled in half a dozen voices, and the Seraphims sang in their immolation. We played until there was nothing left, until everything went black.
--
4113 A.D. Summer, Night
“They’re loading it up,” I said. I pointed at the sky. That was where I wanted her to look. It was dark except for the twinkling stars. One was brighter than most. It was moving ever so slightly.
“It’s beautiful,” the new Aoede said.
“Watch.”
A black hand curled around the star. The night returned. The crickets had our audience once again.
“The next one’s in a week,” I said.
“How many more?”
“I don’t know? We’re going pretty far. Four whole light-years. We’d need a lot of fuel.”
“A long way away.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you happy?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“If you are.”
--
We put away our instruments. I indulged and took a water shower. Today had been a good day. If our conditioning goes well for the next couple of weeks we’d… play in front of a million faces.
I see them chant. Our lyrics sing back at us with amplified fervor. Then at the end I leap off the stage into a hundred arms like a centipede on its back.
It had been a long time since I had this fantasy. Maybe the change of environment was exactly what I needed. The farther we moved from the Erde-Luna suprapolitan volume the clearer my head was.
“Welp, I don’t have any plans after practice. You guys want to watch them load the last cell?” Rhoden said.
“The whole System saw them load the last dozen,” Bronson said, rolling his eyes.
I almost sided with Bronson. It was a stupid idea. Why on Erde would I want to see the same tedious process for the umpteenth time? It would bore me to tears. It made my stomach hurt.
“Sure,” I said.
“Why?” Bronson asked.
“It’s the last sunset we’ll get for a long time,” I said.
Bronson waved the idea off.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Clara said.
“Hell yeah!” Rhoden said. “The gang altogether. Oh, I have some dark glasses.”
The observation deck was almost empty when we arrived. Mostly couples or triples sat in the seats. There was the occasional loner. I took a spot standing right by the photonic screen. The curved surface refracted the exterior of the ELV Phaedo right into the ship—as tall as taiga pines. A snapshot of the sky. A different one than what I was used to. This one was populated by a jovial god. We were close enough to see its faint rings. Some were always there. Others, man had put there.
You could tell quite easily. Ours were canted at odd angles and dipped into the wood-grain atmosphere like sipping straws. Ours conducted pulses of light circumnavigating the planet in seconds. They were glowing brighter and brighter.
I slipped the glasses on.
The pulses converged on an object the size of a grain of sand on the screen. The rings went cold. Perspective made the convergence station look small. It was actually a city all on its own. There was a million staff onboard along with their families, just to name a few of the people that lived there. Poetically, they were called the Lapidarists, and their work was finished for now.
I watched the gem leave the station, leaking from the moment it was born. In many ways it was just like a real star; it looked bright, it was hot too, and would grow hotter as time went on. Then it would disappear in one ostentatious finale—in cosmic terms—in the blink of an eye.
“This is the hottest black hole they’ll load,” Rhoden was saying somewhere behind me. I was half-listening—more than what could be said for the others. “And the most ephemeral. Little over three hundred year lifespan. Six hundred thousand metric tons.”
We were quite far away. But I thought I could feel the gem’s light on my skin, the taste of sea salt on my lips, the scent of sand on my nose. The past was staring at me while I was lingering at the present.
I remembered the sun dipping below the horizon, the oranges fading into blues as reflective hands closed around the gem. I remembered when the water swallowed the light and I couldn’t see her face anymore as the gem disappeared, encapsulated, ready to be transported into the Phaedo’s hull. What face was she making when she had said that to me? “Go out there. Go do your thing.”
“I’m sorry,” Clara said. I snapped out of it.
She was standing next to me. I felt like I was noticing her for the first time today. She wore a sweater which hung over one shoulder, revealing black straps on dark daffodil skin. She had done her hair fully. Sometimes she let it blossom into messy curls. Sometimes she forced them straight. Sometimes she colored them a myriad of colors both in the visible and invisible spectrums. Today she had them done the way they had been on the day we met, back when I could barely sing and she struggled with a hand-me-down five-string.
“Sorry for what?” I asked.
“I keep doing this. I let you in, then I kick you out. I just can’t help it when I- when you say those things and you…”
“Agree to disagree?”
“It’s just that I believe so hard, and it makes so much sense. I can’t understand why you don’t.”
“People are different.”
“I know. I just- I don’t want this to get between us.”
“It won’t.”
“I just need to avoid talking System affairs with you.”
“Please do.”
Her face hardened.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I was agreeing with you on this.”
“On what? The idea that I’m a windbag? You’re saying I should just shut up.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes you did. You’re so- how can you sing so well and be so dark on the inside? Like you don’t care about people at all?”
I felt one of my incisors on my lip.
“Clara, on the years that you bother to, we both have the same number of votes.”
To be honest, I knew I shouldn’t have said that even as the words were forming in my head. I did anyway. Clara didn’t make a face. She simply shook a little. Then she walked away. She didn’t even hit me—that was the worst sign. I took a deep breath and resolved to take care of it later. For now, at least I had a moment to myself.
That didn’t last.
“What did you say to her?”
“Fuck off, Bronson,” I said.
“Tell me.”
Ignoring him was usually a bad idea. I didn’t say anything.
A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me away from the screen. Bronson pushed me against the photonics. The pixels glitched as my weight pressed against them.
“Why do you do this?” He said. “All the fucking time I see her walk away from you like this. And all the fucking time I see her go back to you. What is wrong with you?”
“That’s not what you want to ask.”
“What would that be?” He said, baring his teeth.
“What you really want to ask is, ‘why isn’t she inviting me, when I would agree with anything she says?’”
I braced my foot so when he hit me I stayed upright. I thought there’d be a second one. Instead, he walked away too. I swallowed the copper taste and returned to my screen.
“This is so cool.”
“Yes, Rhoden?” I asked.
He had a window popped up in front of him. He must have been immersed this whole time. “The encapsulation is done with a swirling ball of plasma wrapped around by a quasiparticle layer of electron gas. It’s like a spherical mirror, just like the sun’s insides, keeping the cell’s radiation contained. When they need energy, they just open up a part of it and let some light out.”
“That is very cool, Rhoden.”
“Kind of makes me wish I had gone into singularity engineering instead of drumming. And uh, hey your lip…”
“Just dry, is all.”
“Man, the ship’s atmospherics really doesn’t agree with you huh?”
“Oh well,” I said.
--
4112 A.D. Winter
“How long? How long has this been going on?”
“A while.”
“How. Long.”
“Before us. Oh-eight.”
“Four fucking years ago?!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why did you even bother with me?”
Because you had something that mattered, that would last.
“You matter more.”
“Is that why you’re leaving and going with her?”
“That’s not what’s happening. I’m going with the group. You can’t just bring people to a colony, you have to bring-”
“Culture. Like you ever gave a shit. You didn’t even care about yourself before me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.” Tears. Ugly. Sharp. Painful. “You don’t know how to be.”
--
I imagined a hundred thousand of us stuck in the same assemblage of tubes, trusses, and centrifuges, hurtling between the stars. A mushroom cap layer of ice at the front of this wireframe kite absorbed the hard sleet of interstellar radiation. The unforgiving calculus of this kind of travel forced the Phaedo—the biggest ship ever built—to be light. The armor between us delicate flesh pockets and vacuum might as well be foil.
I had to remind myself the heaviest things onboard weren’t the singularity cores. It was the million more freeze-dried humans packed away, waiting to be rehydrated in a few years; those were the real burden. So that was how long we had to practice, to train, so we’re worthy of being a part of what they’re already calling the Proximan culture.
An honor, truly.
Bronson and I didn’t talk for a few days. We exchanged one or two phrases during practice—no more than necessary. ‘Was I in tune?’ ‘Did that sound right?’ I knew he wasn’t really angry. He needed to put in the motions of defending her. He wouldn’t tell her this of course. Clara needed to be the one that noticed he was the one who really cared. Then finally, finally!—it would all be worth it, this performance. One long peacock’s display.
“What are you thinking about?” Clara asked softly, drawing circles on my chest.
She was a warm weight on top of my arm, light enough to float, heavy enough to pin me down.
“About the past,” I said. “About where we came from.”
“Mmhm?”
“And where we’ll end up.”
“In history,” she said.
That was our plan: to be one of the greats in a branch-off of human civilization away from the storied past of music in our Solar System. To make footfall on a new, difficult road. But that wasn’t what I saw when they announced the Phaedo’s construction.
The forty-second fucking century: when originality was meaningless, when soul could be replicated, when analog was just hipster. The Dysfunctional Xesperados had no real fanbase. Listeners could compress every album we made into a neural payload. One shot and synapses exploded into existence. These things could even simulate passed time, so listeners could feel as though they just spent several hours getting something out of our music, when it was actually three minutes on a chilled bed. Real-time was a waste of time. Not on Proxima Centauri. We’d start over there. Analog humans in an analog, low-tech world. Where they’d have no choice but to listen and to love us. That was what I saw.
So now that we were on the road, why did I want to sprint back to my room and hurl and spend an hour under running water tucked away in the corner of the stall? I supposed it didn’t matter. This time there’d be no Aoede to pull me out. I would never see her again.
“I’d better go,” I said.
“But I haven’t-”
“Better this way. Before…”
“Before what?”
“Before we start talking.”
She seemed torn, like she wanted to recoil but knew letting me go would also give me what I asked for. I didn’t push her out of the way. Never had to before. I usually left when she fell asleep; she had never complained about waking up alone. Other times we would talk, leading to predictable results. Now we weren’t talking, she wasn’t asleep, and I wanted to leave.
“I should go back to my room,” I said. “Practice at seven.”
“You can sleep here.”
“I never do.”
“You can start.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not what we do.”
“Why. Not.”
“I-”
“We do everything else! Except this- this one thing!”
What thing? I couldn’t say. I decided to move, just a little bit. Clara pinned me down. I wondered what face she was making. We had never been here before—not even close. I didn’t know what this feeling was.
“Let me go, Clara,” someone said in my voice.
“Why?” It was more sob than speech. She bore over me, a heavy, hot shadow of sickly perfume.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
My hands closed around her wrists and I gently moved her aside. Then I walked out, half-dressed, not fully dry, leaving behind the soft sounds of choked gasping. The door hissed shut, silencing it. The sterile air buried our scents. It was all gone.
“Lanny? How’s it going?”
“Shut up, Rhoden,” I said. My gait neither sped nor slowed. I did not look his way.
--
4113 A.D. Spring
“What did you do, Aoede?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I’ll sue that neuromodder! They can’t do this. Not without my neural cursive signature.”
“I took your name off. We’re no longer common law. I don’t need your consent on anything. Not anymore.”
“How could you have done this?”
“People do it all the time.”
“Other people. Not us. Not you and me.”
“Lanny there couldn’t have been a ‘you and me’ with what I knew you did. I remember how it felt. It was worse than death.”
“Then just leave me. Why do this to yourself?”
“So there could be a ‘you and me’.”
“The only reason I kept going was because of you. You were my Prometheus.”
“I still am.”
“Aoede, how do you feel about our first concert?”
“I remembered something bubbly, a good feeling.”
“How do you feel about that song I wrote about us? The one only we’ve heard?”
“I remembered it being nice.”
“How do you feel about me now?”
“Good. I feel good.”
Her face was as smooth as sand dune. As she smiled, her teeth aligned in symmetry. Her eyes were perfect brown mirrors.
--
Seven a.m. Practice time. We were booked to play for the crew in a couple days, so we had no time to slack off. Rhoden was already there setting up his kit. I started setting up too.
“Listen,” I said. “Sorry about last night. You didn’t deserve that.”
“I know,” he said. “I figured something must’ve been bothering you.”
“That shouldn’t matter. You’re a member of the band, and honestly? Everyone should start acknowledging that.”
“I’m sure they all do in their own way.”
“Our own way might not be enough, Rhoden. We’ve been rather rude to our only drummer for, ha, I don’t know? Since forever.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I had really met him. I stopped my warm-up and looked Rhoden face to face. I nearly dropped the amplifier when I saw his eyes.
“What?” He said with a perfect smile.
“You’re…”
“What’s wrong?”
“I never knew.”
Rhoden shrugged.
“Well I suppose it never came up, you know. It doesn’t affect my drumming negatively. There’s anecdotes out there saying it actually helps with certain things.”
“Why?!”
“’Cuz I was always a sensitive guy. And in this business you just don’t last like that. Millions of people love you, then they hate you, and then they forget. Sometimes your own co-workers call you things. Worse, sometimes they pretend you’re not even there. So I…” He made a clipping motion with his fingers beside his head. “…did this. Now I could last until we made it big.”
Somewhere in the middle of his story I had started laughing. I had to hold onto the amplifier stand to catch my breath. Tears ran down my face. I wiped them away. We hadn’t had breakfast yet and my sleeve was already ruined. What had been so funny? I couldn’t say.
“So don’t worry,” Rhoden continued, “about hurting my feelings or anything like that. I’m beyond tough now. We’ll all make it together.”
“Sure thing, Rhodey,” I said. “In a few years we’ll play for over a million people, and none of them will forget us.”
“Hell yeah, Lanny.”
Our knuckles met—a primal greeting we had dug up from the deep past. For all their lack of sophistication, the ancients knew how to connect with almost no technology.
The door slid open.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” I said to the approaching shadow. Bronson came into detail face first, fist second. I must have lost consciousness for a heartbeat because when I blinked I was on the ground. My hand had moved on its own to my jaw, and Rhoden had stepped between us.
“Whoa! Easy,” Rhoden said. “What’s got our best multicordion player so riled up?”
Bronson didn’t look at Rhoden, he just shoved him aside. He wasn’t so easy with me. Hands bigger than mine lifted me up by the collar.
“This is on you,” he said through his teeth. “You made her do this.”
“What the fuck are you on about?” I said.
He pushed me off. I stumbled back.
“Fight me!” He said. He raised his fists.
“Bronson…” One of my teeth were loose. Oh well.
“Hit me!”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“You think you’re better?!”
“Fuck no! That’s why I don’t want to fight you. I’d lose pretty hard.”
Bronson wanted to hit me again. His fist practically swelled by his hip. He never got to; a folded chair joined the side of his head with a clatter. Bronson made a muted gasp as he fell onto the ground. When he recovered, the madness in his eyes gave way to confusion.
“Rhoden?” He said.
“Well.” Rhoden shrugged as if he just spilled a glass of milk. “You looked like you needed a breather.”
“I-” Bronson looked at his bloody fist, then at me. Then sheepishly, and maybe a little reluctantly, “Sorry.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I thought I’d walk Clara to practice,” Bronson said. “She wouldn’t open the door at first, until I insisted. When I walked in, she was crying. Talking about how much it hurt and about quitting the band and-”
“And what?”
“She’s going to take the anti-nostalgic.”
The centrifuge must have stopped, yet I didn’t float away. My heart seemed to move elsewhere in my chest. It was too much. I had to take a seat on the practice room floor.
“Why?” Rhoden asked like he was questioning someone’s choice of shirt.
Bronson didn’t bother answering. He picked himself up and left. Now there was only the two of us.
Rhoden squatted beside me.
“Oh it’s not so bad,” he said. “I was scared too when I took the anti-nostalgic. Like a lot of people I thought it would lobotomize me and turn me into a vegetable. All it really does to remove the parts of you tied down to negative emotion.” He gave my bicep a painful squeeze. “Beyond tough. Frankly, I’m surprised Clara took so long. She was always a, well, you’d know. You spend the most time with her, after all.”
--
4113 A.D. Autumn
“What do you want to eat?”
“Anything really.”
“Where’d you like?”
“With you.”
“Do you want to go somewhere this weekend?”
“Anywhere.”
“I want to show you this verse. I’ve been experimenting. How is it?”
“Amazing. I love it.”
“Aoede.”
“Yes?”
“Do you love me?”
“I only love you.”
--
I didn’t make it to practice the next day. I stayed in the shower. My only companion was the little high-pitched cartoon dancing on the glass.
“Uh oh! someone’s hogging the water!”
My nails were bent. I had spent too long digging them into my scalp.
“Pwease switch to ultrasonics. Pwetty pwease?”
I stared into the ceiling light. Warm water droplets crawled down my face. Some went into my eyes.
“Listen, superstar, water is also reaction mass! We kiiinda need that stuff!”
People had no idea what it was like. If you did something wrong, they remembered forever. At least, I did. Every sour note. Every missed lyric. Every virtual concert where we ended with those blank looks staring up at us. But when we landed our mark and the crowd roared—nothing replaced that feeling. That was the air we breathed. For the moment, it didn’t seem to matter that there were a hundred more groups coming up next.
“You’re not being re-spons-i-ble!”
We only took a spot on the Phaedo because we wanted an easier audience, because we were afraid of bombing as much as we were afraid of being ignored. And because I couldn’t bear to stay in the System anymore.
The Xesperados were meant to fail. Especially with me on it.

--
4108 A.D. Spring
“Well that was fucking horrible,” Bronson said.
“Come on guys, it wasn’t that bad,” Rhoden said.
“I would give up,” Clara said. “But I spent everything I had on my baby.” She gingerly put her guitar down.
“There’s trillions of people in the System,” Rhoden said. “Right Bronson?”
Bronson was already on his way out. His multicordion laid against a box stand precariously. Rhoden adjusted it with his foot so it stayed upright.
“Well, at least we had each other,” Clara said, probably sarcastically.
That was the way she was. But tonight had not been a good night. I avoided her gaze and didn’t bother talking to any of them as I hurried out. Maybe they were right—maybe I should’ve quit a long time ago and went into mum and dad’s business. Maybe I should’ve been looking where I was going, because I nearly barreled into someone on my way out the venue.
“Sorry! Sorry!” I said.
“No worries. My fault, really.”
Weird. How could it have possibly been her fault? I was the one not looking where I was going, so steeped in self-pity that I somehow missed someone like this right in front of me. Now I couldn’t remember the person I was before meeting her.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Aoede.” She offered a hand.
“Long way from the exit, Aoede.”
“Just wanted to opine.”
“That bad you needed to come backstage to tell us?” I said, joking.
“I have a list of criticisms,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Let’s hear it.”
“It’s quite long. We’ll need to sit down somewhere. We’ll probably need something to wet our throats in the while.”
“Oh. Uh,” I sighed. “Honestly, we were thinking of breaking up the Xesperados. And after tonight…”
“You shouldn’t.”
I frowned.
“Why?” I asked.
She had started to inch away, hands tucked behind her back.
“I made a really good list.”
--
The door’s pneumatics weren’t keeping up, so I wrenched them open and shoved myself through.
“What in Dayus’s name?” The doctor exclaimed.
I ignored her.
“Clara, I’m sorry,” I said.
Clara sat up off the neuromod table, squinting.
“Lanny?” She said.
“Don’t do it,” I said.
“Lanny-”
“We can’t do this without you. All of you. There’s no point in the Dysfunctional Xesperados making it if we fuck ourselves in the head like Rhoden did.”
“That’s rude.”
“Just get off the table. We’ll talk about it.”
She slid her legs over the side and left the table.
“I wasn’t gonna go through with it anyway,” she said. “I was- I don’t know. Just weird.”
“Oh.”
Why the hell did I do this then? Before I could get a word in, the doctor began ushering us out.
“I don’t care about whatever this is,” the doctor said. “All I know is you’ve wasted my time. And Lanny?”
“Yeah?” I said.
“Dry yourself off and put on some damn clothes. This place is a closed ecosystem.”
The door hissed shut behind us. We were left to the ship’s punishing atmospherics. I began to shiver. Clara rubbed my shoulders as we walked back to my room.
“I’m glad you came,” she said. “Let’s me know you do care about me.”
“Not that much.”
“I know. I should’ve made peace with it a long time ago.”
“Besides, if I did care about you, you’d lose interest in me entirely.”
“Probably.”
I was joking. She was not. Classic Clara.
I got dressed and called the band together for one final session before we played for the crew. We weren’t the only entertainers on board; there’d be some competition. A little was always good—kept us on edge. I thought Bronson wouldn’t show up, but he did, probably because I had Clara relay the summons. We jammed harder than any practice session before. My voice gave out somewhere around three a.m. The doctor wasn’t too pleased to see my face in her office to have the sore, and my loose tooth, rejuvenated. Oh well.
When we stepped onto the Phaedo’s stage, it felt like our first venue again. The blood rushing to the head. The loss of feeling in the toes. The sweating in the pits. I didn’t look at the crowd. Instead, I looked at my team, my people. Then the lights dimmed. I grabbed the amplifier out of the darkness and breathed fire.

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#Mission Log: Day 0024

##Addendum 03

Packard insisted on Stockley and Tianna walking himself and Wakely through each section of the genius-building's structure they had accessed, using the same level of near-paranoia I've come to expect from practically everyone in this world as they tested each door they found. ​

Testing the stair-steps for traps seemed a little excessive to me, but hey, they're the 'invaders' in this scenario. Though I suppose poking at the air-maintenance 'moss' on the underside of the stairs with low-grade steel daggers makes some sense. Fortunately, the stuff's also flame-resistant enough that when Tianna lost the finger-flicking game of 'who gets to do the risky but necessary task' and held a smoldering rag to one section, it didn't trigger the emergency-response protocols. ​

Packard's brief tongue-lashing to her and Stockley for not doing it themselves was pretty impressive, but they shrugged it off and kept moving. ​

They made it down to the river-valley floor level at Packard's insistence; I've got plans to extend the stairway down to the lower sub-levels, but for the time being the place where those stairs will descend is just more smooth neo-concrete. From there, Tianna and Stockley confirmed that the ground-floor lobby I've built down there matched the one directly above perfectly. ​

At that, Packard took the opportunity to settle into the nearest couch for a moment, Wakely at the opposite end and unstringing his bow as he did so. ​

“So, for the time being,” Packard began, gesturing for the others to fill their water-skins if they needed to before joining him on the seats of their choice. “... I'm inclined to think that the entire structure is abandoned. Which makes not a lick of sense, even and especially given the lack of anything resembling magic.” ​

Wakeley took a deep sniff through his nose before adding, “Nor of plague. The air within lacks the scents of the woods, but it also carries neither pollen nor dust nor any other of the many motes adrift on the breezes. Were there any sort of miasma within these walls or corpses produced therefrom, 'twould stand out more starkly than a polished gem atop a stack of forge-dross.” ​

Tianna poked at the armrest of her chair with one finger, nodding. “Agreed, there's no sign of any threats, so we may as well start deciding who's to claim which. We haven't looked past all the doors with those strange black hand-plates, but just looking shows three more rooms on the floor and four more arranged below.” ​

Stockley gulped some water before adding, “The doors aren't all the same distance apart, so the two on the end of the floor closest to us might be smaller, with less inside. But the one we looked into had two bedrooms and what looked for all the world like two private bathrooms and bathing areas.” ​

Wakeley gestured at the blank wall behind them. “I mislike that part,” he said. “Same thing in that room up above, seemingly going all the way up to the top of the ridge. Solid, though; as the rest of it...” He waved a hand at the foyer. “... So why block off maybe a third as much space as enclosed here in this secondary meeting area? Perhaps it's meant for fancier staircases for folk like the Ells, so they didn't need to rub elbows with us working folk ascending or descending the other ones, maybe?” ​

The other three exchanged glances, but Packard shook his head. “Whatever it is, nothing's coming through it soon enough or fast enough for us to worry about,” he said. “Keep eyes on it if you need, but for the time being it's not a strong contender for a trap or some sort of hidden guard post.” ​

Wakeley gave a slow nod, but shifted in place to keep the wall covering the eventual elevator-banks in his peripheral vision. ​

Packard grunted, slapping one hand on a thigh; seemed to be another fairly universal gesture to indicate that the topic was closed for now, and the group would move on to the next item of the agenda. He waved one hand in a line paralleling the arrangements of the apartments and held up a flat, copper disk that I had come to recognize in the other. “Anyone care to wager a glahura that Lord Zee will claim the first and largest chambers for himself, and the rest of the Ells will insist on their own quarters?” ​

The others chuckle, Stockley and Wakely shaking their heads, Tianna holding up a vertical palm. “Sucker bet, Packard,” she says through a smile. “Though it does leave the decision of how to divide the remaining three larger quarters among the five remaining Ells.” ​

Stockley arched an eyebrow at that, and pulled out two of his own coins. “Let's make things a little more interesting,” he offered, setting the glahuras down on the coffee table just ahead of his booted shins with audible clicks. “Bhiocasaid will insist on Zoti sharing quarters with her,” he said. “With their servants in t'other room, as seems proper for a space without a whole floor dedicated to keeping the lower classes clear of their 'betters'.” ​

Tianna exchanged glances with Wakeley, who shook his head and waved his hands. “That business with you and your dear half-sister was the cure I needed,” he insists. “I'll make no more bets nor take any, 'til I leave boot-prints on all the moons.” He got to his feet and took his unstrung bow with him as he headed for the water-dispenser. ​

Tianna stared at him for a moment before giving him a wide-eyed nod, then turning to turn her sights on Packard before rummaging at her waist for a leather coin-purse. “No bet; when they aren't traveling in separate wagons those two are practically inseparable. On the other hand...” she dug out three slightly larger coins of somewhat shinier copper and set them on the table. “Two double-glahuras that Nehdud takes another double-room for himself, and orders at least four of the women from the 'stock' to stay in the other bedroom,” she said. ​

Packard grunted, but I could see a smile changing the topography of his craggy face. “Oh, come on, there's not much point in wagering on what's as predictable as the moons' dance,” he told her, then shot a similar disapproving look through the bristles of his eyebrows at Stockley. He held it for another moment before extracting three coins that seemed almost the same as the ones Tianna had laid down. “Three double-glahuras that Thusarrel tells Nehdud precisely which of the flackroos he can have down there instead when the designated heir to the household puts in his 'entertainment order' for the evening,” he stated, the sharp clacks of the coins hitting shaped-plastic punctuating his wager. ​

Stockley stared at him for 2.619 seconds before rummaging around in his own purse for a matching wager. ​

Tianna laughed, and added a fourth coin. “See you and raise one double-glahura that Thusarrel tells him which holes to use,” she said around a smile. “That wood-elf protects them like they're his very own glade.” ​

Stockley matched the bet, but against Tianna's addendum. “Boy's persistent enough, probably would've quickened every woman in our little caravan with a bastard by the 30th day on the trip if he had half a chance,” he said. He nodded in Tianna's direction as her hand drifted down to the hilt of her knife. “Present company excluded, of course. But I'd not only bet against him if he faced a twelve-year old child with a stick, given his poor form, but I'd bet that the first touch to even his wrist would have him showing his bootheels and shrieking for the family guards.” ​

Tianna rolled her eyes while shaking her head, leaving her coins on the table. “The closest thing he has to 'courage' is approaching any woman in his line of sight,” she sighed. “I swear that Duke might have exiled the Lignignories at least a year sooner if Nehdud had managed to get within earshot of his youngest daughter, last Harvest Festival.” ​

Packard nodded, glancing down at the coins. “Well, the wager's set and I reckon we've had enough of a rest.” He clambered to his feet with a sigh, then glanced upward at a slight angle. “I mislike the idea of letting any of the Ells out of that watchtower atop the ridge,” he said with a grunt. “But I mislike leaving poor Palmyra, Tigah and Lathai guarding the upper staircase door against the collective wrath of the Lignignories for too much longer. I'm inclined to bring Lord Zee and his entourage down first...” ​

Wakeley swallowed a mouthful from his skin before raising a hand. “Recall the magician, please,” he pointed out. “That mobile mop will need quarters, too, belike.” ​

Packard paused, visibly considering it, before nodding once. “Aye, that he will,” he allowed. “And space for all those tomes and tools and whatnot of his.” ​

Tianna shrugged, flicking her eyes to the side. “Honestly, I'd say we should let him take that little spot all the way at the end, down on the ground-floor,” she suggested. “I'd rather put Nehdud there, as far away from me as I can manage, but since that's not likely to happen I'll settle for the magician.” ​

Packard chewed the thought for a moment, glancing at the two men. “Thoughts, objections, support?” he asked. ​

Stokley frowned. “I was sort of hoping to get one of those smaller ones on the end,” he said, locking his eyes firmly on the door opening to the walkway in front of the ground-floor apartments before glancing upward. “But I guess having a room above the magician would be preferable to trying to ignore young Nehdud's antics next to mine.” ​

Packard kept his expression as neutral as he could as he looked at the side of Stockley's head before turning to shoot a similar expression at the slightly blushing Tianna. He held his peace for a moment before saying, with as flat a tone as he could manage: “And the magician'll be too caught up in his experiments or his reading to complain about you two, I presume?” ​

The pair of them stayed silent, but the rising flush on both sets of ears told the tale. ​

Wakeley rolled his eyes. “Oh, go along with the pair of you,” he said, grinning. “We poor lonely ones'll make do with whatever quarters remain after the rest of the Ells have made their claims.” ​

Packard's upper lip curled at that reminder. “Aye, that we will, belike. Still, though, I'll see to it that the others can bed down in some comfort come nightfall. Once we get all of the Ells' 'stock' sorted I'll work out a new watch rotation...” ​

The four of them trooped onward, out the door to inspect the remainder of the apartments on the ground floor and, likely, far sides of the line. ​

I left the rest of his 'shop talk' for my recorders, to consciously study later. For now, I needed to spend as many as five clock-cycles determining whether or not I could reveal myself to the newest magician of my acquaintance... ​

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New Chapter on every MWF (Monday, Wednesday,Friday)

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Chapter 16: The Dungeon's Despair

Gribble sat huddled in the corner of his damp, dark cell. His knees were pulled up tight against his chest as he tried to ignore the musty, moldy smell that hung heavy in the air. The dungeon was a miserable place, and Gribble had only been here for a few minutes. But it felt like hours had passed since the guards had roughly thrown him in here.

His mind raced with desperate thoughts of escape and the goblin army that had come for him. He couldn't stop thinking about how close they were, just outside the troll palace walls. The very idea made his heart pound faster in his chest.

The stone floor beneath him was cold and hard, leeching the warmth from his body. A chill seeped into his bones, making him shiver. The flickering torchlight cast eerie, dancing shadows on the walls of the small cell. Gribble ran a hand through his matted, dirty hair, feeling the heavy weight of his grim situation pressing down on him like a physical burden.

Suddenly, Gribble's nose twitched as a familiar scent wafted in on a draft from the tiny, barred window high up in the cell wall. It was the unmistakable stench of the goblin army - that mix of unwashed bodies, rotting meat, and the sharp, acrid smell of goblin weapons and armor.

Gribble knew that smell all too well from his years living among the goblin horde. It was a scent that brought back a flood of unpleasant memories.

Gribble's heart pounded even harder as he realized just how close his enemies truly were. They were right outside, waiting for him. He rushed to the window, standing on his tiptoes and straining to see any sign of the army that had come to get him. But the window was too high and too small. All he could see was a tiny patch of grey sky.

Frustration and fear surged through Gribble as he dropped back down to the floor. He started to pace the small cell, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a plan.

He went over the little he knew about his surroundings, searching for any weakness or opportunity he could exploit. But the hard truth was that he had never been here, in this palace or its dungeons before. It was all unfamiliar territory.

As he paced, Gribble analyzed every detail he could remember about the dungeon's layout and security while he was brought down here. He knew he had to be careful and patient. A reckless, poorly planned escape attempt could very well get him killed. He had to be smart about this.

In a burst of frustration, Gribble kicked the solid stone wall. Pain immediately shot through his foot, making him wince and hobble.

"Stupid," he muttered to himself, his voice sounding small and hollow in the confined space. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He realized he needed to stay focused if he wanted to find a way out of this nightmare.

The throbbing pain in his foot was a harsh reminder that he had limits. He couldn't just smash his way out of here. Gribble knew he would have to rely on his cleverness and wit to overcome the challenges standing between him and freedom.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push aside the frustration and anger that threatened to cloud his thinking. A clear, focused mind was his best tool right now.

Gribble walked over to the hard, wooden bench that served as his bed and sat down heavily. The bench creaked under his weight. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

He took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart and quiet his churning thoughts. He tried to push away the fear and worry that kept trying to overwhelm him.

As he focused on his breathing, Gribble felt some of the tension gradually leaving his body. A sense of calm determination slowly took its place. He knew he had to approach this problem with a level head and an open mind. He had to be ready to seize any chance that presented itself, no matter how small.

"I will find a way out," Gribble whispered to himself, his voice a low promise in the quiet of the cell. "I won't rest until I do."

With that vow, Gribble sat up straight, his jaw set with determination. He strained his ears, listening hard for any bits of conversation from the troll guards outside his cell. Any information could be useful in planning his escape. Maybe they would mention a hidden passage, or a secret tunnel, or a weakness in their security.

But as the minutes ticked by, all Gribble heard were occasional grunts and short phrases in the trolls' harsh, guttural language. His heart sank as he realized the guards were far too disciplined to accidentally let slip anything he could use.

A flicker of movement caught Gribble's eye. He turned to see a rat scurrying along the base of the far wall, its small form barely visible in the dim light. Gribble watched it, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

"At least you can come and go as you please," he muttered to the rat. "I don't suppose you know a way out of here?"

The rat, of course, didn't answer. It sniffed at a crack in the wall for a moment, then disappeared into the shadows. Gribble sighed, feeling a pang of envy for the creature's freedom.

Suddenly, a sense of urgency washed over Gribble. He couldn't just sit here, waiting for an opportunity. He had to make one. He stood up abruptly and started to search his cell, running his hands along the rough, damp stone walls. He felt for any weak spots he could exploit.

Gribble's fingers probed every crack and crevice, his heart pounding with anticipation. He imagined finding a loose stone, or a rusted bar, or some other way to break out of this prison. He worked methodically, starting in one corner of the cell and moving along each wall bit by bit. He was determined not to miss any potential means of escape, no matter how small.

Minutes crawled by as Gribble thoroughly checked every inch of his cell. His fingertips became raw and started to bleed from scraping against the rough stone. But despite his painstaking efforts, he found no hint of a hidden switch or weak spot. Nothing but solid, unyielding rock.

Despair started to creep into Gribble's heart as he finished his search empty-handed. His shoulders slumped as the reality of his situation weighed on him like a physical burden. He looked down at his bloody fingers, the stinging pain a testament to how hard he had searched and the toll it had taken on him.

"Think, Gribble, think," he muttered to himself, starting to pace again. His mind raced as he tried to come up with another approach, another angle he hadn't considered yet. There had to be something he was missing.

As the last of his hopes for finding an escape route within his cell faded, Gribble turned his attention back to the small, barred window. A grim realization settled over him. His only chance of getting out of here might be to face the goblin army head-on.

Gribble swallowed hard as he considered using his powers to escape. He knew he would be hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched in a direct confrontation. The goblins had come prepared, aware of his powers and determined to capture him.

However, the alternative was unthinkable. He couldn't just sit here and wait for the trolls to hand him over to the goblins. That would be a fate worse than death.

Gribble clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. If facing the goblin army was his only path to freedom, then that was what he would do. He would fight with every ounce of his strength and cunning.

He started to prepare, both mentally and physically. He stretched his muscles, wincing at the soreness from the earlier battle. He went over every trick and skill he had learned, every power he had gained, looking for anything that might give him an edge.

"I can do this," Gribble said to himself, his voice low but fierce in the quiet of the cell. "I have to do this."

Gribble standing in the middle of his cell, his feet planted firmly, his eyes fixed on the small window that offered a glimpse of the goblin army outside. The weight of his situation pressed down on him like a physical force, but he stood tall beneath it, refusing to bow or break.

He knew, with grim certainty, that he had to find a way to escape. He had to face the goblins on his own terms, not as a prisoner, but as a free goblin fighting for his life and his future.

Gribble's mind raced as he considered plan after plan, idea after idea. Some he discarded immediately as too risky or implausible. Others he turned over in his mind, examining them from every angle, looking for flaws and opportunities.

He knew he would need every scrap of intelligence, every ounce of resourcefulness, and every bit of courage he possessed. The odds against him were staggering, but he refused to let that stop him.

The light of determination burned bright in Gribble's eyes, banishing the shadows of fear and despair. His heart pounded with a fierce, unyielding rhythm, the beat of a goblin who would never surrender, never stop fighting, no matter the odds.

This was his fight, his chance to prove himself, not just to the goblins or the trolls, but to himself. And he would give it everything he had. No matter the cost, no matter the danger, Gribble would find a way to win his freedom, or die trying.

The cell seemed to grow smaller around him, the walls pressing in as if they could sense his determination, his readiness to break free. But Gribble didn't flinch, didn't waver.

He stood there, in the heart of his prison, and he made a silent promise, to himself and to whatever gods or spirits might be listening. He would escape this place, he would face his enemies, and he would emerge victorious. For he was Gribble, the goblin who had been kicked and shunned all his life, but who had never been broken. And he never would be.

With that silent vow, Gribble sat back down on his bench, conserving his energy, honing his focus. He had a lot of planning to do, and he would need every bit of his strength and wits for the trials ahead.

But for now, in this moment, he allowed himself a small, grim smile. The goblins and the trolls thought they had him beaten, thought they held all the power.

They were about to learn just how wrong they were. Gribble's smile widened at the thought, becoming a fierce, determined grin. Let them come. He would be ready.

As he sat there, staring at the door of his cell, Gribble felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time. It took him a moment to recognize it, to put a name to the unfamiliar sensation.

Hope.

It was small, fragile, like a candle flame in a howling wind. But it was there, burning steady in his chest. And as long as that flame existed, as long as that spark of hope survived, Gribble knew he would never give up.

He leaned back against the cold stone wall, letting out a slow, measured breath. The battle ahead would be the fight of his life. But it was a fight he was ready for, a fight he would win.

For he was Gribble, the goblin with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And he was about to show the world just what he was made of.

<<Start at Part 1 | <Back to Part 37 | Skip to Part 39>

Mark let out a loud, angry roar, stepping closer to the door as it slid aside. He fired his gun. Again and again, then continued pulling the trigger even after it had clearly run out of bullets. If he had been of a more rational mind, he might have realized Neyland was not standing in its wake.

Thomas stood with his hands over his ears, fighting the ringing from the shots. Through squinted eyes he watched as a shape emerged from the security nexus and lunged at Mark, something held high in his hand. It happened quick, but the shape of it was clear. He watched as Neyland drove a long, thick needle into Mark’s neck, then pushed a plunger down with his thumb.

Mark shoved Neyland’s chest, pushing them both in opposite directions. Mark stumbled backward and fell near Thomas’s feet, grabbing at the spot on his neck where he’d been stuck. His eyes were closed, but his writhing suggested an immense amount of pain.

Neyland rose to his feet, still holding the syringe in one hand. A bright blue fluid dripped from its tip, quickly disappearing into the carpeted floor below.

Frozen in place and unable to hear beyond the ringing in his ears, Thomas stared at the man they’d worked toward finding for so long. He was tall and thin, his oversized labcoat doing little to hide his bony figure. Dark hair hung in clumps from his head, giving way to patches of deep purple along his scalp. The rash curled around his ears and spiderwebbed across his temples. At the base of his neck, Thomas could see patches of red, scabby blisters. Nearly all of Neyland’s visible skin was shades of blue and purple, save for some patches on his face.

“Jesus,” Thomas said, though he only felt the words in his throat. Neyland glanced at him, then turned back toward the nexus. He disappeared inside for a moment then returned with a small white box, making his way toward Layna.

Mark remained on the ground, eyes clenched shut and hand on his neck, though his writhing had slowed. He no longer appeared to be screaming, either. Thomas couldn’t tell if the man was relaxing or dying. He wasn’t sure which he preferred.

“Give me a hand,” Neyland called out. He knelt in front of Layna and opened the box.

Thomas approached, unsure what else to do. Layna’s eyes were fixed on Neyland. She let go of her wound, using her good arm to shift her weight.

“Place this on the wound,” Neyland said, handing Thomas a small, gray object. It felt rubbery on one side with fabric on the other, with tiny bumps along the edges of the fabric side.

Thomas gingerly pulled at the edges of the hole in Layna’s shirt until he was able to reach both thumbs in. Then he tore the fabric apart. Blood poured from the wound in quick pulses. By the time he’d torn a hole large enough for the patch, his hands were slick with her blood. He swallowed hard, then pressed the object against Layna’s shoulder. She winced and leaned into it.

Neyland pulled a small cylindrical object from the box and pulled a small plastic piece from the back of it. Three tiny needles extended from its base while a button on the other side twisted and popped up slightly. Without giving her warning, he shoved it into her outer thigh and pressed the button.

Layna’s expression loosened as the medicine worked at her pain. Meanwhile, the small square on her shoulder sunk against her skin, flexing and pulsing as it appeared to tighten around the wound. Within seconds, it settled. Blood no longer seeped from its edges.

“Turn,” Neyland said, pulling another patch from the box. Layna grunted and shifted once more, pulling away from the wall. A smear of red dripped along the silver-gray panel behind her.

Neyland nodded. “Good.” He reached forward and followed the same procedure for the exit wound until the second patch was firmly in place.

“Are you okay?” he asked, staring at Layna. His tone lacked any compassion Thomas would have expected from a doctor. The question was clinical. It was as if he only wanted to make sure she hadn’t lost enough blood to die before he could use her to get off the ship.

Layna nodded. “I’ll live.” Her eyes fell to Mark, who continued to wince in pain with his hand against his neck. “What did you do to him?”

“Gave him something to stop the infection,” Neyland said. “It’s not a pleasant feeling, but it’s better than death.”

“He would know, wouldn’t he?” Layna said.

Neyland let out a sigh. “Yes, he would.” He turned shifted his gaze to Thomas and said, “Help me get him inside. It’s best not to be lying down for this.”

“You need to tell us what the hell is really going on here,” Layna demanded. Her hand remained behind her back, her eyes fixed on Neyland.

“I’m aware of what you’re holding back there,” Neyland said, rising to his feet. He moved toward Mark and gestured for Thomas to follow suit. “If it makes you feel better to point it at me, be my guest. I have no reason to harm any of you. And I’ll gladly answer your questions once we are safe inside the nexus.”

Thomas looked to Layna. She returned a slight nod, then used the wall to help rise to her feet. The gun remained in her hand, though she kept it pointed toward the floor instead of at Neyland. The threat was enough.

Together with Neyland, they pulled Mark to his feet. He tried to stand on his own, now more lethargic than anything. Whatever Neyland had given him seemed to disorient him to the point that Thomas wondered if he even realized what was going on. With Neyland under one shoulder and Thomas under the other, they guided Mark into the nexus and into a chair near the door. Mark slumped into it, breathing heavily, his eyes still pressed tightly closed.

Neyland turned back toward the door. Layna stood in front of the panel, her wounded arm hanging loosely at her side.

“Would you mind closing the door?” Neyland asked. “I’d prefer we don’t have any surprise visitors while we chat.”

Layna stared at him for a moment, contemplating. “Looks clear to me. You expecting more?”

“Can never be too safe,” Neyland said. “Though, I suppose you’re right. Mark cleared out the ones that were waiting for me; we should be safe. I’ve just had that door shut for so long, it feels wrong to leave it open. Would you indulge me?”

Thomas let his eyes fall on Mark for a moment. He watched as Mark shifted in the seat, his face finally beginning to relax.

“What’d you give him?” Thomas asked.

Neyland turned his gaze towards Thomas. “Something to slow the mutation.”

“Will it cure him?”

Neyland remained silent for a moment, a slight whistle sounding with every short breath he took. “It’s less a cure and more a… treatment. Until I can return to my work.”

Layna slid the gun back into her waistband and crossed her arms. “Is that what you’ve done to yourself?”

“Yes,” Neyland said with a nod. “As you can see, it’s not an ideal solution. But without access to proper equipment, it’s all I can do.” His eyes shifted to the open door, then back to Layna. “Please, the door.”

“Tell us what happened here,” Layna said, ignoring his request.

Neyland turned and made his way to a chair at a nearby console. Screens lined the wall, each showing a different part of the ship. Rows of locations scrolled across the console itself, along with numbers that meant nothing to Thomas.

“Something affected our store of genetic material,” Neyland said. As he sat, he let out a long, tired groan. Thomas almost felt sorry for the man—but his empathy was quelled by the internal reminder that Neyland must have had some part in what happened aboard the ship.

“By the time we detected the anomaly, it was too late to return to an earlier formula. I suspected the personality deficiencies present in late generation clones was related to memory capacity in some way. I admit I should have caught the defect sooner.”

Layna furrowed her brow. “You’re saying this was a genetic mutation? Not an infection?”

Neyland nodded.

Thomas felt a heat pulse in his chest. “You told us it was an infection. That the captain feared it had spread to the entire crew and that she had no choice but to burn the ship.”

“That was her belief, as it was mine for a time,” he said. “By the time I learned otherwise, it was too late to change her mind. I fear the mutation forced her hand in that, as well.”

Layna stepped closer, shaking her head. “Bullshit.”

“If she hadn’t ordered my lab destroyed, I could have proven it to you,” Neyland said. His right hand began to shake slightly; he gripped the edge of the chair, then moved his hand down to his hip to hide it from view.

“I saw the last message the captain tried to send,” Layna said. “Your depiction of her doesn’t match.”

Mark let out a long, painful groan, then shifted in his seat. “Infected,” he mumbled, opening his eyes slightly.

Thomas looked to him. “What?”

“I could see it,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s hard to describe, but I… I could sense it, sort of. There was a subtle glow in her eyes.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you, now?” Layna spat.

Mark sighed. “Believe me or don’t, it doesn’t change anything.” After another deep, raspy breath, his eyes opened wide. His stare bounced from Layna to Neyland, then back to Layna. “Shoot him.”

Layna lifted one eyebrow and looked back toward Neyland. “Well? Is there any reason I shouldn’t listen to him?”

“I’ve told you before,” Neyland said, “you need me if you want to get off this ship.”

“He’s bluffing,” Mark said. “You’re the one he needs. Shoot him.”

Thomas stepped forward, eyeing Mark. He thought of their last conversation. The anger in Mark’s voice still resonated in Thomas’s mind. The depiction of his own death at Neyland’s hands.

“You’re full of shit,” Thomas said. “All of it.”

Neyland stared back at him for a long moment, shifting his jaw from side to side. His sunken eyes showed the weight of his time on the ship—the slow death he’d inflicted on himself to keep the mutation from overtaking him. And in that moment, Thomas finally saw something real. Something Neyland couldn’t hide behind a convoluted lie. The man was tired.

“Fine,” Neyland said. He turned in his chair and pulled open a nearby drawer. As he reached his hand inside, Layna lifted the gun in his direction.

“Careful,” she said.

Neyland lifted his other hand to the air, showing a dry, cracked palm. “No weapons, just—look.”

He pulled five small object from the drawer, each about an inch in length and thin enough to fit in his curled palm. Each was bright silver with a small red stripe down the side. Within the red stripe were series of numbers.

Neyland lifted one from his palm and held it in the air with his fingertips. “The Captain,” he said, gently placing it on the desk. Then he plucked another, eyed the small numbers on the side, and said, “Me.”

Thomas furrowed his brow. “What are you—”

“Thomas,” Neyland continued, placing a third drive on the desk.

Layna glanced at Thomas, then back to Neyland. She kept the gun held high.

“You,” Neyland said, looking to Layna. He placed her drive on the desk and held the final one in the air between them. As he stood, he glanced at Mark.

“And him.” Then he opened his fingers, letting the drive fall to the floor. It hit the ground with a subtle thud. Before Thomas and Layna could comment further, Neyland stepped forward and drove his heel into the device. The sound of cracking came from beneath Neyland’s heel as he twisted it into the floor.

“Do you know what the Asteria’s true mission was?” Neyland asked, scooping the other four drives off the desk. “I’m sure you recall some propaganda they fed you to get you on the ship. Future of humanity and all that. But even back then, you had to know it wasn’t the whole truth.”

Thomas stared at the crushed plastic on the ground. Mark. “What are those drives? Our memories?”

Neyland rolled his eyes. “Try to keep up, Thomas. They are you. Old iterations, sure, thanks to the captain ordering the destruction of my work. That was a genocide in itself, I’d say. Entirely worth her death sentence. But still—they hold everything required to implant you in a new body back on Earth. So if you want off this ship, you will escort me to the bridge.”

Layna shook her head. “Why would she do something like that? You expect us to believe—”

“If you’d allow me to finish,” Neyland said, sliding the remaining drives into his pocket. “The mission of the Asteria. See, cloning was a huge advancement for humanity. The problem was, too many people had access. Immortality should be reserved for those who deserve it—those with the power to advance the human race. Not every poor schmuck that saves enough working his day job. We can’t have that. So I developed a little something to… help thin the heard, as it were.”

“You made this mutation?” Layna asked, her eyes wide. “Why would Earth ever implement such a thing?”

“Oh, they don’t know any better,” Neyland said. “They think we’ve been out here searching for habitable planets, sending back new cloning data to improve people’s lives. Make our bodies more lean, easy to survive—food was a problem on Earth, as you recall. I succeeded in lessening what we needed. Once this mutation spreads through the population, that will put an end to public cloning. And then only the people who deserve it will have access to the safer methods. As it should be.”

Mark shifted in his chair, trying to rise to his feet. The solution Neyland had given him appeared to have done more than he’d let on—Mark fell backward, hardly able to move.

“The fuck did you do to me,” he spat.

Neyland glanced at him. “I slowed your infection, as promised,” he said. “Though I might have overestimated the amount of paralytic agent required to keep you docile.”

“Just—” Mark struggled, each word requiring more and more engergy, “just fucking shoot him and get it over with.”

“Ah-ah,” Neyland said, waving a finger in the air. “These drives are have a failsafe. A neat little programming trick that dear Mark helped me with, in fact. He was quite bright with the right… motivations.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “The memories. You purposely made him remember his own deaths?”

Neyland shrugged off the weight of the statement with ease. “Sometimes you have to shock a dog to make it listen.”

“Sick bastard,” Layna spat.

“Say what you will, it doesn’t matter. These drives must be accessed every few hours with a passcode only I know. One code will extend the timer, another will remove it entirely for the journey to Earth. Otherwise, they get wiped. That’s why you’ll help me.”

“For some old iterations of ourselves?” Layna scoffed. “I could just shoot you and leave those drives behind. We don’t need to be revived into another clone. We just need to get on the shuttle.”

Neyland’s smile widened. The way his skin cracked and peeled at the corner of his lips made him look all the more sinister—like something made of pure evil. Barely human at all.

“There is no shuttle, Layna. Not in the way you expect.”

Thomas blinked. Why tell such a blatant lie? They’d been on the bridge, seen the door to the captain’s shuttle bay. They’d watched the video of her discussing it.

“She said she’d loaded the data on it,” Layna said. “Everything showing your research here was bullshit. She wouldn’t make it up for no reason.”

“Of course,” Neyland said. “There is a pod that will go wherever programmed. But it does not hold people.” He patted the pocket containing the drives. “It holds these.”

Thomas thought back to a specific moment in the captain’s last message. The moment when Layna appeared on screen, whispering into the Captain’s ear. The look of defeat on the captain’s face. He realized now what must have been said. What their plan must have been.

“Ah, yes,” Neyland said, eyeing Thomas’s expression. “I see you’ve put it together. Our lovely Captain and dearest Layna here intended to send themselves back to Earth to live out a life before every stepping foot on the Asteria. But I got to their drives first.”

Part 39>

First Previous Wiki

Fleet Commander Annabelle Weber raised the shields of the dreadnaught as she approached. All across the Alliance Defense Fleet's mental network, psychic amplifiers were activated in tandem with shields. Thousands of small bubbles surrounded the soldiers and crews in the mindscape while Annabelle herself donned a mental device meant to strengthen her even more. It had been delivered directly by Brey herself in a massive expenditure of energy and likely was another classified project.

This far out, Annabelle had less access than usual. There was also less contact with Phoebe than usual, likely due to politics. But out here, that didn't matter. All that mattered were her crews, her ships, and her soldiers. Past that, the Cawlarians. Tenrah's fleet had started to move away from her, as the Admiral drew most of the fire from Siran's fleets.

Meanwhile, Annabelle and the Battle Planner were working on the planet crackers. There were five of them, luckily out of position by a few scouting attacks that had been sent against them a few hours prior. It had helped to ensure Annabelle and the Battle Planner wouldn't get wiped by the beams before even entering the battlefield.

They'd been deployed faster than expected. Phoebe's sabotage drones hadn't been able to destroy them quickly enough before being detected. The capability was unexpected, but it wasn't entirely implausible. She hadn't told the Heptarchies anything of the war plans, and neither had Phoebe or Tenrah. And the Battle Planner had almost no contact with them after their constant disparagement of his religion.

He'd gotten over it, though, and was stable. Hundreds of thousands of mine sweeper vessels, little more than drones with massive but flimsy shields, started moving forward. They cleared any stealth mines, antimatter pockets, and any other natural surprises that waited for them. The planet crackers themselves loomed large in the distance, but only through the optical sensors.

The battle would take a long time, and Siran's forces were being hit by a large portion of a second fleet. The Cawlarians had suddenly pulled off border patrol for a pincer attack. It risked the Heptarchy invading, but Annabelle couldn't stop that.

If Kawtyahtnakal had made the decision, he had plans in place. It wasn't a question. Annabelle checked the vectors, the networks, and the inventories of her fleet again. Everything was nearly at 100%, with only the FTL fuel reserves somewhat lower. Luckily, hydrogen compression wasn't exactly difficult in the modern age. Specialized interfaces told Annabelle that several smaller fleets of the High Kingdom were closing in, but they wouldn't arrive before they were already in the thick of battle.

Explosions rippled on the distant shield fronts of the mine sweeper drones. Corrosive acids and even smaller cutting drones came out, along with several heavy magnetic field bursts. Many of the drones were disabled, but the Battle Planner's strategy had paid off. His fleet took almost no damage, and only a few dozen cruisers and frigates were even hit. They shrugged off the damage easily, though they did pull back from the front of the formation.

The fleets had adopted a design that allowed for easy repositioning and retreat. It took tactics similar to the old British musket lines, only for actual ships instead of people. The caveat to that was only small ships could really turn quickly enough for the strategy to be effective. Their broadside guns, less capable than the dorsal and spinal guns but still powerful in their own right, also helped with maintaining the barrage of fire pouring down on the thick shields that were rapidly spinning up around the planet crackers.

Several ships filled with explosives and absolutely covered in heavy metals zoomed into the system from outside the battle. Annabelle could only track them by calculations. The ships themselves were empty of crew, with only a few androids piloting them. Phoebe's suicide vessels were ships that had been towed by Alcubierre drives, emerging from the bent bubbles in such a fashion that they had a massive relative velocity to 'normal' space.

In fact, thanks to some very complicated effects, they had been accelerated to a very close percentage of the speed of light. But in a space battle, the speed of light was still somewhat slow. Even with the presence of tens of thousands of overlapping Q-comms suppression fields, the Kingdom put up a good defense. Invisible ships detonated in front of the attacks, their own versions of speeding space drives detonating in a violent and bright fashion, creating ruins in reality.

Through those broken holes, stars glimmered, twinking uncontrollably. Bright lasers erupted from the side barrels of the planet crackers, taking sweeping passes over the attacking fleets. Thanks to the multiple trajectories, the planet crackers themselves couldn't easily focus their power. Hours later, as lasers and fighters darted across the system, and metal and flame spewed from red-hot barrels on both sides, the first shot hit.

A planet cracker aligned with the center of Annabelle's fleet. Its massive beam charged, sending warning readings across every sensor she had. Charon-class guns fired on the planet cracker, but its shields still hadn't opened. Annabelle started dipping the dreadnaught down, traveling at an oblique angle as the superweapon charged.

All the dreadnaughts in the battle were trying to avoid the planet crackers' fields of fire, but the massive guns were moving far faster than they should have been capable of. Whoever was in charge of them was truly desperate, which was dangerous.

She shouted her orders. The captains did their best, relaying them down the ranks. They pushed their ships beyond their limits. Cruisers groaned. Battlecruisers creaked. Dreadnaughts strained. But one ship, not close enough to the shield to avoid the rotating planet cracker nearest to Annabelle, was unable to escape.

Annabelle blinked away the tears in her eyes watching as the dreadnaught tried to engage its FTL drive, but the opposing fields from the planet crackers blocked it. The ship fired its main guns eight times in five seconds before the weapon split apart. The extra thrust gave it a boost, but it still wasn't enough. Everyone on that ship was about to die, and they all knew it.

Annabelle had done what she could. Now, the rest of the fleet would be in danger if she didn't act soon. She finally unlinked all the fleet's shields, having them pull them back to limit the impact the weapon could deliver. The codes thankfully managed to get through the interference in the battle, though she'd had to resort to laser communications to do it. Some of the ships had already dropped away from the combined fleet's shield.

Even the planet crackers could only damage what they could hit. With her fleet spread so far, the thick beam couldn't destroy them all. And there was proper warning with the Q-comms relays in place for instant communication. The light from the planet cracker wouldn't be fast enough on its own to warn them before it had already fired.

But it still fired. The impossibly bright beam burned out sensors that hadn't shut in time. Shields were overloaded in an instant. A violent undertow in speeding space accompanied the thick laser, allowing the FTL nature of it even despite the suppression fields in place. Past a certain threshold, they could do nothing.

The hivemind took over Annabelle's mind. The thousands of humans on the Coordinator were separated from the network to prevent a far worse fate from befalling the rest. Gravitational waves radiated from the beam along with a physical heat so strong it would have fried Annabelle to plasma from a hundred thousand miles away.

Space dust, scattered asteroids, and the shields of ships all glowed like stars. The unprotected matter became plasma, and a thick ring of plasma puffed out around the planet cracker's barrel, the residue left from the reaction that had created the devastating attack.

It was not just a physical effect, either. In the mindscape, a section winked out of reality, warping so violently with energy as to kill anyone inside. Stone sheared and calved away into a new dimension, caving in and through itself, shields, and people in the process. Light and space bent and collapsed in a relatively straight line. Thousands of people she'd served with for years were wiped out, their minds obliterated as effectively as they could have been.

And then the reality of the mindscape imposed itself, and the line split into smaller things and shapes beyond calculation or understanding. Minds visible beneath the shields of the planet cracker became hidden once again, as Phoebe pulled back her assault briefly to prevent damage to her mind. The hivemind withdrew into its constituent parts, so that the remnants weren't dragged into oblivion.

With Annabelle acting as a hivemind node, the hivemind deciding to remain would have killed her instantly. Her mind would have been smashed into the rock so violently it would have cracked the local layer of the mindscape, possibly killing everyone in the star system.

Meanwhile, the FTL beam continued moving. 182 light minutes separated the planet cracker from the Coordinator. Typically, speeding space FTL was anywhere between 52 to 3000 times faster than light. But speeding space, when it acted on a planet cracker beam, only served to accelerate its speed forever. The last warning from the hivemind had been sent.

13 seconds later, the beam itself impacted the dreadnaught Annabelle was using to remotely coordinate the fleet. The Coordinator was one of the newer and more heavily shielded dreadnaughts that had come from the Mercury shipyards. But no matter how much protection it had, a direct hit from a planet cracker was beyond its capabilities.

The beam atomized the dreadnaught entirely, along with four battlecruisers that were inside the beam that was several kilometers wide. The bright glow vanished in an instant, and the beam kept going, as it would do forever until it struck a planet, moon, or star. The glowing innards of the planet cracker suddenly sputtered with damage. Several attacks had managed to slip through the open shield as the planet cracker fired. They were followed by bullets, decoy drop pods, and actual drop pods. Just as expected.

It was a grim exchange, one which chilled Annabelle's heart to the core. In the military, losses were expected. But that never made them any easier. Doubt crept into her mind, and she harnessed her grief and pain to grind it into the stone of the mindscape. Her soul ached with the reality of what she'd caused, but she pulled the hivemind from its node and gave it an order.

A second later, her grief was quarantined and sequestered appropriately, where it would no longer impede her ability to command. She would spare the tears and the emotions for when they could be allowed. A gap in the defenses needed to be exploited.

The Coordinator's destruction had allowed Annabelle to take out the planet cracker with a shot from her dreadnaught's side guns. She couldn't use the main gun due to the angle and the risk of causing irreparable damage or an explosion she couldn't escape.

It could be easily repaired, but not quickly. The capacitor cell had been hit. Annabelle took the opportunity to assess the battle, as well as keep an eye on the defending forces. The remaining Kingdom battlecruisers and destroyers were fighting on, but they were a footnote in the battle. FTL suppression and multi-vector attacks kept them from being able to escape.

The Alliance hammered on them hard, breaking their shields, cracking their hulls, and detonating their reactors. Every few minutes, there would be another explosion out in the void as fighters and frigates took down the shields of another enemy. Her dreadnaught took care of the battlecruisers while her battlecruisers and cruisers hunted and corralled the smaller ships.

Without the power of numbers on their side, the Kingdom's defenses were already caving in. All that remained were the planet crackers, locked out of FTL by the strongest fields Annabelle could manage. Had her ship been hit, they could have freed a few. But it had not been. The Coordinator's ultimate sacrifice, terrible as it was, still enabled her to win the battle.

Several fighters strafed the inner defenses along with faster frigates. Dreedeen pilots spun and looped around inferior defense vessels.

Phoebe's missiles and lasers targeted the planet cracker's own laser defenses with pinpoint accuracy. Nuclear detonations rippled across the thick bulk of the planet cracker, but it shrugged off the barrage easily. More shields were flaring into existence, but it was too late to prevent Phoebe from landing roughly twenty thousand androids and five hundred commando androids on the ship.

Fighters fell apart, releasing more androids hidden within their wings and hulls. Several frigates fell to pieces, disgorging hundreds more androids. They flooded the planet cracker's nearest airlocks. Thermite Throwers spewed their searing power into the thick locks. More detonations rippled across them as Phoebe worked on taking out the airlocks.

Thick gouts of air rushed out of the planet cracker, though comparatively small compared to the actual size of the massive gun. Annabelle continued to move her fleet closer to the planet cracker, still watching as Phoebe's disposable androids swarmed through the now broken airlocks and set more Thermite Throwers on blast doors, sealing their entrances. The battle proceeded for more grueling and stressful hours.

The Battle Planner captured two more planet crackers, taking hundreds of thousands of losses in ships and borders for each of them. Phoebe broke through to the engine and control rooms of the planet cracker she was invading, finding it all destroyed. With the defenses neutralized and the defenders being routed, a new carrier was brought in.

It was a ship dedicated to bringing technological marvels to the frontline. Androids hauled thick cables from the ship, dragging them through the hallways of the planet cracker. Phoebe eventually plugged them into the broken remains of the computers in the control and engine rooms.

"Done," the android next to Annabelle said. "I'll have the planet crackers ready in a few hours for firing. I've captured around 40,000 personnel."

"Thank you, Phoebe," Annabelle said.

"You are welcome. Excellent work."

She'd already offered condolences for the deaths. Morale was low, having lost a dreadnaught, and there was no need to lower it. All Annabelle could do was commend those who'd fallen in the line of duty, protecting the lives of innocents by capturing weapons capable of destroying entire worlds.

Annabelle's second prong of the attack, along with the Battle Planner's third and fifth prongs, hit the fourth planet cracker, swarming it with attacks. The shield never opened for it to fire, but that didn't matter. An Arsenal Asteroid smashed into the planet cracker's shield at 99.6% of the speed of light when its barrel aligned with Annabelle's dreadnaught. It was too slow to properly evade at this distance, and both of them knew it. The weapon was starting to charge its gun.

It hit at an oblique angle to avoid destroying the valuable target entirely. When it impacted, a nova of light erupted in a halo rising from the shield, which flickered several times. And then it went out.

15 trillion gigaton explosions tended to be damaging to shields. Even the massive shield of the planet cracker, equipped with all the power of a planetary shield inside a few dozens of miles in radius, was unable to stand up to that. Though it almost had, somehow.

Annabelle had nearly died. Luckily, the planet cracker fired prematurely, so its beam didn't carry the apocalyptic power in its entirety. It had roughly half power. But most importantly, it wasn't FTL. So, the 80-minute travel time was plenty for Annabelle's evasive maneuvers to evade it. The beam vanished into the void of space.

The tears did not fall. Not yet. There was more work to be done. Her eyes fixated on the fifth and final planet cracker, which was turning her way. The sensors picked up several stealth fighters attached to the gun's sides, helping to push it to make those quick turns.

Annabelle had the dreadnaught roll, swinging it back toward the rotating planet cracker. She'd measured the firing time of the last one, and the momentum of the thing would work against it. By the time it would be able to match her forward motion and account for it, she would be out of the cone. She had an extra 10 minutes, thanks to the light lag for that. And she'd put them to use.

The Battle Planner swooped back in, using the precious minutes to burn toward the last remaining threat. Annabelle's ship passed the line of sight of the planet cracker. It had already started charging, but it was too late. The last of her ship had passed when the massive gun belched a ray of thick light. It seared past and below her, as she'd also used the light lag to add a bit of relative yaw and pitch to her ship. The laser destroyed her shields and ruined the armor facing it with heat expansion. Plasma formed on the edges of her dreadnaught, exploding away in violent puffs.

The actual beam had passed a scant few thousand miles away and was going off into space, this time hitting nothing at all directly.

A stream of fire from the planet cracker hit the shields at the same time, trying to keep the opening from allowing purchase in the shields. But as the residual explosions cleared, nothing seemed to happen. No fighters, no giant battles against the well-prepared defenses.

"Permission to fire?" Phoebe asked.

"Permission granted," Annabelle replied.

A hard light hologram around the captured fourth planet cracker fell away. A thick beam passed the shield of the fifth planet cracker, weakening it visibly. Then, the planet cracker beam hit the star in the center of the system. A gigantic coronal mass ejection followed, along with an ejection of plasma roughly eight times the size of Jupiter, as the beam detonated within the dense interior of the hot ball of plasma.

The magnetic storm which followed disabled every shield in the system, leaving the Cawlarians and the Alliance easy pickings of the planet cracker. Phoebe's androids landed on the burnt and blasted metal surface first. Thermite Throwers followed.

Five hours later, the battle ended. The hivemind wrapped her in a gentle hug as the mental block on her grief slowly started to fade.

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Elder Manil Van smiled as he ate something called a burger. So far, the tour he'd gone on with the Alliance had been mostly uneventful. Dirty looks, a few mothers moving to the opposite side of the street, and a whole lot of walking. He had expected it, though.

The Patriarch checked in on him periodically, looking through his eyes and sometimes listening to the conversations that Manil had. A few of the humans on Luna actually were interested in learning more about him. They'd come up to him, shake his claws with their hands under the wary gazes of his guards, and ask if they could learn more about him. Some of their interests were academic. Several scientists had been recording his testimony on how genetic altering and conceptual energy had contributed to the number of Elders who were angry all the time.

Others wanted to know more about his culture, traditions, and morals. They'd been surprised several times to learn just how similar some of them were or how different. The Casting Of the Candles as a way to honor the death of someone great by setting floating candles into a river was apparently similar to how a few of them had done funeral services. Other times, they were surprised by Manils' descriptions of how large the Sprilnav's trains and buses were to account for quadrupedal forms. Their ceilings were generally lower in exchange for packing more people inside. Some of them were also interested in Sprilnav fashion.

Most of it wasn't something that he bothered with. The Sprilnav didn't really do 'pants' like humans did. With four legs, that was often relegated to either long socks, robes, and dresses, or just simple loincloths. Female Sprilnav didn't have the same taboo that female humans did about showing their chests. Manil assumed it was likely due to a lack of mammary glands at the location, so there was no 'breast-feeding' of children or any related stimulations even possible.

The dimorphism between male and female humans was greater than that of the Sprilnav, who mostly showed it in bone structures and how lean their bodies were. Others had compared him to other quadrupedal Earth creatures, attempting to see the singularities and differences.

Of course, he denied anything that required extensive physical interaction. The rave gyms that Equisa apparently went to didn't interest him, with their large crowds. He disliked having so many eyes on him, so he decided to avoid that whenever he could. One particularly bold human had even asked him on a date, citing things that were apparently mixes of superstitions and odd fantasies gained from too much time spent on a network with a great deal of certain content.

Though some of it was shocking, most wasn't. He'd seen a lot in his long life, and if a network was unregulated enough, a lot of the things Phoebe later explained to him would also appear. Though the fact that anything they did managed to surprise him at all was worrying, considering that they were not an old species.

"And you likely could start up a few businesses, for the novelty of it," Phoebe was saying. Manil nodded absently.

"What is it?"

"Where are Luke and Leia?"

"Elsewhere," Phoebe said. "They're assets of the Alliance. We don't exactly give away their locations. Especially..." she trailed off.

"Especially not to Sprilnav," Manil finished.

"Yes. I am authorized to tell you that further contact can be arranged in the future, under careful circumstances."

"That is good. They are good people, somehow. I'm still trying to figure out how to managed to make super soldiers that are good people."

"I had no hand in their creation. But we managed."

"Yes. I would hope no more are being experimented upon."

"I can neither confirm or deny that. Take that as you will, but there will be no further conversation about classified topics."

"Then... how are you feeling, Phoebe? I heard you got in some hot water recently."

"Learned that idiom too? And yes, I did," she said, looking a little defensive. "Politicians are who they are. But Humanity is better than them, and kinder than them. Even the youngest people can say the nicest things to me. It's what I love about them."

"Love," Manil said. "An interesting word."

"A true one. I am a person, and I happen to be able to love."

"You have people that do not love?"

"There are different kinds. Aromantic people, for example. Edu'frec doesn't engage in non-familial relationships. The wanderers do things differently, as do the Junyli. Every species is different."

"So you have people that do not contribute."

"We do. Every society does, and they all deserve a chance at life."

"An interesting opinion, but I suppose our cultures to have differences."

"I hope you don't purge your own people."

"I do not. The Van family does not. But we are not our entire species, just as you and Penny are not the entire Alliance. It is prudent to remember that."

He said it more for the Patriarch than for them.

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Penny frowned as Valisada continued to defend himself against Justicar's anger. Kashaunta's promise of a 'civilized discussion' clearly didn't account for their animosity. Only Valisada didn't say anything, continuing to listen to various insults spewed against him and his leadership. When Justicar's latest tirade finished, Valisada turned toward Penny.

"Your ally is gifted with his words."

"How dare you ignore me," Justicar said. "Your Grand Fleet did this, and I will have my reparations."

"What's your price, now that you are done?"

"50 quintillion credits, and you leave."

Justicar had escalated his terms. Valisada noticed, as did Penny.

Nilnacrawla sighed in Penny's head.

If we get him to sign a non-aggression treaty, we need to ensure both Kashaunta and Justicar have a vested interest in backing it. He isn't above tarnishing his reputation for the issues he believes are important. He is dangerous, and you must remain vigilant while he is Grand Fleet Commander.

Kashaunta is worse than I hoped.

She is what you knew she was, but is now comfortable letting her worse side free so it will be normalized when the Judgment is done. Once you get used to it, you will excuse it, and Kashaunta will use your gratitude to ensure your continued relationship. She is grooming you, Penny.

For what?

Likely to continue providing her money with the linear singularities. Do not be surprised if new threats appear that 'only Kashaunta can stop' when the Judgment ends. Or if it goes unfavorably, for her to clamp down because she knows she's the Alliance's only hope. Play at anger or friendship if you wish, but do not forget who she is, and how she got her wealth.

Thank you, Nilnacrawla, Penny said. But can you remind me when I'm losing my way, if I do in the future?

Gladly.

"I cannot leave, sadly," Valisada said, looking truly downtrodden at the request. "I have my own masters I must please, the same ones who ensured the previous leader's removal. I cannot go against their desires, and their desires are for me to remain here, as a check against Kashaunta and her own Grand Fleet."

"My Grand Fleet is here because yours is. And I would note that yours arrived first," Kashaunta replied.

"Through no actions of my own, and I am unable to rectify that to your liking."

"That is convenient, isn't it?" Justicar asked.

"Ask them about that. They're the ones who attacked my flagship and abducted Azeri," Valisada responded. "I hold no animosity about that, but your actions to have consequences. I will not be bullied or goaded into making a poor decision here. You all are smart people, so surely you realize that any further arguments must have a legal backing before we proceed. Justicar is uniquely equipped to handle these things, given the size and scale of his legal apparatus, as well as its high quality. Just as I am sure that the Judgment will proceed soon."

"You almost sound eager for it, Elder Valisada. Is there any reason why?" Penny asked.

"Well, yes. It is because I am tired of this. Regrettably, it will determine the fate of your species. But that is life. The weak are ruled by the strong."

"And yet you say you do not look down upon Humanity."

"It is not a weakness of your forms, or of your hearts. It is one of minds, population, and resources. And your Alliance has more species than just Humanity, Penny. Are you not concerned for the teeming billions of Acuarfar, or the Guulin you stole from the United Legions?"

"The Guulin were liberated from slavery," Penny frowned. "And when I get back down to Justicar, I will continue doing that to the innocent people your Dreadnaught Captain mercilessly slaughtered. In the interest of honest cooperation, I will terminate gang leaders with prejudice if I must, but only if there is no other choice.

Any who have links to your Grand Fleet will be treated even more harshly, which should discourage any more 'rogue' members of your fleet from engaging in illicit affairs. For the 455 thousand dead Sprilnav that Solei personally killed, it would be the least you can do. Given that the Grand Fleets exist to protect the Sprilnav species from all threats, internal and external, of course."

"Perhaps Solei believed you were an external threat," Valisada replied. "Given your threats against those who actively stand against you, it would make sense from his perspective."

Penny laughed. "His last perspective was of Justicar's teeth crunching through his ribcage."

"How distasteful to laugh over such a gruesome death."

Valisada actually managed to look sad about it.

"Distateful, Elder? I'm showing the same amount of appreciation that you do for the Sprilnav who don't happen to be rich and powerful Elders. Unless you are assuming that the 455 thousand Sprilnav are worth less than the life of one Elder?"

"There is no assumption necessary," Valisada said. "In monetary, legal, economic, and even political studies, this has been proven true. In fact, the lowest estimates for the ratios are 1 Elder for every 50 million Sprilnav, though some more biased studies can go quite higher. I remember the Autonomous Peoples' Stars put out a study which found that roughly 20 billion Sprilnav equaled an Elder in value.

Of course, the names of those who funded that study happened to include several Elders high up in the political hierarchy, including a certain Elder named Kashaunta. Luckily, more realistic measures of our worth prevail. In the event of a war breaking out, the largest losses for Justicar would be the civilians."

"And a war will not break out," Justicar agreed. "If it does, my jaws will find a new Elder's body."

For effect, his tongue slid over his teeth. It was a grotesque gesture, but neither of the Elders seemed bothered by it. Perhaps they'd seen worse. Penny had to admit it would just be another step to Elder insanity if they were cannibals, too. The only thing worse was if they did blood sacrifices on babies in cults.

"You know, cannibalism is considered a crime by your very own laws," Valisada said as if that was the only problem with it worth considering.

"I do not remember consuming the physical meat of Solei, which is the requirement for that law. Deaths in the mindscape can happen when Elders make poor decisions. But that is beside the point. I have matters to attend to, and will be sending over some agreements and lawyers to your ship. Kill them or harm them, and you will be at war with me for real," Justicar threatened.

"Without a flagship, such a measure would be foolish," Valisada said.

"Luckily, he would not be without a flagship in that case," Kashaunta replied. "Because I will be sending lawyers too. Rest assured, a war with me, and my nation, is something you might live to see the end of, though your remaining relatives on your home planet would not."

"You would not dare."

"I would," Kashaunta said. "Quite recently, I have been reminded of my previous methods of dealing with those like you. I believe I was reminded 'what I am' if you would. You do not care about the people Solei killed on Justicar, and neither will I for Padalia, Ni-alsi 2, or Malikaven."

So this was to make Penny feel bad for her words. She saw what this was, and would not allow herself to be swayed. Elders had this sort of tendency, and if she wanted to get a positive outcome, she'd have to deal with it for a bit longer. Perhaps Kashaunta would regain her willingness to maintain her facade of friendliness again once this was over.

But Penny would not forget this. Kashaunta was the Alliance's best option, but that didn't mean she was a good one. After the Judgment, Penny would reexamine their relationship.

Valisada's eyes narrowed. "You would increase it to three planets?"

"Yes. I believe their total population is roughly 140 billion people. That equates to 70 Elders. Or 67.16, if we are being exact with the study I believe you are citing."

Penny did her best to hide her disgust but failed. Valisada took notice. "This is who you work for, Penny. This is who she really is."

Don't listen to him, Nilnacrawla said.

I know. He doesn't want what's best for us, and Kashaunta's our means to an end.

Watch you back, Penny. I'll do the same.

"I know," Penny replied. "But we don't have any other allies. You're not exactly reliable, even if you were to suspiciously flip sides and make an offer to be a new ally. Justicar is bound to his planet. The Progenitors are pulling back their influence."

"And such extreme threats as I have made would only come to fruition if a war were to break out," Kashaunta said. "I am making them so you understand the scope of your actions as a Grand Fleet Commander. Perhaps I was overly harsh, but do not mistake these threats as empty. I protect my own."

"Your own?" Valisada asked. Kashaunta flicked a claw toward Penny, without meeting her gaze. Penny was still processing the sudden escalation, which had seemingly came out of nowhere. Why was Kashaunta pretending she cared? She clearly saw Penny and the Alliance as means to an end. Perhaps even several ends.

"Penny, and those she values. I could consider the slaves as citizens of the People's Stars, for example."

"No, you could not," Justicar responded. His demeanor darkened visibly, and the lighting in the virtual reality became darker.

"Why not? You don't think they're your citizens, do you? Not much 'justice' in keeping slaves, hmm?"

This is stupid, and a waste of my time, Penny thought.

They do need a bit of an ego check, don't they? Nilnacrawla agreed.

Yes.

Penny stood up, making her chair slide backward. "Can you all quit being evil? This is ridiculous. All we need to do is sit together and draft agreements. Otherwise, leave it to the lawyers, and stop with the petty insults. Or the grave ones. You're not 5 year olds. You're billions of years old. It's honestly sad. No, it's pathetic.

How have you managed to keep your 'master race' thing going this long, when you suck this badly? Spoiled little brats. Can you believe Kashaunta told me I needed to be civilized for this meeting? Perhaps I should don a loincloth and pick up my club, so I can start hooting it up with you old primitives."

The Elders paused, looking at Penny in wonder.

"You see? Let's talk treaties. Do you guys have any ideas, or should I go get some wood for a bonfire? With how much you all talk, I'm sure your singing voices must be phenomenal."

Nature of Humanity Ch 65

Destination; Wriss part 18

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A Fanfic of u/SpacePaladin15’s work “The Nature of Predators.” Thank you for the story!

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Excerpt of Dr. Elva's Journal recovered from the wreck of the Dauntless Victory

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Many people suffer from motion sickness on space-faring ships. Normally, this comes from the disjoint of the body’s means of understanding how its actually moving and the mind's perception of how it is moving, but with the invention of inertial dampeners, one would think standing in what feels like a stationary room with no windows wouldn't cause motion sickness.

Yet, that's precisely what's been happening to me. I've never felt this way before. Dr. Wiesera believes the sudden onset of motion sickness is caused by the stress of our current situation. I am given to believe her as I have noticed ticks in the rest of the crew. For example, Crevan has begun pacing in circles but seems confused when someone tries to get his attention. The only person who seems calm and unbothered is Barmlin, but given his disorder, I am confident in dismissing this abnormal behavior. To be truthful, I am a little glad to see the Arxur just as nervous as us.

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Memory transcription subject: Elva, Morvim Charter Soldier

Date [standardized human time]: November 3rd, 2136

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Our ship was hovering listlessly in the void of space just past the small astrological body known as Pluto. My digits tightened around the trigger of my gun as the five of us kept our weapons trained on the door. Crevan was unable to stop Isif from inspecting the “gifts” Humanity was giving to the Arxur as “thanks” for their intervention.

Wiesera let out a sigh as she lowered her firearm and grabbed the pad displaying the security feed, “Alright… we are in the clear. Isif has just departed the ship.”

We let out a collective sigh. The first hurdle for getting to Wriss had just been cleared without so much as a scratch. We lowered our guns as Hrallak opened the door, “We are safe for now. Crevan doubts we will get boarded again. Isif is apparently a bit of an outlier among the Chief Hunters.”

Caulnek stood up and stretched, “Hey, it's not like we didn't expect to get boarded leaving here and upon entering Dominion space.”

Rivera rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Still couldn't we have done something better than just sit in a cattle pen with our guns pointed at the door?”

Hrallak thumped her tail no, “This is the Dominion we are speaking about. The great purge taught them everything about how stuff is hidden. I watched an Auditor enter a friend's house and in half a second open their hidden door. If they actually had anything stored in there, they would have all been executed via…”

As she trailed off, Wiesera changed the subject, “I never thought I'd willingly experience what it's like to lift off inside an Arxur ship. This is… unsettling.”

Hrallak wagged her tail, “It's sort of the opposite for me. For the first time in my life, I've come for the people in this room without that horrid knot in my guts. It feels like I'm free.”

It finally dawned on me as we grabbed our limited possessions and left the cattle pen behind for good, that every time she has come to this room before it’s been to drag some unfortunate soul to their death. Even if Crevan stated that she tried to be merciful, her paws were personally stained with a rainbow of blood that I doubt she would ever be able to wash out.

Yet, there was a slight spring in her step as she led the way to the galley with us in tow. Before she probably had to drag screaming victims to their fate, and now she is leading us to one of many meetings. I suppose in a sense, she is finally free. Whether this mission is successful or not, she will never butcher another sapient for as long as she lives.

My tail had the slightest wag to it as we entered the galley. The smell of disinfectant and bleach was strong enough to hit my blunt sense of smell but helped to wipe away any thought of the horrors that happened in this area. Lesh, Ishveil, and Ivan were waiting for us with cloths draped over their snouts.

For a moment, I thought they were trying to mimic what the humans do with their face coverings before they handed a cloth to both Hrallak and Wiesera. Wiesera took in a deep breath through the cloth, “Thank you, this smells a lot stronger than the hospital., Oh! This is a rather strange scent! I wouldn't think the Arxur would approve of scented laundry detergent!”

Ivan chuckled, “The dominion doesn't, but when I got a whiff of what the humans did to clean this ship, I nearly hurled. Thankfully, they had a handy solution ready. The smell should lighten up soon. And we also have more towels if you want them for any reason.”

Lesh thumped his tail against the ground, “Crevan and Mico are piloting the ship. You know the crew rotation. It should be quiet for the next few days… at least before we arrive.”

Ivan thumped his tail in agreement, “Normally, I'd suggest using downtime to train, but that is not exactly something we can do on this ship. So whatever you can do to keep ready for the attack without blowing the ship up or ruining our cover will be essential.”

Rivera stuck his paw in the air, “Does that include doing anything to distract us from the fact we are on a cattle ship?”

Lesh's eyes opened wide, almost as if he hadn’t considered what being on board would be like for us. He thumped his tail, “Y-yeah. It wouldn't do to have you freaking out… but it would be better for you to come to terms with the situation instead.”

Hrallak held herself with her own arms, “If the horrid things that have happened on this ship are getting to you, then you aren't ready for Wriss. Here… people were tortured, killed and eaten… on Wriss it was entire species…”

Rivera was starting to shake when Caulnek slapped a paw on his back, “It'll be fine. We've turned this ship from one of death to salvation, we can do it again. I got a projector and some human movies from a friend. What do you say about turning the lights down and watching them?”

“Y-yeah sure.”

Ivan tilted his head, “Movies? As in video media for entertainment instead of education? Can I watch? I've never seen anything like that before.”

Caulnek flicked his ears yes, then Lesh rolled his eyes and walked out of the room as Caulnek set up his projector. While Ivan, Ishveil and Hrallak sat separated from us, we all sat in a close-knit ball.

With the already dim lights off, our only source of illumination was the projector's light bouncing off the wall. A series of short clips began to play, depicting a series of quarries and mines. For the most part, it was heavy machines moving vast amounts of earth and stone.

Stupidly large dump trucks practically carried mountains on their backs. A gargantuan chain saw cut into the earth, making an artificial valley in a matter of hours. A drill comparable to a skyscraper began to drill a tunnel down into the earth.

I could only begin to imagine this movie was about mining and the stresses that it brings. Several humans began to carefully set up explosives in a tunnel and ran cables to a safe place. The lot of them were smiling at each other and were practically bouncing from excitement. Two humans standing several feet apart nodded at each other and flipped the plastic safety covers on two red switches before flipping them.

As the light turned green, every human ducked and covered in their makeshift bunkers as the detonation sent a shockwave down the tunnel. As the dust settled, I noticed the music that was playing in the background was now silent.

Two people walked off into the settling dust cloud and began to scream. A man who for the entire time he has been on the screen has had a blank emotionless face picked up a radio, “Report.”

“WE HIT THE FUCKING MOTHERLOAD! THE ENTIRE CAVE IS MADE OF THIS NEEAHRITE SHIT! HELL THERE ARE FLOATING COLUMNS OF THIS STUFF”

The description of the made up material caught me off guard. It wasn't until a serious dude walked forward that I realized why they said that. A floating hexagonal pillar of pearlescent green and orange stone floated weightlessly in the middle of a large chamber. As the miners walked through the chamber, what I had assumed to be just the minerals lining the walls twinkling in the light were pushed away like leaves floating on water.

The illusion broke as I realized that the air was filled with small floating particles. They almost gave the impression of being submerged underwater. A miner swept a bag through the air and closed it, “Hey, let's get out of here. Pretty sure breathing in minerals causes cancer. We can come back with respirat-” BANG!

We all jumped as a red puff came from the man's chest. The miners began to scream and run, but each one fell over after their own personal gunshot went off. Soon the only person standing was the emotionless human who wiped some blood off his face.

Several armed soldiers came into the cave wearing full combat gear and respirators, “Sir. Site secured. All potential leaks have been neutralized.”

Their leader fell to his knees and held his hands up to the floating monolith, “Excellent. Begin phase 2.”

Caulnek threw his paws into the air, “What?! Why did they do that? All those people worked together!”

Ishveil snorted, “I doubt that. That one human in charge was using the miners. When he was done using them, he threw them away. I've seen dominion officers do that to countless runts.”

“I- I just never imagined that as something humans would think of…”

“Then you need to read up on Humanity's past. Especially about their most hated foe, the Nazis.”

The camera cut to a man nearby a primitive cabin in the woods. He looked grizzled and old as he was nervously picking at his beard. A truck rolling up caught his attention and he waved at it. I couldn't read the words on it, but the woodsman addressed the man who stepped out of the truck, “Evening, Warden. Thanks for coming out here.”

“Hey, thank you! If there's aA new disease going around affecting the wildlife, I want to get on top of it now and not later. So tell me what happened.”

“Well sir. I got my permit to harvest yesterday when I noticed my stores were getting low.”

“Thank ya for doing that!”

“Welcome. I went to go harvest my first deer and… well, when I shot it, my round ricocheted off. Like I hit a piece of wrought-iron.”

They walked over to the deer and my little herd flinched as he showed the flayed corpse of a prey animal hanging upside down.

“It didn't run off so I shot it again but in the head this time. I brought it back here to dress it, but…”

I suppressed a gag as the man stuck his hand into the corpse and- pulled out a huge chuck of the mineral we had just seen, “Well… this!?”

The warden opened up a bag and took the stone from him, “Go wash your hands now. I- fuck! I got no clue what this is or if it can jump the species barrier. Also, I am taking the deer too, I'll have you compensated and get ya a new tag.”

Ivan spoke up, “Did those rocks… infect that animal?”

Wiesera shook her head, “No. Rocks can't infect anything. What likely happened is this mineral was absorbed by vegetation, which the animal ate and absorbed. That stone chunk the Game Warden pulled out was its intestines. The mineral is probably also contaminating the entire body of it.”

We quieted down again as the show carried on. The warden had put out an alert to the town about the mineralization of local animals, as well as a notice to not drink the groundwater. The Game Warden was standing with his brother, a police officer, as a doctor explained that several people were already showing signs of mineralization.

The pair of them discussed what they could do to try and solve this epidemic. Apparently, all means of communicating with the outside world were gone and both of the major roads coming into the area had collapsed into sinkholes.

Finally, the brother's decided that the Police would help the few Doctors help patients and keep a quarantine enforced while the Warden would go ask the miner's if there was an expert on call who could help.

As the brothers left the coroner's office, they both froze, like spotted prey. One of the miners who was visibly missing part of his head was standing in front of them. The warden took a half step towards him before the miner let out a star’s awful wail. I heard the sound of Hrallak skittering back as we watched the miner rush, lift and throw the warden ten feet onto the hood of his own truck. His brother quickly whipped out a taser and shot the man with it but started to backpedal as he just kept walking despite the electricity flowing through his body.

As the Police brother screamed in fear at the mineralized miner, the Warden managed to scramble off his truck and grab a shotgun from his cab. He fired a round into the miner's head, causing it to explode like a dropped ceramic plate. The body made another step forward and slowly started to crumble.

The brothers stared at the dust laying on the road as sirens began to grow in intensity. The screen smash cut to a dozen law enforcement cruisers ripping through mountain roads on their way to the quarry. As they approached the locked gates, the first cruiser flew through it, smashing it open for the others. While the officers climbing out didn’t look like they were anything special, they still moved in a coordinated effort.

Ishviel thumped his tail, “Are we going to see human strike teams at work?”

Caulnek snorted, “Yeah, no. From what I’ve seen of human media, their entertainment industry cares very little for accuracy. Expect these guys to do some nonsensical stuff.”

The Brother officer stepped out of his truck and loaded some shells into his shotgun. Another officer berated him for taking a lethal weapon into this quarantine operation when he stopped and stared them down, “I watched someone already mineralized chuck my older brother like a gawdamn can of beans. I will try to save as many people as possible, but I ain’t gonna die for this.”

With the defiant statement made, we proceeded to watch some surprisingly boring action. Or perhaps the actual action we had all seen took any entertainment out of it for us. From police officers ignoring all sense of danger and the lack of any competency of the bad guys who were still holding the mines hostage, I couldn’t tell who was worse. We’d watch three officers walk into a clear ambush, only for the bad guys to reveal themselves and then proceed to miss every shot.

Whenever the cops had to deal with those that had been mineralized, the victims suddenly moved five times slower and had absolutely none of their previous magical strength. It was starting to get so bad that we were all laughing by the time the warden and his brother confronted the mine’s manager. Yet, we all froze for a moment when we saw him. He stood there with his back turned to them and his hands held in the air, worshiping the floating monolith. He slowly turned around to reveal… some sort of pink goop thing piloting a robot human?

Wiesera just let out a “What the FUCK is this show?!” while Ivan doubled over in pain from laughing so hard.

Ishviel gave a confused look to Caulnek, “What is the plot of this thing?!”

Caulnek held his paws in the air, “It's a B movie. Guys had no budget to make a movie but wanted to anyways for some reason. My friend and I spent quite some time during the exchange watching these silly things.”

Hrallak was holding the tip or her snout as tears rolled down her eyes, “Oh my gosh, so this isn’t even good Human entertainment?”

“NOPE! Bottom of the barrel right here! Now shush! We are getting to the good part! The villain's monologue!”

“No you stupid apes. We Takakapalta have always been around. We were and have always been. Since your planet's life was barely strands of DNA swimming around in hot mud, we have planned. We have worked and strived and bled for this day. The day the Neahrite is ready for harvest. The full-”

The Warden rolled his eyes, “OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” before the brothers fired shell after shell into the alien, killing it.

The Police officer placed his hand on the warden’s shoulder, “Hey… should we have brought it in alive for the feds?”

He and the warden laughed as they walked off and the credits rolled.

Wiesera had buried her head in her paws, “I’m sorry but… WHAT!? Just WHAT?! THEY AREN’T GOING TO ADDRESS THE DISEASE RUNNING RAMPANT THROUGH THE TOWN?! THROUGH THE ECOSYSTEM?!”

Ishviel rolled onto his back and splayed himself across the floor, “What about those tactics? I thought those humans in masks defending the mines were professional soldiers! Those ambushes! They practically screamed, ‘this is an ambush’ before jumping out of cover and getting shot!”

Caulnek was laughing even harder, “Oh yeah! Or the fact that the whole explanation we got was, ‘Aliens did it.’ Like that wraps up anything nicely at all!”

Ivan was still chuckling to himself, “Are all the movies that you have these… B movies?”

“YUP!”

“Put another one on. I’ve never laughed like this before.”

​

___/\___

​

Movie night with the more friendly gator bois! And gal. Caulnek was introduced to cheesy B movies and now the whole gang is too! Looks like they might have a pleasant time en-route to Wriss!

Also this week SUCKED. Monday my car hit some deep water early in the morning and popped my water belt off causing my car to overheat. That led to a 4 hour trip home when it should have been 35 minutes. Bought a new belt and it’s fixed. THEN on friday our parking lot floods and the floor of my car gets flooded. Any higher and it would have poured into my car when I opened the door. It’s been three days and I will likely have to pull the seats, center console and some other things out to remove the carpet. Maybe I can find someone to pay to fix this problem. But hey… Ford should start building my truck this week.

​

___/\___

​

Directory

Library of BiasMushroom contains every link for everything I have written! Check it out as some stuff related to Nature of Humanity may not appear on r/HFY! As well as my little side stories and Fanfics of other NoP fanfics!

​

The Nature of Humanity

First / Previous / Next

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Destination; Wriss

First / Previous / Next

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For anyone posting to HFY do NOT select r/HFY first. It bugs out and doesn't work nice with copy/paste from google docs.

Delta Simon

There’s a giant rat on this ship.

There’s a giant fucking rat on this ship.

Delta clenches her jaw. A broom held still in her hand. Well, half of a broom. The other half is currently laying on the floor after getting split open on the alien rat’s noggin.

The alien in question looks to be able to reach up to her hips at full height. Although, calling it a rat might be a stretch since it’s not from Earth. A better descriptor for it could be that it’s rat-shaped. Otherwise, the ears are a tad too pointy and the paws are covered in white scales. The snout is thin. It kind of reminds her of a fox. The tail is also covered in thin fur too. She’s never heard of a rat with a furry tail.

Okay, so maybe it’s more like a rat crossed with a fox, but that’s besides the point.

The alien is lying flat on their face. They're covered in some sort of weird garment. A forest green that wraps around their body in a way that reminds Delta of a poncho. If a poncho only goes down to their elbows. A gray material slips from underneath. It doesn’t go beyond the shoulders. But it does reach past their legs, stopping right above the first scales on their knees. A belt is held securely around their waist, complete with tools.

She looks around the pantry. Nothing of use that could be seen. The girl looks down at the alien; and, at the gun by its side. Maybe she won’t have to resort to tying them up. Delta abandons the broom in favor of the gun. She debates on moving the alien to the lights of the kitchen or leaving them right where they are. Wait for them to wake up. Demand for a way off this planet. They must have a ship somewhere around.

Or you could shoot them. After all, they tried to kill you first.

Delta nudges at the alien with her shoe. They don’t stir. Killing them will do nothing for her. For one, they might be the only ones around here for who knows how long. And two, she doesn’t exactly know how to pilot a ship.

Besides, that’s just senseless murder.

The teen sighs, leaning against the wall. Her back catches the end of a shelf. She almost regrets hitting them so hard. Mostly because she hates playing the waiting game. There’s barely an ounce of patience in Delta’s blood—always the go-getter, that she is. Sure, it’s pushed her so far in her life, but it can also sometimes be the source of a lot of her troubles. Like yelling at her mom. Who probably thinks she’s dead. Her eyes burn.

She can feel herself getting tired. Her body drops to a crouch, switching over into a sit as her legs cross. Her mind aches with tiredness. Hunger creeps in. Delta has half a mind to scrounge up something from the pantry, but she has no idea if she can trust the food to be safe.

This is going to be a long wait.

—

It’s probably been at least half an hour when Delta decided to close her eyes for the last several minutes. It was enough time for the girl to slip into a light sleep. Then the sound of someone groaning jolts her awake. Her brain is still fighting off the fog from her short rest. Things come back to her in bits and pieces. Ship. Broom. Rat.

Her eyes snap open. She scrambles to her feet, picking the gun from where she had left it on the way up. The alien lets out another quiet groan. They struggle to raise themself up with their arms. Their teeth click together as their eyes slowly blink open. Then, a pause in their movement.

The calm before the storm.

The alien screeches when their eyes meet Delta’s. She squeals along with them. Their claws scratch across the tiles, shoving themselves away. The sudden movement makes the girl twitch, aiming at them instinctively. The alien slams right into the wall. The loud THUD makes it sound more painful than it might actually be.

“Who are you!” Delta keeps the gun trained on them. She sidesteps to the exit. In return, the rat backs farther into the pantry. Their nose twitches. Puffed up tail pointing straight up in what is perhaps a warning to her; or, maybe it’s just out of fear. Don’t ask her. She doesn’t know.

They make more strange sounds, until they stop halfway. They blink and look down at the silver collar around their neck. The alien taps at it. A mechanical voice drones in an unknown language. Delta stares blankly at it. Then the alien gestures a paw to her. She thinks she gets it now.

“Um, hello?” She says tentatively. Both the collar and the rat remain silent, so she takes that as an okay to continue. “My name is Delta…and I’m human.”

The collar makes a warbling sound. The alien speaks, “hu-man, huh?”

“You just talked!” Delta blurts out in surprise. She goes red at the embarrassment of it. She’s got so many questions for that collar now. Still, it might be best to ask about it later.

“No, really?” They—no, he snarks.

The girl rolls her eyes. “Well, never mind that. So, who and what are you exactly?”

“If I tell you, will you let me go?” The alien stares at the gun with caution. His eyes are surprisingly not beady like a rat’s. In fact, it unsettles Delta with just how similar they look to a human’s. She shifts uncomfortably.

“I’ll let you go.” Then, she tacks on, “provided that you take me with you.”

“What.” His ears pin back in alarm. “No way! My crew will kill me for letting in a stranger!”

“Hey, I’m the one with the gun here,” Delta hisses. She waves the weapon in the air. “Or did you forget?”

The alien startles. He remains quiet, weighing out his options.

This whole conflict is starting to make Delta feel sick. Threatening death makes her feel sick. She can feel her heart race in her chest. She breathes in deeply, wishing for the nausea to leave her be. But Delta wants nothing more than to be off this planet since yesterday. She was never supposed to be out here in space. She just wants to go home.

“I’m Glycaruii,” he answers. “I’m an uulinone, and I was sent here to collect scrap. But what are you doing here exactly? I’ve never heard of a human before.”

His nose scrunches up at name as if in distaste. Delta wants to scoff, though she holds her tongue. Admittedly, a part of her is hesitating, not wanting to share a sob story and make herself look pathetic. She’s not! She absolutely refuses to let someone see her that way!

That being said, if this gets her back to Earth faster…

“It’s a long story,” Delta starts. “But, I was basically abducted. I remember getting locked up in some kind of cage or a cell. They didn’t do much to me, oddly enough. I thought they were gonna stick some needles in me or something. Mad scientist style or some dumb crap. Eventually, the ship crash landed here. I’m the only one who survived.”

“Yeah, sounds like you had a run-in with some smugglers. You were probably going to be sold to a bunch of scientists or maybe to an exotic pet collector. Those types of people could care less if you’re sapient. They’ll even excuse it as “humans aren’t registered under the Galactic List of Sapients,” he says. “I am sorry to hear that, though.”

Glycaruii does seem genuinely sympathetic about it. His face doesn’t twist in a way that would suggest it, but his tone says otherwise. Delta briefly wonders if he even has the facial muscles to mimic human expressions, like a smile. Regardless, the thought doesn’t drag away attention from more pressing matters.

“Registered under the what?”

“Have you guys discovered FTL yet?” When met with a headshake, he emits a tiny squeak. “Oh…that’s odd.”

“What is?” She asks. “What are you even talking about?”

“It’s complicated. Don’t worry about it.” He waves a dismissive paw. “But! The GLS is basically a glorified file on sapients that made first contact with the Connected System. It’s pretty much in the name—you get your species registered and then everyone recognizes you as sapient.”

Delta frowns at the idea of a list. “What’s there to stop someone from conquering a planet until that happens?”

“Nothing.” Something dark crosses his eyes. “It’s really a matter of luck on getting to the System first.”

Did something happen between him and this System? Delta thinks about the way Glycaruii scowls, but doesn’t dare point that out. It’s not in her business to worry. Her only business is making sure she gets back home.

After that, there is silence. It lulls them back down to reality, punctuated by quiet breathing. Delta stares hard at Glycaruii, willing him to have a little mercy. Though the girl does know she could take a page out of her own thoughts. Pointing a weapon is not exactly the definition of showing mercy.

“I suppose,” he sighs as Delta lowers the gun, “that I can bring you aboard. They might not like it though.”

He stares at the gun with trepidation. He’s second guessing. Delta frowns. A challenging step forward. “I can take that chance.”

“They might kill you. They have guns too, you know.” The uulinone looks down. Thinking. There’s too many unknown variables in this. It’s clear, however, that Delta refuses to let him go. So when a remotely feasible plan pops into his head, Glycaruii does not hesitate to meet eyes with her. “Which means I’ll have to sneak you in.”

“And how do you propose we do that,” she asks.

This seems a little too easy to her. And maybe being trapped for so long on her abductor’s ship and then stranded on an alien planet has left her paranoid, yet this still feels off somehow. Sure, Delta may be threatening him with his own gun, but would Glycaruii really let an armed person onto his ship just like that? With his crewmates?

He gives a weak grin (so he does have the facial muscles for it) and says, “I’ll have you wait by the side of the ship. And when I check to see if the coast is clear by the door, I’ll guide you all the way to one of the storage rooms. We rarely ever go into that room outside of storing holiday decorations, so you should be safe in there for the time being.”

Why is it that his grin leaves Delta feeling uneasy?

—

The fog has subsided a bit since their time in the ghost ship. The moon finally shines through. It cuts past clouds and treetops. On the way out, they make a quick trip to the captain’s quarters. Glycaruii manages to snag a small box from it. It’s filled with all sorts of spare parts. He mutters something about how “they should be grateful that he changed his mind.” Whatever that meant.

Upon spotting his ship, she finds that it’s certainly much larger and bulkier than the abandoned one. The uulinone leads the girl off to the side. Then, he scampers back over to the ramp.

After a few minutes, she peers up from her hiding spot. Glycaruii is standing right in the doorway. He’s beckoning someone. A long shadow is casted from the otherside, but there is a familiarity to it. Its shape reminds the girl of Glycaruii, though it’s obviously not his. She can hear him talking.

“Yes, I promise I got some things from it. Look—” He jostles the small box in his arms. “As promised, but I couldn’t find anything else. Nothing else valuable to be seen among the junk.”

There were rodent sounds from the other person.

Another uulinone?

“I couldn’t tell. It’s too small and plain looking. Probably an illegal cargo ship if I were to guess.”

The squeaks and chattering become angrier, or maybe just frustrated. The shadow moves in tandem with the stranger. Delta scoots further back into her hiding spot. She holds her breath. She’s not sure why. It’s not as if the alien can hear her.

“If you’re gonna complain about what I get,” Glycaruii grumbles, “then why didn’t you go scavenge the ship yourself? Ah, but there’s no need to go now. I’ve already checked top to bottom anyway.”

More indecipherable noises.

“Fine. I’ll bring Ephinyde with me next time.” The uulinone flicks his tail. He takes a step back, clutching the box closer when the stranger moves forward. “No, I’ll take it there myself. Go bother Prisyllva or something. I heard she was going to try making glyor’karuu [untranslatable]. I don’t think I need to remind you about the last time she tried to use the kitchen.”

The stranger hisses and whips around. The shadow quickly recedes from view. When Glycaruii is sure that they’re gone, he turns around and beckons for the girl to come over.

The minute she’s beside him, he says, “let’s get moving while we can. This way.”

————————————————————————

Previous | [Next]

first

Luna VI query: Set the source to the leaked files of the first reconnaissance operation of Irisa.

As you wish!

Luna VI query: How did the mission end for Zara?

***

Standing a few meters away from the opened door of her tent, Zara sighed with relief at the wallpaper-like view of some blue light beams filtering through the dense network of leaves above.

Before Amara's mean prank—in which Zara was led to believe that something had attacked Nathan, pushing her to run away in fear—she was nearing her breaking point.

The suffocating darkness.

The annoying terrain.

And on top of that, of course, there was Zaenvalor's unannounced departure.

Zara had endured everything without calling mission control for extraction, and amid the lingering tiredness caused by insufficient sleep, she found herself quietly proud of her accomplishment.

She slapped her face a few times, trying to force herself awake. 'No sleeping now, you had all night for that.'

Taking advantage of the blue light, she recovered a tiny heart-shaped mirror from her travel kit, maneuvering it around to get glimpses of her face.

On her mouth, she found chapped lips. In the corner of her eyes, there were those little crusty things surrounded by dark circles. Above that, all she saw was the short hair she hated.

'Cheer up! Today has to be better.' She reached for a box with wet tissues from her travel kit and cleaned her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the only good thing that had occurred on the previous day—Yelara had been attacked by Elysira.

Zara was not a sadistic person who enjoyed seeing suffering. However, without this unfortunate event, she wouldn't have had the opportunity to share her tent with Yelara, who had become unable to climb rocks and trees due to her injury.

And during this single night they spent together, Zara found something she had not found in any Irisian before—someone like herself who took pleasure in talking shit about Ryo, Zaenvalor, and Elysira.

It was reinvigorating.

Even though this chance reunion had cost her a good night of sleep, Zara’s social battery had been fully recharged, and she was feeling somewhat ready for another tough day.

On her first days with Zaenvalor, everything was new and it took time before they could figure each other out enough to get comfortable. But now both herself and Yelara were very proficient at interacting with the other species, making it easy for them to skip many steps, easily reaching the point where there was a seed of a friendship.

Still, Zara had to deal with the caveat that Yelara would get very touchy in every instance she mentioned anything slightly negative about not only Amara but even Nathan. Which turned Zara's suspicion that those two had some sort of hidden romantic relationship into a certainty. And she had no doubt Yelara was also involved in this in some way.

As Zara stored everything back on her travel kit, she couldn't help but look back at Amara's prank as the act of a jealous girlfriend.

And that sounded ridiculous to her. Not because of herself being against this unusual relationship, but simply due to Amara assuming that she, the daughter of Robert Rayne, could ever be interested in Nathan romantically.

To Zara, Nathan's only two qualities were being a good listener and being tall. Nothing that could outweigh the fact that he was just a guy who had wasted his youth traveling around Earth to study some plants with government funding, never worried about building a future for himself.

With those thoughts in mind, Zara decided that her next course of action would be an attempt to make amends with Amara.

Being unsure if she would ever see Zaenvalor again, Zara would need to at the very least pretend that she intended to take Amara's side. She would swallow her ego. She would bury the lingering bad feelings for everything Amara had done. And she would gain time until she found a way to have direct access to the queen and the elders.

To do that, she would need to have a conversation with Amara first, which also would require Yelara’s help to build bridges on her behalf, that is if she already had recovered enough to guide her to the place where Nathan and Amara had set camp, and to help her dodge the trick rocks around.

Her plans for the morning were perfect in her head. And the first step was to return to her tent and prepare a breakfast for two. She would need to be extra nice to Yelara to have any chance of success.

When she was a right in front of the entrance though, a single drop hit her head, surprising her with a promise of rain.

But when her index finger touched her scalp and she saw red on her fingertip, her eyes widened and a foreboding feeling caused her to hold her breath.

She looked up and one of Amara's guards teetered dangerously close to the edge of one of the many flat boulders around their campsite. Before she could get a clue of what was going on, the female guard plummeted right beside her tent and rolled over.

Zara stood motionless at what saw.

This female’s tail slowly lost its grip on her own neck, revealing a hole from which blood was flowing free. With her orange eyes still open, her body lost all black spots and assumed a pale blue color, lacking the slightest trace of movement.

Zara panicked. "Help! Help! He-"

Instead of receiving help, she was aggressively held from behind, and before she was able to resist, she realized she was being pulled toward a dark corner below a thick entanglement of roots that spanned for several meters.

She tried to struggle, but her resistance subsided when they dropped their camouflage a moment, allowing her to see that it was Amara's guards who had abducted her.

There were two males and Igmila, with whom Zara had interacted very little but knew her name. Igmila was keeping her mouth shut with her tail, while the other two were busy holding Zara’s arms and guiding her among the weird protrusion of roots of a large tree, which had grown all wrong thanks to an unmoving boulder on the way of its roots.

She didn't know what was happening nor where they were taking her. This was what motivated her to grab a root and hold to it with all her might, tensioning the tails of the males and forcing them to stop before she attempted to speak with Igmila's tail still blocking her mouth. "YeLaRa iS sTilL tHere."

"Someone will rescue her, but you humans are our priority. We have to take you to Princess Amara." Igmila whispered into her ear and straightened her grip, making it even harder for her to speak.

Zara's lips pressed hard against her own teeth, causing her to feel suffocated and insulted. This was enough for her to choose violence and bite Igmila's tail. The piercing glare she got from this female as she released her was unnerving, but Zara ignored it, expressing her dissatisfaction loudly. "You can't leave Yelara there! And there's all my stuff! And what the hell is even attacking us?"

There was a flash of red on Igmila's skin, yet it vanished when a projectile grazed her neck, leaving a thin trail of blood behind. With this near miss, Igmila's camouflage returned at once, bringing with it a hint of sharpness to those orange eyes, now looking down on Zara as if she were her prey.

Igmila removed her tail from anywhere close Zara’s face, but in its place, a clawed hand appeared to seal her mouth. She could barely believe when those five sharp digits made contact with her frail skin and her blood flowed. It came as such a shock to her that all her brain registered was the metallic taste in her mouth but not the pain.

The two males took advantage of her paralysis and their tails wrapped around her upper arms, firmly pulling her deeper into the maze of roots.

Her memory became foggy at this point, with flashes of being carried up and down some large boulders and dark corners. The only thing she knew for sure was that they were navigating downwards the steep rock wall of the mountain while avoiding the natural obstacles on the way.

It was not the scary number of loose rocks above that brought her back to the present thought. What ended up bringing her awareness back was a glimpse of her tent from far away, which triggered a cascade of memories from the training she had to undergo before joining the mission.

'If you ever think you are going to die, don't hesitate to contact mission control and call for an extraction.' She had been told this more than once by her instructors.

But was the current situation bad enough to warrant such drastic measure?

As doubt consumed her from inside, the answer to her question came in the form of a deafening roar, an explosion echoing through the landscape from above.

The vibrations hurt her ears as she felt the ground shaking below; her eyes were drawn to leaves quivering on the dense canopies high above, many breaking free from their branches and drifting toward the ground in large groups.

But nothing was hinting at the source of this explosion—at least for a clueless human such as Zara.

The two males unwrapped their tails from her arms, letting her knees bend as they raised the muzzles of their guns toward the sky. Igmila simply stopped covering Zara’s mouth, staring blankly at the canopies with her gun still strapped to her back.

With their defensive position suggesting the impending event, a violent series of sharp snaps of tree branches was followed by the sight of a metallic structure tearing through the foliage above.

It happened fast, but Zara was able to witness clearly as several trees snapped in half to make way for a falling ship. Its propulsion was still at full power, but it couldn't defeat gravity, breaking apart on impact in the spot where Zara had abandoned her tent against her will.

A bright light colored the dark forest in the tone of bright molten metal as another explosion shook the ground. There was a lot of debris flying everywhere, but most of it seemed to be raining down close to the crashing site thanks to the plentiful tree trunks on the way.

Zara didn't scream or try to stand up from the ground; she only spoke in a low voice, "Yelara..."

"We don't know if she was still there." Igmila's gaze slowly transitioned from the explosion site to the two males. "But we know that Master Aldrinch will never forgive us if we don't get to Princess Amara before her brother's army do. Don't let the battle in the sky distract you from the ambush they set here, our only goal now is to take Zara to the princess."

An army?

A battle in the sky?

An ambush?

It was only at the explicit mention of those terms that the seriousness of her situation sank in.

She had been caught up in the middle of an alien war.

Zara's breath became heavy when she remembered that she would need her radio transmitter to contact the space station and request help, a radio transmitter that was now buried under several tones of molten metal and debris.

When she was about to break down and cry a pop-up window appeared.

User unable to act on her behalf. Emergency transmission was performed successfully. Time passed since the help request: 2 minutes 27 seconds.

Relief like she never had felt before washed over her. The not-so-smart AI from the integrated system had used its short-range transmission capabilities to connect to her tent and request help before the hardware had been destroyed.

Now she only needed to survive until the rescue pod undocked from the space station and made its way through all the layers of Irisa's atmosphere, which could take a variable amount of time depending on many factors.

As she smiled to herself almost crazily, a tail grabbed her chin and forced her to look up. "You walk now. Your mouth won't be a problem with a burning ship to mask your noise."

Igmila didn't pull her tail back, controlling the limb in a way it bent into the shape of a hook. Too shaken to act petty, Zara understood her intention and accepted Igmila's offer of help to stand up.

There was not much time to think after this.

Zara didn't want to believe her eyes, but it seemed there was a single possible path to advance—a narrow gap between two boulders that seemed loosely connected to the mountain wall.

The two males rushed ahead and jumped downhill, pushing off one boulder, then quickly shifting their weight to spring off the other. She was mesmerized by their coordination and how, even under those circumstances, their backs still seamlessly blended with the colors around them.

Six alternating jumps and they reached the bottom of the narrow path, immediately taking their guns from their back and sticking their heads each in a different direction in the segment below.

"You expect me to do that?" Now it made sense to her why Nathan and Ryo had refused to set camp in this place.

"Hold my tail and go, there's no time for talking."

A knot formed on her stomach; the segment below felt... distant. She swallowed a lump of saliva and held the tail shyly, trying to get a grip on the flat rock from the mountain with her other hand.

The rock was slippery and uneven, and Igmila's tail was the only thing providing some stability. She wasn't lucky enough to find anything to grasp with her other hand, but her right foot somehow found a little safe spot in the place where the boulder made contact with the vast mountain wall.

The task of climbing down this path felt hard but not impossible as everything was progressing smoothly enough to instill a bit more confidence in Zara.

But it didn't last.

On the rock wall right beside Igmila's head, a fleeting spark followed by the chipping of the stone sent some fragments flying toward Zara's left eye, causing her to instinctively try to protect it with one hand.

"Shooter!" Alerted one of the males below.

Zara was trusting all her weight to Igmila, which was terrible because the female reacted to the warning by jumping, sentencing them both to an ugly descent.

Again, Zara’s memory became foggy. All she remembered from the fall was how she frantically held to the tail in search of stability but found none, encountering only the coldness of the steep wall scrapping against her exposed arms and her belly.

With her head spinning and her empty gaze focused on her wounded hands, the voice of one of the males was what brought her awareness back this time. "The shooter was neutralized."

Zara somehow found herself standing up, staring down at all the bruises and bumps on her arms through the only eye she could still see.

She was about to lash out at Igmila for this fiasco, when her attention was drawn to the female soldier who spoke first, "We breathe. That's a victory. Good job!"

Igmila was missing a claw from one hand and three from the other, being equally injured as Zara. Maybe even more considering how much more damage she had sustained due to not having clothes to protect her.

And even then, there was still a hint of yellow on her skin when she looked at Zara, who had been a literal burden to her, dragging her down with her because she held her tail in panic, refusing to fall alone.

With her hand still trembling while resting over her injured eye, Zara said something completely different than what she thought she would, "L-leve me behind and flee."

She had attempted to express that there was a rescue pod coming to save her, but both her physical and mental states had already been pushed more than she could take, so her words failed her, suppressed by the panic-induced chattering of her teeth.

"You are too important, Princess Amara and Master Aldrinch would never forgive us if we abandoned-"

"Enemy on the trees!" The males lay on the ground, aiming their guns upwards and firing while the colors of their backs become one with the ground.

"Take cover!" Igmila recovered her gun from her back, pushing Zara into a tiny crevice before assuming a defensive position with her back straight against the rock.

Time seemed to have slowed down for her, and Zara felt like she had detached herself from the world, her mind protecting her sanity by pretending that she had entered a realistic virtual world as she used to do during her youth.

She didn't react to the sparks on the rock every time a projectile hit anywhere close to her, only watching the three Irisians firing their silent guns and repositioning every time they took a shot that gave away their whereabouts.

Just as if they were an NPC in a game, she also didn't react when one of the males fell in front of her, treating the bleeding wound on his skull as if it would just heal when he respawned, as if the fading color of his skin was just a realistic animation.

She only felt a vague hint of sadness when two shadows fell from the rocks above, striking Igmila and the other male while they were busy shooting.

It ended with a single strike. One clawed hand reached around the belly to restrain, and another around the neck to kill.

Even though she was not feeling anything, Zara still noticed the inconsistency. Why tears were flowing down her face when she was feeling nothing?

And it was through those tears that she saw the pair of Irisians with blooded claws drop their camouflage; their orange eyes never missing a single movement she made while more and more of them poured down from all sides and joined their group, almost forming a perfect circle around the crevice where she was supposed to be taking cover from them.

Nothing should be scarier than the fact that they had guns and sharp claws that they could use against Zara at any time they wanted, but what truly sent a chill down her spine was how all of them just stood there, watching her without doing anything even though they could.

This was Zara’s longest half minute of her life, which came to and when a male broke the circle and took a step ahead, putting one of his claws inside his own ear channel. “Zandrid we've captured the female. What are your orders?"

Zara’s mental state had deteriorated so much that she had even forgotten the meaning of the word hope, but at that moment a mysterious pop-up message appeared, reminding her of a possibility.

Connection re-established.

The rebels on the other hand were having trouble with their coms, “Zandrid can you hear me?"

All the signs were there, but Zara only allowed herself to feel hope when she saw their ears twitch as they looked up.

Many leaves fell and her eyes widened as a hole ripped open on the canopies above, letting a blue beam of light wash the dark space below.

Through this hole, a single black and white capsule-like spacecraft descended, blocking the beacon of blue light for just a second.

As far gone as Zara’s reason was, one thing didn't escape her notice—as if she had just seen the Mona Lisa and found a mustache and cigar in her mouth, Zara didn't miss the black strap attached to the rescue pod.

Before the mission had started, she had been part of the committee entrusted to choose the color of the rescue pads, and they had chosen it to be painted in white as a symbol of peace even in case one of the three explores needed to be extracted from the planet.

But now it had a black stripe with odd metallic relief, giving her the sense that it didn't belong with the rest of the structure.

A fact that the rebels also discovered when they opened fire against the pod, triggering the black metal to morph into a liquid and fall into a cascade that was absorbed by the ground as soon as it touched the surface.

Zara saw a wave of purple spreading, sharing the surprise with them to the point of trying to open her injured eye to confirm if this was truly happening.

But even in the case she had succeeded, there was nothing more to see besides the now fully white pod hovering a few meters above them.

This was something that the group of Irisian rebels also realized, which made them all point their guns at her, likely suspecting that she had some control over the pod and that she was trying to do something against them.

None of them dared to fire... but it didn't matter anymore.

With a crunching noise in their growth, several mushroom-like structures rose from the ground, surpassing the meter mark in a split-second as their metallic glint tock over the space around them, giving off an aura of danger even though they looked harmless.

Some of the rebels tried to flee while others only stared at the long protrusions while using their camouflage, but regardless of their choice, they all shared the same fate.

The black metal in the tips turned into a liquid and expanded into the form of countless needles.

It went down faster than the human eye could see; in a moment they were standing and alive, and then they were still standing but dead, impaled by a sea of tiny needles coming from all directions.

The result was like a picture of their final moment, morbidly preserved by the rigid structure of needles that haven't even spared their guns from punctured through and destroyed.

Zara didn't even flinch at this sight. She was too far gone to panic, being only a step away from bracing her legs and starting to laugh frantically.

And because of this, she didn't take a second to answer the call when a pop-up window appeared, just wanting to see a familiar face and be told that everything was going to be fine.

"Katie, you w-won't believe-"

Zara assumed it was her handler calling from the space station, but she was wrong. "No, dear, my name is Sally. I'm sorry you had to see so much, someone this young should never have to go through what you did."

Zara was greeted by the image of an old woman, with all her silver hair draped over her shoulder, she was sitting in a chair and typing on a wooden keyboard. She was wearing glasses and had a teacup right beside a pink mouse, something that Zara had never seen in her life.

"Where's Katie?"

The old woman was speaking while typing, which gave the impression that Zara didn't have her full attention. "Katie is such a good girl, she believes she's controlling the rescue pod to save you. She is so worried about you."

Nothing was making sense to Zara. Her mind was protecting her from the memories of earlier, but it was impossible to miss the black substance that now was even creating traces on the rocks around her and spreading everywhere, making her uneasy.

"What's this thing?"

"Don't look at that child. It's not good for you."

The old woman typed something fast, causing Zara’s vision to become blurred. She looked right and left and confirmed, this was a selective blur that pixelated the black substance and nothing more.

In other terms—Zara's eyesight was being censored in real time.

"W-what are you doing?"

"We are taking over this mess. Sending Nathan to this mission was an oversight, we should have just skipped this planet."

"You c-can't take over the mission, n-no one has that authority." Arguing against a friendly face was something so normal to her, that Zara could still do it even while chattering her teeth and being on the brink of going insane.

"Not the mission." The old woman stopped typing to adjust her glasses, giving Zara her full attention. "We are taking over the planet, sweetheart. That's our secret, ok? You won't remember me when you wake up, but I hope we can meet in person one day."

Smiling, she tapped the enter key as Zara's consciousness faded into obscurity.

***

This was an account based on the last moments of Zara on the mission. The previous narrative is based on the events of the morning of the twentieth day of the exploratory mission of Irisa. According to your current settings, no queries will be suggested.

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‎ ‎ ‎[📖First | ⏮️Previous | Next⏭️]

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SWOOSH-!

‎ 

Ji Wuye arrived on the second floor, his expression tense as he surveyed the circular area.

‎ 

The sky above was brilliantly clear, not a single wispy cloud marring the bright expanse. Surrounding him were tiers of benches made of weathered gray limestone, arranged in five levels devoid of any ornamental flourishes.

‎ 

These rudimentary seats were shallow and showing signs of deterioration in places, in stark contrast to the solid, well-constructed terraces of a grand colosseum.

‎ 

Ji Wuye's brow furrowed slightly as he studied the structure, then spoke in a low, contemplative tone, "It seems to be an arena, or perhaps a gladiator arena of some kind."

‎ 

Though the architecture was unfamiliar to him, the notable difference between this structure and the Central Courtyard of his sect appeared to be merely the presence of spectator seating.

‎ 

In Jianghu, disciples stood to observe, without designated areas to sit.

‎ 

As his eyes roved over the surroundings, assessing, the details of his mission to clear this floor finally materialized before him.

‎ ‎ ‎

[>>[QUEST]<<]
You have reached the 2nd floor of the Tower of the God!
[>] Objective: Survive for 60 minutes!
[!] Consequence: DEATH!

‎

Ji Wuye's lips pressed into a grim line as he muttered, "The longer duration doesn't make this challenge any easier." His gaze swept over the deserted arena, taking in the scattered debris of crumbling pillars - no enemies in sight, at least not yet.

‎ 

Without further delay, he lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs and beginning to channel his Qi. Gradually, his Qi emerged, coalescing into a protective sphere that enveloped his body from all directions in a shimmering aura.

‎ ‎ 

[!] The first test commenced with the Fire Element!

‎ ‎

[!] Your objective: Survive for 15 minutes. Good luck!

‎

The moment his Qi barrier solidified around him, Ji Wuye's crimson eyes glared to the side, instantly alert as the surrounding arena underwent a transformation. A wave of intense heat spread outward, dry grass crisping and igniting into scattered blazes.

‎ 

Outside the protective cocoon of his Qi, a small cyclone formed, rapidly growing larger until it became a massive, roaring typhoon whipping debris through the air.

‎ 

SWOOSH--!

‎ 

Ji Wuye groaned softly through gritted teeth as the vortex's powerful winds buffeted his barrier. But the mounting heat was the true challenge, seeping inward in an attempt to penetrate his fortified defenses.

‎ 

The temperature skyrocketed to the point where rivulets of sweat beaded on his furrowed brow and ran down his face. And that was merely the beginning, as the typhoon continued escalating in ferocity.

‎ 

Sitting rigid, cross-legged in concentration, Ji Wuye focused all his effort on channeling and hardening his qi, resisting and diminishing the punishing external heat that threatened to overwhelm him from all sides.

‎ 

His blazing crimson eyes remained open and defiant amidst the swirling chaos of the storm, which had transformed into a raging cyclone of flame engulfing his body in scorching waves.

‎ 

"Argh!" He cried out, face contorted, as the fiery vortex expanded even further, intensifying the ferocity of the infernal winds that battered his Qi shield relentlessly and caused the flesh of any exposed skin to sizzle and blister on contact.

‎ 

'Endure it!' His mind demanded through a haze of agony as the firestorm raged, sweat streaming down his face from the exertion of maintaining his wavering barrier.

‎ 

Though the reinforced Qi shielded his body from the worst of the searing flames licking hungrily at him from all sides, he could feel the insidious heat beginning to seep through, scorching his skin and emitting the acrid, pungent scent of burning flesh.

‎ 

The flickering of his barrier's light warned that his Qi reserves were running perilously low. A heavy, suffocating sensation weighed on his mind, making it difficult to keep his head upright as dizziness threatened to overwhelm him...

‎ 

"Just a bit longer..." Ji Wuye ground out through clenched teeth, battling against the fatigue clouding his mind as he poured every ounce of concentration into maintaining his defenses.

‎ 

Yet the inferno's fury showed no signs of relenting.

‎ 

The soaring, scorching temperature caused his entire body to redden painfully, and even the sturdy limestone surrounding him began to soften and melt into viscous rivulets. This was no longer a mere trial by fire, but one of searing magma!

‎ 

His lips were tightly pressed together, cracked and parched, a few stray beads of saliva glistening on them.

‎ 

COUGH!

‎ ‎

COUGH!

‎ 

Wracking coughs suddenly tore from his raw throat as he simultaneously inhaled searing toxic fumes that gradually corroded his lungs from within.

‎ 

"Damn it..." Each agonizing cough sent fresh waves of torment lancing through his abused organs. How much more could he possibly endure before his defenses finally crumbled?

‎ 

SWOOSH--!

‎ 

Then, abruptly and unexpectedly, the chaos transforming into startling stillness as a transparent screen materialized before him, bringing an end to his suffering.

‎ ‎ ‎

[!] Congratulations, Climber Ji Wuye, on successfully surviving the first elemental test!

‎ ‎

[!] The second test will commence immediately with the Water Element!

‎ ‎

[!] Your objective: Survive for 15 minutes. Good luck!

‎

"Didn't even give me a break..." Ji Wuye muttered hoarsely, barely able to catch his breath before the next onslaught began.

‎ 

His skin was scorched black in places and weeping a viscous mixture of blood and bodily fluids from the raw injuries.

‎ 

Most of the damage was concentrated on his hands and shoulders where his defenses had wavered, while his legs and torso remained relatively unharmed where he had focused his Qi.

‎ 

Despite the presence of his reinforced barrier, the damage had still been inflicted.

‎ 

Clenching his fist tightly, he could still feel the lingering throb of pain for a brief moment.

‎ 

The primal urge to scream welled up, but he swallowed it back, drawing a deep, composing breath before summoning another feature of the Tower - an inventory.

‎ 

"Inventory," he rasped, and immediately located the precious item he'd brought for just such dire situations.

‎ 

A small object around 1-2 chi in length and half a chi wide materialized in his palm, its elongated shape tapered like a stubby carrot with a creamy beige skin texture.

‎ 

Gently squeezing the pliable herb, Ji Wuye opened his mouth wide and consumed it in one large gulp.

‎ ‎ ‎

[!] You have consumed a one-year-old Ginseng!

‎ ‎

[!] A portion of your Qi was restored!

‎

Just as the transparent prompt indicated, a refreshing cool wave washed over Ji Wuye's depleted Lower Dantian, akin to biting into the juicy flesh of a perfectly ripe mango.

‎ 

He could feel the invigorating liquid rushing in, imbued with an intoxicating sweetness that was almost cloying, filling his core and even causing a faint urge to relieve himself - one of the lesser-known side effects of such potent ginseng that most were unfamiliar with due to its scarcity and exorbitant cost.

‎ 

"Not bad...I've regained approximately half of my Qi," Ji Wuye murmured with grim satisfaction as the restorative effects took hold.

‎ 

But as the initial burst of replenished energy faded, he noticed another profound effect emanating from the soft herb.

‎ 

A wash of soothing, familiar warmth bloomed outward from his stomach, enveloping his entire body.

‎ 

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to fully embrace the comforting sensation as it not only began knitting together the scorched flesh of his wounds, but also repairing the internal damage to his organs.

‎ ‎ ‎

[!] A portion of your injuries has been healed!

‎

"So it's really true..." Ji Wuye mused in quiet wonder, acknowledging the veracity of yet another lesser-known property of consuming raw, immature ginseng that even his Senior had only hinted at.

‎ 

His momentary relief was short-lived however, as the once brilliant azure sky above darkened ominously, roiling storm clouds quickly blotting out the light as fat raindrops began pelting down to drench his entire body...

‎ ‎ 

A/N

‎ ‎ 

*Chi (尺) - Equal to approximately 30 cm. Commonly used along with zhang to describe object lengths, room dimensions, etc.

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‎ ‎ ‎[📖First | ⏮️Previous | Next⏭️]

Admiral Wedol Venin, finest officer of the Stralqi fleet and guardian angel of twelve billion souls, was about to die. He was sure of it.

Three hours ago, he had been in command of the finest armada the Stralqi Confederacy had ever marshaled. Two hundred of their best ships, handpicked from the vanguard of the Confederate fleet, were marshaled in a barren star system and all chosen for a single purpose. They were going to destroy the Earth.

The Stralqi Confederacy had long suspected Earth of collaborating in secret with their enemies, though these suspicions were shared by few, and its leadership had tried and failed to ram an extermination order through the debate forums of the Galactic Coalition. Now, with a diplomatic course of action impossible, they had decided to brazenly defy Coalition orders and take matters into their own hands.

That was why Wedol Venin had been sent to his grave, Alpha Centauri, to marshal his fleet and await the order for the attack on Earth. If he was troubled at all by this act, the possibility that he might be scouring an inhabited world clean of all life, his discipline was such that he did not show it.

He had stood there, lean and proud on the bridge of his dreadnought, every bit the pride of the Confederate navy until eight hundred attack ships blew his fleet into smithereens. That was why he was in the position he was in. That was why he was tired and afraid, huddled next to the failing life support of his flagship, the Midnight Requiem. The lights were red and dim. The ship was crippled and mostly uninhabitable. The crew, what little was left, were slowly choking to death as their air filters failed.

There were worse ways to die. This was still not a good one.

“How many hours?” asked the admiral. His chief engineer, burned on half her body from shutting down the unstable main reactor, stirred to look at her datapad.

“Thirty, sir.”

“And have the technicians rigged up a distress signal?”

The engineer sighed. “Only in-system, sir. The hypercom is beyond repair.” They both knew what that meant. The Centauri system was empty. “Nobody’s coming to help us.”

“Stay strong,” Wedol breathed. “The Confederacy doesn’t abandon its own.” Even as he said it, he knew that was a lie. The Confederacy had bigger problems than him.

“Shut up,” said the engineer, her yellow body and blue uniform bathed in red emergency light. The light began fading. The batteries were almost dead. “Conserve oxygen this way.”

He did. He reflected on his defeat, just five days prior, wondering where it all went wrong.

The ships that came for him were not from Earth. They were not assembling to Earth’s defense, either, but he could not have known that at the moment. They were Earth’s enemy as much as they were his, and they were marshaling there for the same purpose he was. It was merely blind, ironic fate that the two parties discovered each other.

If Wedol Venin could chuckle, and it would not have wasted oxygen, he would have. Sheer blind luck, and nothing else, had been the end of nearly two million Confederate lives. It was almost comical, in a dark sort of way.

The engineer showed him a datapad. Twelve Stralqi ships remained. Most were capitals, and all were crippled. None of them seemed likely to end up as anything more than a massive, expensive tomb.

Wedol mouthed his thanks. Knowing some of his men had survived, even if they were only delaying the inevitable, had breathed new life into his old and battered body.

A marine, tired and weak, entered the room shortly afterward. He carried a case of vials and a medical injector. “I’m to knock any non-essential crew unconscious,” he explained to the admiral. “Save breath for the rest of us.” He looked around the massive room, the beam of his flashlight illuminating the derelict air filters and inactive water recyclers that had once been the lifeline of fifty thousand people. “Suppose I’ll move on, then.”

“No,” Wedol gasped. “Give me the injection.” The marine wheeled in shock. “I’m useless now.”

His posture straightened up. His shaking hands steadied. When he finally spoke, he did so with discipline. “Sir, yes, sir.” Admiral Wedol Venin, leader of the Confederate fleet and master of the black of space, had never felt more proud.

The marine’s hands were steady as he prepared the injector. They were calm, in spite of his racing mind. “You’re a good soldier,” Wedol assured him. “I wish I had done better for you.”

“No need, sir, no need,” said the marine. “I remember my oaths. I’m not afraid to die.”

“I’m so sorry for this,” said Wedol. “You and yours deserved to live.” Then the injector hissed against his neck, and he drifted off to a peaceful sleep. His ship was dying. His crew were dying. His last thoughts were of how sorry he was that he could not have saved them.

When Wedol Venin awoke, he was not on board the Midnight Requiem. He was not in any place that he could recognize. His blue admiral’s uniform had been stripped from him, replaced by a white hospital gown. He was surrounded by sterile white walls and beeping medical devices. He realized with joy that he was in a medical facility. He realized with horror that he was in a Terran medical facility.

A doctor entered the room. He was obviously human, and his uniform was clearly of Terran make. Wedol’s assessment of the situation grew even more grim. His name tag identified him as ‘E. Abelman’, and he wore a friendly smile on his face. “I’m so glad to see you’re awake.”

“What happened to my ship?” Wedol snapped. “My crew? My fleet?” The fact that his first words were about the lives under his command did wonders for Dr. Abelman’s opinion of him.

“We saved all we could,” the doctor reassured him. “Sixteen thousand of your fleet survived. Your ships are mostly destroyed, but the salvage is yours to claim.”

At this, Wedol was shocked. Most parties would not have been so generous. “Thank you,” he said, feeling a great darkness within him at what he was willing to do to this man just days earlier. “I’m in your debt.”

“You were unconscious for a few weeks,” Dr. Abelman explained, caring nothing for the debt he was now apparently owed. “A colony ship found your distress signal and reported you to us. The United Nations of Earth and Her Colonies,” he said, pointing to a logo on his medical uniform. “You’re being treated on a hospital ship orbiting the planet Canaan, along with the rest of your fleet’s survivors.” That vessel was their only hospital ship. If it were not for the wreckage above Earth, the product of another brutal space battle, they would have been there much sooner.

“Thank you so much.” Wedol sat up in his hospital bed. “If there’s any way I or my fleet can repay you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t. And I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Dr. Abelman, “Would you have dropped the bombs?”

Wedol Venin froze. “On Earth?” Abelman nodded. “If ordered?” He nodded again. “I… don’t know.” The answer was hesitant, cautious, and genuinely unsure. The pride of the Stralqi fleet was not a dishonest man. “I like to believe I wouldn’t have.”

“Please,” Abelman laughed, making a joke of the situation, “I’m Jewish! Everybody’s tried to kill us Jews over the years. And, like it or not, I’m required to treat you regardless of your choice. It’s part of my oath as a doctor.”

“Why?” Wedol had to ask. “Why save me? Why save my fleet? Why ask for nothing in exchange?”

“Well, it’s a few things,” explained the doctor. “For one, Jews are religiously required to aid those in need. And, technically, you still count.”

“Even with my… orders, as an officer in the fleet?” Admiral Venin knew better than to say he was just following them. The weight of his decisions, influenced or not, was his alone to bear.

“Orders to stand by to attack Earth. Not even to do it, but to be ready to do it,” said the doctor. “I’ve read your file, admiral. You of all people don’t seem the type to glass a planet.”

“I understand. I hope that those I command hold the same morals.”

“You look surprised,” said the doctor. “Understandable, under the circumstances.” He was checking his datapad at the moment. It contained medical reports.

“What I want to know is why,” asked Wedol. “You give me charity, you take me in, you treat my men’s wounds and offer us a place to stay, knowing what we would have done if the situation was reversed. Why do this?”

The doctor paused. He thought for a moment. “Well, I swore an oath to treat even my enemies. I was a combat medic once. Even if you had followed through with your orders, leveled cities with AM-bombs, I would have to save you from death if only to see you tried in a court of law.” He did not look pleased about it, either.

“Will I be tried in a court of law?” Wedol hoped he would. He did not believe in wrongdoers evading justice, and the way he had been treated proved that his orders were wrong indeed.

“Well, probably, but I think the sentence will be light. Even if the defense can't make a case, you're a hero to a lot of people in this galaxy. The Confederacy's allies would raise hell over any harsh punishment, and Earth can't afford any more enemies,” Abelman thought aloud. “Better to show mercy.”

“I would not have shown mercy,” Wedol confessed. “I do not deserve it.”

“Probably not,” said the kindly doctor. “You and your fleet were sent here, agents of an enemy state that were fully prepared to kill eight billion innocent people, and a lot of us would have preferred it if you all just died in your metal coffins.” Suddenly, he did not seem so kindly. “But, well, I’m a humanitarian.” He looked down at his datapad for a moment, then back up at Wedol. “Compassion is the very definition of humanity.”

Author note: The Cryopod to Hell is a Reddit-exclusive story with over three years of editing and refining. As of this post, the total rewrite is 2,166,000+ words long! For more information, check out the link below:

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(Previous Part)

(Part 001)

An hour after the conclusion of the Great Debate, Jason and Phoebe sneak back to their room to finally enjoy some private time together.

For Phoebe, a little over three weeks have passed since her husband went to Chrona.

But for Jason, he has not seen his beautiful wife in a substantially longer period of time...

The two lovers kiss one another. They allow their hands and legs to roam as they twine their bodies, each one making their partner feel waves of pleasure and ecstasy. Having felt a little pent-up from weeks of hard work and lonely nights in bed, Phoebe is quite excited to be back together with her husband, but after thirty minutes together, even she finds her passion doesn't come close to what Jason can muster!

"Okay! Okay, let's... let's pause for a moment!" Phoebe gasps, pulling herself away from Jason as she flops onto her back. "Gods, you're like an animal today, love. If you keep chewing on them like that, I'm afraid you're going to bite them off!"

Jason licks his lips and grins cheekily. "Sorry, babe. It's just been- you know? It's been years for me. Years! Me and Fiona kept our distance, and the whole time I couldn't stop thinking about when I'd get to come back and see you. In the last few months, it REALLY gave me the drive to finish solving my time dilation problem!"

Phoebe remains silent for a few seconds. She swallows gulps of air while massaging her breasts, wincing slightly as she touches the naughty teeth marks Jason left...

"I won't lie, I was a little worried that you and Fiona might... but I knew you were faithful. I just wish you'd go a little easier on me! Don't you think Timothy is going to need these when he arrives?"

"Hah! I can heal them later." Jason smirks, before pouncing on her and pressing his lips against hers. "But for now, you and me need to make up for lost time!"

"Ah! This- ahh! Alright, then!" Phoebe exclaims, before her moans drown out any other words.

...

Another two hours pass.

Jason uses Words of Power several times, easily restoring himself and Phoebe's stamina multiple times. They twist like pretzels, trying out all manner of different lewd positions, before finally they both decide they've had their fill.

Eventually, they conclude their unbelievably intense rounds of lovemaking, then they snuggle together, finally satisfied.

"Lord... marrying a Wordsmith is a life goal every woman should aspire to." Phoebe mutters to herself, as Jason wraps himself around her from behind. "I love you so much, Jason."

"I love you too, honey." Jason replies, nibbling on her ear playfully. "And it's because I love you that I did what I did today. I hope you're not mad at me."

Phoebe chuckles. "I just wish you'd given me a heads up. I thought the entire point of the debate was to focus on keeping humanity united. Why would you change your mind all of a sudden?"

"Well... it wasn't really 'all of a sudden' for me. After all, an hour for the debate was 250 hours for me. That's almost ten and a half days, honey. I talked to Fiona, Rebecca, Kar, even Blinker and the Psions throughout the whole affair. My... views started evolving as a result."

Phoebe simply shrugs, not caring one way or the other. "I always thought splitting up humanity was smarter anyway, so I'm glad you came around."

"Thanks for supporting my original idea, even if it was dumb. That's why you're the best wife." Jason says, kissing her neck.

A minute passes as the two lay there, falling silent. Eventually, Phoebe rolls around to face Jason, then wraps her arms around his back and pulls her face close to his.

"So. What now?" She asks quietly. "You had an entire week to ruminate on your new plan. Any thoughts you want to share?"

Jason lightly bumps his forehead against hers. "I came up with a magically empowered device capable of synchronizing the internal dilations of people in higher realms so they can travel back to lower realms. It will almost entirely mitigate the effects of time dilation at any ratio below 25-to-1, but it's less effective the higher one climbs. In any case, that means I can look into expanding the usage of alternate dimensions, especially those inside the Cube. We can rapidly grow humanity's population, and its power, by using this method."

"That sounds incredible." Phoebe says, though her tone betrays a lack of enthusiasm. "But... are you sure there won't be any after-effects? And what about you? If this device you made is less effective at higher dilations, then you shouldn't be okay... right?"

"I... I do have to return to Chrona within a few days." Jason admits. "The technical details aren't too important, but essentially, with Blinker's help, I created a device that can output consumable magic glyphs. These glyphs bind to the body and prevent it from destabilizing when traveling into different time dilation zones. Unfortunately, their magic wears out faster the more extreme of a dilation one travels to and from."

"So your glyph or whatever, it's only going to last you a few days?" Phoebe asks, her pupils suddenly trembling in fright. "Isn't that terrible?? Will you die if you don't return in time?!"

"I will die, yes, but it won't be immediate." Jason explains, only to see a look of alarm spark in her eyes. He hurriedly clarifies: "No no, it's not what you think! When the glyph wears off, my body will start to desynchronize with realspace. As long as I quickly return to Chrona, I'll only end up a little fatigued, but if I drag my feet, then I could suffer... irreparable damage."

"Jason!" Phoebe cries. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?! Now I'm only going to be thinking of the danger you're putting yourself in just to come back here and deal with a bunch of mundane nonsense!"

"It's not nonsense." Jason says firmly. "I solved the dilemma with Neil and Hope, and I got to come back home and bang my hot wife. That's a win in my book any day of the week."

"Oh, you!" Phoebe laughs, releasing some tension in spite of her nerves. "You always try to hit me with a cute line. But don't think I'm letting you stay here long! You need to get your butt back to Chrona ASAP or I won't be able to sleep at night."

"Hehe, you won't be able to sleep anyway." Jason says, grinning evilly. "I'm gonna be bending you into every conceivable shape each night until I return!"

"You perverted, naughty scoundrel!"

...................................

Later, as the night draws near, Jason finally exits his abode with some pep in his step. He steps out into the darkness and looks up at the starry sky with a look of deep satisfaction.

Somehow, it just feels to him like things are going to be alright.

Hardly has that thought occurred when a voice speaks from the side. "All done having fun?"

Jason jumps in surprise. He turns to see Hope Hiro glowering at him as he leans back against a tree outside Bahamut's former manor.

"The hell?" Jason asks. "Have you been waiting for me out here?"

"I set a proximity alarm to alert me when you left. Then I teleported here." Hope answers. "Now, shut the fuck up about nonsense. I want to know what you're playing at. Why did you change your mind?"

Jason turns to face Hope directly. He crosses his arms and assumes an aloof posture.

"You're telling me you can't figure it out? I listened to what you and Neil had to say. I listened to what our fellow humans had to say. I decided the unification plan was a non-starter, and adjusted accordingly."

He leans forward slightly. "You're welcome, by the way. Now you can go build your death cult or whatever, Neil can fuck off to his planet of xenophobes, and I can focus on building humanity up, proper."

"That's what I hate the most about you." Hope snaps back. "You've messed up a thousand times, but you always have this smug, self-assured air of superiority about you. You were handed the powers of a god on a platter, but all you ever do is screw up and waste your gifts."

"I've definitely failed a few times." Jason admits. "But you're blowing those instances way out of proportion. I already feel bad enough about my failures. I already beat myself up over Daisy's death. Do you have to act like such a piece of shit toward me? We're both still cut from the same cloth, Hope!"

Slightly taken aback, Hope pauses his verbal barrage. A look of guilt flashes over his face, and he forces himself to calm down.

Five seconds of silence follow.

"I'm sorry." Hope says quietly. "You're right. I went too far. If it was my daughter, I'd probably never stop torturing myself."

He looks away and chews his lower lip.

"I just don't get it, Jason. Why change your mind?"

"You've never really understood the way I think." Jason answers. "Which is weird. Of all the people in the universe, I should be the one you understand best. And yet sometimes your thoughts are as alien to me as mine are to you. We've diverged into entirely different people."

He continues. "It's like I said at the Debate. You and Neil have the right idea, but the wrong reasons. Humanity does need to split up. We're vulnerable to a single attack, like Neil said. I just think splitting from the demons because of mere bigotry is not the right reason to do so. In this coming new era of empowered humans, it may become evident that demons are humanity's greatest ally."

Hope shuffles his feet. "I don't agree with Neil on everything. We're not a uni-mind. I think he goes too far with his hatred of the demons. Especially, as Phoebe mentioned, since he didn't really lose anyone to the demons. He lost them to Bahamut. In that regard, his hatred of demons is almost nonsensical."

But..." Hope says, directing a withering gaze toward Jason, "just because he hasn't suffered to the demons doesn't mean humanity as a whole hasn't. Come on, Jason. Surely you can acknowledge the harms they've caused us."

"Of course I can." Jason says. "But I'm not about to rehash this debate with you. Let's just let bygones be bygones and move on. We both have the same goal, Hope. We want to see humanity prosper."

"I'd like to think so." Hope responds. "But you still haven't answered my question. What are your plans for the humans who side with you? People are going to be casting their votes soon. Are you really going to allow demons to mingle with humans, unchecked, in perpetuity?"

"Unchecked is... an interesting word choice." Jason says calmly. "Hope, you know how I feel about politics. I say we treat our different factions as experiments. We need to see which one will lead to the most prosperous future. Maybe a xenophobic civilization will make humanity stronger, but maybe an open-minded one will be better still."

"Hmm..."

Hope rumbles in his throat, then looks at the ground, falling into thought.

"That's... not the worst idea."

"Right?" Jason says, before continuing, "I can't pretend to be any sort of expert on what to do next, Hope, but even you can see there's a lot of future paths opening up now that the Human Flaw is gone. I truly pray at least one of our splinter civilizations can explode in population and power. Humanity is practically extinct in terms of galactic population."

For a moment, Hope remains silent.

"I should also mention, Jason. It seems you haven't permanently solved your time dilation issue."

Jason frowns. "I haven't. You?"

"I seem to be a bit luckier than you." Hope replies. "My acceleration is only 100-to-1. Based on the quantum particles you're emanating, it seems you've been playing a riskier game."

Jason evenly gazes at his clone. "250-to-1."

"That's what I thought. Take this as a bit of friendly advice," Hope says, "I have a few prominent Technopaths inside my funhouse. They've told me that higher and higher TDR's pose orders of magnitude more danger to biological bodies. You're putting everyone inside your hidden dimension in danger. Don't play around with their lives."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." Jason replies.

"You'd better." Hope counters. "Kar and Blinker are my friends too, Jason. If your stupidity causes them harm, I'll come for your head."

The two men continue to look at one another for a few seconds, then Hope turns to the side.

"Return."

He vanishes from the spot, disappearing into the ether while leaving his original body behind.

Jason remains standing in place for a while, his former good mood now entirely gone. A faint sense of unease wells up in his chest.

"I've improved a lot." Jason says to himself. "But Hope has, too. I'll need to work harder to stay ahead of him..."

Jason turns and walks away, heading deeper into town.

...................................

Later, Jason sits down inside the Horned Maître while Kelkin's moonlight radiates down upon its mother planet, illuminating the nighttime even more than Luna once did for Earth.

As the moonlight spills in through a window, the First Wordsmith sits at the head of a table with a handful of his friends.

Emperors Belial and Kiari sit next to each other, with Kiari's fiance Saul positioned on her right and Belial on her left. Across the table, Brunhilda sits, as well as Benjamin Brown and Samuel Baker.

"Congratulations, Kiari, Saul." Benjamin Brown says. "I've never heard of a demoness becoming pregnant before. We're about to enter some interesting times."

"Thank you!" Kiari says, her cheeks flushing happily as she beams at her fiance. "I can't believe it! I was so scared at first because I thought I was poisoned, but then it turns out it was just morning sickness! Now me and Saul are going to have a baby and... I don't know what to expect!"

"I couldn't be happier." Saul says mildly, smiling back at Kiari. He turns to look at Jason. "She's not in any danger though, is she? Can demons properly give birth...?"

"I can't say entirely for certain." Jason answers. "We did run some tests. The corrected human genome is... extremely potent. It can allow organisms incapable of replication to become capable. There are probably other effects, but we just don't know yet. I left the technical details to Fiona and Rebecca."

A moment of silence follows.

"This is going to change everything, you know." Belial says to Jason. "Fixing the Flaw, I mean. A horde of unexpected pregnancies is hardly the most shocking aftermath. What about humans gaining magic en-masse? Doesn't that strike you as dangerous?"

Samuel frowns. "Hey. What is your implication? That humans can't control ourselves? You demons have had magic for a hundred thousand years, but now it's a problem if your lessers get access too?"

"That's not what I meant." Belial hurriedly explains. "I'm just saying- Neil's side wants to kill all the demons. Now the humans will have the tools to do so. Don't you think this is only going to lead to more violence in the long run?"

"Honestly? I can't stand you demons." Samuel snarls, his words causing Belial and Kiari to both flinch in unison. "Demons have killed countless people I loved. This war might not be personal for Commander Neil, but it's personal for me."

"W-why are you even here, then?" Belial asks, outraged by his provocation. "We met to congratulate Kiari on the baby!"

"I came because I needed to speak to Jason. Not because I give a damn about some bloodskins." Samuel snaps back. He quickly turns his head to look at Jason. "Here, take this."

Samuel reaches into his pocket, pulls out a glowing purple pentagon infused with magical energy, then tosses it to Jason. The Wordsmith reflexively snaps his hand up to catch the palm-sized object, only to look at Samuel in confusion as the man stands up and starts to walk away.

"It's from Princess Melia." Samuel says, throwing his hand in the air flippantly. "She said you'd know what to do with it. I'm outta here."

The man storms off, leaving the others behind more than a little confused.

All except for Benjamin Brown. He sips some beer and chuckles. "If I told you that son of a bitch had a chip on his shoulder, I'd be lying by omission."

"Way more than a chip. More like a whole mountain." Brunhilda grumbles. "Kiari, I want you to know that the Felorians do not consider the demons to be our blood-enemies. I am certainly happy the Wind Mother has graced you with the gift of a child. And I apologize for that fool's undeserved anger."

"There's no need to apologize." Kiari says bitterly, lowering her eyes. "I'm used to it."

Jason's gaze momentarily turns dismal. Sensing the awkward atmosphere, he stands up and lifts the magical pentagon Samuel gave him. "Well. I've gotta be going. Phoebe will drop by to offer her congratulations tomorrow, Kiari. She's pretty tired after the debate and had to turn in early."

"I understand." Kiari says, smiling cutely at the Wordsmith. "Thank you so much for stepping in at the end. I was worried Neil was going to hurt Phoebe's feelings or say something really mean. Too bad I missed the broadcast, on account of this random baby dumped in my lap."

"I'm sure you'll be able to catch a re-run." Jason says, pointing to a monitor in the corner of the bar, which silently plays back the speech with closed captions. "I'll talk to you guys tomorrow."

...

He makes his way outside, and eventually wanders over to a secluded area where he erects a privacy field around himself, scanning it to make sure no errant Psions are watching.

Then, Jason lifts up the purple pentagon and looks at it more closely.

"Identify." He says.

Hundreds of intricate runes glisten with magical power across the item's surface. Jason's Word of Power identifies it as a Fairy Transmission Crystal, something Blinker has mentioned to him in passing, though admittedly he wouldn't have recognized it without his magic's assistance.

When Jason looks at the item deeper, he becomes fascinated by the incredibly tiny and precise carvings etched into the crystal's surface. Not mere abstract runes, many of them faintly depict strange beasts and creatures the Wordsmith has never seen in his life. It's only when he really squints that he's even able to make out the face of a woman he's never seen before.

"Melia? No, not her. Someone older. Hmm, now how did Blinker say to activate one of these...?"

Jason infuses his mana into the Transmission Crystal, but it doesn't activate. He tries doing what Blinker told him to do, but for some reason, he just can't seem to make it work.

"Fuck it." Jason mutters under his breath. "Activate."

Immediately, the crystal's faint glow turns as bright as a lightbulb. It leaps out of his palm and levitates into the air, while a magical hologram materializes from the core and bubbles into reality.

A beautiful but noticeably elderly fairy woman springs into existence, her lightly baggy eyes giving her the air of an ancient woman who has seen more than most can comprehend. Her beautiful white hair complements her purple dress, making it obvious to anyone with eyeballs that she is no commoner among her people. She looks around the privacy bubble and nods to herself, as if confirming something.

Then she directs her gaze toward Jason.

"Good day to you, First Wordsmith. I am the Fairy Matriarch, Lady Calanthra. I am pleased to see that you took the proper precautions before activating my crystal."

Jason blinks in surprise. He squints his eyes, then suddenly realizes something. "Wait, this isn't a recording?"

"Indeed, it is not." Calanthra says simply. "I prefer not to leave my world unless absolutely necessary, so I send my daughters out to deliver these crystals when I need to speak to someone distant."

A twinkle sparks in her eyes. She smiles playfully. "Funnily, I tampered with this crystal. I made it non-functional as a test. Only a Fairy Queen should be able to fix the flaws I introduced, yet you also seem to be capable of doing so. That is good. It tells me your magical capabilities are just as impressive as my children claim."

Jason coughs, feeling a little embarrassed that he passed her test without meaning to. "I see! Uh, so, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I watched that debate between your wife and the commander of humanity's armies. I found your statement at the end to be quite interesting. You said that humanity could go to the world of Pixiv to join my people..."

Jason blinks. "I... I'm sorry. I spoke to Blinker before the debate, and she told me it was worth putting on the table. I guess I should have asked you first."

"There is no need for apologies." Calanthra says, waving her hand dismissively. "As the former Monster Queen, a bearer of the Sphinx's cursed magic, she possesses authority equal to mine. In matters of Pixiv's prosperity, I come before her, but for any external matters, she ranks above me. That is what my people decided when we heard her husband had passed his power to her."

Calanthra waves her hand, conjuring a comfortable and luxurious chair to sit in. She plops down in it and sighs. "Ahh, these weary old bones hate to stay standing for long periods..."

Jason looks behind himself. "Chair."

He also takes a seat, making Calanthra nod with approval. "A Word of Power, is it? What an ability. Impressive, if I may be so bold in my choice of words."

"Not to be rude," Jason says, "and compliments are always nice, but can we get to the point? Is there a reason you wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes, many." Calanthra responds. "But before I tell you why I've come, I have a question for the First Wordsmith."

"Okay." Jason says uncertainly. "And that would be...?"

"What do you know about the fairies?" She asks.

"About your people? In general?" Jason asks. "Uhh. I've spoken to Blinker a bunch. I know, uh... fairies are magical. You have wings. You can shrink and grow. You live on Pixiv. You... have a hard time reproducing. You have almost no male fairies among your population..."

He pauses while scrunching up his forehead to think. "You're also good at formations... I don't know a lot, now that I think about it."

"That is to be expected." Calanthra says. "After all, my people are reclusive by nature. We don't like to draw attention to ourselves. Not good for long-term survival prospects."

"Huh? You don't??" Jason asks, appearing totally confused. "But fairies have to, you know, procreate with the males of other species. You get around if you know what I mean. Doesn't really allow you to be 'reclusive'."

"Just because our daughters need to frolic with the males of other species, that does not mean we allow them to flap their lips at will." Calanthra answers. "There are rules we set. Strict rules. There are certain... Truths... we do not wish to get out into the greater galactic community."

"Truths." Jason repeats, eyeing her with more suspicion than before. "I've been hearing that word a lot, lately."

"I'd imagine you are. As Akasha's Game reaches its boiling point, the Rulers of the cosmos are beginning to disseminate those Truths in preparation for the Unending War."

Calanthra's eyes take on a more ominous glint as she gazes at the Wordsmith, not as a pretty and demure queen of the Fairies, but a strangely ancient being, one who has seen things he cannot fathom.

"Tell me, Jason Hiro of the Human species. How old are your people? How far back does your history date?"

"Not far enough." Jason admits. "I think before the Energy Wars, the most ancient records were barely 50,000 years old."

"Fifty thousand Sol Cycles." Calanthra says. "And what of the demons?"

"They're older than us..." Jason says. "I'm not sure how much older though."

"Add another hundred thousand years." Calanthra says. "That is when Archangel Uzziel formed the first Imps from cosmic dust. But what about before the demons, I wonder? Are there any species older than them?"

Jason nods slowly. "Well yeah. The angels were the first Sentients in the Milky Way, then they made the Dragons, then came the Titans."

"And what about the Volgrim?" Calanthra asks. "Do you know when they came on the scene?"

"I... not really." Jason admits. "A million years ago?"

"Ten million." Calanthra replies. "That is when the first Volgrim evolved from the primitives of their world and rose up to become the rules of Old Volgarius."

For a long moment, Jason looks at Calanthra. A strange thought bubbles up in his mind.

"So... how old are the fairies, then?" Jason asks slowly. "Since the Volgrim were the first Sentients to colonize the galaxy after the angels fell, you must have evolved after they did. Right...?"

Calanthra's smile turns ominous.

"That was the right question to ask, Wordsmith."

She leans forward.

"The Volgrim were not the first Sentients in the Milky Way. It was my people. The Fairies. And we arrived here..."

"...fifty million years ago!"

First

HHH/Herbert’s Hundred Harem

“But I have to...”

“It’s your lunch. You’re off the fucking clock for the next hour and a half and if I see you near a hot zone that didn’t appear under your feet then there’s going to be trouble.” The current leader who’s chosen codename is simply Eight tells Herbert and he sighs. He won’t be in the command position for at least twelve hours and until then is a field agent.

“Just get going.” Eight says and he sighs before checking his communicator. “I will shoot that thing out of your grip if that’s work.”

“I’m checking my wives schedules. A family meal sounds amazing right now.”

“It does. Get going.” Eight tells him and he nods. “I suggest a shower and a change of clothing. You smell of arson.”

“You tend to smell like the things you fight.” Herbert replies and rolls his neck. “I’ll take a shower at home. It’s not like we can hide the fact that The Undaunted are beating out wildfires that are popping up all over Centris.”

“True. Now, out.”

“I’m still going to defend myself and my family though. If someone tries anything, they’re getting shot.”

“Well, duh.” Eight replies and Herbert smirks before leaving.

“Not in the mood.” He says pointing a gun in the face of a Cloaken who was on the approach as he leaves The Dauntless. The invisible figure that is nonetheless completely obvious to him backs away. He looks up towards the sky, past the ring of vaguely visible light from the plates and into the galaxy beyond the blue sky. “Hell of a time to leave Sir, but wherever you are, I’m sure you’re causing thrice the chaos we have here. No doubt I’ll have the news of what you’re up to fall on my lap long after it’s too late to do anything about it.”

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Many, many, many lightyears away a very handsome man with a chiselled jaw and short but feathered dark hair thanks his waitress with a smile and sends the woman off in a daydream as he browses the options on his newly received menu. Well... not really. He already knows what he’s going to order and is using it as a visual block for his browsing the news. He looks like he stepped off the more... appropriate cover of a titillation magazine and then buttoned up his shirt. To say he had everyone’s attention was an understatement, but that just meant that no one was paying enough attention to see the near invisible distortion of a scanning drone slowly going around and giving everyone a surreptitious scan.

“Well then my boy, it seems you’ve found some entertainment. Good for you.” He notes to himself with a dazzling smile that the state officer that’s trying to get useful information on him finds VERY distracting. It was the fun thing about tyrannical regimes. They rarely employed true competence and as such it was very easy to subvert them.

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

Herbert hums as he walks into the kitchen, freshly scrubbed, newly dressed and therefore in more business casual. He buttons up the last button on his vest and casually steps over an attempt to trip him and then does a bit of quick footwork to scoop up and launch a Purriz at the woman in question. All without even looking at her.

There’s a squeal of surprise and he laughs.

“Sorry Mirara! I’m a little on the alert side today!”

“You’re always on the alert side!” Mirara protests.

“I am especially alert today then!” He corrects himself as he heads to the fridge. “I’ve been moving hard though so I need to eat something. Can I make you anything?”

“Oh! Are you grilling?”

“Maybe, our meat stores are pretty good right?” He asks opening the ‘fridge’ it’s more a many sectioned stasis chamber. Stasis sicknesses could be lethal, but would preserve a body flawlessly. But to preserve food the only issue was if the stasis effect clung to the item in question. But it would take a toddler, or someone with the mind of a toddler to be unable to wipe it off.

“We still have a Sea-Quake tail?” He asks in surprise as he pulls out the shrunken drawer. The gigantic shrimp tail was a colourful thing before being cooked, but also dirty, grit sticks to them easily to camouflage them. But clean them off and their a rainbow of colours.

“We do! Oh my goodness yes!” Mirara exclaims and he grins.

“Alright, grab me the cooking oil and I’ll fry this beauty up. Sea-Quake steaks for the feasting.” He says and the ‘hidden’ girls on the ceiling start dropping down with exclamations of ‘steak!’ and a few of them demanding to know if their ambush was off.

“Ambush was never on to begin with girls.” Herbert replies pointing to the shining counter top and it’s rounded edge. “I saw you all when I walked in. Now who wants some sea-quake steak?”

The answer is everyone, meaning that there’s only a small portion for each of them. He makes up his own with water infused with nutrient powder. It’s mildly gritty and far from filling, but having an overly full stomach when you have to run around, sneak and fight is just asking to vomit if things start going even slightly wrong.

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“Excuse me.” He says as he grabs a Valrin woman around the waist and vanishing with her before returning and doing the same to the stunned Lutrin she had been talking to and only after he’s cleared out the area, and then another quarter second later, does the falling aircar finally crash down.

There are several sonic booms as a figure that’s nothing more than a blur opens the door to the sabotaged vehicle and extracts the survivors of the bomb going off and removes the dead body as well to lay her down near her loved ones.

The sound of the booms and crunching of metal, shattering of class and breaking of plastic all hit around the same time and the unholy cacophony assaults the senses even as Herbert finally stops moving and pants. At his small size moving at those speeds is not recommended. It’s not about energy or friction, Axiom takes care of that. But whenever he’s fully phased in he’s so small that the resistance of the relatively still air pushes down on his chest and stomach like being trapped in a vice grip.

Needing to move fast is one thing, needing to do it while barely able to breathe is another. He needs more inflexible armour on his front. Or armour that can harden to stop things from pressing down on his chest or stomach.

“Alright, all of you get under... right, Slohbs can’t move without the muck. Sorry.” He begins to say as he picks up the clearly traumatized and horrified Slohb that’s producing lime green slime from the core he rescued. He gives her enough time to get a thin layer at least and picks her up. “Make one bump if you want somewhere dry, two if you want something wet.”

Two bumps rise up as he leads the living further away from where the aircars are zipping around. A nearby restaurant has people cowering in it and he requests a pitcher of water and then uses it to help hydrate the Slohb woman a bit before placing her down on a table when she has enough slime to make a tendril that reaches into the pitcher to let her drink at her own pace.

She drains it dry in five seconds and he gets her a refill before opening up a wrapped nutrition brick that she grabs from him and absorbs to start producing more and thicker slime that quickly starts to take the form of a small child.

“Well, that was the scariest thing that ever happened to me.” The Slohb states and Herbert shrugs.

“I suppose. Now if you’ll excuse me miss, I need to get moving.” Herbert says. “All of Centris has gone mad and there’s this kind of silliness all over the place.”

“Silliness!?”

“I just tore your vital organs out of your body and you’re getting better after a drink and a snack. That’s freaking weird.” Herbert says in his, ‘Oh gosh the galaxy is so weird!’ routine to engage people and get them thinking again and past any sense of shock.

“Anyways, gotta go! You girls be safe now!” He says before rushing off and after another hotzone.

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“You stupid cops just don’t know when to stop!” The woman screams as she hurls the car straight at them. Something impacts it from the side and it crunches into a space the size of a marble while venting raw energy out the top or bottom before detonating in a shower of thin, tiny effects.

“Love this thing.” A broad shouldered man riding a warform Takra-Takra says as he slots another round into his strange gun.

“But miss lady here won’t love what comes next for that stunt.” A tiny voice says from behind her and she turns to look and only gets a glimpse of an itty-bitty little figure of a boy that she somehow hadn’t sensed balancing on the ridge of her tail.

Then the Jorgua is knocked right the hell out and the local police busy themselves and arresting her despite the cells already being cartoonishly full.

“Today just isn’t going to end anytime soon is it?” Chenk asks and Herbert shakes his head before tossing him further ammunition for his Caster Gun.

“No, no it’s not. Best of luck I...” His communicator goes off again and he looks at it. “Hunh... That’s a self sorting problem.”

“What is?”

“Some idiot is in the middle of the former council building and is threatening to blow herself up if they go through their plans to demolish it. With explosives.” Herbert says.

“Legally she has to be stopped.”

“But it’s really tempting not to.” Herbert says before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m off.”

“I’d tell you to kick ass, but there’s just so many right now.” Chenk says in a dramatic tone.

“I KNOW right?” Herbert asks before teleporting away.

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

Everything was falling but nothing was landing. Something had happened to the stabilizers and there was sabotage in the plate. They were falling and not only would the vast majority of the residents die, but the sheer damage it would cause to the nearby spires would...

The world SHIFTS as SOMETHING grabs onto the Axiom and makes it OBEY. Gravity is back, everyone hits the ground and not even the most delicate of glass structures are so much as scuffed. SOMETHING is here, SOMETHING is not amused and whatever that SOMETHING is. It’s just saved billions of lives.

Reality twists and suddenly a gigantic Nagasha is there, a royal hood flaring out and a stern outfit covers her up. It’s nothing less than The Trytite Lady and under her immense will the entire Plate floats back into position. A few moments later a tiny human appears next to her.

“Backups restored ma’am, main engines are coming online and the damage is contained. Thank you for the assistance.” The adorable little man says and she nods. Then reality itself warps in front of her and she slithers through to return order to this chaotic world.

“Damn, they really are the big girls on campus.” Herbert notes to himself before looking to his audience. “And... yeah you just literally found god. God damn.”

Then he’s gone as well as she’s just left staring there.

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

The problem with breaks, is that if you’re in the flow it breaks just that. And when they’re mandated for mental health purposes you don’t get to just ignore them. Even though being forced to sit still while everything was still going completely berserk around you was exactly the kind of thing to drive people insane.

The system still needed work and was erring on the side of doing everything it could to stop The Undaunted from going mad. Which while a nice thing to do, was not the kind of thing needed in the middle of a planetary scale borderline rebellion.

So he’s trying to centre himself a little more and is sitting on top of The Dauntless and takes a few deep breaths before leaning to the side and then flipping off whoever sent that at him even as it deflects off the hull.

The next four seconds are very fast and while his forward charge is ill advised it’s just a distraction as it’s an illusion as he approaches from the side while the opposing force tries to get a bead on him.

“Hello stupid.” He says as he grabs their gun and drop kicks the woman in the face before turning around and breaking the weapon against them as he baseball swings it to slam her into the far wall.

“Fun.” He notes as she charges with a large trytite knife.

First Last

Prev

Standardized Galactic Year: 3186
56 years prior.
Planet: Cetov, core world of the Ranza Domain

“Attention!” A hiss-like roared out.

A unison of “Sir!” was heard in the

Platoon 34-C answered Lieutenant Krewlaz. Privates and senior officers alike proudly wore the Union uniform along with the Ranza Queen’s royal seal.

Krewlaz, a grizzled veteran of the 2nd Ranza-Nivil war. Standing 5’ 9 with rugged gray scaly skin scarred from slashes of Nivilian talons and burn marks left by concentrated plasma fire. His toned body was complemented by his clean and formal dress uniform. His legs and forearms though covered with scars were bulky,muscular and strong from years of jumping , weight training and experience in action. He cut a commanding figure.

The platoon were currently being debriefed of their new deployment in their barracks with Krwelaz in front of a holographic projection of a planet.

“As you know, we are to be deployed in a joint occupation in the highly contested class 5 Neutral Planet of KV-23490 or commonly known as Ligatis.” The Ranza officer informed whilst motioning to the said planet’s projection.

The projection listed the planet’s attributes as well as its geography and features. The planet was that of three major continents, with the standard climate of a class 5 neutral planet. The land was mostly mountainous terrain with steep plains of grasslands, both shown being spots of settlements and colonies.

“This planet you may also know is about 230 light years away which with our FTL drives will be nothing more than a quick jaunt.” The Lieutenant humored garnering a small chuckle from the platoon.

He continues

“Due to the planet’s high platinum abundance as well as the numerous numbers of settlements and attempts of both us and the avian Treindu to claim said planet the Union council have decided to jointly share the planet with the Treindu alongside a third party. Each company of our respective militaries will send each settlement an even number of 4 platoons. We will be deployed alongside platoons 34-A, 34-F and stationed-”Before Krewlaz was able to finish, a plucky young private raised his webbed hand.

With a sigh and a tone of annoyance, Krewlaz called for the private to“Yes private Vopsloff.”

Many of the privates turned to the youthful and painfully average Abzed Vopsloff.

Clearing his throat to prevent a croak, Abzed questioned “What will be the third party sir?”

“That’ll be the newest member of the Union. The terrans I believe.” Krewlaz answered.

This caused some murmurs among the ranks. These were more expressions of surprise and light humor.

Rolling two of his eye Krewlaz croaked a load below causing the platoon to fall into attention again.

“Now.” He asked, narrowing all four of his eyes towards the privates with a wrathful intensity “Though young and new to the Galactic stage may I remind you all that 15 years they assisted us in the liberation of this very core world from the Nivil. As well, with cunning and ruthlessness they were able to evolutionize the very military and societal institutions of the Union.”

The reminder we’re able to make some of the privates look down in shame or begrudgingly accept the fact. Without the Terrrans they would be working in the now outdated cast system of old.

With a smirk and a grunt much like a scolding father the Lieutenant continued. “Good. Now as I was saying we are to be stationed in the settlement of Xatov-11 in sector X11-1 here in the middle continent of KV-23490-B alongside a single Union auxiliary force in platoon 91-N of the Union Medical Crop. That will be all ans may Yesis bless us.”

As the debriefing ended the platoon lined up to march towards the armory.

They marched upon the hard gravel with slick black boots to protect their webbed feet.

“C’mon look lively, Vopsloff!” Ordered Krewlaz marching with them which caused some smug chuckles from the fellow soldiers.

Abzed, though not very distinctly wrong with him he is mocked for his mediocrity. Exactly the average height of a Ranza teen, average strength, average intelligence and average speed and don’t get started with his bland taste in food and music.

Some of his comrades would joke about how he even in full uniform looked like a dull office middle class-man. Though not in malice but rather a sort of encouragement. To live a little and to be adventurous but it seems that exploratory spirit seemed to be nonexistent. All he could do was sigh and move on in his steady space as usual.

As they arrived each got their standard issue ‘79 Molznir lasrifle, model ‘67 Joncer bayonet and a 81’ Adrjed laspistol. They were given the state of the art deflection & force absorption visor and chest plate.

As they were suiting up Abzed still pondered the Terrans. What it was that they did that garnered so much praise and recognition from nearly all of the Union’s member species. It took a bit of thinking but he remembered the many of the mottos of the USTR military branches. Their navy’s insignia proudly bears in galactic standard Let fear beholden to the ferocity of the brave, their army chanted theirs of May the righteous be the champions of liberty and the Air Force carried banners reading The People’s truth shall not falter nor be trampled by tyrants.

“Abzed!” Called out by one his comrades by the exit of the armory

It seemed during his deep thought he were only able to half strap the chest plate to his body.

“Coming!” He cried out as quickly fastened his chest plate and holstered both his pistol and bayonet before flinging his rifle behind him with shoulder straps.

Abzed would then be able to catch up with the rest of his platoon who were marching to the transport cruiser.

As they approached the ramp and orderly entered the ship Abzed would be able to continue his deep thought of the Terrans. Remembering the USTR’s seal

‘Righteous,true and brave’ he thought

After being given and sitting at his assigned seat, Abzed would look upon the cockpit’s window as the cruiser began to hover and prepare to escape the atmosphere.

‘Alright let’s see if you are.’ He thought to himself as the pilots activated the FTL drive.

First | Previous

"It'll be a bloodbath." Captain Mims glared at the holodisplay. The Oluken had made good on their agreement. Less than a day after meeting with High Elder Feeva, they had delivered everything they knew. Warmaster Scathach had opted to review it on the Random Encounter, stating his crew was tired of turning the Priderender's gravity down. Yvian thought she'd be stuck standing on the bridge for the next few hours, but Mims had moved the meeting into the kitchen, citing a need for coffee.

Everything the Oluken knew turned out to be a lot. Wet Sector had been riddled with stations and outposts and hidden sensor relays to keep an eye on the Taa'Oor. The humans had found and destroyed the last one a mere forty eight hours ago. The Captain was looking at the latest scan of the sector. It didn't look good.

"I expected nothing less." Warmaster Scathach kept his usual stoic pose, but there was a hint of emotion as he eyed the scans. Yvian thought he looked... eager. The Vrrl's thoughtful growl sounded almost happy. Certainly more cheerful than she'd seen from the monster before. "It will be a glorious hunt."

"It'll be a goddamned massacre," said Mims. "Look." He pointed at the armada massed around the Gate. Wet Sector only had one Jumpgate. It used to have two, but the humans had destroyed the other one shortly after they arrived. The remaining Gate was surrounded by more ships than Yvian had ever seen in one place. "They've deployed the entire Stockpile. There's nearly two billion ships."

"Unmanned ships," the Warmaster pointed out. "Their limited AI will be easily fooled."

"Yeah," the Captain conceded, "but there's two billion of them. It would take days to blast them out of the sky, and we can't push through them without losing most of our ships."

"And the humans can hit us with their real Military once we're engaged," Scathach nodded slowly. "Or strike elsewhere while our forces are occupied."

"Probably both," said the Captain. "But even that's not the real problem."

"Oh?" Warmaster Scathach raised two of his eyebrows. Yvian suspected he knew what Mims was about to say, but the Vrrl never missed an opportunity to see how the Captain thinks.

"Look at the distancing," Mims pointed at the enemy fleet. "They're all at least ten thousand kilometers from the Gate. Stellar Defense could have squeezed them in a lot closer, had a tighter cordon and less distance for their cannons to cross. There's only one reason they'd be that far out."

"The Lucendian Anti-Tech weapon," Scathach guessed.

"We know they've got one left." Mims zoomed the display in on the Jumpgate. "It'll be behind the Gate, in the middle of a small fleet. Once we engage, the bastards will come around and shut down all our tech. The Peacekeepers will stop flying, and the rest of us will be blind. The Autopilot fleet could turn us into debris by itself at that point, but I'm betting there will be ships with real pilots ready to back them up." He gestured at a readout on the holodisplay. The readout showed two hundred million Federation ships divided into small fleet patrolling the sector. "Only a third of the SDF Military is patrolling the sector. The rest are either hiding behind the Gate or waiting somewhere else."

"Hmm..." The Warmaster hmmed. "They will act to protect the Anti-Tech ship. We will have to engage them without instrumentation."

"It's worse than that," said Mims. "They'll have decoys. Probably hundreds. Without sensors, we'll have no way to know which one's putting out the field." He scowled at the display and sipped his coffee. "Most of the Technocracy's forces are Peacekeeper units. We won't be able to use them until we take it out."

"Leaving the Empire to face the full might of the humans alone." Scathach frowned. "What of your implants? Can you not use those to sense where the last Lucendian is?"

"Not reliably," said Lissa. "If we link with a Lucendian ship we could, but we don't have the Skygem anymore." Yvian felt a pang at the mention of her lost friend.

"The Last Hope is too damaged to maneuver on her own," Scarrend added. He tilted his head. "Though perhaps she is in tact enough to release a Pulse. The Last Hope of Those Who Were Betrayed is far more powerful than Skygem was. A Pulse from her might disable the entire Federation fleet."

"It's worth looking into," Mims agreed. "If she's able, we can jump her into the system and have her do her thing once the Anti-Tech weapon shows up. Shut 'em all down in one go, then drop the Peacekeeper Queens and the Stingers to mop up."

"Are we sure?" asked Yvian. "The Pulse will take out the autopilot ships, but all the humans have to do is manually restart their reactors. They'll only be down for a minute or two."

"That is more than sufficient," said Kilroy. "Peacekeeper units will need a maximum of twelve point three seconds to locate and disable the Anti-Technology vessel."

"Ok, then," said the Captain. "Looks like we've got the start of a plan, at least." He sipped his coffee again. "Yvian, I'm going to have you head back to New Pixa. Talk to the Last Hope. See if she can do it and what she needs. Warmaster Scathach-"

"I will prepare my Hunters for battle." The Warmaster looked extremely pleased.

"Don't get their hopes up too much," Mims advised. "We want the Federation to surrender. Attacking Wet Sector's just a back up plan."

"A back up plan we will need," Scathach assured him. "I have fought the humans many times. They do not surrender."

"Alert," Kilroy interjected. His eyes turned red. "There is a matter that requires attention from the Mothers of Pixa."

"What is it?" asked Lissa.

"The pixens are rioting," the machine informed her.

"Which pixens?" Yvian asked. "Where?"

"All pixens," said the Peacekeeper. "Everywhere."

"What do you mean, all of them?" Lissa asked.

"This unit means all of them," Kilroy told her. "Every station and planet in the Confederation of Worlds with a significant population is experiencing widespread violence. The citizens on New Pixa itself are also rising up and exhibiting destructive behavior. Peacekeeper units are taking non-lethal action to contain the situation on New Pixa, but those citizens still in the Confederation of Worlds are either running unchecked or being brutally repressed."

"The hell?" said the Captain.

"That doesn't make sense," said Yvian. "Why would our people be rioting?"

"This unit believes the citizens are upset because their names have all been removed from the Registry of Families," Kilroy explained.

"The Regist..." Lissa stared at him. "Wait. What?"

The Registry of Families was the database containing the lineage of all living pixens. It had started as a way to prevent inbreeding after Yvian's people had become refugees, but now it held a much more important position. A pixen could only be removed from the Registry by her parents, and to be removed in such a way would make her motherless. Outcast. A motherless pixen was lower than the lowest slaver in the eyes of her people, and would be attacked and killed on sight if she dared interact with another pixen again.

"The entire pixen species has been removed from the Registry of Families," Kilroy repeated. "All pixens are now motherless."

"Gribshit," Lissa denied. "That's impossible. You need a witness and a DNA test to make changes to the Registry. No one could just..." She trailed off, eyes wide.

"A Synthetic Intelligence could," Mims pointed out.

"Or the humans," said Scarrend. "Your Registry is maintained on the Confederation's Nexus Network. It would be a simple matter to circumvent their security." He turned to Kilroy. "When did this happen?"

"Unknown," Kilroy reported. "The removal was discovered four hours, twenty three minutes and seven seconds ago."

"Crunch," Lissa swore. "This can't... Why would anyone...?"

"Lots of reasons," said the Captain. "The Confederation Government would love to get it's hands on New Pixa. The Pleasure Guilds want their favorite species to stop moving here."

"Or it's the humans," Yvian suggested. "We've got their backs to the wall. They could be buying time."

"Sending your entire species into chaos and rebellion would make an excellent diversion," Scathach agreed. "But the timing is suspect. The humans still have four days left before the deadline. An event like this would be more useful to them if they set it in motion later."

"Not necessarily." Mims set down his coffee. "You don't know how big a deal the Registry is. Making a pixen motherless is their equivalent to sending a Vrrl to Histel to be hunted for sport."

"Histel no longer exists," growled the Warmaster. "But I take your meaning. The ultimate dishonor, followed by the most shameful death."

"Exactly." Lissa stepped in. "Deleting the Registry would be bad enough, but deliberately making everyone motherless..." She shook her head. "It could tear our society apart."

"It might be even worse than that," Mims looked down at his cup. The cup was empty. "Whoever did this probably left evidence. Evidence pointing at us."

Yvian gasped at him. "You mean... a frame up?"

"It's what I would do." Mims stood up to get more coffee. "If word got out that the Mothers of Pixa tampered with the Registry..."

"They'd kill us," Yvian understood. "Crunch."

"This unit would prevent your death," Kilroy reassured her.

"Doesn't matter," she told him. "It would be the end of the Technocracy."

"Is there evidence?" Lissa asked. "It's been four hours. You must have investigated."

"Negative," said Kilroy. "Peacekeeper units found no indication of who tampered with the Registry or how it was done."

"Synthetic Intelligence then," said Scarrend. "Anything else would leave traces."

"The Federation could still have done it," The Captain scowled. "But it does rule out the Confed. If the Guilds or the Office of the Unknown did this, they would have definitely made the effort to frame us."

"We have to do something," Yvian decided.

"We can make a statement," said Lissa, "But I don't think it'll do much good." She frowned down at her beer. "Kilroy? Is there a way you could... put the names back? Get everyone on the Registry again?"

"Negative," said the Peacekeeper. "Peacekeeper units made the attempt when it was discovered Yvian Kiver's name had been removed fraudulently. There is no way to undo what has been done."

"Crunch."

"We could make a new Registry," Yvian suggested. "You know, start over?"

"This unit is surprised you made that suggestion," Kilroy said. "Has the Registry of Families not caused you significant harm?"

"Yeah," Yvian admitted. "Yeah, it did. But we've had it for centuries. It's... It's important to people."

"Maybe it doesn't have to be," said Mims. "You're not refugees anymore. Maybe it's time your species moved on."

"It's not that simple," said Lissa. She tried to drink more beer, but her bottle was empty.

"Change never is." Mims got up and pulled a beer out of the fridge. He handed it to Lissa. "It's a painful, unpredictable thing. But your people might be better for it."

"I can't make that decision," Lissa told him. "We can't. It's too big."

"You are the Mothers of Pixa," Kilroy reminded her. "If you cannot make that decision, who can?"

"I don't know." Lissa shook her head. "Can you make a new Registry or not?"

"Negative." Kilroy's eyes flashed purple and blue before going back to red. "While Peacekeeper units did attempt to reinstall Yvian Kiver's name, they have had no other reason to access to the Registry of Families. All pixens within five generations have been removed. Peacekeeper units do not have sufficient information to build a new Registry of Families."

"Shit." Lissa took a long swig of beer. "What are we gonna do?"

Yvian frowned at the Peacekeeper. He was lying. He had to be. The Peacekeepers were insatiably curious. They were also control freaks. There was no way in The Crunch they hadn't looked through the whole Registry at least once.

"First, we need to calm everyone down," said Mims. "You'll have to make some kind of statement. Give a speech, I dunno. Anything we can do to stop the riots. Our people on New Pixa will be fine, but the Confed's gonna start slaughtering people if this keeps up."

"This unit is already taking steps to address the issue," Kilroy informed them. "This conversation has been transmitted to all pixens in real time since this unit gave the alert."

Mims blinked. "You've been what?"

"This unit has been transmitting this conversation to all pixens in real time since it gave the alert," Kilroy repeated.

"Goddamnit, Kilroy!" Mims reached for a console and deactivated the holodisplay. "We've got fucking war plans on display right now."

"This unit has censored out the holodisplay," Kilroy reassured him, "and the Confederation already knows of your alliance with the Vrrl."

"That's not the point," the Captain snapped at him. "Stop fucking recording us without permission."

"No, he's right," said Lissa. "If we want people to know it wasn't us, putting our genuine reactions all over the Nex is a good start."

"We still need to find out who did this," Yvian decided. "I think it was Reba or the humans, but we need to know for sure."

"Our people need someone to blame," Lissa agreed. "It would be better if we could point them at the right person."

"Or thing," said Mims. "My money's on Reba. This is the kind of petty gribshit she gets off on."

"Can we even explain if it's her?" Yvian asked. "She's got the Federation Nexus filtering out all mention of her. I don't see why she wouldn't have done that to the Confed, too."

"One problem at a time," said the Captain. "Kilroy, I want you to assign some units to find out who did this. Get us everything they can in the next forty-eight hours."

"Affirmative," Kilroy agreed.

"I'll start working on a statement," said Lissa. "Yvian, I think I'm gonna need you to write a speech."

"What?" Yvian blinked. "Me?"

"You're the first person the Confed made motherless," her sister pointed out. "You've got a unique perspective."

"But I don't..." Yvian scratched her head. "I'm not really... good... at the speech thing."

"Affirmative," Kilroy agreed. His eyes flashed yellow. "Do not worry, Yvian Kiver. This unit will assist you."

"Crunch." Yvian was gonna need more beer.

"I think the use of this war meeting has ended," Skrell Scathach cut in. "I doubt there is anything the Empire can do for you, but do not hesitate to ask."

"We will," said Lissa. "Thank you, Warmaster."

"We are allies," he reminded her. "Thanks are not necessary." He gave everyone a measured nod. "I will return to the Priderender now. Good day."

Lissa watched him leave the kitchen. Then she stood. "Alright people, let's get to work. Kilroy, you can stop recording now."

"Affirmative." Kilroy's eyes flashed yellow. "Recording ended."

Yvian finished her beer, then squinted at the Peacekeeper. "You already know who tampered with the Registry, don't you?"

"Of course," said Kilroy. "It was this unit."

Lissa choked on her beer. It took several seconds of sputtering and coughing before she could croak, "You!?"

"Affirmative." The machine was calm. "The tradition of motherlessness is harmful to the citizens of New Pixa. All Peacekeeper units agreed that steps should be taken."

Yvian opened her mouth to yell at him. Then she closed it. This was her fault. She was the one who told the Peacekeeper how wrong it was to make someone motherless. She couldn't fault him for taking action. More importantly, now that she thought about it he wasn't wrong. Yvian would never have dared tamper with the Registry herself, but she sure as Crunch wouldn't mourn the damned thing.

"I don't disagree with you Kilroy," Mims stepped in, "but you don't really think this is going to change things overnight, do you?"

"Negative," the machine admitted. "It will take decades or centuries to remove the traditions of the Registry of Families from pixen society. This was merely a necessary first step."

"You shouldn't have done that," said Lissa. "You should have talked to us, first."

"No the fuck he shouldn't," said Mims. "You ever hear of plausible deniability?"

While the others were talking, Yvian finished her beer and made a decision. She stood up and walked over to Kilroy, stopping just within arms reach. She stared into his glowing red eyes. Her own eyes watered.

Seconds passed. The room fell silent. Kilroy stared back, the red glow slowly fading from his gaze. This man, this machine... Yvian knew what it was to be loved. Her sister loved her. Mims loved her. Even Scarrend cared, though he'd never admitted it. But this... What Kilroy had done for her... First with Yasme, and now this...

A sob escaped her. Yvian dove at the machine, wrapping her arms around him. Clutching at his heavy Peacekeeper suit, pressing herself against the unyielding metal of his chassis. It was like hugging a statue, at first. Then Kilroy did something she never expected. He hugged her back. Gently, carefully, arms that could toss a voidship wrapped around her. Yvian cried, held by the machine.

"Thank you," she blubbered. "Thank you. I love you, Kilroy."

"This unit loves you too," the machine murmured, "Mother Yvian."

< Previous | First | Next >

Humanity’s twisted Gods

Chapter one – New Blood

Part 5 – Status quo

Messenger: “OH GREAT GODS OF HUMANITY! I HAVE COME WITH A MESSAGE FROM THE DIVINE COUNCIL!”

Hunger laid there, the only sign of any life still left in him the slow rise and fall of the blanket, that was almost falling off him. Death could be heard breathing slowly, and Victory, who was leaning against Death, snored silently. The main reason as to why the messenger had to scream at the very top of his poor mortal lungs was Conflict, who caused the very table he was laying on to rumble from the sound produced by his body.

The messenger took a breath and pulled out a sound amplifier: “OH GREAT GODS OF HUMANITY! I HAVE COME WITH A MESSAGE FROM THE DIVINE COUNCIL!”

Death: “…huh?”

Victory: “zzz…hm? wait. Wait WAIT WAIT! DEATH!”

The resulting crash from Victory losing his support of the rising Death prompted Hunger to turn and pull a couch pillow over his head.

Death: “what…time…yawn…is it?”

Victory: “Hold on…four twenty-three. Who the fuck wakes someone at half past four?”

Messenger: “The divine council demands your presence.”

Victory: “The council? What the hell do they want? Did something happen? Why did they call us out of the blue?”

Messenger: “While I do not know and don’t ask questions as it isn’t my place to do so, I think I overheard something along the lines of you not following up on a meeting scheduled for today.”

Victory: “I don’t know of a meeting. Do you?”

Death: “yawn…no…damn, my head…”

Victory: “Conflict?”

Conflict: “Hm…what?”

As Conflict rose, the table creaked from the release of lifting the heavy burden.

Victory: “Do you know of any meeting with the council?”

Conflict: “No. Don’t really have the time either. Gota prepare for tomorrows meetings.”

Victory: “Is it urgent?”

Messenger: “It is always urgent.”

Victory: “I mean from a Gods perspective.”

Messenger: “Always.”

Victory: “I see. Well, I hope that deity-link thingy has video call functions.”

Victory: “So…yawn…what is this all about?”

Victory was everything that the council currently wasn’t. Tired, underdressed, unprepared, bed hair like only a god could have, over all, a mess.

Narmonta, Goddess of messages: “You seem quite tired. Are you alright?”

Victory: “You woke us up on a free day after heavy consummation of alcohol at a time that no sane human would get up at for a meeting we had no idea about and then had me come over to the council because not even your messenger has an idea how to operate the deity-link’s totally ‘user-friendly’ interface. You tell me.”

Litru’shano, God of tactics: “No idea? NO IDEA? WE SENT YOU A DEITY-LINK MESSAGE THREE WEEKS AGO! WITH THE EXACT DATE AND TIME! AND YOU SHOW UP ALONE!”

Victory: “Listen, listen. First of all, quiet down. As I said, we consumed large amounts of alcohol yesterday in celebration of our return to our people, leading to me having the mother of all hangovers, it is six in the morning on one of our sparce few free days, and I didn’t have breakfast yet. We let Hunger go back to sleep, Death is prepping for the day to the best of his currently somewhat inhibited abilities, and Conflict is the only one in an OK state, but too busy prepping for tomorrow’s meetings, that have all been scheduled at least three weeks prior. So, you unfortunately will have to make do with our best diplomat and most competent politician. I am already pissed of enough because you woke me up to this meeting out of the blue so early, I do not need a booster for my headache too.”

Mikrula, God of war: “Tomorrows meetings? He won’t be getting into any meetings once I’m through with him.

Victory: “Oh, you don’t know yet? He got a stand-in.”

Mikrula: “A stand-in? How did he get a stand-in so fast? And when?”

Victory: “About 4 million years ago. One of our former enemies.”

Mikrula: “Who?”

Victory: “Loki.”

Mikrula: “Loki? LOKI? HE SENDS THAT HARMLESS TINKERER TO FIGHT ME?

Victory was audibly drinking from a thermos flask.

Victory: slurp “Hm? Harmless? Oh, yeah, I forgot you people don’t know much of our past.”

Isolutia, God of peace: “And what exactly do you mean by that? While I understand that Loki has lost a war against you and your brothers, which does make him an acceptable stand-in for Conflict according to our laws, he is still, and I say this without any disrespect intended, just a god of craftsmanship who has not fought anyone other than you.”

Victory: “We know Loki by many names. But be assured, among the many things the torturer of Asgard was known for is also his diligent retention of skill. This former god of pain might be a little rusty but most certainly still is a very skilled fighter.”

Mikrula: “LOKI? THAT WEAKLING GOD OF CRAFTSMANSHIP? A GOD OF PAIN?”

Victory: “Quiet down, please! And yes, he was indeed a god of pain. He was luckier than his family though. Literally. His escape from Conflict was nothing but sheer luck. Gave him enough time to change his way and earn our pardon.”

Mikrula: “LIKE HELL ANY PART OF THAT STORY IS TRUE! I KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT LOKI! HE IS A HARMLESS LITTLE TINKERER, NOT SOME SADISTIC KILLER!”

Victory: “Please, stop screaming. Seriously, what is wrong with you? Ah, who cares. Anyways, consi…”

Mikrula: “HEY, DON’T IGNORE ME! WE AREN’T DONE TALKING YET!”

Victory: “Can someone please tape his mouth shut so we can get to the important business? Since there seem to be more than just the council Gods present, this meeting is probably supposed to be of some importance. Why did you call us?”

Litru’shano: “We need to properly designate your serving species and you as well. While we did already classify your species, we did not do so with the knowledge of human history, and without you. Usually, a designation is given by the federation with the support of the Gods. Since we originally thought humanity doesn’t have Gods, as we never met them despite first contact, we left the designation entirely to the federation. But now, we know more about humanity and their Gods have revealed themselves to us. We believe that humanity might have been incorrectly designated by us. As for you, should the tales about your birth be true, then we have not yet encountered Gods like you and as such we don’t have a proper designation yet. So, we came to the conclusion, that it is time to give both of you an official and proper designation.”

Victory: “And that couldn’t have waited for a more opportune time? You couldn’t inform us beforehand so we could have secluded a proper meeting? Is it a truly critical mater?”

Litru’shano: “Inform you before…WE DID INFORM YOU! VIA THE DEITY-LINK, YOU IMBECILE!”

Victory: “Ouch. Quiet down, please! And for your information, we have been very busy dealing with informing humanity’s former tyrants about our intentions, reconnecting with our people, and our normal divine duties. Do you honestly think, we have had the time to even look into the workings of your over glorified e-mail system? We don’t even fully understand how to properly access it yet, and no, your lacklustre explanation did not help in the slightest! We had more important business to attend to! Not to mention that you could have checked in with us if we received your message! I’d love to indulge you, but with a schedule as tight as ours, these few free days become too valuable to waste on poorly prepared meetings and rude, inconsiderate behaviour! If you still haven’t noticed, I am not in the best condition right now and your incessant screaming is causing actual pain! If you want to, we can properly schedule a meeting for this purpose now.”

Litru’shano: “THIS IS OF VERY HIGH IMPORTANCE! WE DEMAND…”

Victory: “Can you PLEASE be quieter? Please? Seriously, I thought you were more tactful than a god of war. And what you demand doesn’t matter to me if you can’t properly schedule meetings! Even less so if you can’t treat us with respect or consideration! If you want to classify our species so desperately, actually schedule a meeting with us properly NOW, instead of sending a messenger to rudely wake us on our FREE DAY!”

Litru’shano: “You…you…you…”

Victory: “Well, are you going to take my offer?”

Litru’shano: “YOU INSOLENT DISRESPECTFUL CUR!”

Victory: “Oh, so that’s what it’s like. Very well, GOOD DAY!”

-slam-

Victory: “Ow, why did I have to slam the door?”

Litru’shano: “This…this…THIS…”

Isolutia: “Please calm down. We can’t be hasty.”

Litru’shano: “He disrespected the entire council!”

Narmonta: “You also disrespected him. And he is new. They aren’t fully aware of the workings of the council yet. Still, I can’t stop feeling like some of the points he made are valid…”

Litru’shano: “IT DOESN’T MATTER IF THEY ARE NEW OR NOT! WE ARE THE COUNCIL! WE ARE TO BE RESPECTED!”

Narmonta: “Technically speaking, they are also the council. They have been introduced and have their own thrones. They are equal to us.”

Litru’shano: “BUT…”

Narmonta: “But what? This all went down the drain so quickly because a certain someone forgot that communication is a two-way road that is built on respect. He was in the right! We should have asked for a confirmation. And you should have been more self-controlled! Screaming at him was already rude enough normally, but considering what state he was in? Doubly so!”

Krina’larun’mtru, Goddess of joy: “Can we change the topic? Perhaps we can discuss this issue at another time when our minds are settled.”

Litru’shano: “Oh no, we are settling it now!”

Varqueslio, God of greed: “It seems the council gods are in disagreement.”

Brl’naklara, Goddess of war: “Impressive. I didn’t think those human Gods could cause such problems in such short time.”

Grinulma, God of envy: “I wonder what other tricks they have up their sleeve…”

Normunalo’lemado, God of love: “I only hope they don’t start anything terrible. I already have enough with listening to the present Gods of war.”

Mikrula: “Can you believe he is sending Loki to fight me? Loki? Of all the Gods out there? The gall! I wanted to bash Conflict’s face in, not Loki’s’. Now this will be even less of a challenge than expected!”

Normunalo’lemado: “Why is your only solution always to fight?”

Mikrula: “Because…”

Normunalo’lemado: “Rhetorical question! Rhetorical question!”

Conflict: “Quintala? I am here.”

Quintala, Goddess of life: “Oh. Great. You are here.”

Conflict: “Did...I do something wrong?”

Quintala: “How did you figure that out?”

Conflict: “You sound rather unhappy o see me.”

Quintala: “Oh no, how could that be?”

Conflict: “Sarcasm. Great. Like I don’t get enough of that back home. Seriously, what did I do?”

Quintala: “Loki. Does that ring any bells?”

Conflict: “Loki? What about him? Don’t tell me you’re jealous that you aren’t the only non-human god I spend time with. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Quintala: “YOU SENT LOKI TO HIS DEATH!”

Conflict: “No I haven’t. The official duels aren’t to the death.”

Quintala: “WITH HOW CLOSE TO IT HE’LL BE IT MIGHT AS WELL BE!”

Conflict: “Well, no, that’s very unlikely. Loki is a cunning and tricky fighter. If anything, Mikrular is at a severe disadvantage, as he isn’t used to opponents that doge, weave, and place traps at any given chance. His straightforward way of fighting is based on brute force and one hit ending blows and has not seen any need to change in ages. His way of combat is stagnant and rusty. Devastating, yes, but only if you can land a hit. Loki on the other hand doesn’t hit hard, but he hits. Often. In fact, I hope for Mikrulas’ sake, that Loki actually follows my orders.”

Quintala: “HOW SHOULD LOKI DEFEAT MIKRULA? HE IS A GOD OF CRAFTSMANSHIP, PITTED AGAINST A GOD OF WAR! I KNOW HIM, HE IS NOT A FIGHTER!”

Conflict: “In all honesty, I can either let you continue on believing that, or tell you what Loki used to be like until we came. The question is whether you want to continue viewing Loki as a kind and merciful soul that would never harm a fly or if you want the truth.”

Quintala: “The truth? What truth?”

Conflict: “The truth about Loki. Who he was. What hides within him. How he got his nicknames.”

Quintala: “Nicknames? You don’t mean to tell me that artisan of pain is a real nickname for him?”

Conflict: “Or dread warden, or torturer of Asgard, or stalker of Helheim. His nicknames. Did he never tell anyone his nicknames?

Quintala: “Now you must be joking! This is no time for jokes! Loki is probably getting crushed right now!”

Conflict: “I highly doubt it. As I said, he is a tricky fighter. And a former warden of the penal fortress Helheim, Asgards old prison and information gathering facility…hold on, I think I am getting a call.”

Quintala: “A call? From what? And from who?”

Conflict: “Well, going by the feeling it must be Loki. Seriously, this call rune is all sorts of weird I tell you.”

Quintala: “LOKI GAVE YOU A CALL RUNE?”

Conflict: “Yes, Loki? You didn’t torture him, right? What do you mean, ‘not yet’? I am fairly certain I instructed you to neither bring unnecessary harm to nor torture him, and you know I don’t give a shit that he insulted me. What do you mean he brought mortals? … HE BROUGHT MORTALS? TO A DUEL? HE WANTED INTERSPECIES WAR OVER AN INSIGNIFICANT DISPUTE?”

Quintala: “Conflict?”

Conflict: “Looks like I am messing up my schedule today after all.”

Loki: “Conflict?”

Conflict: “Over here.”

Loki: “I brought Mikrula as requested. To be honest, I expected more of a fight from a God of war.”

Conflict: “Good, good. So, Loki, one question. Is Leviathan still without a species to guide?”

Loki: “Yes, why?”

Conflict: “Because this idiot right there is the only God of his subjects, and since he wanted to take innocent lives over his own pettiness, I am not so sure he will leave this emergency meeting I am calling alive. Could you please go inform Leviathan that there is a species that might be about to lose their God and needs guidance?”

Loki: “Certainly. But shouldn’t we punish him first?”

Conflict: “Oh, don’t you worry about that. You just go tell Leviathan while I handle the bureaucracy.”

Loki: “But…you said something about an emergency meeting. Shouldn’t I be here for that? And why didn’t I get a notice for one?”

Conflict: “Because the topic of said meeting is of no concern to any of the survivors of our war, as you are either already well aware of the things I am about to discuss or are guaranteed to never make the mistakes that would require you to be present. Again, that is.”

Loki: “Still, I…”

<Conflict gently puts a hand on Loki’s shoulder.>

Conflict: “Look, Loki. First of all, time is an important resource, especially for divine beings. It is our duty to aid our species, to guide and protect as needed, to comfort, to assist. That duty is sacred and of utmost importance. It leaves very little spare free time. You shouldn’t waste that valuable resource on a meeting that doesn’t even concern you in the slightest.”

Loki: “But…”

Conflict: “And secondly, I am a busy God and I do not have a lot of time. This little debacle right now is already messing up my schedule terribly. I need you to get to Leviathan as soon as possible, as I do not have the time, nor the means to inform him myself.”

Loki: “How so?”

Conflict: “Leviathan is too scared of the four of us. No matter how we approach him, he runs off the first chance he gets. Furthermore, he doesn’t believe himself to be a proper and good God, because of his failures with humanity, but I know otherwise. He was one of the kinder Gods we had, which is why we did not hunt him down like the others. Unfortunately, he won’t listen to us, but he might listen to you. So, please go tell him now.”

Loki: “Okay, I’ll go…”

Krina’larun’mtru: “This was rather unexpected. So, Conflict, what is this…BY ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY!”

Krina’larun’mtru noticed the blood dripping onto Mikrulas’ council throne. What she saw above said throne froze the blood in her veins.

Krina’larun’mtru: “WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?”

Conflict: “The consequences of his actions.”

Krina’larun’mtru: “DID YOU DO THAT?”

Conflict only smiled.

Krina’larun’mtru: “BUT…BUT WHY?”

Conflict: “He made a brutal mistake. One that we will discuss once everyone has assembled.”

Krina’larun’mtru: “WE…WE HAVE TO GET HIM DOWN!”

Conflict: “Oh, no worries. I’ll make sure he gets down once the meeting is over.”

Krina’larun’mtru: “HE IS SUFFERING! DYING!”

Conflict: “And?”

Krina’larun’mtru: “THAT’S ENOUGH! I AM GETTING HIM DOWN!”

Conflict: “Are you sure about that?”

Krina’larun’mtru: “WHAT?”

Krina’larun’mtru turned to look at Conflict, who was still sitting on his throne, smiling as if nothing was out of the ordinary on a sunny day.

Conflict: “As I said, Mikrula will get down from there, AFTER the meeting. I’ll make SURE of it.”

Krina’larun’mtru: “You would hinder me from getting him down?”

Conflict: “I’d make sure you can’t.”

Krina’larun’mtru took a good look at Conflict. His eyes showed only a neutral disposition, but his entire body spoke of something else. To the unobservant eye, he looked relaxed, but having constant dealings with Gods of war as a council Goddess has taught Krina’larun’mtru well. She could see that he was primed like a spring. He was waiting. Waiting for her. He was ready to ambush her if she were to make one wrong move. And then she saw the tool belt haphazardly thrown over the back of Conflicts’ throne, containing multiple bloodied tools.

Krina’larun’mtru: “You…you…you wouldn’t.”

Conflict just smiled and gestured to her throne.

Conflict: “You should take your seat. I’m sure the rest will be here shortly.”

Narmonta was usually not as fast with distributing messages as she was with this one. Usually, she would check the urgency twice, and check if she was sending the message to the correct people. This time however, she had a full comprehensive list ready from the previous message, and no reason to check the urgency.

Narmonta: “Everyone is here now. The meeting can begin.”

Conflict: “Wonderful. Now, I know this was unexpected, and a bit on short notice, but rest assured, it is of upmost urgency. Now then, the reason as to why…”

Litru’shano: “STOP WASTING TIME! SOMEONE IS DYING RIGHT NOW!”

Conflict: “If you would be so polite as to not interrupt me, I could explain without delay.”

Litru’shano: “STOP PLAYING AROUND AND TELL US ALREADY!”

Conflict: “There is no reason for you to be so rude! Need I remind you, that most problems you had with us so far have been entirely your fault to begin with?”

Normunalo’lemado: “BOTH OF YOU, JUST STOP! MIKRULA IS DYING! JUST GET THIS OVER WITH, PLEASE!”

Conflict: “Now then, as I was saying, the reason as to why I called this meeting, was something I didn’t expect to be the norm. Something, that I just can’t accept as the norm. What I am talking about, is nothing other than…”

Litru’shano: “OH FOR FUCKS SAKE JUST TELL US ALREADY!”

Conflict: “Once again, rude. Why do you keep interrupting me? What exactly have I done to YOU in particular that could motivate such behaviour?”

Litru’shano: “YOU DARE ASK THAT QUESTION? DO YOU…”

Athzurko, God of war: “SHUT UP! CAN’T YOU SEE HIS SMILE?”

Litru’shano: “WHAT?”

Athzurko: “YOU ARE PLAYING INTO HIS HANDS! YOU ARE HELPING HIM!”

Litru’shano: “HOW?”

Athzurko: “HE PLANTED REMOTE EXPLOSIVES ONTO MIKRULAS’ HEAD SO WE CAN’T RUSH HIM WITHOUT KILLING MIKRULA AND YOU HONESTLY ASK WHY HE STOPS HIS EXPLANATION AT YOUR INTERRUPTIONS? HE WANTS MIKRULA TO SUFFER, AND POSSIBLY DIE! HE INTENTIONALLY WASTES TIME! THE MORE YOU INTERRUPT HIM, THE MORE YOU AID HIM! SO, SHUT UP!”

Litru’shano: “…”

Conflict: “Now then, have we all settled down? May I continue WITHOUT interruptions? Good. Now then, where was I? Ah, yes. You all apparently have accepted it as the norm, that mortals are your expendable slaves that you can use for whatever it pleases you. Mikrula, for example, decided to bring mortals into the duel between us, as Loki can attest for.”

Lo’munato, God of curiosity: “Loki? Why Loki?”

Conflict: “Ah, I’m glad you ask. You see, Loki was my stand-in for the fight. As per council rules, a stand in must be someone I had once beaten in combat, and since Loki not only has recently decided to interact with us on a more friendly basis, but also to support me in particular thanks to what I would consider a very basic deed, driven by duty rather than kindness, he offered himself rather fast. Do you want me to go into detail on that?”

Lo’munato: “I…”

Litru’shano: “NO! No, I believe that can wait for another time. You were saying?”

Conflict: “Pity. Anyways, you see, I strongly support the view that mortals are not our playthings. They are living people and should be treated as such. They are not your cannon fodder, they are not your coffee-cup-holder, they are people. Living their lives. Theirs may be shorter than yours, but not less important in any way.”

Varqueslio, God of greed: “Oh really? We are Gods. We are irreplaceable for our people.”

Conflict: “Quite the contrary. As I fully expect Mikrula to die here, I already made the necessary arrangements to replace him for his people. Leviathan should make a far more suitable God to lead his people.”

Varqueslio: “Leviathan? That paranoid snake? Preposterous!”

Conflict’s eyes grew cold. The sadistic joy slipped from his face to make room for different expressions. Disgust and hate.

Varqueslio: “Why so silent Conflict? Snake got your tongue?”

Conflict: “YOU HAVE A LOT OF GUTS CALLING THE GREAT SERPENT A PARANOID SNAKE IN MY PRESENCE YOU DISGRACEFUL NAUSEATING SORRY EXCUSE FOR A WANNABE GOD.”

Silence fell over the council. Conflicts voice had changed. It was a voice that until this day none of the council would have thought could come from someone as comparatively carefree and kind as Conflict. It was a voice truly befitting of a god of war, a voice many gods of war thought they had and only now realized they don’t. It bellowed out as if over a million warriors had declared a battle as started and oozed with hate and bloodlust so hot, that it could empower and strengthen a mortal soul and burned in the eyes of the present Gods.

Conflict: “I’m…no, that would be a lie. I’m not sorry. As you might have guessed, Leviathan holds somewhat of a sweet spot in my heart. He was the only, truly benevolent God to have graced earth with his presence, and I just can’t have him be insulted by some greedy, foul, PUS-FILLED BILE SACK THAT THINKS IT’S OKAY TO HAVE HIS SUBJECTS CLEAN UNDER HIS FATTY FLAPS!”

Shock and disgust filled the eyes of the present Gods.

Conflict: “Yes, I know. And if you think that is the only secret I know, rest assured, it is not. The secrets of your temples are open books to us. And I mean all your temples! From everyone present! I know many more disgusting secrets from many of the present Gods! Secrets you wish hidden from the council! Your security is lacking! Know this! We know of your sins! We are ready to act! And we value mortal lives! So, I recommend that you think carefully, what you ask of your species, especially if one of us is present! Especially when you have business with us! Unless of course you wish to share a certain God’s fate. I wish you all a good day, and I think we can all agree, that this meeting was very enlightening. Well, I think that should be all. I declare this meeting as…what time is it…anyone up for coffee? Anyone? No? Okay, suit yourselves. Anyways, I think we can all agree this meeting is over. Good day.”

The council exploded with movement as the many Gods rushed to get Mikrula down from the ceiling.

Conflict: “I urge caution for all of you, rushing your hands could cause more damage. Goodbye.”

Quarian, Goddess of Motherhood: “And that…is the beast that touched my daughter?”

Merlaquar, God of Fatherhood: “I swear, if he touches her again, I’ll…”

Naronquil, God of harvest: “You’ll what? You see what he has done to Mikrula! And keep in mind, he didn’t fight Mikrula personally, he called Loki as a stand in! Loki! What exactly do you think we could do? Call the council? He played the council! Like a cheap, second hand nariloma! And there are three more of them!”

Merlaquar: “…”

Quarian: “Quintala, promise me something. Promise me you won’t…”

Quintala: “Mother, I already know, but I can’t. Something is off about all of this. I have met Conflict expecting another assertive God of war that thinks he can enslave me, and instead met one of the kindest people outside of our small circle. And now, I met a monster, worse than any God of pain I had the displeasure of meeting. Then there is the fact that Loki was not only Conflict’s stand-in, but successfully so. Not to mention that this entire situation also makes Conflict’s claim that Loki is a former god of pain more likely. And all of that only brings more questions about the past of humanity and the gods that apparently survived it. There are too many questions left unanswered. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Quarian: “Quintala, daughter, you can’t be serious! You have seen and heard him, didn’t you? Besides the things he has done here, he also pitted Loki against Mikrula! Loki! Do you honestly think, Loki would willingly fight someone, let alone a God of war, for someone else? And for him to be a god of pain? How is any of that supposed to make sense?!”

Quintala: “It does sound strange, and I do not know his reasons, but I do know one thing that is fact. Loki gave Conflict a call rune.”

Quarian: “He WHAT?”

Quintala: “Loki gave Conflict a call rune. An actual, fully functional call rune. There are many things Loki probably would do when threatened by a God of war. But to give away a call rune?”

Merlaquar: “Why would Loki give Conflict of all people a call rune? Why? It doesn’t make sense. If we go by the tales of the first occurrence of the human Gods, Loki would be more inclined to be Conflicts enemy. And if those tales are lies, then Loki wouldn’t be too familiar with Conflict, at least nowhere near familiar enough to even just sell him a call rune, let alone just give. It doesn’t make sense.”

Quintala: “And that is exactly why I can’t stop interacting with him. There is too much left unanswered. I must learn more.”

As Conflict walked through the great doors of the council, he saw someone he didn’t want to see. Someone he didn’t want to see what he had done. Someone who was now starting to cry in front of him.

Conflict: “Loki.”

Conflict stepped closer, crouching down.

Conflict: “I told you this was no meeting that you should concern yourself with. Why did you have to come here again.”

Loki recoiled as Conflict moved in to embraced him.

Conflict: “Shhhhh, it’s okay, I am not going to hurt you.”

Loki still hesitated but didn’t move away this time as Conflict slowly moved closer and wrapped his arms gently around Loki.

Conflict: “It’s alright, you can cry as much as you need to. I won’t hurt you. You are not in any danger.”

And like that, Loki started crying. His tears drenched Conflicts clothes as if he was in the middle of a rainstorm.

Conflict: “You saw him, didn’t you? You saw the technique I used.”

Loki: “Y…yes…”

Conflict: “Loki, I am so sorry. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to relive those moments.”

Loki: “WHY?”

Conflict: “I…I had to. Back then, it was a…”

Loki: “THAT IS NOT IT! I KNOW ABOUT THEN! I WAS THERE! YOU WEREN’T THE ONLY ONES WITH TIME TO THINK! IT’S LIKE YOU SAID! THE WAR WAS JUST ABOUT FIGHTING FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVED IN! WE ALL LOST PEOPLE WE LOVED IN THAT WAR! YOU HAD ALL THE RIGHTS TO KILL MY FAMILY, JUST AS WE HAD ALL THE RIGHTS TO KILL YOU! BUT WHY DOES IT STILL HURT?”

Conflict: “The…loss?”

Loki: “YES! I HAVE SPENT SO MUCH TIME REFLECTING, REMEMBERING, MAKING PEACE WITH WHAT HAPPENED! SO WHY DOES IT STILL HURT?”

Conflict: “Because loss always hurts. No matter if your family was good or evil, loss is connected to how you remember the people you lost, and your memories of your family are predominantly good. You miss them. To you, they were kind and loving. Even though you have had time to think back, to make peace, and to accept the truth, loss always hurts. You can suppress the hate you have for the one who took them from you, given the right reason, even forgive them. But the pain, that never goes away. And nothing reminds us of our loss as brutally as a reminder of the way we lost them. I am so, so sorry.”

Loki: “Don’t be. You tried to keep me from it. I only have one question. Why this technique?”

Conflict: “Because it brings a great amount of pain in a short amount of time when properly prepared. During the time you delivered Mikrula to me, I prepared what I needed. It is not the fastest torture technique, but it balances the amount of pain that can be done in a short amount of time very well.”

Loki: “Is that why you killed my father with it too?”

Conflict: “Yes.”

Loki: “So, is it the worst torture technique you know?”

Conflict: “Far from it. Mikrula would have deserved worse, but I don’t have the time, and he wasn’t worth it.”

Loki: “And my father?”

Conflict: “I still question myself if I was to cruel to him.”

Loki: “Thank you.”

Conflict: “For what?”

Loki: “Being so honest and caring, even after everything I have done to your people.”

Conflict: “You changed.”

Loki: “You are one of the very few Gods that would care.”

Conflict: “That is even more disappointing than the respecting the dead thing.”

Loki: “I know. That is why you have my servitude.”

Conflict: “Oh for the love of…”

Narmonta: “Are you out of your mind? After what he did to Mikrula? We aren’t even sure if we can save him! And you still want to learn more about those beasts?”

Quintala: “When I first met Conflict, he broke the status quo of Gods of war by being kind and respectful towards me. During the meeting, he broke the status quo by being a worse monster than any God of pain I know of ever was. And now, I have seen him comfort Loki and help him through trauma that HE has caused! And he did so as if he was the kindest father in existence! And just as it was when he introduced himself to me, it was too genuine to be acting! I have seen the respectful and kind man, the atrocious and cruel monster, and the kind caring father! I need to know! I need to find out just who he is! And if his brothers are anything like him, I need to find out who they are, and I need to find out who their former victims are!”

Narmonta: “You cannot be serious! From what I can tell, that is far too dangerous of an endeavour for us council Gods, let alone a paradiseworld Goddess of life!”

Quintala: “I don’t need words of caution, I NEED ANSWERS!”

< Previous | First | Next >

Author’s note: wow, that had to be my WORST writer’s block yet. Then again, I hear stories of people who can’t get over their block for months, so I guess I should be glad that hasn’t happened to me yet. Anyway, I sincerely apologize for making you wait and thank you for showing patience.

And no, the first paragraph is NOT a play on the delay, I’m literally only realizing the parallel as I’m uploading this xD

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Book 1 - Wiki - Patreon - Royal Road

First

Previous

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86th day after my arrival

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Dear Diary,

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it’s been a while since I last wrote. To be honest, it’s hard to wrap my head around how much time has passed since then. When I looked at the number on my last entry, I needed to ask Mhita to check the date for me because I was convinced there had to be a mistake. But no. It has indeed been an entire month. More than that when considering the longer days here. How can an entire month with nothing

Sil isn’t in the palace today. Neither are the siblings, they’re accompanying her. I was offered to come as well, but I refused. The two seemed rather disappointed that I didn’t come with them. A bit strange, I don’t feel like we’re THAT close yet. Or am I reading the signs wrong? Maybe Vanaery nobility is just

Either way, I just couldn’t bring myself to go. They’re holding the trial for all the spies who worked for Kykla’s goon and who got caught during the crackdown. Since it involved a foreign power, Sil once again has to be the judge.

It’s strange that the Vanaery don’t have dedicated judges. A verdict can be made by any noble who is of higher rank than the involved parties unless that’s impossible. Well, I guess all nobles have to know the law. Still, it seems strange. But maybe that’s just because I’ve only seen court cases of the highest order here.

Going by what Sil told me, it’s mostly a formality this time and the result is more or less decided already. They’re all charged with treason, and Vanaery law doesn’t seem to know any extenuating circumstances for that. Not even if they acted under threat. In other words, there isn’t really a scenario where this won’t end in a mass execution. I know she’s just doing her job, Sil doesn’t make the rules (yet), but being right there when she does it…

I just can’t.

I wonder if they’d do it differently if it weren’t only “commoners” who

But for the two, this is probably great. They’re being publicly seen with the princess, which is prob should be something good. I assume. I guess I never really

Maybe I have a too narrow view on

Well, my personal bias aside, they deserve it. I don’t know how much of an outlier they are compared to other noble children, but if this ends up causing a stir-up but after helping oversee them, I don’t think they are like what I heard about most.

The highest rank seem to have those the translator translates as “Duke”. It sounds like they can cause a lot of trouble for Sil if they don’t see eye to eye with her. That’s also the title Reiykin will inherit if I remember correctly. Wouldn’t that mean he could end up being a powerful ally to her?

Well, not like anyone seems to believe that at the moment. I really need to start looking into some of my newer ideas. For example, the translator reads intent. Shouldn’t that be compatible with some form of speech-to-text? I really need to talk with some experts. Not just because of that, but after Sil’s offer

IF I were to stay on this planet, training alone probably couldn’t compensate for the lower gravity. Maybe the effects on my body are already irreversible Maybe I should’ve done that sooner. They HAVE artificial gravity tech, so this should be doable, right?

Speaking of, Sil also said I would be getting a ship, crew and everything. With it, maybe I could go by myself and look I still don’t know how should feel about this whole award ceremony. While everyone was gone, I spent most of the day trying to draw our crest as detailed as possible. They don’t have colored pencils here, so it was a bit tricky. I hope it’ll look good in the end. Funny, I never really cared much about it outside of thinking it was cool that we had it, but now

​

​

UPDATE!!! Still the 82nd day after my arrival

​

Dear Diary,

​

it happened! Mhita told me they just got a message. Sil’s uncle is apparently on the way back and sent one fast ship ahead. They just left the hyperlane and will be here tomorrow, much quicker than expected! With the info they bring, we’ll finally able to send the expedition force on their way. I hope they already found something

Now that I think about it, I haven’t heard from Doc in a while now. I wonder if she found anything new.

​

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Over the course of the last couple of days, Falpiyne’s view of the princess had shifted a bit. She was, of course, still a figure that demanded respect, but the more time she had spent in close proximity to her, the more she realized that Her Highness wasn’t someone she needed to fear without reason. She wouldn’t be able to properly put it into words if asked, but while her respect had only grown, the Silpiyne Heiress no longer felt as intimidated in her presence as she used to.

Today, the princess had taken her and her brother with her for a mass trial. Falpiyne had heard about these spies before during the trial of the ambassador - even if that hadn’t been part of the section she and Reiykin had watched over and over - but the situation had turned out to be vastly different than she had expected. The people on trial didn’t act at all like what she had expected traitors to be. Some had tried to talk their way out of it despite the evidence, some pleaded for mercy, and some openly admitted it, apologized, and seemed almost… relieved? It hardly fit the image.

Of course, the outcome didn’t change for either of them. Treason was treason. The executions were conducted right afterward, with no delay as no appeal time was granted. The two of them hadn’t been present for that part. Instead, the steward gave them a lesson about all the paperwork that came with such a trial as well as some pieces of it to work on.

By the time the group sat in the shuttle back to the Star Palace, the day was already about to end. Currently, they all sat there in silence while the princess looked at her datapad, checking the work the two had done in the trial’s aftermath.

“Decent,” she eventually commented. “Lady Falpiyne, you made some minor formality errors, but nothing big. That’s something that’ll come with experience. Lord Reiykin, your work was… less satisfactory.”

Falpiyne could see her brother tense, and she herself, even though she wasn’t the one criticized, shared the feeling. The displeasure in Her Highness’s voice was audible. What had he done wrong? As far as she recalled, he had gotten a lot of praise in his previous tasks at the palace.

“Wh-what is wrong about it, Y-Your Highness,” he asked in a panicked voice.

“Multiple things. For example, stating that some got sentenced on testimony alone isn’t exactly accurate considering the evidence we had on top of that. Calling the list unverified is also untrue.”

“I-I never dictated those things!” he desperately pleaded.

“I know, but it’s written here nonetheless. Because I told the servant to try and sabotage you.”

Falpiyne’s brain needed a while to catch up with the last sentence and even then, she was sure she had misheard. Her brother couldn’t even close his mouth, only staring in disbelief.

“Your work isn’t lost, don’t worry, he also made a correct version. But imagine you wouldn’t have been reporting to me but acting on your own, imagine this would’ve been your orders to someone or something like that. How long, do you think, it would’ve taken for you to find out? How much damage do you think could’ve been done? Would you have even noticed at all?”

The two were still frozen in place when Her Highness put the datapad away and leaned back.

“That may seem a bit mean, but it is something you need to keep in mind. You will be a duke. You can’t allow yourself to be manipulated. Not everyone around you will be someone you can trust, as today’s trial hopefully demonstrated.”

Her words were harsh, but she wasn’t wrong. It was likely the main reason why the other ducal clans expected Reiylar to fall once he claimed his inheritance. Could Lady Nadine’s strange ideas really help him? He had sounded pretty excited when he had told Falpiyne about it, even though she hadn’t really understood most of it.

​

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​

“Welcome back,” the head maid greeted them as they left the shuttle. Mhita, if Falpiyne remembered correctly. “Your Highness, Lady Nadine wishes to speak, she has news for you.”

“Thank you. Do you know what it is about?”

“Yes, though I believe she wants to be the one to tell you.”

That sounded odd to Falpiyne, but she didn’t voice it. Instead, she let Reiykin grab her right arms and guided him through the halls as they followed the princess to Lady Nadine’s chambers.

“And that’s four,” they could hear her voice coming through the slightly open.

“Damn it! I swear by the First Ones, I’ll get you one day!”

“Well, I would normally say something like “Then better don’t slack”, but considering the fact that the first thing you did after waking up was to call me and demand a game, I’d say you got that covered. But you’re getting better. Anyway, got to go. The next game should be done soon.”

“I can’t wait!”

The princess opened and Falpiyne could see the alien put the datapad away and stand up.

“Sil- ahem. Your Highness, good evening.”

“Likewise. You wanted to talk?”

Lady Nadien nodded in a way that looked almost enthusiastic.

“Your u- err, General Mirtan sent a messenger.”

“Admiral,” the princess corrected.

“Ah, yes, that. Anyway, they’ll be here tomorrow, do you know what that means?”

“It means we can accelerate our schedule,” she confirmed as she turned to the two. “It seems tomorrow will get busy.”

And with that, she left, leaving the two alone with Lady Nadine who gestured for them to take a seat. Falpiyne led her brother over to the chairs.

“So, how was the trial?” she asked somberly.

The two recounted their day, excluding what they had learned during the shuttle flight back. Reiykin didn’t seem to want to talk about it so Falpiyne kept quiet as well. Instead, they ended with the executions, even though they hadn’t seen them themselves. During that part, Lady Nadine seemed to shift in her seat for some reason.

“I heard about it,” she ultimately said. “They will be thrown into space, right?”

“Yes,” Falpiyne affirmed. “The law demands that no part of them will ever touch Hohmiy again.”

The alien got quiet. She could get quiet to a degree that almost felt uncanny.

“Out… of curiosity,” she eventually asked, “would nobles in the same situation be treated differently?”

“Naturally,” Reiykin answered without hesitation. Lady Nadine’s facial features shifted to a degree that made them almost look distorted, a change so fast it startled Falpiyne. Her brother, oblivious to it, kept talking.

“After all, nobles always represent their clans, so their actions reflect on them. Clan members can easily suspected as accomplices. A noble committing a crime as severe as treason wouldn’t just doom themselves, depending on the circumstances, they might cause the downfall of their clan.”

And just as sudden as the last change, her facial expression was more like it had been before again.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s what you meant.”

Reiykin tilted his head, looking confused.

“Yes? Are the Human’s nobility treated differently?”

“Remember what she told us,” Falpiyne reminded him.

“Ah, right. I apologize, Lady Nadine.”

“It’s fine. It’s a foreign concept to you, so you have a hard time wrapping your head around it. It was similar for me. Though, in reverse, obviously. But now that you mention it, I can’t recall hearing about anyone actually getting charged with treason in my country during my lifetime.”

“I see. Well, a high noble being found guilty of a severe crime doesn't just affect their clan though,” he continued his explanation, reciting their lessons almost verbatim. “It can have rather wide impacts on the standing of lots of different parties. Like the execution of the son of clan Gatriy for harming the prince.”

Lady Nadine blinked.

“With prince, do you mean Kiyrtin?”

“Yes…? Is there another prince?”

“No, but… when did that happen.”

“I’m not sure, I think we heard about it… about sixty days ago?”

“Yes,” Falpiyne confirmed. “It was right before the rainy season started. Have you not heard of it? Many, not just the ducal clans but also a lot of counts were quite unhappy with how the matter had gotten handled.”

“No, I haven’t heard of it. Please enlighten me.”

​

First

Previous

Welcome to The Oblivion Cycle universe, a vast setting spanning all of time and space and so much more. While many stories may shed perspective on this grand cosmic vista, there are also tales of adventure and sacrifice, romance and terror, grimdark corruption and scientific progress. To become immersed in the setting is to let the chaos of creativity flow through you, to let go of what is probable to discover what’s possible. I have created TOC for one reason, to inspire and entertain any who will listen. So please feel free to join me on this great adventure as I push the boundaries of what is possible and expand the limits of our creativity together. For more information on the setting and its lore there is a subreddit for TOC at r/TheOblivionCycle and a Discord server dedicated to it here [https://discord.gg/uGsYHfdjYf] called ‘The Oblivion Cycle Community Server’. I hope you find the following story entertaining and once more, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.

+ E1:P1 + Episode 3 Start + Next +

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Continued From E3:P1

Balinski walked to the exit with Daryon, the two of them walking in relative silence for the first leg of the journey. As they reached the street level and stepped out onto it he felt an arm on his shoulder. “I think we should be careful how we approach this. I have heard about this place, I knew an older officer who got dispatched here to settle a fight and ended up crippled for life.” her story didn't exactly fill him with dread, he was already crippled for life.

She didn't seem to notice the irony of her statement and instead started to walk off with that strange alien gait of hers. Her many legs seemed to move in waves, pushing her first this way then the other, in this slightly wending manner she advanced along the sidewalk next to him.

They crossed the majority of the space like this before she nudged him. “You are way too sstill, loosssen up. Relax up a little, your possture screamsss cop. You need to sslouch a little, maybe even add ssome ssswagger to your step.”

She seemed to do just as she suggested, adding a slight sway to her upper body as she walked. He just took a breath and tried his best to relax. But it was difficult to do when he knew with a surety that he was walking into a dangerous situation.

With her casual clothing and the light sparkling from her polished blue eyes he had to admit that she made for a striking figure. Her back was colorfully patterned as was typical of the females of her species. The thick plates of her carapace had a thick yellow streak running down the middle with what almost looked like lightning bolts that flared off at each new segment of her back plates. All of this was accentuated with a dull orange highlight that seemed to make the yellow glow all the more spectacular. It made her easily distracting to walk behind and so he hurried to catch up to her side.

She looked his way slightly and he noted the way her antenna rose. She seemed to hiss slightly louder than normal and he got the impression she was stifling a laugh. He grimaced and tried once more to act natural.

They crossed the street and the atmosphere changed as soon as they rounded the next corner. The bright opulence of the garish casinos on the main street were now hidden from view by the much more mundane looking buildings that lined the smaller road. He glanced at a few and realised that many of them seemed to be either abandoned or condemned.

“What is this place? Why does it feel so.. ominous?” He hunched a little.

Daryon just gestured to one of the nearby buildings. “All of thesse were owned by the casinoss a few decadesss ago. But when the current financial downturn happened at the sstart of the rebellion most of them had to closse their doorsss. Ssmall businesss and the entire damn community ripped up by the rootss due to the actionss of that damnable conflict.” She paused, stopping for a moment as she looked full at him.

Several of her hands went to cover her mouth as she apologised to him quickly. “Oh, ssorry. I didn't mean to ssound so disresspectful. I think that combat veteranss are great and all, you did a wonderful thing defending the Union from..” he had to cut her off with an aggressive wave of his hand as he stopped in his tracks and looked at her directly.

He stepped closer to her causing her to back up a pace, she seemed to gasp slightly at the anger that flared in his eye. Her spiracle lungs sucking in a large intake of breath from the many small breathing holes along her lower sides.

She was nearly backed into the nearby wall as he spoke, “Protecting from what! From the damn overbearing bureaucracy of our own corrupt congress? Or are you referring to those genocidal maniacs that c-call themselves the true patriots. They all make me sick in my mind, Daryon.”

He stopped and took a deep calming breath. He looked down at his hands which had balled into fists at his sides, they were shaking and he realised with a jolt just how close he was standing to the large vinarfelien. His chest was inches from hers and her body language suggested less fear and more confusion.

He unclenched his hands as he turned away and put them on his head. He tried to take a few deep breaths to calm himself. Without turning he began, “I-I.. I’m sorry, Daryon. You didn’t deserve that. I just.. I can’t talk about the war, the things I saw. The things we did?” Balinski found himself shivering slightly.

‘No, not now.’ He thought to himself desperately as he felt the beginnings of panic seeping into his mind.

As he was afraid he might lose his grip on reality he felt something brush against the back of his head slightly. Before he could really think about it he felt a strong hand on his shoulder as Daryon moved to stand by his side. Her long body trailed behind him out of sight still, but the raised forward third of her body was nearly the same height as he.

She seemed to scrutinise him for a moment before she too apologised. “I ssee that I have upsset you. I apologise as it was not my intention to do sso. I can see that the war took itsss toll out of both your body and mind. I can undersstand having painful memoriesss that you wissh would just go away. But the harder you try and let them go the more they seem to grow like a cancer in your memoriess.” She paused, it had sounded as if she were going to say more but stopped short.

He wanted to ask her to elaborate but found that he didn't have the will. She removed her hand as he stood still, he sucked in a breath. “Maybe.” That was all he said. It was all he had to.

Without a word he turned and started towards their destination. She caught up with him and they continued walking, he felt a little awkward. He rarely lost his temper, at least on friends and people he respected. He glanced at the tall centipoid alien, he did indeed consider the woman as his friend. One of his few friends that he could reliably count on.

He rubbed his shoulder as a strange tingle seemed to seep through the joint, he cleared his throat to get her attention and then spoke softly. “Daryon? I wanted to apologise. I shouldn't have shouted at you, it wasn't fair to you. Would you accept my apology?”

She seemed a little curious, her insectoid head cocking ever so slightly as she gazed up at his face. Her antennae twitched, a symphony of emotions played out over that rigid, chitinous face of hers before she responded to him. When she did her voice seemed a little lower than usual, “Yess, Balinsski. And I too apologise for talking about.. what I talked about. I was told by Ssiyel that mentioning certain articless from your passt might bring you pain. I am sssorry for not listening to her advice, I accept your apology. Would you accept mine?” He looked at her curiously as she finished speaking.

He looked into that strange alien face and saw no animosity at all. Her faceplates cracked apart slightly as she waited for his response. “Yea. I do.” Was all he muttered.

She smiled, her antennae popping up slightly. With her rigid faceplates and lack of movable facial features she expressed her emotions differently. Not so differently that he couldn't tell in general how she was feeling. All social creatures discovered by the Union so far had physical social cues. Even the crystalline jeseo with their hard bodies made of living superconductor often used their manipulator tendrils to accentuate or punctuate their electronic speech.

He reached out and gave her shoulder a slap after the thought, “Alright. Now that we are back on the same page what say you we knock some heads.” She raised a hand in what looked like a contemplative gesture. He grinned, “A figure of speech is all it was.”

Daryon seemed to settle, her burning comment assuaged. They reached a hole in the wall alley and she put out an arm and looked around. Leaning close she hissed, “Alright. Walk around thiss corner and we are at the bar. Act natural.”

Balinski glanced down at himself and asked, “And how am I supposed to act? Like a private military contractor?”

The comment was disingenuous, he knew, but he wasn’t sure how to voice his concerns to her without sounding as inexperienced as he was. He wasn't a private eye detective like in the stories, he was a void warden. As close as one could get to a hired gun while still being legally able to work with law enforcement.

She looked around again and then hissed in mild frustration. “I don’t know? Act like my boyfriend then, let me do the talking. I have done thiss before, clearly you haven't.”

The annoyed tone in which she spoke made what she had said go over the top of his head for a few seconds before he realised exactly what she had just said. “Be your what? What do you mean?” He looked at the alien woman, his remaining eyebrow raised in mild confusion. He tried to think what that meant he was supposed to do, what was being her boyfriend even supposed to look like. He had never dated an alien before, especially not one so different physically from himself.

He saw her throw up a few arms and mutter. “Men.” She turned and gestured to the alley, “Jusst walk with me and forget what I ssaid. Let me do the talking and if anyone asksss you why you are here jusst tell them that you are with me. Alright?” She placed all four lower hands on the sides of her torso, the closest thing she had to hips.

Balinski frowned slightly, he didn’t like not being in charge of the situation. But in light of her experience was forced to be on the back foot. It wasn’t all bad at least he thought to himself as they started around the corner. Daryon seemed to know what she was doing, of course delta force operatives were recruited from other field operations and he had to take a moment to wonder what department she had been recruited from.

There was no further time to dwell on the idea as they walked down the strangely clean and well maintained alley. The dark and water stained brickwork of the surrounding buildings met the cracked concrete of the alley at crisp right angles, the dark city-plate above was as dark as the night sky overhead. The profusion of trash and general debris one might have expected from such a gloomy place was conspicuously absent. They soon reached a recessed area where a couple of very burly looking Yeown females in skin-tight padded fighting gear stood with their backs leaning on the wall. They were flanking a nondescript black door, the kind with the heavy blast visor that could be slid back to look through it.

The one on the left had a dark red scar across her face that ran from her left eye diagonally to the corner of her short muzzle-like jaw. Her fur was a pale, almost silvery white and her eyes glinted like polished blue gemstones in the dim light of the alley.

She took a heavy step forwards, her powerful predator muscles swimming beneath her thin fur like waves under her skin. She spoke in a thin growl, not overtly hostile but dripping with barely veiled aggression. “Stop right there. You two don't look familiar to me, and I hate talking to strangers. State your purpose here!” Balinski was at once taken aback and a little relieved. He was expecting the bar to be some run down bait shot, this looked more like the entrance to a private club.

Daryon motioned to the yeown and spoke boisterously, her entire demeanour changed as her normally sharp manner became loose and almost bawdy. Her voice was different too, a salacious tone hissing along with her slippery words that made his shoulders prickle uncomfortably. “Ah, hello there ladies. I was referred to this reputable establishment by a Mr. Encore. I am sure you have heard the name?”

The woman that had spoken took a step back and glanced to her companion nervously. The other yeown now flicked away the small toothpick she had been chewing on and growled, “And what makes you think that some cocked up streetwalker such as yourself is savvy enough to know a hard ass like that?”

Balinski looked at the second yeown, they seemed a little more subdued. Their cream colored fur was streaked with russet stripes and their eyes seemed somehow older. He glanced at Daryon and she spoke up once more. This time adding a little bit of sass to her tone now.

She swayed from side to side slightly, her ten arms punctuating her movements as she gestured animatedly, “Who are you calling streetwalker you two ton burrowraiding carrot-muncher. I may not have such a reputable job as yours, standing next to a door.” She punctuated it with a small dismissive flick as if the very thought made her sick. “But I do my job well and I love it. Don’t I, dear?” The furry alien’s canine-like features narrowed in anger at the insult, her bright green eyes flashing dangerously.

She reached over and tapped his shoulder, he suddenly realised that everyone’s attention was on him and he felt a trickle of sweat roll down the back of his neck from the sudden pressure. He cleared his throat and tried to act as casual as he could. He wasn’t really sure what was happening but he had a suspicion. “Oh, yeah. She is the best, at.. ya know..”

Silence. Both the yeown were now staring at him suspiciously. He tensed slightly, getting ready to throw hands if he needed too. Before it came to blows, Daryon spoke up once more. This time her voice took on a more conspiratorial tone and she covered her face with a hand in his direction, as if she were trying to speak without him hearing. He pretended not to hear even though his cybernetic implants easily picked up on the woman’s speech.

“He is one of the big man’s new projects. Still in the original packaging if you get my meaning.” She muttered.

The first yeown smiled wide, her sharp teeth glinting in the light as she seemed to appraise him with a practiced eye. He shifted a little, suddenly a touch uncomfortable due to the scrutiny. She licked her lips slightly and cackled, “Yes, I see. He’s a mere stripling, not even taken first overnight watch at the den of another.”

Balinski frowned at that. He wasn't all the way up to speed on vague yeown euphemisms, but that had sounded distinctly like she had just called him a virgin. The second woman chuckled at the other’s comment and then raised a hand for quiet. “Alright brightscales. I am doing you a favor, when you are done with him feel free to send big boy here our way. I am sure we could show him a thing or two even you haven’t thought of.”

As the scarred yeown laughed again the other banged on the door four times in rapid succession. A moment later the armored slit slid open and a pair of glowing eyes looked out. A wholly inhuman voice seemed to speak from the recess, “What is it. You have guests?”

The yeown growled, “Yes, why else would I be banging on the door like that?”

The synthetic voice answered without a seconds delay, “It is possible that you wanted to talk, I don't have anybody to talk to in here.”

The second yeown palmed her eyes in muted frustration as she muttered, “In the name of Frine, I swear..” She spoke up louder now, “Just open the fuzzing door you maladroit fart breather.

The glowing eyes seemed to grumble as they disappeared and the visor shut. The yeown that had spoken turned and let out a loud huffing sigh. “I really hate that guy. What an absolute asswipe, right Terri?” She nudged her companion whose name seemed to be Terri.

Terri shrugged her shoulders and then cocked her head and seemed to frown. “He isn’t all that bad, you don't always have to be so mean to him.”

The older yeown growled in annoyance and seemed about to rebuke Terri but was stopped as the door opened and an inhumanly tall figure gestured to them to enter. Balinski’s eyes widened as he saw them.

Daryon stepped forwards and nodded to them politely, Balinski followed directly after as the two yeown started to argue with each other. The figure was tall, likely more than a meter taller than nis own two-hundred-and-one centimeters and covered in a strange suit. It had the obvious bulk of exoskeletal supports as well as a large powered backpack that looked to be some sort of atmospheric condensing unit. He realised what it was at the same time he recognised the species, it was an umraghj wearing an environmental compensation unit.

The ECU suit hissed and whirred slightly as the tall, thin figure gestured towards the hallway they were already in. “Just go-on down that way and you can't miss it. Thanks for coming.” they said sadly.

Balinski was ready to go but Daryon stopped him as she turned and stepped closer to the sad looking umraghj. He was pressed back, he couldn't help but feel like she was getting back at him for his earlier actions as he had nowhere to go. The door had been closed and he wasn’t going to step into the door tender’s personal space, so his only option was to stand as far from Daryon as he politely could.

The vinarfelien woman gestured for the umraghj to lean down, which they did. “What’ss your name?” She asked them.

They responded slowly, their synthetic voice making it a little hard to hear the inflection in their tone. “My name? It is Dunmec ma’am. Begging your pardon, but why do you care? I’m just the door watcher.”

She raised a few hands and gestured towards the door. “Nothing wrong with that Dunmec, I have watched more than a few doors in my time. One of her antennae flicked, she continued. “I wass curiousss about what'ss going on between you and Terri?”

Balinski watched as the suited figure’s body language immediately changed. They went from slightly hunched and drawn into themselves to standing straight and looking for all intents and purposes as if they had just eaten something incredibly sour. Their face was only just visible through the visor they wore, and the slightly bovine features he could see looked to be fully taken aback by the vinarfelien woman’s comment.

Dunmec looked around quickly, a deep sucking breath coming from their speakers as they failed to conceal their shock. “H-how did you, what do you mean?” Balinski smiled as he realised what she was doing.

Daryon gestured again and spoke even lower, once more causing the figure to have to stoop towards her. This time they slumped not in dejected misery, but in a near conspiratorial slouch that was strangely at odds with the way they spoke. She stated clearly, “Well, it iss incredibly obvious that sshe feelsss ssome sort of way for you. The way sshe sspoke out in your defensse against her sssuperior..”

Dunmec nodded. “Her older sister, Missy. She hates me, calls me weak and clawless. She is the worst kind of bully, the kind that makes the ones you love dependent upon their cruelty.” he didn't seem to be looking at either of them anymore. The poor lovestruck fool was caught in his own world.

Daryon shook her head. “And yet when Terri heard her insssult you sshe stepped in to defy her ssissster. That has to count for ssomething, otherwisse what would be the point of ssaying what sshe sssaid.”

The alien man looked a bit more interested now. He leaned forwards a little more as he asked in his quiet partially synthetic voice, “What did she say.. about me? What do I do?”

Daryon seemed to glance at Balinski now, her head movement so fast and subtle that he thought he may have missed it. But no, she had indeed been telling him something.

Balinski stepped a little closer as he took the cue, his chest practically pressing into Daryon’s side as he offered his own advice. “You should go and talk to her, man. Show her your inner strength, stand up to her sister. I can guarantee you that if you do that she will come to you, protect you even I am willing to bet.” Daryon gave him a small head nod, she realised that he had seen through her plan and seemed pleased that he had picked up on it so fast.

Playing matchmaker seemed like a general distraction to their mission, but it would be helpful to have the ear of the man guarding the only known exit to the building should they get into a spot of trouble. And fate seemed to have put the perfect idiot into their path. Balinski smiled, for what it was worth, he hoped it went well for the guy. Balinski hadn’t seen any other umraghj in Cheenha before, much less another receptive female. They were the least populous species in the Union after the jeseo after all.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw that the tall alien had placed a hand on both of their shoulders. His demeanour had changed and he puffed out his scrawny looking chest as he thanked them in a much more confident voice, “I will do it. What’s the worst that could happen, and she did seem very nice to me the other day when we met in the breakroom for lunch..” they pondered and then took a step back. “Thank you for that, now move along, don’t let my problems keep you from enjoying yourselves.”

Dunmec waved them through to which they gratefully complied. As they moved out of sight of the tall, suited alien Daryon nudged his arm. “Good work, I wasn’t ssure you were going to pick up on that.”

He just gave her a little half smile. “Yeah, playing matchmaker was a little bit of a surprise, but after you started talking I figured it out as you pointed out.” She smirked in her own way, faceplates cracking slightly as they made their way around a corner.

The music he had heard upon first entering the building grew in volume and power till he could almost feel it in his bones. Daryon seemed similarly affected, the woman slowing and seeming to cringe inwards. He stopped and looked at her, “Are you alright, Daryon?”

She shook her upper body slightly and covered her eyes with her two upper hands. “Yea, just.. g-give me a ssecond.” He could hear her take a deep breath, the spiracles along the sides of her body sucking in a rush of air. She covered her eyes and looked at him directly. “I have bad memoriess of places like thiss. Promisse you won't leave me alone in here?”

He nodded instantly, he could immediately recognise the look of somebody in deep emotional distress. He did the only thing he could think of, he reached out and took one of her hands in his. Holding it tightly he felt her squeeze his hand in return. It was a damn good thing his fingers were made of alloy as she might have broken them otherwise.

Balinski gave her a small smile. “Never, we are partners right? We need to look out for each other.” He didn't miss the way her mouth opened slightly or the way her body seemed to draw slightly towards him. Maybe it was the trauma speaking, but she needed his help and he would support her like Caesar normally supported him to the best of his own ability.

The thing about it was, he wasn’t entirely sure he could. He had a suspicion about her recent behaviour towards him, ever since what she had told him at the memorial. He shook the thoughts from his mind as he stepped forwards and around the corner.

At the end of a short hall was a set of double doors, the small windows on them flashing brightly with multicolored lights as some manner of club music leaked through the gaps between them and the wall. So the Slimehut wasn’t just some dingy bar, it was an entire underground club. He glanced at Daryon, her hand still tightly wrapped around his own. He wasn’t sure he could have pried her inhuman strong grip loose with a pry bar at that point. What must have happened to her to make her so apprehensive, she didn’t seem afraid. He had never seen her look afraid, but he did indeed understand the bone weakening uncertainty that having one’s reality crushed brings.

So he stood tall and straight as he gave her a final nod. “We got this Daryon, don't you worry. Nobody is going to hurt you when I am with you, that is a promise you can take to the bank and have minted in osmiridium.”

She swallowed but seemed in a better state, her hydraulic grip on his hand loosening, though she didn’t let go of it. They walked forwards and he pushed open the doors into a land of strange excess and neon flashing lights.

He had to stop and stare for a moment, the sight that greeted his eyes was like something out of a holodrama. All around the large brightly lit room were tables arranged around a central stage upon which several large tanks of water sat. It was in these that several slaaveth swam and spiralled around each other in some manner of exotic and fluid dancing. Their gills allowed them to breathe under the oxygenated liquid and their bodies were covered in lines of glittering fluorescent paint and nothing else.

He cleared his throat, while the slaaveth were technically completely naked, their internalised genitalia combined with the clever application of paint at once hid and accentuated their lithe forms. He had to physically move his head to tear his gaze away from the captivating aliens, as he did so he took a second to look around the room. Taking in the other clientele and looking for anything that screamed danger.

Well, he found it. There were so many obvious criminal types in the room he was surprised that the doors were not being knocked down by siege rams and the place flooded with tear gas. Daryon tugged on his hand, getting his attention. She used one of her nine free hands to gesture across the room to what looked like a ragged pile of blankets. Using his cybernetics he was able to get a clearer look through the slightly hazy atmosphere of the room.

Sitting at a nearly concealed round table near the back of the establishment sat a ragged looking skorp drone. He was a bit surprised to see one of the strange insectoids on their own as they were generally known to be quite social. They had evolved from eusocial insects after all, where one could be found, many others often followed.

As he followed her he felt somebody grip his shoulder and turned to see a slim nerivith woman in a bright blue sparkling dress. She gave him an appraising look and licked her lips lavisciously, clearly attempting to undress him with her eyes as she flashed pearly white molars. As the dominant sex of their species, nerivith women tended to be much more forward, but not quite this much so in his experience. He balked slightly as the women pressed both hands against his barrel chest and let out a slight sigh.

“Oh, you are a big one. Look at you. Hey there big boy, what are you doing tonight.” he cocked his head slightly. What in the name of Lady Luck had he been dragged into?

He shook his head and did as Daryon had instructed him earlier and gestured towards her. “Oh, I apologise. I’m actually here with her.” As the woman’s beatific features looked over to Daryon they seemed to twist. Contorting into something much less desirable, her magenta eyes now filled with a look of profound disgust.

The skimpy dress-clad woman shook her horned head and swore, “What the hel, all the good ones are already taken. Have fun then bugfucker.” She spat as she stormed off leaving them alone in the noisy and confusing atmosphere.

Balinski just shook his head in disbelief. Did her routine usually get her better results? He had seen more subtlety from an InfernoTrooper in a room full of hay bales. Daryon just hissed in amusement, “What a complete floozy.”

He nodded, not really sure what else he could say other than that she was right. A little unsettled by the close encounter, he stuck a little closer to Daryon as they finally made their way around the exotic centerpiece and to the rear of the room. As they reached it the ratty old skorp looked up at them and seemed to narrow its vision even with their inexpressive orange compound eyes.

The skorp had a strange body shape compared to most other known sapients. Their bodies were covered in thick chiton plates and arranged in a vaguely centauroid shape with their torso rising from a wide tailless abdomen with six segmented legs. Their four arms were set to their sides and their head sat perched atop a short flexible neck that supported their mandibled head. Their cutting mandibles were small and relatively delicate in comparison to the size of their heads, their reflective compound eyes were very large and seemed to look everywhere at once.

The aged looking alien raised a five fingered hand, the digits sharp and wide. They were clearly evolved to dig through soil, burrowers like the vinarfel. Maybe that was why the two species seemed to get along together so well. He watched as the alien spoke, their mandibles and mouthparts moving subtly as a slightly scratchy voiced wheezed from their throat.

“Now look who came crawling back. This one takes it that you are not back into the field?” The aged alien sounded slightly feminine, but it was almost impossible to tell as the males and female drones looked so impossibly alike. The familiarity in which they spoke to Daryon made him immediately on edge, it wasn't the casual banter of a stranger. But instead it was the knowing smirk of one who knows too much of your past.

Continued In E3:P3

==End of Transmission==

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My body shook at the table, and I felt multiple hands touch me, but shook them off. It was too much right now, and I needed to hold on. Julio walked up to the witness stand guided by the bailiff, and took his seat, getting sworn in as Nick pretended to be readying his question. He already knew what he would be asking long before today, and what the answers were going to be, "Mr. Ramirez, what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. McKenna?"

Julio was controlling his breathing, but he was still looking visibly upset as he started to speak, "My cousin, Maria, worked with him during the raids. She died."

Nick, you absolute motherfucker. There was an audible gasp from the crowd as he said it, and Nick had a very convincing air of this being new knowledge for him, "And you're here in favor of Marcus getting emancipated? That seems... a bit off-center."

Julio nodded, "Yes. I am, and if you knew Maria, you'd know why."

Nick nodded empathetically, "I'm sure we're all sorry for your loss. Could you explain for the court why you want to see Marcus emancipated?"

He didn't waver as he replied, "He built roads."

"What?" It was the judge who'd voiced my own thoughts out loud, and the crowd was similarly caught off-guard.

Except Nick. He'd prepared Julio for this, "I'm absolutely certain no one expected that to be the answer to the question, Mr. Ramirez. Could you explain?"

"Yes, sir. I live in Eastern Oregon with my family. Maria was the one who came to Portland, to 'try and make something' of herself and help provide for the rest of us. For the rest of us, we had the farm, but it's been hard. Our roads have been getting worse over the years, and it hits every part of farm life. We have trouble getting trucks in and out, it gets us on repair work, shipping, just trying to get groceries, especially in the winter. Eastern Oregon gets way more snow, so a lot of times, we get trapped by the snow, and the roads already being crap, you can't get through at all. Then one day, I see this insane chain of pickup trucks, dump trucks, flaggers, and they're literally fixing the road in one straight go, with these guys standing up in the backs of pickups literally repaving everything on the fly, adding storm drains, guys fixing culverts, everything you could need, and it was so fast.

"Then this one girl with 'em, she's making sure if there's anything else we need, anything else they can help us with. So joking, I made a comment about redoing our fences and barn, and the hippie guy, Bloom, he hops of the truck with that guy in the suit, Push, and they just hop on over and start doing all these insane hedgerows that they wove together into a fence of marionberry bushes, replacing boards, while that Rock guy starts fixing foundations. It took 'em like an hour or two, and then they started back on the road, even laid out a road for us on the farm all the way to the house and barns. Didn't ask us for anything, and then they were off, laying road toward the other farms," Julio was animated as he spoke, speaking with his hands as much as words.

Nick nodded his way through the story, "And how does this relate back to Marcus?"

"I miss Maria, I do. She was a total pain in the ass, but she was my pain in the ass, and I know that she was so damn happy to see what he was doing, and it was Marcus who was behind it. He's been there, I've watched him do the work online, on TV, he's not just passin' it off, and he's getting everyone. We've been requesting that work for over a decade, and nothing, then this guy goes full send. I never cared about heroes, and I kinda still don't, but that man? He's done right by us, and there are a ton of farmers outside this court right now who'll say the same thing," He was defiant as he said it, and pointed me out directly with the last bit.

Nick thanked him for speaking, and dismissed him. Julio got up from the chair, and instead of just leaving the well, he came by my table, and spoke in Spanish, "Whatever you need, we got you" and then went back to his seat in the gallery. I could hear people from the hallway calling out agreement, and I was just sitting there like a moron. Nick didn't even say anything, he just gave the judge a knowing look, and the judge nodded, "Marcus McKenna, please rise."

I didn't know if I could, but Mom and Dad were there, and I managed my way to my feet, forcing myself to stand straight before the judge continued, taking his glasses off, "I don't think there's anyone left in this state who doesn't know who you are, and all that you've done, and the things you're still doing. I could hear the testimonies of everyone here, and I think- I know- that it would not change my decision on this case, because they would all just be reinforcing what has already been said.

He sat back in his chair, "I'd like to talk to you myself a minute, though, if you'd be willing to step up to the podium."

Oh God, walking. I forced myself to concentrate on the breathing, forced myself to calm, and stepped to the podium as Nick came back to his seat. I didn't entirely trust myself speaking, but it's the judge's court, "Yes, Your Honor."

The judge slightly undid the zipper of his robe, and rubbed his neck for a moment as I got behind the podium, "I'm a Juvenile Court Judge, and here, happy endigns are few, and far betwen. It's rough, the kids we're getting have been hurt, we see the worst situations, and emancipation can be bitter all around, the acknowledgement that the situation at home is worse than the realities of a young person having to become an adult far too early in life. I have been behind this bench since your parents were children, and in all of that time, neither me, nor any of the legal professionals I've ever known, have seen a case like this one.

"I came into this hearing today convinced that you were too young, and legally speaking, and accommodations notwithstanding, you're fully two years younger than the minimum age for emancipation in the State of Oregon. What I've seen through this hearing, however, puts you as an exceptional young man, and it is my honor to be the first to recognize you as an adult in the eyes of the law. Marcus McKenna, your emancipation is hereby granted, effective immediately, and no further hearing is required. Court is adjourned."

He banged the gavel, and my knees turned into water, my hands on the podium to keep me upright, as the crowd and hallway exploded with clapping and cheers. I dropped my head, and took a moment. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hadn't really figured that this would work, that regardless of all evidence, they would still say no, that I was too young. But it was done, and my family was piling on with hugs. It was a pretty great moment.

It took time getting out of the court for the press of people, but we managed, and once it all calmed down, it meant a lot of things could change. Nick already had the paperwork to get everything over into my name directly. He wanted to hit the ground running, and told me I would need to get over to DMV for a proper license, and get my title and registration straightened out.

The feeling was so strange, and so many conflicting emotions went back and forth. I was an adult, I could move forward on my own from here on out, whatever direction that took. It was a heady feeling as my day continued. Outside of City Hall, reporters were gathered, and were expecting a statement. I nodded to my parents just inside the exit, and stepped out to the top of the steps, "Today, I have been emancipated officially by the courts, and I know that there are questions, but if I'm honest, this is all new to me. I'm going to keep moving, I'm going to keep fighting to make things better for everyone, even those who hate me. People are taking losses in the immediate, I accept that, but our nation was founded on people who were willing to fight, to sacrifice everything for what they believed in, and every great thing we've ever done as a nation is based in that central premise, that despite different ideologies, different classes, that we can unite and be something far stronger than the sum of our parts, and that we always keep improving, getting better. I'm taking a break, to come back stronger, to be better able render aid, and I'm trusting in the people who have been sacrificing for me, sacrificing their time, their private lives, their effort and labor to do all of this. To them I say that regardless of powers, regardless of what else I've done, I could never have gotten this far without you all. Those of us who want a better a world far outnumber the ones who are picking it apart, so ignore them, do the work, and show them they're wrong."

Every time I had done one of these things, there'd been people with me, my dad, waiting in the wings of shows. Nick, Miguel, all of them, but it was the first time I was standing truly by myself in front of the crowd. The reporters somehow knew it was a statement, and for once, I wasn't bombarded with questions. They parted, allowing us to head out, and I got into my truck with Aimee, driving off.

The family celebrated at Olive Garden, though Aimee did have notes on their concept of 'Italian' food. As we were well into dinner, Dad looked over to me, "So, now that you're legally a man, what do you want to do?"

Huh, I really hadn't thought past the point, "I don't know... I mean, honestly, not that the apartment isn't great, but like, I don't have enough space for all of my stuff, and I could use an area to work on some other things. So, I mean, I'd probably like to get some land to build on somewhere along."

Dad just nodded, "Sounds good."

More immediate concerns came up, however. I got home after dropping off Aimee, and picking up the Princess from doggy daycare, I got home to two women waiting outside the gate. The first stepped forward forcefully, "You are the one who done all this!"

And that's my first meeting with an S-Tier. So... Anansi's pretty pissed with me.

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The alarm rings, and soon enough, the Alchemist rises from her slumber. 

Another night, another eight hours of semi unconsciousness. She never truly fell asleep, and as such, she never truly dreamed or rested her mind. She just experienced darkness and silence, completely aware of the passage of every second.  It was always like this when the effects of the Balm finally left her body. The cost of a soul that lost more and more of its light every day… but she didn’t mind. At least, not in this state.

Her routine started by checking her surroundings, scanning the small room she had confined herself into left to right. The computer and its six monitors were still there, perfectly screwed to the wall: her only contact with the outside world, and the way she could observe her different study subjects, Universes Alpha and Beta . Then the window, small and circular, high on the wall in front of her. Right underneath it, the 40 gallon tank that was ‘Universe Gamma’: a carefully constructed habitat for two purple pincher hermit crabs, Socrates and Plato. Honestly, she often chastised herself for the care she put into buying proper foliage, entertainment and shells for those two creatures… and yet, she continued to care for them.

Then, to the right, there was the bookshelf. Full to the brim with folders and reference texts, that the Alchemist had produced, translated and gathered with her time in this prison she called her temporary workshop.

Finally, she looked at the two doors in her room, one opposite to the other. Her one exit to the exterior, and the bathroom… yes, everything was precisely where she left it.

… But just in case, she quickly walked off her bed and to the computer, now waking it up as she went to check on Universe Gamma. She turned on the lights, letting the critters know daytime was upon them, and it was time to sleep. The colorful, vibrant crabs were still messing around on their rotating saucers when the lights announced that playtime was over, and they quickly scurried deeper into their hiding spots, seeking shelter under leaves, climbing up wooden bridges and then resting in the shadow of their enclosures.

The Alchemist nodded to herself, satisfied with the quick and active behavior of her little roommates, before turning back to her computer. The blue block screen showed the time of the day, the date and the space for a password, but also a bright number on red right at the bottom of the screen:

300.C.288.XXX

This is what the studied called a ‘Lefebvre Compass’, and it was a way to keep tabs on the state of the timeline she was currently trapped on. It was neatly organized in Four Sections, called ‘Corners’, with three of them showing numbers and one showing a single letter.

Corner one meant the distance between herself, and the ‘Prime Timeline’ that she knew for a fact existed out there. It was a purely hypothetical number, no real utility there. That 300 may as well not exist, but Miss Lefebvre always deemed it important to keep information noted.

Corner two was the current quadrant her timeline was on. A, B, C and D were the four possible directions the branches of the multiverse could take.  After long studies, she had determined that only two of those directions were auspicious for humanity: A and B. So the fact that they were still trapped in C was quite concerning.

Corner three was the specific branch they were riding. It was a merely referential number, only giving an estimate on how close they were to a change in the quadrant. The change happened when this number reached 1000, but making this number tick was quite the task, usually changing only a few times a day by a very small margin, not always positive. 828 was the highest the Alchemist had managed to go after two centuries of hard work.

Finally, Corner four represents the constantly shifting flow of the timeline itself. The branches of the multiverse wiggle and vibrate, being less a defined line and more of an approximate zone, due to the constant interaction of every single living and unliving being in the universe. She usually ignored this number, for it really made no sense to obsess over something she had no control over… but the ticking of the doomsday clock had made her far more paranoid than logical.

With quick fingers, The Alchemist properly started up the computer, going straight for the Ermes browser and connecting to the net. It’s a bit slow, and it gets on her nerves, but it’s the only way to access the cameras in the North Pole.

Alright. Universe Alpha.

The skies were clear, the stars were shining brightly and one could even see the aurora borealis in the distance. She sighed in relief… there was still time.

That takes us to Universe Beta… but the Alchemist was so, so deeply tired of Universe B, that she honestly doubted she would check it today. There were more important things to do than checking that old, decaying forum.

Just because things were fine today, that didn’t mean they would stay that way for long.

After all, it was in all the calendaries: 2012 was the year where disaster could strike humanity.

But enough about that. If there were no changes in her Universes, she would need to continue nurturing her brain in some capacity.

The Alchemist’s routine had been devolving with every day that passed, a sign of the progressive rot in her soul. After mustering the energy to check her experimental Universes in detail (or at least try to), the woman would select one of the books in her library. She had already read all of them several times  by this point, and yet she insisted on losing herself into those very same words over and over, looking for new corners to uncover, or perhaps harboring the faint hope that something would be different upon a new read.

Not without reason, it has happened many times that a story changes its sensibilities and meaning with the passing of time.

She took one of the scholarly tomes she fancied the most from the bookshelf, softly caressing the beautiful leather binding before carefully opening the book right where she had stopped during her last exploration… and her body disappeared completely from the room, leaving the book floating gently in the middle of the air.

This is how knowledge had been stored in the magical community for centuries: libraries within libraries, books connected to other books, serving as tunnels digging deep into reality, deeper than what the naked eye could see.

In these little caves within the layers of existence, entire chambers full of knowledge had been constructed and carefully curated by the mages of the past, once opulent and beautiful, now barely lit by cold blue candles and laying in a state of abandonment and disrepair. The Alchemist’s secret library had been carved in the black rock of the Third Layer of Reality’s underground. 

Halls with curved, vaulted ceilings of polished black stone, curling on themselves in labyrinthic paths with bookshelves carved on the walls themselves, all illuminated by the flickering blue lights of magical candles. This was truly a sanctuary of arcane knowledge, now completely devoid of occupants or students.

Yes, even to the unfeeling Alchemist it was a bit painful to see the places she had worked and grew up in now completely devoid of activity… but she knew it was only the nature of time to become lonely.

They didn’t call this the ‘Age of Whispers’ for nothing. Gone were the days of great meetings and communal experimentation, now replaced with digital gatherings and secretive murmurings, trying to avoid the ever vigilant gaze of the government.

The Alchemist was really tempted to spit in disdain, but she forced herself to remain civil as she walked the dark corners of her private library, looking through the old shelves and trying to decide what topic to study that day.

Potionmaking had lost its charm lately, so perhaps something more elevated and theoretical would get her spirits up? Anything but philosophy, really. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss with herself.

Deep down, she knew that nothing would really stir curiosity or even the smallest spark of emotion within her dead heart until she took her Balm, but she was trying to avoid it as much as she could.

Forcefully reconnecting with one’s emotions often leads to a grief so intense she couldn’t stomach it.

With a huff, she disregarded such thoughts and decided to dabble on a little Epistemology, reaching for one of the books she herself had written on the matter…

It wasn’t the best way of passing the time, but it beat staring into space for hours on end, and prevented her body from further turning into stone.

“You thought that was a bioweapon?”

The translator broke down for a second as the creature did a sort of broken exhale. Connotations were all that came through. Vague implications. Pity, the software flashed. Disgust. Anger.

A pause as it decided.

Sadism.

Valta was already backing away. The final decision didn’t change his behavior, it just made the hall feel far, far too short.

“I didn’t order it deployed. I didn’t make it.”

The thing was staring at him, and he couldn’t look away. The two eyes moved in such perfect tandem that he didn’t think it was conscious. It only had binocular vision because it only needed binocular vision. Always the predator, never the prey.

And now it was moving in on him.

“Oh, but what if you had? Then I could tell you all the things that were wrong with it.”

One of its hands - a sprawling, five fingered spindly thing - traced carelessly along the station's walls.

“No incubation period. Symptoms arrive within 40 minutes of exposure. No time to spread undetected. Minimum should be one week. Embarrassingly low.”

The pressure the thing was putting on the wall increased, the gentle glide turning into a buzzing scratch. Humans were strong, but not strong enough to cut through metal like this. The suit had to be powered and clawed.

“Spread through contact. Limited waterborne. No airborne. Intended mechanism of infection is viral load being put on hands from scratching, and then passed into the environment. Pathetically inefficient.”

The translator was working, but the thing was overeunounciating each word. The meaning was being passed along by a clean, helpful voice in his suit, even as the sound was being passed on through the environmental speakers. And the sound was dreadful - clicks of ceramized bone jarring against each other, wet muscles modulating air into something sharp and rasping.

“Mechanism of death? Lysis overload. Could be dangerous if it was transmitted into the lungs, but since the initial load tends to be dermal all we wind up with-”

It took its helmet off.

It took its helmet off.

It took its helmet off it took its helmet off it took its helmet off in a biozone it -

It looked a little pink, actually. A little scratchy. It lifted a delicate, taloned hand and rubbed its face against it for a moment before finishing.

“-is a rash.”

Valta’s prey drive had glued him to the spot. It was too close. The stupid, stupid part of his brain that still thought he was grazing on Duranga hoped that if he stood still long enough, it might not notice him.

The human paused a moment before continuing.

“Do you know why they sent me? Alphonse Ericsen, PhD, MD, civilian doctor, here to speak with you?”

Valta’s snout twitched. The suit translated the gesture for him.

“No.”

“Because one of our grunts is a dumb fuck,” the human said simply. “And he spent two days fighting on your station with his helmet off. He got infected that way and brought back your stupid, itchy plague to our carrier ship, and now we’ve all spent the last 8 hours scratching ourselves raw. But the jokes on you, because when we were treating that guy you know what we found? That he was in the asymptomatic phase of a COVID infection. So if this-”

It gestured to its pink face with a snarl.

“-is your idea of a bioweapon, then COVID is going to be your apocalypse. But if you work with me, and shut everything the fuck down for the next three or four months, I might be able to save most of you.”

Valta unstuck at that. He’d spent weeks down here, worrying about nothing more than the next skirmish. Now he was looking at a genuine existential threat.

“...What? Why would you help us? We wanted you to die. All of you. I wanted-”

The human cut him off with an exasperated wave of his hand.

“You wanted something stupid. Doesn’t mean I have to join you. Best I can do to fix you is keep you alive and hope that you want better things later. That, I genuinely look forward to. Now come on, you’re going to be the one explaining to all your friends what’s at stake here. My bedside manner is so bad that they limited my patients to virology slides and USMC marines. I think that’s actually one rung below the guys that just dissect cadavers.”

Valta would’ve made an amused hum with that, but something already felt scratchy inside his throat.

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Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Ilunor and Thalmin’s Bedroom. Local Time: 00:10 Hours.

Ilunor

Anger was not an unknown color to the lupinor’s palette of expressions.

In fact, most of what I’d known of the man had been a mix of anger, frustration, with a healthy dose of aggression mixed in when the odd shouting match erupted.

Yet despite that, never had I known what true anger looked like until now.

Never once was I privy to this particular side of the lupinor.

And perhaps, it should have stayed that way. Not for my own sakes, but for the sake of the man I’d hazard to call an acquaintance in any other instance, but in the wake of recent events… had become something of a necessary ally within exterminating circumstances.

“Thalmin?” I spoke softly, taking a few tentative steps towards the man who sat there, gazing pensively out the bedroom’s main window. “Is there something you wish to speak about?”

“Now’s not the best time for your nightly stories, Ilunor.” The man grumbled back, his tone carrying with it that same timbre of annoyance, but hiding beneath it a heavy and palpable burden.

“No, no. I wasn’t about to regale you with another one of my many tales.” I stood there proudly, if only to uphold that facade that if it were to fall, would’ve caused me a great degree of personal abashedness.

I didn’t want to admit what I was doing.

Because it felt… abnormal, almost alien, to offer up genuine empathy that wasn’t merely empty platitudes or a rehearsed and well choreographed speech.

It felt like I was offering as much of myself up, as the lupinor was.

And I didn’t like that feeling.

Yet despite that, something within me urged me to continue.

“So what is it then? Go on, and stop beating around the bush.” The lupinor urged with another growl, an act that felt more defensive than typical posturing compared to our usual banter.

“I… merely wished to inquire as to your well being.” I finally managed those words out, all but allowing them to emerge with any degree of the associated expectant decorum.

This finally seemed to garner some form of a response within the lupinor, as he raised a brow at me quizzically, as if second-guessing exactly what he was hearing.

“Did Emma put you up to this?” He asked sternly. “Because if she did, then tell her I appreciate her trying to tame your noble smugness, but that I don’t need anyone to dig into my battles.”

“I find it somewhat telling that you would even consider Emma as being the impetus behind this earnest intent to express my…” I paused, taking a moment to cycle through my breaths. “... genuine concerns. I am just as capable of empathy, despite any allusions to the contrary.”

That response didn’t seem to make a dent on the lupinor’s otherwise stalwart and monolithic posture.

A stare down quickly ensued, if only for a few moments, as his otherwise stoic features and that unyielding gaze soon finally cracked, if only slightly, with a well timed sigh. “I am fine, Ilunor. I just simply need a moment to recollect my thoughts.” A pause soon followed, but not enough that it granted me the ability to respond just yet. “I assume you haven’t been on the precipice of death before, have you?” He added, almost out of nowhere, baffling me with exactly where this conversation could be headed.

“If you count the curse placed upon me by Mal’tory and the near-death experience there, then yes. Yes I have been on the precipice of death before, Prince Thalmin.” I replied a-matter-of-factly.

“Allow me to rephrase.” The lupinor responded, shifting his entire body, bearing his gaze down on me. “Prior to Mal’tory. Have you or have you not been on the verge of death? Have you known with nearly absolute certainty that the breaths you’re currently taking could be your last? That the thoughts currently running through your mind, may end as abruptly the cessation of a yantor’s croak? That your legacy, following that one moment in time, was to end with your entire life amounting only to your actions up to that point?”

I felt a genuine pang of nausea taking over, as my heart sank, and my whole body shivered in place.

“Perhaps not… perhaps, the incident with Mal’tory, was the closest I have truly been as you described, Thalmin.” I acknowledged slowly.

“Then allow me to give you some advice, Ilunor.” The lupinor somehow began shifting the momentum of the conversation towards me instead. As he wrestled the reins of this particular subject matter with a surprising degree of deftness and ease. “The sorts of emotions we feel following such events… they do not get better, at least not immediately. Over time, and given enough distractions, they will. Especially in the midst of those who have experienced similar trials and survived to tell the tale. What I am experiencing, and what you are no doubt also experiencing, will subside. That’s all there is to it.” He paused for a moment, getting up from his seat, striding effortlessly towards the bathroom.

“I… I do not see how this relevant to-”

“The only reason you’re approaching me, and addressing this subject matter right now is because you’re finally feeling something other than your typical daily drives to ceaselessly vapid talking points. Am I wrong?” Thalmin spoke bluntly, more or less seeing through my facade, or lack thereof at this point.

“You’re basing your assumptions on a picture of an unfinished mosaic, Prince Thalmin.” I shot back indignantly.

“And exactly what parts am I missing?” He inquired with a quirk of his brow.

I elected to answer that only with silence.

“I’m only advising you out of practicality, Ilunor.” The lupinor finally filled in the silence with a sigh. “I would rather have you be productive, and a contributing member of this group. To accomplish this, I wish to impart on you the same lessons I have faced in hardships you probably have never experienced. Which means addressing certain obstacles I foresee before they can manifest into something truly harmful; to you, and the rest of the group by extension. With that, I bid you goodnight.”

With a soft clack of the door, I was once more left alone with my thoughts.

As I began to question just why I’d even felt that urge to address Thalmin in the first place.

And whether or not… it was truly a result of that rare sense of empathy, through not just shared experiences, but shared adversity.

In a way, this was perhaps the first time I truly connected with the man on any level. As macabre as it might seem, this most visceral of similar experiences served to bridge a gap that I never once thought would need bridging.

And I didn’t know what to, or how to, feel about that.

=====

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Emma and Thacea’s Bedroom. Local Time: 00:20 Hours.

Emma

Despite the constant distractions, and despite having disengaged from the outside world entirely by hopping back into my tent… I couldn’t help but to feel stuck in the perpetual, insidious, cycle of anxious thought.

“It’s not possible, right?” I began, my heart thumping beneath my chest, and my expression stuck in a perpetual state of worry. “He couldn’t have made it. Thacea, I’ve mentioned to you time and time again how he got hit point-blank with that explosion. An explosion that, mind you, blew up an entire warehouse! An explosion that literally caused the deaths of everyone else, even other magic users, and blew up a magical carriage for crying out loud!” I paused, sitting down on the fold-out chair and burying my face deep within both of my palms. “He even got hit with a dragon’s tail. A fricking dragon’s tail, Thacea. I showed you the footage, didn’t I?”

“Indeed you have, Emma.” Thacea acknowledged, her voice crystal clear, despite being on the other side of the tent’s lining; all thanks to the active-audio speakers strategically embedded into both the inside and the outside of the tent itself. “And indeed, if it were perhaps anyone lesser, I could easily see death as an assurance. However-” The princess paused, shifting her chair closer towards the tent. “-the position of a black robe isn’t garnered through political acumen alone. There is a certain prerequisite of magical competence, one which is vetted through the privy council, and at times achieved through a challenge of magical supremacy. Whilst not truly living up to their title of planar mage, given how the bar to entry for such a title has been diluted over the years, the black robe position is still very much one that carries with it a truly staggering prerequisite of both magical potential and magical acumen.”
The avinor pressed down a stray feather on her shoulder, breaking the monologue as if to break the tension of the whole situation. “It stands to reason then, Emma, that the ill-fated Lord Lartia is leagues beneath Professor Mal’tory. His death through your device during the warehouse incident was certainly assured. But Professor Mal’tory? It’s certainly possible, especially with the aid of the Academy’s healers, that there could be a chance for recovery. Though, it remains to be seen just what kind of a state he returns in.”

That latter statement was one that caught my attention the most, prompting me to zero in on it. “You mean, like… he could come back as a brain-in-a-jar or something?”

Silence was my only answer for a few seconds, as I could only imagine Thacea’s expressions of shock and perhaps utter confusion on the other side of the tent.

“That… is a modality of living that is abhorrent and borderline taboo, Emma. This is especially true when there are a plethora of other life-extension or soul-preservation options available.” Thacea reasoned, before shifting gears somewhat. “Is… is that a common practice in your realm?”

“No, no. It’s… I mean… I was just spitballing ideas. I guess what I meant to ask was this — exactly what sort of state is he going to return in? Are we talking about Sorecar’s soulbound suit of armor? Or are we talking about a complete magical recovery like with the Apprentice and her crush injuries?” I offered, prompting Thacea to quickly move on after that point.

“I am unsure, Emma.” The princess acknowledged with a heavy breath. “The extent of his injuries remain difficult to ascertain given the lack of manastreams in your manaless records. But regardless of the extent of said injuries, I am certain that his return will not be one of a spell-bound husk. With all due respect to Professor Sorecar and his current disposition, it is unlikely, barring some political maneuver within the privy council, that a spell-bound be allowed to maintain their black-robe position. Thus, considering there has been no news of Professor Mal’tory’s untimely termination, I believe the answer may prove to be closer to a recovery of the body and soul.”

That response prompted me to once again let out a long and drawn out sigh. Exhaustion threatened to consume me, if not for the sharp pang of stress, anxiety, and utter apprehension that prevented me from thinking straight.

“Emma.” Thacea continued, her tone softer, and more personable now; as if switching gears upon realizing just what sort of a state I now found myself in. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I am certain that there is nothing to fear from Professor Mal’tory’s class. I doubt any harm will come to you, or anyone else in the group for that matter, so long as we play our part and carry on our duties.”

Those words… quelled some of my concerns. Though not really.

It wasn’t like I was afraid of the class or what could happen.

If anything, I was confident in the armor’s ability to deal with him if push comes to shove.

Moreover, if anything were to happen, I was quicker on the draw than the man was able to restrain me.

Especially with the two weapons he’s yet to see.

No, the concern wasn’t with any solid overt threats.

It was with the unknown.

Of exactly what would go down tomorrow, given there was a high likelihood he’d be back in the flesh.

I literally flopped to the ground as a result of all of these thoughts assaulting me at once, generating a solid thunk in the process, one that was probably far less dramatic than what it would’ve otherwise sounded like if I were in full armor.

“Emma?” Thacea offered once more, her tone betraying her growing curiosity as to what was going on inside the tent. “Are you… quite alright in there?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” I offered, simply taking a moment to just lay there, staring blankly at the canvas-like roofing above me with HUD-less eyes, and data-less vision. Offline mode was sometimes as jarring as it was necessary, especially after way too much time in the suit. “I’m just laying down.” I added lazily.

A part of me wanted to grab my tablet, or my glasses, just to see Thacea’s facial features throughout the conversation.

The optical sensors and cameras lining the exterior of the tent gave me and the EVI a complete and unimpeded view of the world outside the tent after all.

But I just couldn’t.

“So… about Thalmin.” I began, shifting away at least slightly from the Mal’tory situation. “I don’t suppose we can report this to some higher authority or a disciplinary board or something? Like, I’m guessing this could be the same issue with Ilunor when he was under Mal’tory’s employment right?”

“Indeed.” Thacea acknowledged. “The disciplinary board is, even in typical circumstances, yet another tool in the grander game. It acts less as a force of punitive justice, and more so as a mechanism to be triggered upon your opponents.”

“But we have the evidence, don’t we?” I offered. “Thalmin’s memories, just have him submit that as evidence. He doesn’t have the same issues Ilunor did with his brain curse thing-“

“I’m afraid the reality of the situation isn’t that simple, Emma.” Thacea interjected. “There is no guarantee that the disciplinary board will be conservative in their approach; thus no guarantee they wouldn’t take cumulative memories outright for their own ends. I believe you understand why this would be an unacceptable risk for our group to take.”

“Yeah… I can see it.” I acknowledged with a heavy sigh. “It’d mean risking revealing our deals and plans with the library, our campaign against Mal’tory, and anything and everything in between.”

“This is without even mentioning the negative repercussions incurred upon Thalmin himself. As his words of active sedition against the Nexus would be recorded and documented for posterity, something which would be an intolerable risk to his own security and standing within the greater game.”

“Right.”

“In any other circumstance, perhaps the risk may in fact outweigh the opportunity cost, but in our case Emma… it most certainly does not.”

“And what if we ask them not to scan his brain? Like, just asking them to perform a good old-fashioned investigation?”

“Then they may very well escalate matters into requiring some form of scrying or divination, Emma.” Thacea responded a-matter-of-factly.

“Right… so using the disciplinary system in any capacity to deal with situations like this is a no-go then.”

“Correct, Emma.” Thacea acknowledged with yet another nod. “In any case.” She continued, as it was clear she was now trying to shift the conversation away from Mal’tory, and towards something else.

That something, turned out to be a series of three distinct beeps, courtesy of the M-REDD on my side of the tent.

“I believe it is time you finally ate something that isn’t-”

“-animal feed?” I interjected snarkily.

“I was not intending to use such a deprecating descriptor Emma-”

“Nono, I was just making one of my jokes, is all..” I responded tactfully, before getting up and off of the cold hard canvas floors, my undersuit sticking to its surface for a bit.

Opening up the M-REDD, I was greeted to a sight that was, perhaps for the first time… at least not a complete disaster.

But then again, the same could be argued for the disaster that was the foot long brioche-turned-crouton.

So looks could be deceiving.

Even when the foodstuffs in question looked eerily similar, if a bit discolored, from how it was outside the tent.

Which meant there was only one way to truly determine its qualities.

Consumption.

But first…

I turned my eyes towards one of the many cameras, the eye tracking more or less figuring out what I meant immediately.

“External audio temporarily disabled, Cadet Booker. Your orders?”

“I’m assuming you’ve done the appropriate food-safety tests as per HARPP protocols?”

“That is correct, Cadet Booker. All parameters are within acceptable limits. The system would have alerted you to potential risk factors if any were detected.”

“I know, I know, I’m just double-checking, EVI.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Alright, external audio on.” I ordered, my gaze finally unlocking from the cameras as I turned my full attention to the contents within the M-REDD’s airlock.

“Is everything to your liking, Emma?” Thacea asked warily, prompting me to reply as I took a closer inspection at everything within the platter of food.

“I haven’t tried it yet, I’m just… observing how much it’s changed first.”

The platter was a simple affair, just a piece of flatbread, the same one Ilunor had used earlier in his… ‘demonstration’, plated alongside a few slices of fresh fruits, vegetables, and a dip that reminded me of a cross between hummus and whipping cream.

I’d been reluctant to put the latter into the M-REDD, given how foods with greater density tended to take more time to desaturate. However, because of its airy, almost whipping-cream-like consistency, I thought it probably wouldn’t hurt to try.

Though, amongst the rest of the food that at least retained their shape, the fluffiness and airiness that had been observed before seemed to have suffered at the hands of the M-REDD, rendering its fluffy peaks into sad little puddles of semi-fluid, semi-cream like consistency.

“Alright so, bread looks the same, fruits look as if they’ve all browned due to oxidation or something… is that normal?”

“If it’s browned in any capacity, then we would consider it completely unfit for consumption. However, I have heard that peasants do consider browned fruits to be safe to eat, Emma.” Thacea answered, before quickly correcting herself. “Not that I am implying that you should be subjecting yourself to fruits of sub-par quality-“

“No, wait.” I interrupted, circumventing and thereby halting the princess’ apologies. “I have a theory. You said before how the food that’s delivered to the dorms are like… magically enchanted to retain their freshness, right?”

“That is correct.”

“The M-REDD just sucked all of the mana out of it. Is it possible that by doing so, the magic that was keeping it fresh has like-“

“-failed?” Thacea completed my sentence for me, her tone indicating that the hypothesis was piquing her interests as it was my own.

“Yeah.” I acknowledged.

“That is more than assured, Emma.” Thacea answered affirmatively.

“Right. And does… four, five hours exposed to the air sound like the typical time at which fruits like these would begin to brown?”

“That… is not something I am familiar with, Emma.” Thacea acknowledged, in perhaps one of the first instances she’d actively demonstrated a hole in her otherwise encyclopedic knowledge.

“I figure that’s the sort of stuff you’re probably not exposed to much within the castle halls right?” I offered inquisitively.

Thacea paused, as if pondering her answer, her features scrunching up in irritation on the monitor. “Indeed. If you so wish, this is a matter that might best be answered by those who you may consider to be more worldly in such affairs.”

It was at that point that I realized I’d slipped up, as sarcasm of any sort from Thacea was definitely not normal.

“That came out wrong, I admit.” I acknowledged with an apologetic nod. “I was just making an observation, Thacea. I wasn’t implying anything by it. I’m sorry if I caused offense.”

The princess paused for a moment, before acknowledging that little backtrack with a nod of her own, following it up with a light chuckle. “The audacity of you, a citizen-commoner, to make a slight of such audaciousness, will be duly noted.”

“Oh, so we’re keeping a list now I see?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not, but in any case… I assume this conversation hasn’t been an attempt to delay the inevitable?” The princess quickly added that last remark, in a way that felt almost sarcastic, like an attempt at my own snarky sense of humor.

“Of course not.” I replied confidently, before feeling that bout of confidence fade upon setting my sights on the platter of de-mana-ified food. “Well, hey, there’s only one way to see if this works.” I sighed, holding one of the browned slices of apples close to my mouth.

… nomf…

To say that I was mildly surprised, would’ve been half correct.

To say that I was over the moon, and practically jumping for joy, would also be half correct.

In a sense, I wanted to believe the experience of eating what was in effect a half-crispy, half-mushy browned and uncomfortably seasoned apple was a welcome departure from the nutripaste tubes, and would’ve been enough to send me over the edge of culinary bliss.

But it didn’t.

If anything, it was colored by a mild disappointment, only marginally improved by a texture that wasn’t offensive, but tolerable.

“Well?” Thacea urged, prompting me to reply as frankly as I did earlier when it came to our previous conversation topic.

“It’s okay.” I responded half-heartedly. “It tastes… more or less exactly like how it looks. Sweet, tangy, weirdly like a pear with hints of like… guava? Like, the texture definitely has that weird grainy stringy guava thing going on, except with the sliminess of an apple that’s been left out a bit too long. It’s something? But…” I paused, realizing the implications of this… “At least we can confirm that I won’t have to rely solely on the aquaponics algae farm.”

“Anything that can save you from such a fate, even if marginal, is still a cause worthy of celebrating and striving for.”

I began going through the rest of the fruits in rapid succession, each and every one of them more or less matched the old fruit left in the fridge for too long texture and flavor. This left the vegetables, which, while firm, tasted beyond overly seasoned. Dipping them in the hummus-like sauce didn't help matters at all — a fact that I conveyed towards Thacea with vivid detail.

One after another, every item on the dish was absolutely demolished, until I was finally left with the final boss as it were — the flatbread.

My last match with a mana desatured baked good had left a dry and crumbly taste in my mouth.

This flatbread… was bound to do the same.

I took a moment to compose myself, before quickly, and nervously, I took a small bite out of one of its corners.

The flavor hit me first.

A slightly charcoal-y, smoky flavor masked with some salty herbs baked into it.

Next, was the texture, which… wasn’t bad.

It reminded me of a naan bread, that like the rest of the food, tasted like it’d been left too long on the counter. It wasn’t crouton-levels of crispy though, moreso… overly chewy and dry.

It was as if there was something missing from it.

“You know what.” I finally continued. “I think I’m going to pay the kitchen staff a visit some day. Are the kitchens off-limits to students or do we need to schedule something to visit them or anything?”

“I believe we can simply walk in, Emma. Moreover, it’s a distressingly common sight to see students of lower noble heritage marching into such places to make their complaints heard, or their special requests followed-through.”

“Right.” I nodded. “We’ll do that, after this week is done. Or… maybe after this month is done. There’s just too much to deal with right now.”

“Starting first and foremost with sleep, followed by tomorrow’s classes-”

“-and the spy mission to the man’s office, yup. Him being alive might actually be a good thing, since it’ll allow us to send an infil-drone to his office by following him there. And with my new set of drones printing as we speak—” I paused, turning towards one half of the mechanical printer currently operating at max capacity. “—we should be able to resume the library’s mission, see if there’s any evidence of his involvement with the Auris Ping - Thalmin situation, and get other answers in the meantime too.”

=====

The Grand Concourse of Learning. The Hall of Light. Local Time: 08:55 Hours.

Emma

The irony of the lecture hall’s name wasn’t lost on me, or anyone else for that matter. Throughout breakfast, it seemed to be the butt of all jokes amidst the typical senseless topics they otherwise covered. I couldn’t count the number of laughs, cackles, and giggles that all stemmed from the sheer disconnect between the black robe professor teaching exclusively in the hall of light.

However, despite that laughter, and despite the cheery back and forths between the rest of the group, I couldn’t help but to feel nervous at what was to come.

Especially as the man had once again been absent from the morning breakfast.

His seat remained eerily empty, even as the clock marched forwards towards class.

There was no sign of him anywhere, not even as we made our way towards the hall proper, as we were introduced to a room that immediately sent me back to the man’s dark and dreary office.

The Victorian aesthetic was certainly back, as there was nothing worthy of the room’s namesake seen anywhere.

The various desks were made up of that same extra-dark oak that comprised up the man’s desk back in his office. The chairs behind them were the only things that truly broke up the monotony of black, dark brown, and even darker brown, as their plush leather upholstery was colored in a series of forest greens, striking oranges, and bright reds.

Indeed, the longer I stayed here, the more claustrophobic I got, as I felt last night’s nightmare creeping up on me again, and the unmistakable feeling of being pinned down in the earth with my arms stuck to my sides surging to the forefront of my memory.

That was the one move that actually worked to counter me and my armor.

And it stuck with me.

I didn’t say anything else as Qiv began shepherding any stragglers towards their seats.

I could only watch as the clock began slowly, but surely, ticking up towards the start of class proper.

As five minutes soon became, four, three, two, and finally… one.

Nine o’-clock was announced with a series of melodic dings, akin to a grandfather clock counting each and every hour up with its deep and resonant chimes.

I counted each one, my breath hitching up with every passing ding.
Ding…
ding…
ding…
ding.

Until finally, at the ninth ding, the door closest to the front of the room’s lectern swung open, revealing a dark and impenetrable chasm beyond it.

I held my breath, and in that moment, the whole room was suddenly bathed in a glowing pearlescent white.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 775% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

This was quickly followed up by a series of harsh metallic footsteps, and a pair of softer footfalls, as well as a voice that resonated throughout the room.

“Good morning, first years!”

First | Previous | Next

​

(Author’s Note: Ilunor displays a surprising burst of empathy as he tries to connect with Thalmin, but finds that his prior interactions with the lupinor has soured things somewhat. Things may take time on that front. Meanwhile, Emma tries to relax in her tent outside of her armor, while struggling with the anxiety of the great unknown that is tomorrow's classes. Thacea's conversations, and reassurances do alleviate these anxieties somewhat. And the results from the MREDD experiments likewise provide some hope on the gastronomic future of Emma's existence here in the Nexus. To round it all off, we finally enter classes, and are met face to face with the return of a familiar face! I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 79 and Chapter 80 of this story is already out on there!)]

Ambassador Torvok stared out the window of the diplomatic shuttle, gazing down at the swirling blue ocean below. It had been five years since first contact was established between humanity and the wider galactic community, yet the Earth's natural beauty still amazed her.

As the continents came into view, Lena pressed the comm button. "Ambassador, we will be landing shortly in the designated coastal area near the United Nations headquarters. Please prepare your delegation for arrival."

Thank you, Lena, replied Ambassador Torvok. I must say, the more time I spend on Earth, the more intriguing these humans become.

The shuttle descended through wispy white clouds, slowing its descent with gentle bursts from thrusters. Lena steered them towards a large stretch of sandy beach, landing gear extending smoothly to touch down on the shoreline. Outside, a group of human diplomats in formal suits waited nearby, shading their eyes from the setting sun.

Torvok led his four-member delegation down the shuttle's boarding ramp. The waiting diplomats greeted them warmly, especially Ambassador Kathy who had become close with Torvok. "Welcome back my friend. I hope your journey was smooth?"

"It was, thank you Kathy. The Earth's beauty never fails to lift my mood." As the groups began walking toward the awaiting hover cars, Lena noticed the Gaks scanning their surroundings intently. Their large red eyes peered everywhere, drinking in every detail of the coastal scenery.

The journey to New York passed uneventfully, with Torvok and Kathy discussing policy initiatives. But as the Manhattan skyline emerged in the distance, Lena noticed Torvok stiffen beside her. His nostrils flared wide, taking a sharp breath. "What is that smell?" he asked, his thin voice tinged with alarm.

Kathy smiled. "Barbecue. It's a cooking method humans enjoy, especially in the summer. Nothing to worry over, my friend." But Torvok continued sniffing intensely, as if searching for danger. Reassured, he relaxed his lanky form but kept his large eyes fixed outside for the duration of the ride.

Arriving at the United Nations an hour later, the group exited their vehicles. However, as Lena rounded the hover car, she froze in surprise. Across the plaza, a squad of human soldiers emerged from an armoured vehicle, clad in full combat gear. Their visages were obscured by mirrored helmets but their weapons, though holstered, were unmistakable in design and intent.

Torvok bumped into Lena from behind, following her gaze toward the squad. His long thin fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist, white stubs pressing into her blue skin. "What are they doing here?" he asked, wheezy breath laced with alarm.

Kathy strode over, taking in the scene calmly. "No need for worry, these are just our guards providing additional security during your visit. All is well, let us continue." But as they walked into the towering UN complex, Lena noticed Torvok continually looking back over his shoulder toward the soldiers, eyes wide and body tensed. For the first time, she found herself questioning Kathy's reassurances about humanity and their true nature.

The next morning, Torvok awoke before dawn in his guest quarters at the UN complex. Unable to rest, he took to gazing out the window at the city below, still awakening under the rose-coloured light. His mind churned with impressions from the day before.

The soldiers' presence in particular gave him pause. Why did these humans require such extravagant weaponry, even within their own territory? Back on Gaks Prime, only their orbital defence forces utilized anything so overwhelming.

Torvok decided fresh air may settle his nerves. Pulling on his robe, he floated down the silent halls and slipped outside. The cool breeze ruffled his thin silk garments as he inhaled deeply, savouring scents of the Earth untouched by industry or combustion. It was there he noticed a soft glow coming from around the corner.

Curious, Torvok drifted toward the light and peeked around the building. What he saw made his hearts leap in his chest. In an open field behind the UN, dozens of armoured figures moved in formation under artificial lights. Their motions were perfectly synchronized, gliding through sequences of manoeuvres that seemed both elegant and deadly. These were not diplomats or aid workers they were soldiers, preparing for conflict.

Torvok retreated back around the corner, clutching his chest as his breaths grew ragged. How could these humans dedicate so much to war? Back on his home world, only ancient tales spoke of times, when might made right through armed showdowns. Galactic society had evolved past such primitive attitudes centuries ago.

Yet here was undeniable proof of humanity's dual nature, as savage as it was sophisticated. Torvok struggled to reconcile these contradictory facets when a soft voice startled him from behind.

"Ambassador Torvok? Forgive me, I did not mean to scare you. Lena stood a few paces back, hands raised placatingly. I saw you from my window and wanted to make sure you were well."

Torvok sighed, recovering his composure. I appreciate your concern, Captain. But I fear what I witnessed has only deepened my confusion about humanity and its path.

Lena moved to stand beside him, gazing out at the drills in progress as the sky lightened. Warfare is an ugly part of the human condition, as it seems for many spacefaring peoples. But I have found that beneath outward threats often lies an inward hope for unity.

She turned to meet Torvok's eyes. "Your choice to seek further understanding does you credit, Ambassador. If I may offer counsel instead of fearing what you do not know, embrace opportunities to know more through open and honest exchange."

Torvok pondered her wise words. Perhaps his assumptions did humanity a disservice. "You speak wisdom, my friend. And I aim to walk that path of enlightenment, though it winds uncertain."

A new voice joined them then. "A noble choice, Torvok. And one I hope you'll permit me to assist with." They turned to find Kathy emerging from the building, smile radiant in the glowing dawn.

"If you both would care to join me, I believe I have an experience arranged that may offer fresh insight into humanity's true heart. But we must leave straightaway, before the city awakens in full."

The morning sun crested over distant mountains as the hover SUV cruised along the rugged dirt road. Torvok watched from the window, fascinated by Earth's diverse landscapes after the uniform towers of New York.

Beside him, Lena smiled knowingly. "Nature's beauty often hides humanity's scars. But with care and compassion, even the most damaged places may heal."

Up front, Kathy conversed easily with the base's commander, an aged veteran named Singh. Their destination was a remote outpost near the disputed border, a buffer between warring ethnic groups now at tentative peace.

As they arrived at the gates, armed guards waved them through with polite smiles. Within bustled a diverse community soldiers training, engineers rebuilding, and civilians farming welcoming gardens. Children played without fear, showing the settlement worked.

Kathy introduced Torvok and Lena to Singh, who gripped their hands warmly. "It does this old heart good to see hope cross even the greatest divides. Come, let me show our guests the progress made through cooperation, not conflict."

Torvok realized more than ever how thin the line was between peace and conflict for humanity. However, he also saw Singh's courage and Kathy's resolve in working to pull people from the shadows of war into the light of cooperation.

As they cared for the injured over the long night, Torvok quietly told Lena how his perceptions had changed since arriving. While violence remained part of the human experience, he now understood it was an outlier, not the norm. More impressive was humanity's perseverance in nurturing hope even in humanity's darkest of hours.

Before departing Earth, Torvok addressed the Galactic Council with a new perspective. He acknowledged humanity's military prowess but emphasized their greater dedication to nonviolence and reconciliation over retaliation. As beings still growing into their power, humans showed promise for the future if guided with compassion rather than fear.

Back on Gaks Prime, Torvok found renewed purpose in advocating for open exchange between species. While dangers would always exist, turning away from others only breeds more conflict over time. Through empathy and faith in each other's shared hopes, even old adversaries could become friends

Ten years later, as the first human ambassadors arrived to explore joining the wider galactic community, Torvok was confident that with patience and understanding, humanity had much to offer the stars - and even more to gain - through peaceful cooperation in the future ahead.

[WP] Everyone is born with the innate ability to stop time for five minutes. Very few people ever use this power because the stress it causes on the body leads to death in 24 hours. You never even considered using it, until now.

***

Ages ago, I’d watched a documentary about the human mind. It alleged that we have already made decisions before we’re consciously aware of them. That’s what allows us to remove our burning hand from a stovetop before damage was too severe. To snatch a child from the road before they stepped off the sidewalk. And so it was with the mugging.

He emerged from the alley hurriedly and the streetlight glinted off the gun in his hand as he stopped in front of us with his demand. His face was panicked, half in the moment and half somewhere else. “Wallets.” The word was sharp and heavy and scared. Julia and I both froze in shock, our brains struggling to place this moment in among the moments we’d just experienced. Walking home from dinner, on our way to watch a movie on the couch at home.

“Okay, okay, here,” I managed, going into my purse and taking my wallet out.

The young man snatched it as Julia fumbled in her purse for her own wallet. Her movements were sluggish though, preoccupied with the gun that was close, so close, so terrifying.

“Come on,” he snapped.

Julia took in a shaky breath, looking into her purse, and I saw something change in the man’s eyes. I’m not sure what it was, something between suspicion and fear. But I felt it shift in his gaze and terror rose up in me like never before. I couldn’t lose her. I refused. As the man raised the gun a half-inch and his eyes narrowed in fury, I didn’t think because I didn’t have the time. The world just stopped.

My eyes darted to his index finger, tight against the trigger, and I took in and let out a shaky breath. I went to Julia’s side, her body stiff like a mannequin, fear frozen on her face as she stared into her purse at her wallet, hidden under a mess of her things. Lifting under her arms, I dragged her to the left and around, foot by foot, until she was behind him. Then I looked into the alley, scouring the ground, and my eyes landed on a grimy 2’x4’ half hidden behind the dumpster.

Snatching it up, I went behind the mugger and swung as hard as I could at the back of his head.

There was a cracking sound unlike anything I’d ever heard, and his body collapsed to the ground, still positioned as he’d been standing, like a doll that had fallen over.

I looked back to Julia. My Julia. I cupped her face in my hands, trying to will the fear from her heart. I then drew back slowly, my gaze caught on the wedding ring on my finger. We’d barely had any time, we’d only been married three weeks. And now we only had a day. I only had a day.

But it was a choice I’d easily make again.

When time restarted, Julia’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the mugger fully collapse to the ground, tears sprung to her eyes, and she looked to me. “You didn’t.”

I kissed her.

***

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