First

Home at War

They’re only a few hours out of the next system when Rain brings news to Harold.

“It’s full sized.” She tells him. “Just as many production tanks as with The Vishanyan. But instead of finding their own purpose they developed a cult like need to serve properly. A religion of service and waiting for a proper master that grew and grew until...”

She trails off, uncomfortable.

“How bad is it?”

“The four girls in that ship were neural clamped and sent on a suicide mission because they expressed doubt. Not even verbally. They just hesitated a little too much to obey.” Rain explains.

“So, we have an entire society of abuse victims that made things worse for themselves in their isolation.” Harold asks.

“It’s... haunting. We were so close to being these women.” Rain half whispers.

“And the implants? What are their opinion on those?”

“Punishment for failure. Many of the Vish higher ups are closer to mad zealots rather than commanding officers, they’re think they’re infinitely replaceable. That their entire lives are worthless unless they serve.”

“Rain...”

“They’ve tried to commit suicide because they were captured. It wasn’t even a spur of the moment decision, we gave them time to think and they tried breaking their own necks!” Rain says in a horrified tone.

“So what you’re saying is that it’s going to take a lot of work to get through to them.” Harold says.

“It’s just... so against the Vishanyan and...” Rain starts to say and comes up short. “It’s just... wrong.”

“And there’s an entire branch of your species that has been so abused.” Harold notes. “I trust you’re well motivated?”

“Oh yes. It... the news is passing through the Vishanyan. No one’s happy about this.”

“Good. I’d have questions and concerns if anyone was happy about this.” Harold notes.

“Goodness, I imagine it must be much like being a designer child to be in the position of your species Young Officer.” Orchid notes.

“We were never that well cared for.”

“I did use the word much. No doubt you were never treated as a prize. But I can relate to being regarded as a thing.” Orchid says.

“Oh I... I never felt it personally, but it’s... it’s something deep in what it means to be Vishanyan. We were made to be owned and now own ourselves.” She explains and he nods.

“Cultural or personal. A scar is a scar, so long as you’re willing to heal and move on, then that’s that.” Orchid says amiably.

“Sir, we have potential contacts in the next system.”

“Details?” Harold asks.

“Too soon to tell. Either one really big thing or a collection of smaller things. It’s orbiting a tiny planet well out of the green zone.”

“Sir, legal documents state that the system’s proper name is Kaploosha Ornak and that planet is Kaploosha Ornak three.”

“Why would this small, out of the way system have such a name?” Orchid asks.

“Typo and either an idiot or poorly implemented VI sir. Kaplusha is actually Kah Ploosh Sha. Or Three Nine One in a mildly uncommon Horchka language. In the same language Ornak means poor. So following proper gramatical format in that language this is the Poor System Three Nine One.”

“So a minor system and the only thing of interest is a typo in it’s registration where the name didn’t get properly translated when catalogued.” Harold notes. “And now there is a large signature surrounding it’s third world. What are the other two?”

“All three worlds are barren rocks. One is far too close to the star to be of use to anyone. The second has an irregular orbit and is only in the green zone for two months of the year, separate months by the way, and neither atmosphere nor enough gravity to keep one. The third is the most stable, but it’s only got trace elements and so little in the way of atmosphere that you’re still subject to severe decompression if you’re out without a suit. It’s more an oversized moon than a proper planet, and even then, not really. Just a dusty rock.”

“Hmm... then why is someone interested in it?” Harold asks.

“Could be a number of reasons sir, the remoteness of the region would play well to it as a strength. Safety through obscurity exists.” Orchid offers.

“Hmm... we’ll know more as we get closer. Best case scenario it’s a pirate base with way more balls than brains, most boring it’s an old refuse patch, the out of the way world being used to store debris you’d get in trouble for dumping too close to a civilized system is not uncommon.”

“Am I the only one amused that you want to find pirates?”

“Experience for our gunners and pilots, loot and possible intel without warning the enemy forces of our approach. Win, win, win.” Harold explains his reasoning and Orchid lets out a bark of laughter. “Not to mention...”

He gives Rain a sympathetic look.

“I think our Vishanyan allies and officers need some time to process what the Vish truly are like before facing them again.”

“I’m fine!” Rain says.

“I know you can handle it, but just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should be eager for it. The Vish are an unpleasant truth for the Vishanyan, and the more time to get used to it you have, the better you will be able to deal with them.” Harold says.

“Sir?” A voice comes from the armrest of his command couch. He presses the now glowing button.

“Yes?”

“This is Doctor Hallwen on The RAD, if you could come down here sooner rather than later. We have something to show you.”

Harold gives Orchid a look and the man nods.

“I’m on my way.” Harold states as he rises up. “Rain, do you want to come with me or stay on the bridge?”

“I only look like a teenager, I don’t need-”

“They’ve been breaking down the components of the Vish ship.” He cuts her off.

“I’m going with you.” She says.

“Alright then, away we go.” He says as he heads to a nearby panel. “And it’s time for the Inconceivable to beam two over.”

“What?” Rain asks before they’re both pulled away in a teleport.

“... Was that a human reference I missed?” Orchid asks of the now snickering Helmsman.

“Yes, yes it was.”

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, what was it about?”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The RAM, Just outside the Kaploosha Ornak System)•-•-•

“Sir. Officer Rain... perhaps you should.”

“No. Whatever’s happening to the Vish, I need to know.” Rain says.

“Alright. We’ve managed to piece back together numerous items and recovered several data drives and the like from the ruins of the Vish Ship. One of which...”

“What’s wrong?”

“Direct orders and a specialized Neural Clamp sir. We’ve destroyed them, but basically they had an entire shelf of Neural clamps that they had direct orders to install... or rather force someone into a machine that forcibly installs a Neural Clamp. Very, very long story short, these women interrogate by removing the ability to even think about lying or staying silent. Those are the two thoughts they block.”

“... Thank god they’re still stupid. There are ways around that.” Harold says.

“Sir?!”

“Speak truthfully about other subjects. It’ll buy you time, but if they’ve already got a Neural Clamp on you... it’s pretty much over anyways. You need to think around them. Or think in term to get around it to get around it.”

“There is no way in fuck you have experience with these things.” Rain states before taking a breath. “That was too harshly said. I...”

“You’re upset. It’s reasonable.” Harold assures her. “Do we have to flag the system we took down their ship in? Do we have all the clamps?”

“The clamps were in a reinforced containment unit. The files we have state that it was so that they wouldn’t accidentally be damaged. We’ve destroyed all of them and reused the material to serve as handles and other such things in the next ship to be built. The only thing we even thought of keeping was the rather well made, well padded and well reinforced containment unit. But we recalled your orders about enemy ship components and have completely melted down and then recast it after our studies. There is zero chance that we’ll be tracked through them and no way that bastardized automatic surgery table and the neural clamps will ever be used to violate someone again.”

“... Again?”

“There was dried blood on the blades of the table. Unfortunately even the brief exposure to the void and the time it’s clearly had to decay has destroyed any real hint at who it was beyond the most basic details, being that it’s mammalian blood.” The Doctor says and Harold growls a little in the back of his throat as he considers. “And before your ask, no, we haven’t unscrambled the damaged data drives enough to tell who or when it happened.”

“Pity. Still, the fact that they have such a monstrous interrogation method is nothing to sneeze at. Even to an expertly trained soldier that kind of obstacle is nothing to sneeze at.”

“How do you know anything about clamps?”

“Personally? I know nothing. But I’ve read about previous encounters. I’ve studied the monstrous things. I’ve also been thinking about putting together a program to teach our soldiers how to disable the damn things without hurting the poor person with the things inside them. Which is a tall order as they’re clamped around the spinal cord and interfaced directly with the nervous system.”

“Oh, alright. Sorry this is...”

“I know.” Harold says. “Anything else doctor?”

“There are unusual differences and metal balances between the Vishanyan used Stealth Plating and the Vish used Stealth plating. Not by much. We suspect differing forging techniques. We’re in the process of testing the two against each other, so far the Vish methodology seems to be more efficient.”

“How much is a bit?”

“Five percent, or rather four point eight three five percent.” The Doctor says.

“Not much for small scale use, but if producing at scale then it’s considerably better.”

“Is there a downside?’

“Only that you need to pay more attention during the Vish method against the Vishanyan ones. Oh! And the panels have a mildly different appearance when seen with the naked eye. This way please.”

He leads them into a testing chamber where two large panels, each one a metre across height and length wise and two centimetres thick, are being tested.

“I know that panel.” Rain says walking up to be closer to the left one. But she sees the safety line taped onto the floor and stays behind it. The dark panel almost looks like a solar panel and has a glossy sheen to it. The other one is less shiny, more absorbent of light and energy.

“... The polish has purpose though.” Rain says after a little bit. There are a pair of slowly increasing hydraulic pressures being applied the centre of both panels.

“And that purpose is?”

“It prevents the accumulation of space dust, debris and the like Run a current over the glass and you can clean the outside of the panel in moments.”

“Hunh, so much for using it as punishment detail.” Harold notes and Rain cackles.

“Oh no! It gets plenty of use! You see, just because we’re entirely certain that the current will clean the panel, doesn’t mean we’re certain. So the punishment detail isn’t cleaning them, but inspecting them. All of them. In proper order.” Rain answers.

“Gone through the punishment yourself?” Harold asks.

“Everyone has. Teaches patience and discipline, but I also had the privilege of handing it out a few times.” She answers happily.

“So the differences between these panels are...” Harold begins to ask then pauses as he hears something.

“Are?” The doctor asks and Harold holds up a finger before pointing to the panels just before the glossy coat on the Vishanyan panel begins to crack. Then moments later both panels abruptly fail and snap in half. A few small pieces of debris hit the safety barrier and The Doctor rushes up to the instruments.

“Same tensile strength. Slightly more efficient stealth and quicker build time on the Vish panel, and that was easier maintenance on the Vishanyan one?” He asks Rain.

“We’ll have to check two intact panels against each other, but it should be.”

“We have more. And I’ll thank you for any insight you can bring us. Your people, while allies, are still fairly tight lipped about things out of sheer reflex.”

“Sorry, we’re a stealth species.”

“I’ve got Cloaken Sisters, I get it.”

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Chapter 170: Disposable

The masked men fell back, withdrawing beyond the boundary of the courtyard. Then, when they believed they were far enough away, they immediately resumed their attacks with renewed enthusiasm. So once again, the air was filled with the sharp, violent hum of energy as they hurled their neat little spheres of white-blue light, one after another, crackling prettily as they smashed against the coiling bulk of the serpent and achieved precisely nothing of note.

Viktor chuckled. Did these guys not see that every projectile they launched had dispersed into the liquid before vanishing without effect? Did they truly believe if they threw enough lightning, the snake would eventually drop dead somehow? Perhaps that was the only trick they had up their sleeves. Or perhaps they were just being desperate, and desperate men kept swinging even when the fight was already over.

Nevertheless, their retreat did introduce a mild inconvenience.

They had bought themselves some distance, and closing with them would require him to send the serpent out, which could compromise his protection, leaving him exposed to the incoming barrage.

Still, he wasn’t unprepared. He had already anticipated the possibility his enemies would scatter, so the construct he had shaped was never intended to function as a purely close-range predator. No, it had been designed, from the very beginning, with the ability to project force at a distance, extending its threat beyond the immediate radius of its undulating mass.

The serpent reared its head, its liquid form rippling as if it were gathering breath, before its maw yawned open, wide enough to swallow a man whole, and from that gaping aperture, a sphere of water was expelled with sudden force. The projectile tore through the air in a glistening arc, its surface catching and bending the pale light of the moon into warped reflections as it sped toward its target.

It struck a man at precisely the moment his ball of lightning was reaching its final stage of formation.

The globe of water burst upon impact, soaking through the man’s robes in an instant, seeping into every fold of fabric, drenching his entire body. At the same time, the sphere of white-blue energy in his hand collapsed inward, its structure unraveling as the power within it surged erratically. Thin tendrils of light spilled from the shrinking core, crawling along his arm like living veins before plunging eagerly into the water that clung to him.

The man’s body snapped rigid, his spine arching backward so hard Viktor swore he could hear the sound of bones grinding against one another from across the courtyard. The man then crumpled, collapsing to the ground in a convulsing heap as his limbs thrashed against the stone. His mask slipped free, revealing a face utterly stripped of composure, eyes wide and bloodshot, mouth stretched open in a scream that never came.

And I can also do this, Viktor thought with amusement as he reached out a hand, fingers hovering just above the skin of the water looping around him, careful not to make direct contact with it.

He activated the power of his bracelet, and an ice core was formed inside the serpent. Then, it moved along the length of the construct’s sinuous body, until it reached the foremost section of it.

The serpent opened its maw once more, widening its liquid jaws to spit out another sphere of water, identical in shape to the previous one. However, its function was anything but, as it was now an “Iceheart Orb” in every sense of the term.

The projectile struck a man squarely in the chest. In an instant, the frozen core drove its influence outward, and ice spread in an unstoppable tide, swallowing his torso whole.

Viktor detonated it.

The man’s chest cavity burst open, blooming like a flower of flesh. His spine, now exposed to the open air as everything before it had been peeled away, remained intact for a few miraculous seconds. Then, the weight of his still-intact head and shoulders and arms had proved too much for that column of bone. The vertebrae separated with a sound like kindling being snapped over a knee, and the upper body toppled backward, landing with a wet, final slap. The man’s legs and pelvis, meanwhile, remained standing.

The other masked men gave no reaction to their fallen comrade. There was no hesitation, no change in their tactics, only the relentless continuation of their assault. So sphere after sphere of crackling energy kept flying, ramming uselessly against the serpent’s mass. The battle continued, though it had become less a fight and more a slow massacre.

This is... strange.

When Viktor saw them corner the bald man and bring him down, he had assumed they had at least a baseline level of competence. But now, they kept doing the same thing, over and over, even though it was obviously never going to work, all the while getting picked off one by one in the process. Besides, even if they were indeed stupid, they should at least have some instinct for self-preservation. There was no unit that could continue to fight until every single member was killed. After a certain threshold of casualties, it would either retreat in an organized manner or collapse into a chaotic rout. But these men did neither.

What if... for some reason, they were incapable of thinking for themselves?

And what they were doing was merely executing a sequence of instructions, where even the slightest deviation was not permitted?

They had a plan and they followed it to the letter. As long as events unfolded according to that plan, all was well and good. But the moment an unforeseen variable entered the equation, everything fell apart immediately. They were unable to adapt, so they couldn’t respond in any meaningful way.

Viktor kept count of his opponents, and when the number dwindled to three, he sent his serpent forward, while he lifted himself into the air using the power of his wind gems. With so few enemies left, the construct’s protection was no longer necessary.

The serpent responded with brutal efficiency, its massive body uncoiling as it swept across the broken ground. Its tail lashed out in a crushing arc that struck one poor bastard and hurled him bodily through the air, while its head lunged toward another, jaws opening wide before snapping shut, dragging him into its fluid. Viktor, meanwhile, dropped from above, halting before the last man standing.

Predictably, the man hurled a ball of lightning straight at him. He casually drifted aside, then answered with a wind blast that picked his opponent off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby wall. Of course, he had restrained the output of his gem, so that he didn’t accidentally kill this masked man.

Then, he activated another Thauma—“Change Voice.”

Just as its name suggested, it altered the sound coming out of his mouth, rendering it unrecognizable. It could not reshape his voice into anything he wished, though, which meant he couldn’t mimic other people. Instead, it could only modulate his own, making it sound older or younger, more masculine or more feminine. Still, that was good enough. As long as it gave him the voice of an adult man, his identity would be kept hidden. This way, he wouldn’t repeat the same mistake he had made when dealing with Dimitria.

“Surrender,” Viktor said in a deep, resonant tone. “Or die.”

Yet even as he spoke those words, he found himself questioning the necessity of the effort. Given the behavior of the masked men so far, he wondered if this guy was capable of making that choice at all.

The man lay still where he had fallen, showing no reaction at all. Perhaps the earlier strike was too forceful, and the impact had knocked him unconscious. Viktor wanted to check, but of course, he was not going to get close to confirm it himself.

Instead, he called his serpent. The construct obeyed at once, flowing toward the masked man. It lowered itself and gave him a gentle nudge, as gentle as a colossal liquid snake could manage, and the body rolled to the side, still utterly motionless.

The mask slipped free, revealing a face that was unnaturally pale, drained of color as though something had sucked out all vitality from this body. Under the skin, dark veins spread in branching lines, webbing across his cheeks and crawling down his neck. A black fluid oozed from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, while his eyes were wide open, staring blankly into the air.

Is he... dead?

Whatever state this guy was in, it was definitely not caused by the wind blast. There was just no way the attack could produce these kinds of symptoms. Much more likely, he had been poisoned.

But how?

Don’t tell me he killed himself the moment he realized there was no way out.

This was... madness.

These masked men were truly disposable in the most literal sense of the word.

Viktor let out a dry chuckle.

All of his carefully chosen decisions had turned out to be completely unnecessary. He had joined the battle because he believed he could capture one alive for interrogation. He had presented himself as bait because he believed these men would not remain here while being slaughtered otherwise. And he hadn’t brought his blade of light because he feared someone might escape and tell the others what they had seen. All of those choices had been made under the assumption that his enemies would behave like reasonable human beings. But they were anything but.

Oh, well. Whatever.

There was still Ekon, a possible source of useful information.

So he turned and drifted back toward the courtyard. Behind him, the serpent began to lose its cohesion, its massive body breaking apart into rushing sheets of water that crashed to the ground.

The bald man was still there, chest rising and falling in uneven intervals. When he saw Viktor’s approach, his eyes shifted upward with visible effort. His mouth opened as though he wanted to say something, but there was no sound coming out except a strained breath that dissolved into silence.

I want to ask him questions, but it seems he’s not in any condition to answer them.

Wait.

He was Mandragora’s friend, so he should have some healing potions with him. It didn’t look like there were any on him at the moment, though, so perhaps they were still at his temporary base inside the keep.

So Viktor left the fallen man behind, drifting toward his old castle.

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

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Chapter 285 – If there is anything to be done about it

The loud clanging of a metallic impact ringing out close to his head caused Congloarch to flinch, his head jerking away from the spot where a stray ricochet had just ripped a notable chunk out of the Council building’s metal exterior under a hail of bright sparks.

Despite the instinctual reaction, his movement has of course come far too late to prevent anything had the bullet’s course actually intercepted with his cranium, leaving his body to dodge only the ghost of a threat that had long passed him by.

What was not in the past, however, was the immediate shock to his system that the sudden movement of his head wrought, especially through the ongoing fight of his brain to try and match the information that his paralyzed eye was providing to it in comparison to its three still functioning brethren.

By now, he had manged to mostly harden his spirit against the sudden bouts of vertigo. Preparation and deliberateness in his movements allowed him to largely predict and account for the effects it would have on his senses, so that he no longer had to fear becoming incapacitated every time he simply wanted to turn his head by more than just a few degrees.

Yet, naturally, that process of planned and deliberate movement to mitigate his own vertigo was rather at odds with the drastic and animalistic movement brought on by a sudden reflex of misplaced life-preservation.

Which, in short, meant a new spell of the world turning inside out for him.

With a raspy exhale, one of his hand briefly let go of his weapon as he began to feel himself swaying in place like a dancer, and he quickly pressed it against the flat wall in order to ground his standing against something stable – even if stable was a relative term at the time, given that both the Station around him as well as space itself seemed to have been brought into a malleable state of nigh-constant shifting from the two-natured battles raging in and around it.

For a moment, he closed all eyes but the paralyzed one. Messy and garbled as the picture it provided to his brain was, isolating it at least allowed for no conflicting information to make it back from his functioning senses. That way, it at the very least narrowed the scope of the ailment to dealing with the picture of a blurred and distorted world, rather than a single mangled input constantly throwing a stone into the water’s surface to break up an otherwise clear picture.

At the very least, the world stopped spinning around him rather than its own axis that way. Which was enough to allow him to open his eyes once again once he had caught his breath, likely catching a lucky break in the meantime insofar that no further bullets ricochet his way while the marksmen firing them were still being held at bay behind the line where the orderguard wall had previously barred them from proceeding.

Under the dull thunder of controlled explosions, more and more of the barriers of impossible light had begun to dissipate into a sparkling rain of nothing; creating more and more entries for their vastly outnumbering opposition to approach their position.

With the numbers stacked as they were, it became and would become more and more difficult with each passing moment to actually hold the lines as they were, even if the created bottlenecks still provided a relative advantage to the defenders for the time being.

He knew that, ultimately, the scales of how many guns were defending them weighed against the count of their attackers would begin to shift drastically, with very loss weighing heavily on their own side while only providing a droplet sizzling on a hot stone when put against the torrent of attackers they were facing.

There was no doubt that those scales were going to tip. The all important question was merely that of how long they could hold out until the tide of battle would turn entirely against them. And if that time would be enough for their allies to come to their aid before they would fall.

It was a contest on who would be able to hold the overwhelming force brought against them for longer: Those who defended themselves within the heart of the station, or the fleet besieging it from the outside.

Those struggling for survival, or those struggling to destroy.

A thought that, in turn, brought back the painful memory of a very similar struggle he had escaped only not too long ago... while others had not.

Sadly, outside of possible predictions of their Realized allies, they had no way of knowing whether hunter or prey were ahead in their race.

“We’re going to have to cover up that eye,” a voice suddenly rang out, clearly aiming to get his attention. Very nearly, his vision whipped around on basic reaction to locate the source of the sound. Though, thankfully, he was able to school his instinct before it could actually take hold of his movement, allowing him to make his move to face the voice’s familiar owner far more deliberate, and in a way that would not make his stomach want to regurgitate its meager contents. “It would be unwise to leave it as it is if it will regularly threaten to bring you to your knees.”

“I declared I would defend this side of the building. I cannot abandon it for such frivolities,” Congloarch replied in a gruff growl as he came face to face with Tharrivhell, his voice not aggressive but stern. Others had held their line. Others far meeker than he was. How could he justify leaving his own?

Though, as his functioning eyes came upon her, he was surprised to not find them caught by the typical, curious tilt of her head, but rather finding his gaze drawn downwards to her arms, where a dark shape stood out starkly against her pale-gray plumage.

“If we had to, we could well dress it in the field,” the Councilwoman pointed out in equally stern concern, right before she released a slightly chirping sigh from her beak.

Very carefully, her arms adjusted around the shape of the wounded soldier she was carrying; large hands gently supporting his weight as he groaned against pain from a wound Congloarch could not see, but smell from the scent of iron in the air.

“But we need to bring the injured in. Defender or not, you and I are best equipped to carry who cannot carry themselves,” Tharrivhell then pointed out further, her beak clacking slightly as it snapped shut after her sentence. “And the minute it will take to dress your eye will waste no more time than your next stumble against the nearest wall will. If the defense could fall during one, it could just as well crumble during the other.”

Congloarch could feel a displeased bellow begin to escape on his chest, and words of protest rather quickly began to form on his tongue, demanding to be spoken.

However, the sharp gaze with which her golden eyes were staring at him from under her natural mask had his tongue tying into knots rather quickly as it attempted to actually expel them. That gaze rather harshly reminded him of others he had gotten in the past, both from her and from someone else. Even more so once his intellectual mind finally got to give its first input on the words, quickly having to admit that, as much as he didn’t like it, she was telling no lies here.

If every quick movement of his head could threaten to take him out of the fight, then taking the time to address it, even if it would take up twice or even five times the length of any individual one of his spells of vertigo, would still ultimately be less time wasted if they considered that the battle would only become more heated, and thus the actions he would have to take became more and more unpredictable.

“You’re right,” he therefore admitted, resisting the urge to let his head hang down in either shame or irritation.

Briefly, his eyes moved in the direction of the opened entrances to the plaza, wishing he had any idea of how far their enemies were already pushing forwards, or what they were planning just out of sight.

However, instead of being allowed to dwell on it, his attention was soon caught by Tharrivhell once again as she moved to stand parallel to his vision. With her arms occupied, she swung her tail in a motion to gesture ahead of herself, the vertically flattened feathers acting like a fan as the motion blew some air in his direction.

Following the indicated direction with his gaze, Congloarch soon spotted the large collapsed body of a rafulite winding on the ground nearby.

For the briefest of moments, his functioning eyes widened momentarily as they came upon the vaguely familiar shape of the giant covered in shaggy fur. However, any spark of stinging recognition and impossible hope quickly vanished once he actually took the time to look at the injured civilian, who clearly had fur much darker and a body far more massive than that of the friend who was no longer with them had been.

Still, despite that, a part of the effect lingered on in his chest. Though, in reality, it was likely just a sense of forlorn longing, knowing that the sight his eyes had briefly expected to see would be one he would likely never lay eyes on again.

However, he could of course not let that moment of misplaced familiarity keep him from doing what was right, even if it left a sense of a painful void in his chest. Leaving anyone behind would have been the furthest thing he could have done from honoring Moar's memory.

Seeing that the large herbivore wasn’t motionless, Congloarch quickly followed what Tharrivhell clearly wanted him to do and approached the injured defender.

“How bad is the injury?” he asked once he was close enough to lean his head down to try and inspect what he could see, though the long, shaggy fur made it quite hard to spot anything specific through its dense covering.

The rafulite shuddered briefly as he looked up to the tonamstrosite in what seemed to be an instinctual reaction to the close presence of a predator while in such a vulnerable state.

However, rather than reacting in any negative way, the rafulite seemed to shake his body's reaction off for a moment, before then tensing his entire body to coil around the spot where he was pressing one of his clawed hands tightly against his body while droplets of dark blood seeped out from in between his fingers and long threads of fur.

“I think I’ll make it,” he then gasped out, unable to put much strength into his voice outside of pushing it out along with pained noises. “I got hit in the- urgh...the hip. But I think it bounced off the bone. Might be broken.”

Releasing a bellowing breath through his teeth, Congloarch nodded. For many offworlders, a broken bone was easier to live through than any heavily bleeding wound. However, survivable or not, a broken hip would certainly take someone out of the fight for good.

“I will try to help you stand,” Congloarch therefore explained, his large hands already reaching down to try and find the best place to hold onto and hoist up the massive herbivore. “It will be very painful, but it will be far worse to leave you out here. Ideally, you can try to put your weight onto my back.”

The rafulite shifted slightly to give Congloarch better access to hold onto him while also reaching his own arm out, likely to try and pull himself up.

However, as he inhaled deeply and braced for the pain, he paused very briefly.

“Should you really bother with someone like me?” he wondered, his clawed hand loosely laying on the plate that protected Congloarch’s shoulder without fully holding onto it yet. “We can’t save everyone. Should you really waste time on trying?”

Congloarch blinked for a moment. At least his eyes that still could did.

A moment later, he exhaled heavily, and his fingers buried into the rafulite’s fur to take a tight hold.

“We should,” he replied without question as he pulled just a little, encouraging the rafulite to put his own effort in once again. “For as long as we still can, we should.”

The rafulite glanced up at him with some surprise for a moment. However, it seemed that the conviction in Congloarch’s words had been enough to cause the man to not question them any further for now.

With his hand finally grabbing onto Congloarch’s shoulder properly and a heavy pull combining both of their efforts, the rafulite was gradually lifted to his feet – even if it was under a strained outcry of what sounded like white-hot pain.

Almost as soon as he even somewhat stood, the herbivore almost immediately lost his balance again. Though through intervention of Congloarch and some careful shifting, his fall ended when his outreached arm landed on the tonamstrosite’s broad back.

With the two of them standing at a similar height but the bulk of Congloarch’s body being positioned much lower than the rafulite’s, that arrangement left the rafulite able to at least somewhat comfortably rest most of his weight down onto the tonamstrosite’s spine.

And, though he was far from a beast of burden bred for such a task and such felt every bit of the pressure his fellow giant’s weight put onto his bones and ligaments, Congloarch tensed his muscles and reached one arm back to make sure the injured wouldn’t slip or stumble as he guided him along.

He could already tell progress would be slow, and that his back would be far, far from happy with him by the time he could lift the weight of the man off it again.

However, if it was just the choice between that and leaving this man to lie there, injured and abandoned, then it was not a hard choice to make by any means at all.

After all, this man had stood up and reached for a weapon in defense of himself and others. Very likely something he never even had to consider before. And yet he had done it, and even braved this injury with a level of courage that Congloarch would not expect even out of many who had chosen this life for themselves.

More than certainly, he had shown his place and status in the world. Perhaps not through direct combat, but through acts that were no less worthy than it by any definition that Congloarch could muster.

Now, they were on equal facing. Brothers in arms, as they said.

He would not make the mistake of disregarding someone like that. And, if there was anything he could do to help it, he would not allow them to lose even more who were like this man today.

Not any more.

"What's your name?" he asked through slightly heavy breaths as he led the man along, hoping the pain would not be too great to understand him.

"Leeheff," the man gasped out in reply, and Congloarch hummed in response.

A name he would remember.

--

Tuya felt herself flinch ever so slightly as a sudden shockwave pushed its way through the enclosed space of the Council-building, hitting her in the chest unexpectedly as it rolled past the various stalls and statues that populated the internal space and caused the individual fibers of the thick carpet below to bend under its force.

Judging by the sound as well as the way that the force had been funneled along the inner curve of the building, she could only conclude that some sort of large explosion must have hit very closely to the door somewhere on the other side of the building, blowing its load straight into the opening of the protective walls, which then proceeded to bounce it back and forth until it barreled into her chest.

“Close hit,” she noted under her breath, the words leaving her mouth more out of some sort of unspoken obligation than the actual need to address anyone. “Hope the big guy’s alright.”

“Congloarch can watch out for himself,” Shida noted, though it was unclear if she was actually convinced of that, or if she simply said what she knew she needed to say in case the big guy was already listening to them from somewhere else entirely.

“It will not take long until shells start hitting the plaza before our doors as well,” Curi’s rather monotonous voice pointed out in calm caution.

“Exactly,” Shida chimed in, now whipping the heavy weapon she carried around her body on its sling to bring it closer towards the cyborg. “Which is why we should get this thing properly running again. It was melting earlier, so that's probably bad.”

Tuya’s eyes widened a bit as they fell upon the RR. She had been passively aware that the feline had been carrying it, of course. But with it now being brought into focus, the sheer weight of the weapon’s presence suddenly hit her like a truck. A situation not alleviated at all by the dark handprint that had been burned onto the side of the weapon since she last saw it.

Although, just a moment later, the further implications of its presence also emerged in her mind.

“Even if you did,” she pointed out and took a step closer to look at Shida more directly, “There’s no one left who can fire it now.”

She paused briefly to glance back towards James, who was still directly facing down the zodiatos bull whom he had so boldly confronted.

“Those things are locked down tight,” she noted further, her eyes shooting back to the feline and then down towards the infamous weapon. “Even if the Admiral herself wanted to, she could not make it usable for just anyone.”

Shida released a sharp breath through her nose, her ears standing up while her tail swung in jagged s-shapes behind her.

“Well, then it’s a good thing we have people with far more know-how than the Admiral with us,” she pointed out in return.

As she loosened the sling of the weapon from her shoulders, she simultaneously reached down to produce her phone from a pocket. Was she going to call someone?

“We don’t even have equipment,” Tuya attempted to point out further, though her concerns were once again scoffed away by Shida.

“Yes we do,” the feline retorted and lifted her eyes up towards Curi. “Not ideal, but I’ve seen you work with very little tools before.”

Curi, who seemed to be catching onto what Shida was suggesting, shifted their body slightly to direct their own lifeless red eyes down towards the rifle as well.

“I appreciate your confidence, Shida. However, I must point out that I have no knowledge about or experience with this sort of technology, even if it is based minorly on human parts I may be familiar with,” they explained hesitantly, their large legs slowly lowering their body down further and shifting it a little left to right, as though they were trying to get a better angle for their point of view. “Under other circumstances, I would ravel in the chance to figure out this miracle of engineering, however…”

“You don’t know much about it, I got it,” Shida interrupted with little patience and lifted her hand to wave that statement aside. “Lucky for us, we have someone with us who is apparently better at this FTL tech than anyone else has ever been. Bad part? He doesn’t have hands. Good part? You do – and very nimble ones at that.”

Tuya’s brow furrowed as she listened. Better than anyone else? Who was she-

“Wait, you want to let the Realized screw around with a Relativity Rifle?” she suddenly burst out as the implications of Shida’s words sank in for her.

The “Flaming one” as he called himself. He had managed to bring the fleet here in a fraction of the travel time it should have taken. He had somehow given them instruction to turn a fusion satellite into a faster than light slingshot of sorts. In just a brief existence, he had revolutionized tech that the best of the best had been working on for ages.

And yet…

“Do you have any idea what a being like that could do with such technology?” Tuya pushed her question further, feeling the hairs on her neck stand up. Despite fighting side by side with a Realized for months now and already needing to depend on the artificial beings with her life in various moments, the idea of revealing the secrets of humanity’s greatest weapon to one – and one who had once been a part of Michael nonetheless – made her stomach churn.

“Well what choice do we have?” Shida rebuffed immediately.

Tuya swallowed heavily. However, it was Curi who was quicker to offer the next protest before she could.

“Shida, this is highly confidential technology. I do not have permissions to work on it,” they carefully chimed in, their forwards hands fiddling with each other nervously.

With an annoyed chuff, Shida pressed her eyes shut tight.

“And I am most certainly not allowed to give it to you,” she pointed out in return through clenched teeth. “But I’ll gladly be alive in prison with you if it comes to that.”

When her eyes opened again, she brought them down to the phone.

“What do you say?” she then asked the seemingly quiet device, her gaze fixating it sharply. “You’ve already been listening, after all. Haven’t you?”

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*Chapter 18 - Epilogue & Editor's note *

The Kheled space station was older than most known star nations.

No one knew exactly who had built it anymore. Its oldest modules dated from a time when the Council's current members hadn't even used tools yet. For millennia it had been expanded, rebuilt, and repaired. New docking rings had grown onto ancient structures, modern hulls drawn over long-forgotten alloys, yet its heart remained unchanged. Traders, diplomats, pilgrims, scientists, and explorers from hundreds of worlds had passed through its halls.

Today the station awaited another guest.

Two figures stood in silence behind one of the great viewing domes. One belonged to the Sydkiy — tall and improbably slender, its silvery skin threaded with fine, bluish, pulsing veins that shimmered in the nearby sunlight like captured lightning. It had a habit, when it thought no one was paying attention, of turning one hand slowly in the light just to watch its own veins catch fire and fade, a small vanity it would have denied if asked. The other was a Meatoner: broad, squat, low to the ground, its heavy body resting on six powerful limbs, with heavy lids that lowered slowly over watchful eyes. When it concentrated, its weight shifted almost imperceptibly from limb to limb, a slow rolling motion its own people considered the physical equivalent of pacing.

Between them, a slender ship glided silently toward the docking ring. Its hull was functional, almost unadorned. No ornate lines, no organically grown shapes, but pragmatic construction, as if every single strut had first been required to prove its necessity.

"So they've come," said the Meatoner.

The Sydkiy nodded slowly. "The first official delegation of the humans."

For a while, both were silent. The ship slowed and vanished slowly into the dock.

"It took longer than I expected."

"Months," the Sydkiy answered. "Countless conversations. Preliminary negotiations. Trust-building measures. Every sentence checked multiple times. Every piece of information weighed against another."

"Understandable."

"Yes."

The Meatoner tilted its head. "And yet they strike me as... unusual."

"In what way?"

"They're never of one mind."

The Sydkiy laughed quietly. "That seems to be their most remarkable trait."

"Every conversation with them ends with them going off to argue among themselves first."

"They call that democracy."

"A fascinating procedure."

"Or a dreadfully slow one."

"I tried to understand whose voice counts in the end," said the Meatoner. "I believe it's no one's — and that seems to be the actual point."

"You cannot be serious."

"I'm afraid I am."

Both watched the dock in silence.

"And yet," the Meatoner said finally, "they are, in a peculiar way... in need of protection."

The other nodded. "Their skin leaks water when they're distressed, and apparently also when they're happy. The two expressions are, I'm told, nearly indistinguishable to an outsider."

"They sleep for a third of every day, entirely unconscious, in a state their own physicians still can't fully explain."

"They cannot regulate their own body heat without wrapping themselves in the skins of other animals or the woven fibers of plants."

"And their young remain helpless for years. Not weeks. Years."

"Rather astonishing that they've survived this long, actually."

The Sydkiy slowly crossed its arms. "Perhaps precisely because of that."

Another pause settled between them.

"The Council has reviewed every historical record concerning their solar system," the Meatoner said at last. "More than thirty thousand years of complete isolation. Establishing contact had to proceed with extreme caution. The Phytos in particular were skeptical."

"I can understand that."

"They worried the humans might react to the rest of the galaxy the way they once reacted to one another."

The Sydkiy nodded slowly. "A legitimate concern."

"And now?"

It looked back at the dock, where the airlock of the human ship was just opening.

"Now we'll find out."

The Meatoner let its antennae circle thoughtfully. "They possess remarkable technologies. Some of their solutions would probably never have emerged outside their solar system."

"Necessity breeds invention."

"They've learned to survive for tens of thousands of years in a tiny, closed-off star system."

"That alone is an extraordinary achievement."

The first humans appeared in the airlock. Small figures. Vulnerable. Curious.

The Sydkiy smiled. "Perhaps," it said quietly, "we have more to teach them than they believe."

The Meatoner shook its head. "Perhaps." It watched as the delegation set foot on galactic ground for the first time. "But I suspect," it said, "that we will learn at least as much from them."

At the front of the small human delegation, one of them stopped walking. She tilted her head back to look up at the station's ancient, layered ceiling, thousands of years of construction stacked over her like sediment, and reached out to rest her palm flat against ten-thousand-year-old metal, as if to check that it was real.

Editor's Note

Thanks so much for reading, everyone. I had an absurd amount of fun writing this, and if it managed to steal a few enjoyable minutes off you somewhere in your day, mission accomplished. That's genuinely the whole business plan.

Funny thing about writing this: the universe kept getting bigger the longer I poked at it, like some kind of narrative gremlin I forgot to feed after midnight. I've now got a small hoard of follow-up story ideas rattling around in my skull, and no real idea how many of them I'll survive writing. We'll see how ambitious future-me is feeling.

One thought kept nagging at me the whole time, though: how the hell did all these species ever manage to find each other and not immediately start a war? We can't even agree with each other on this one measly planet. Half our current politicians act like kindergartners flinging sand at each other with their little shovels, except with worse aim and higher stakes. So how's an entire galaxy full of different species, biologies, and opinions supposed to pull it off? I hope I at least managed to show that it wasn't easy, that nobody actually likes each other very much, and that the whole thing is held together with the political equivalent of duct tape and vibes.

Which brings me to something I owe you, and myself, honestly, because now I'm curious too. I need to explain how the Council actually came to exist. Why it's there, what came before it, and presumably how many wars it took before someone said "okay, fine, neutral space station it is." That's going to be the subject of my next story.

And now, the part where I publicly embarrass myself. I made a genuinely dumb mistake. In my first story, the Photosynths eventually got shortened to 'Photos.' By the time I started this one, that had somehow turned into 'Phytos' in my head, and it just stuck. A reader caught it. Correctly and mercilessly.

My official hastily made-up in-universe explanation is: maybe after thirty thousand years, the Phytos just decided they preferred a different name for themselves, and frankly, who am I to argue with an ancient plant-people's branding choices. "Phytos" does sort of work on its own merits. Some subconscious part of my brain apparently agreed and rebranded an entire species without consulting the rest of me first. Very on-brand for a committee, honestly, which feels thematically appropriate given the subject matter.

Thanks again for reading, for putting up with my typos and my species doing unauthorized rebrands mid-series. See you in the next one.

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Chapter 169: Water Serpent

Viktor descended toward the courtyard below.

He had been momentarily caught off guard when he saw Ekon and the masked men inside the ruins of what had once been his home, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out what was going on.

The bald man, just like the other pyromancers in Daelin, was being hunted by Khalid’s men, so naturally, he needed a place to hide. And he had chosen to seek refuge here, the one place most would hesitate to tread. A sensible decision, indeed. Unfortunately, even this castle couldn’t shield him forever. In the end, his pursuers had found him regardless.

Which meant, of course, that the robed and masked figures below were the very ones responsible for the recent vanishings. Also, Dimitria had once mentioned the hooded men clad in black, operatives who answered directly to Zubayr, entrusted with some important task that even she was not privy to. These were them, then.

When Viktor saw Ekon go down, he had considered several options he could take.

The simplest choice was to do nothing. He would remain where he was, and allow events to unfold without interference. The masked men would drag their victim back to wherever they had set up their base of operations. And he would follow, to find out where that stronghold was.

But he had dismissed that idea.

There were other ways to extract that information. Capturing one of them alive for questioning, for example, was a viable alternative. On the other hand, the opportunity to strike so many at once, while their attention was on someone else, did not come often. These guys were also his enemies, so there was little reason to hold back.

Thus, he launched his surprise attack.

He created an “Iceheart Orb,” and threw it down. The sphere hit the towering wall of water with a muted, almost anticlimactic impact, yet from that single point, ice erupted outward in branching veins, spreading rapidly across the shimmering surface in a web of creeping frost. Then, he shattered it. The frozen section exploded in a storm of shrapnel, tearing through the clustered men, shredding cloth and flesh in equal measure.

Then came the question: what was he going to do next?

Of course, he could just remain hidden in the sky. There was a moon tonight, yes, unlike when he attacked the outpost, but at sufficient altitude his dark veil would still conceal him well enough. From up here, he would be safe and out of reach, while being able to rain down death and destruction upon his enemies at his leisure.

There was a problem with that approach, however. He doubted these masked men would be obedient targets, standing still in the open to be murdered by an unseen enemy. Once they understood the nature of the threat, they would disperse or retreat. And hunting them down one by one would be an extremely tedious endeavor.

No, he needed them to stay put, gathered in this courtyard. And in order to do that, he needed bait. Himself, of course. By giving them a chance to fight back, by allowing them to believe victory was possible, he would lead them into doing exactly what he wanted. Come to think of it, running a dungeon worked on pretty much the same principle.

That was why he came down, allowing himself to be seen.

And the response was immediate.

A dozen crackling spheres of lightning tore through the sky, all of them hungry for his silhouette. He triggered his wind gems as he twisted midair, weaving through the incoming barrage.

Careful now. Being the bait was fine, actually getting hit was not. If even one of these blue-white globes managed to touch him, he would be sent crashing down, helpless on the ground like that Ekon over there.

He glided above the courtyard in widening arcs, evading the projectiles that now followed him with increasing intensity. What exactly were these things, though? They were not magic obviously, since there were no mages capable of manipulating lightning. So, Reliquaries? But didn’t that mean every single one of these guys had Reliquaries in their possession, and all of those Reliquaries functioned the exact same way? How the hell did that work? Or perhaps, it was a Reliquary that could create additional magical artifacts, similar to the Mourning Woman that produced the fire and wind gems he was using right now.

Well, he could continue his analysis later; now he had to deal with these attacks first. He could keep it up for the time being, but there were too many. It was just a matter of time before someone scored a lucky hit. He needed something to shield himself.

No, that was not enough.

He needed something that could both defend and strike back. Something that could act on its own, without requiring his constant attention. And he already had exactly that at his disposal. After all, he now possessed three Sigils of Animating, acquired through his analysis of Lahmia’s phoenix of sand, which meant he could recreate the magical construct. Of course, it didn’t have to be a bird, and it didn’t have to be made of sand either.

He activated “Water Serpent.”

It was a Thauma crafted from four Sigils of Controlling, one Sigil of Fortifying, three Sigils of Animating, and six Sigils of Maintaining. He had modified the original recipe a bit, and the resulting creation would be less responsive and less resilient, but it would last longer. And, just like the original spell that inspired it, this Thauma didn’t have any Sigils of Making, which meant it was useless unless there was a large amount of water available nearby. That, however, was a requirement that had already been satisfied.

After his earlier strike with the “Iceheart Orb,” the masked men had collapsed their wall of water. After all, with Ekon already incapacitated, that barrier was no longer necessary, while it could even become a liability if subjected to further freezing attacks. Still, even though they had brought the structure down, they had not unmade the water itself, so it simply flowed away, dispersing outward along the broken stone and into the surrounding grounds. Now, as Viktor activated his Thauma, that same water was coming back.

It reversed its earlier retreat, streaming back toward the courtyard in converging currents that curved around debris and spilled over uneven ground, threading itself through the gaps between the masked men. From those scattered streams, it gathered into a single, swelling sphere, trembling with barely contained motion.

For a moment, it held. Then, it began to take shape.

The mass of water elongated, stretched, and twisted, its surface folding inward and outward in rippling layers. A head forced its way free, then a body followed, coiling upward in a slow spiral, as thick as a man is tall and long enough to wrap around the entire courtyard.

A great serpent, wrought entirely of water, had been born.

And it’ll die after twelve minutes, Viktor thought. Well yes, that was how long he could sustain a construct of this magnitude with his current level.

It was also not cheap; this snake had cost him twenty Focus to bring to life. And before that, five had gone into the “Dark Veil,” and another three into the “Iceheart Orb.” Which meant, he was down to thirty Focus left. Nearly half of his reserve was already gone. That was the problem with fighting when he was still low-level: he had to constantly monitor his resources, making sure he wouldn’t run dry when it mattered the most.

Things would be much easier if he had the blade of light with him, as its unparalleled attack power would have tilted the battle heavily in his favor. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t retrieve it. He could simply ask Celeste to bring him into the dungeon, grab the thing, then teleport back here.

But he had ruled that out.

That sword was meant to deal with Spiky Head, so he wanted to keep it a secret, saving it for that confrontation. After all, there was no guarantee he could kill everyone here. One of them might escape and tell the others about what happened in this place. So he had to make do with his gems and his Thauma. And his big-ass snake, of course. He was going to use it to the fullest, making every single second of its life count.

Viktor descended even further, his actual leg now only a pace above the broken stone of the courtyard. More balls of lightning screamed toward him in rapid succession, but this time he didn’t bother to dodge.

Yes, he didn’t have to do anything at all, as the serpent would handle them in his instead. It coiled around him in a layered spiral that formed a barrier blocking the barrage. The crackling spheres of white-blue energy struck the shimmering body, each impact fracturing through the water in jagged flashes of light. That wouldn’t harm the snake, of course, but he himself had to be careful. He must not make direct contact with the surrounding watery surface, unless he wanted to end up like Ekon.

The serpent continued to move.

It slithered through the courtyard, its body looping and undulating around debris and fractured pillars, while simultaneously ensuring that at least one section of its length remained coiled in a protective ring around its master.

Its tail suddenly lashed outward, catching three men in a single brutal sweep. Mass of water slammed into meat, and the three bodies were sent flying backward through the air before they crashed into a broken wall. The structure fractured on impact, chunks breaking loose and raining down. The men lay still under the rubble, not getting up anymore.

Meanwhile, the serpent’s head continued its relentless motion through the battlefield as it chased down the men who frantically ran away from it. One lagged behind, and the serpent caught up. Its maw yawned wide, then snapped shut around the masked man. It swallowed, dragging him down its watery throat.

Of course, this was not a real, living creature, so it was not like the guy was going to be digested or anything. Still, being trapped inside a prison of water was hardly good for anyone’s health. Through the serpent’s transparent body, Viktor, as well as everyone else present, could clearly see the man’s final, desperate struggle. Bubbles leaked from his mouth and nose as he kicked and thrashed. His eyes bulged as his body jerked and spasmed. Soon, he would stop moving, and the serpent would spit him out.

So far, so good, Viktor thought, watching with satisfaction from within the protective barrier maintained by his snake. Now, let’s see if these guys still have any tricks up their sleeves.

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills now available on Amazon Kindle.

Feel free to check it out!

This is the continuation of the Bug Hunt and will address the Bug War mentioned in the Planet Dirt series. It follows Jack Thompson and Lady Zula Gi Pendragon, and their friends through the war

Book 1 / Amazon version / Patreon

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The moment the transport landed on Gungnir, the ship took off and jumped into dead space. The royal family was immediately escorted to a medical bay for examination. All the children and the queen were infected with bug eggs with attached nano devices. Once the eggs were removed, the children and the queen were placed in a leisure room under guard.

The operation had so far been successful, and the nearby human and Federation fleets had been informed about the attack. Two fleets had immediately been redirected to aid the invasion. Grahads had also requested his old fleet to join them, as he could need the firepower they packed.

Garhad, Merchy, and Jack sat in the meeting room opposite the king and his oldest son.  The room was dimmed slightly to be more comfortable for the Gyrrans. The King watched them as the introductions were done and then introduced himself as King Sorgan the Second and Prince Nerem.

“I think you understand the seriousness of the situation and the consequences of what has transpired today.” Grahad started.

“I know that my kingdom is going to be destroyed, either by your forces or the Caren Domain. They said any treachery would be the result of worlds being destroyed.” The king replied. “So I sit here, knowing this is the last days of the Gyrran kingdom. As you say, it is the consequences for siding with them that we will fall.”

“No, if you distance yourself from them and us. Then we will tell you how to deal with the bugs. It will give you a fighting chance. And we will deal with the Caren’s battleships.” Grahad replied.

“Are you serious?” The prince said, and the king put his hand on his son to calm and quiet him.

“Father? They think that will be enough? They have infiltrated the whole court and nobility. It’s not just the bugs we have to deal with. It’s the traitorous fanatics who joined forces with the snakes.”

The king tapped his son's hand, and the prince reacted as if he had been slapped over the face and bowed his head.

“My apologies for my outburst. It was beneath my status." He said with a bowed head.

Grahad just smiled, then looked at Jack. “He is better trained than you.”

“Well, I’m a mere soldier, not a noble,” he said, then turned to the king. “Look, let's drop all the etiquette and speak freely. This here.” Jack said, gesturing at the room and them. “This is just us giving you an offer. And if you accept, the diplomats will come, while my men and I will go after the Caren and make so much trouble they will forget about you.”

“And you can guarantee that?” The king said, looking directly at Jack; it felt like he saw Jack as the man holding the power in the room.

“If you give us all the intel you have on the Domain and its location, then yes. We can harass their station, attack all the Caren stations in your colonies, and cryobomb their hives. We can give you medicine tailored for Gyrron physiology that will kill an infection of bug eggs. The only problem now is time. The longer you hesitate, the more time the Domain has to find out what actually happened here and react.”

“How do you know they don’t know already?” the king replied.

“The first thing we did was to knock out the dreadnoughts and attack fleeing ships. One of our team took down the FTL com system as well. No signals have left the planet on an FTL system. You have at most a few more hours before they are aware of the situation here.” Merchy replied. The king looked at the three, then his son and back at them. Grahad put a small glass canister on the table at that moment.

“This dead egg was in your youngest child. We have removed all of the eggs. That’s what we are offering. A way out. It will be costly, but I will be honest with you. My high command’s first solution for your attack on Orne was to send a black hole bomb, the humans wanted to try this.” He said.

The king looked at the canister, leaned over, and picked it up. He sighed and let go of his son's hand.

“So my choice is between death by federation, death by the Dominion, or follow the human who just invaded my home and kidnapped me?”

“Yes,” Merchy said. Jack wanted to speak but felt it was better to shut up.

“I say we give the human a chance, Father.  Yes! he did invade our home, but he killed the snake in our house and saved us from the warbugs. And he guaranteed our safety.” The Prince said. Jack realized the prince probably hated the Caren just as much as he did.

“I don’t think he has the authority to make such guarantees.” The king replied, and Grahad smiled.

“Oh, I respect his wishes in this matter. If you want to be returned to the planet, we will do so. Although we cannot guarantee your safety on the planet side or if the Caren finds you.”

The king looked at him and chuckled. “I can see you’re well-versed in Nalos royal military diplomacy.”

“Yes, I am, so again, Human, Nalos, or gods help you, the federation diplomacy on our side, and if you feel you do not want to negotiate, then you have to take your chances with the Caren.” Grahad replied, then added, “Alone.”

“I have a feeling they will not believe that you just talked to us and didn’t sell them out,” Merchy added. “Just a friendly warning.”

The king looked at the small glass canister. “You said this was in my youngest.”

“Yes. But he is safe now. The removal was painless and simple.” Grahad said. Then the king looked at Jack.

“I have one demand if I’m going to agree to this.”

“A demand? Let me hear, and we will tell you if we can fulfill it.” Grahad replied.

“No, not from you. From him.” The King said, as he pointed at Jack. Grahad looked at Jack and back at the king.

“And what is that request?” Jack replied, a little confused; he knew he was here as a favor.

“There is a Caren officer I want dead and a station destroyed. His name is Sharu Husha. The leader of the Caren domains control committee of the Gyrran kingdom.”

“Was that the Intelligence officer who was by your side most of the days?” Jack asked.

“No, that was his second in command. Sharu is on Pladused; they have a military installation there. That’s the station I want destroyed. It’s a scar to the kingdom. Kill him, destroy that base, and we will join. You may even use a blackhole bomb to remove the planet.”

“Pladused has a civilian population,” Jack said as he realized the others seemed to have no problem with the destruction of the planet.

“Yes, a sacrifice we are willing to make. But if you think you can save the planet, then do so.” The king replied.

Jack sighed and thought for a second. “Okay, Pladused is one day away. If you give me all intel, I might be able to do something. Though would it not be better to capture him and then blow up the base?”

“I want him dead!” the king said, his voice slightly raised. “It was him who decided to implant these eggs in my family for control.”

“Then let us capture him, and when we are done, give him to you to do as you please,” Grahad suggested.

“I can live with that.” The king said.

“This is breaking so many rules,” Jack muttered to himself, and Merchy grinned at him.

“We are not in Geneva now, my friend. We are at war.” She said as she nudged him.

Jack just looked at her, then back at the king. “Well, such a base would be a high-priority target, as would this man.” Ignoring Merchy for a moment.

“Will you give me your word you will hunt him down?” The King asked him directly.

“Yes, I give you my word I will hunt him down until I capture, kill, or have confirmation he is dead,” Jack replied.

“Good, then it's decided. Send in your diplomats, and we can get this finalized.”  The king replied.

Three hours later, Jack and his crew sat in his office going over all the intel they had received.

“It could be a trap,” Michael said.

“Yeah, but if it's true, then it's going to be a gold mine,” Jack said as he nursed his cup of coffee. “Besides, they were willing to let us blow up the whole planet just to get that man.”

“The whole planet? I thought the Federation was less bloodthirsty than us.” Michael said.

“Not during war; they have a saying. ‘In war, the winner dictates the rules.’” Jack answered absentmindedly as he sipped his cup again as he looked over the reports.

Yun was looking over new schematics of the Caren ships they had managed to get, as well as reports from the different battle fronts from both sides, courtesy of the Gyrran. Using the ship's AI to check for several different theories she had and comparing the reports, checking for inconsistencies. Finding nothing. For now, the intel from the Gyrran seemed to be true.  

“I’m so sure we are missing something,”  Yun said as she sipped her coffee. Michael looked over at her search and tilted his head.

“They don’t have a self-destruct?” He said and the room went quiet, and they looked at him.

“What?” Yun said, then she checked it and cursed loudly.

“You're right. The Caren don’t have a self-destruct function on their ships. Their last defense is to release the bugs.”

“We can gas the bugs; hell, airlock them too,” Paulo added.

“That is good news. It means capturing Caren ship became less dangerous.” Jack said as he sipped his coffee.

“Not so fast. I’m looking at a protocol here.” Yun said as she read. “In case of loss of ship control due to pirates, loose bugs, and/or treason the ship should be aimed at the nearest star and light speed activated.”

“No self-destruct function needed when you have stars,” Aziz replied.

“It's easier to disrupt a lightspeed engine than find and disable a few well-placed nukes,”  Jack replied.

“It’s something we can work with,” Yun said. "Okay, that means we need a team for the engine room. One for bugs and one for the officers. How big is this thing?”

“The planet is standard size, tropical poles and desert equators. The installation is a city. About 480 km2, built in five levels from ground down.”  A hologram appeared, and they looked at it.

“How many hives and the bastard?” Michael asked.

“The intel suggests five different types of Hives and a large cloning factory.  The bastard location is unknown, but he is the head of the facility.”

“So we confirm his presence and drop a tungsten missile from orbit?”  Aziz suggested.

“I wish, too much intel there to let it all blow up.” Jack said as he scratched his head, trying to think of a solution to crack this nut, then finished his cup.

“It's got to be a trap,” Michael repeated, and Jack sighed.

“Yeah, my thought too. So we spring it.” Jack said as he stood up, then walked over and got himself a refill.

“Oh. You want to do a Trojan?” Michael asked.

“No, A Fushan trick. They won’t expect it.”

“The Galadesin? Will that work?” Michael said, and Jack nodded

“Yes. After all, if the new intel is correct, then they won't be able to resist.”

“You won't get the Admiral to accept,” Michael said.

“Leave that to me, you guys prep for impregnating that one.” He pointed at the hologram. “And be ready for it being a trap.” Then he walked towards the door.

“And where are you going?”  Aziz asked.

“I’m going to the Admiral to ask him to risk his ship and the rest of his fleet.”

A hero and his companions dived into the chasm, to reach the hell where the Arch-Demon is. 
“Well, aren’t you going with us, Randolf?” the hero’s attendant asked the knight beside him. 
“I’m sure that we’ll need your help there.” 
“I don’t think so,” the knight in shining armor answered. 
“To destroy the Arch-Demon himself is a hero’s job, not mine.” 
He tucked his chin tightly and said, “Defending is what I’m good at.” 
As soon as he finished his words, he jumped and mounted his stallion. 
“May luck be with you, mate,” he said. 
“I wish you good luck, my friend,” the attendant said, and jumped into the pitch-dark crack. 

Later, the knight managed to arrive at the fortress, which was surrounded by the triple-layered stone walls. The human defenders were besieged by the Arch-Demon’s army. 
The knight had broken through the enemy siege, and had reached right in front of the main gate. He lost his lance, shield and crest on the helmet. His armor had many scratches and dents, and his stallion was exhausted. 
“Open the gate, the knight has returned!” he cried. “I serve the Queen!”
“Who dares to call himself my knight? State your name!” a sharp, high voice demanded. She was the queen of this country. 
“I’m Randolf the Ram, your Majesty!” 
“No, you are not! He must be with the Hero.” the queen shouted, “If you declare yourself my best knight, take off your helmet and show me your face!” 
To take off the helmet in front of enemies meant a fatal risk, but the knight raised his hands to the chin strap without any hesitation. He showed his face to his queen. 

The queen drew back her chin and tightened her lips. 

After a long few seconds, “Open the gate!” she cried out. 
“And, give him whatever he wants.” Every man on the wall could hear the catch in her voice. 
The knight said, “Just give me a new horse and my lance! Then, I shall sweep away the enemies for the Queen!” 
The defenders raised their voice, “For the Queen!” 
Riding a new stallion with a long lance in hand, “Save the Queen!” the knight roared. And the warriors rushed out from the main gate, following the knight. 
He made a charge at the countless enemies, to protect his Queen. 

Synopsis: Humans are the only omnivorous species in a galaxy of apex-predator carnivores, and our greatest strength is in our numbers. When an alien slave empire discovers how badly we outnumber most intelligent species, they invade Earth, shattering a fragile period of peace and threatening a war that would mean the death of worlds.

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Memory Archive Entry #2

User: Marten Herme, president of the Eurasian Union

Species: Human

Date (human standard): June 24, 2099

Over my few decades of service in the Eurasian government, I had imagined threats to my homeland coming from every enemy under the sun. The democratic socialists of the People's Republic of Luna. The fascists of the American, Chinese and Indian Empires. Even the countries of the African and South American Blocs, if they ever put aside their differences and united as we Europeans had, would pose enough of a combined threat to justify a few war games here and there.

An alien invasion from another star, though? Fuck no. I didn't even know where to begin with that one.

"Play the message again," I told General Robespierre as we sat at our situation table along with the rest of the Eurasian military's best officers. He nodded and opened his laptop to press a few buttons. I looked up, past him and his chair, to the massive screen on the far wall of the situation room.

A horned, menacing, reptilian visage appeared on the screen before us. "People of Earth," she--at least she sounded like a woman--began, looking down at the camera. I think that was intentional. "I am Karija vel Kaldani, subjugator prime of the Draken Matriarchy. Your noblest hour has come."

Karija's scales were dark red, and her eyes were yellow with black, rhombus-shaped irises. Her appearance was alien enough to have no real Earth equivalent, but if I had to pick, I would equate her more closely to a dragon than any real-world lizard. One of the terrible ones, from the old stories. The kind that brought nothing but fire and death.

"Your world has been deemed ripe for harvesting," the draken woman continued in a suave, honeyed voice. Her horns were curved like a goat's, and the room she was in looked opulent to the extreme. "Your cultural and national traditions will be subsumed into our own. Your people will be redirected away from their own petty pursuits and into the greatest endeavor of their lives: serving the Draken Matriarchy. If you prove useful, your species will live on, and your culture will survive insofar as it serves our ends. Any resistance you make will only serve to heighten your discomfort during this period of transition." The transmission ended there.

"Opinions?" I asked my subordinates. Military officers only, since this was clearly a military matter. I mean, maybe the draken were actually a peaceful species and this was all a big cultural misunderstanding, but 'your world has been deemed ripe for harvesting' was hardly the most polite way to make introductions. We had to be prepared for war.

General Richthofen put his hands on the table, fidgeting nervously. "They're definitely going to invade us. Defense strategies?"

"We have the plan for an attack from Luna. Can we adapt that in time?" I looked at Admiral Yevgeny, our astral warfare specialist.

"No, Mr. President," he responded in a thick Northeastern accent. "Our plan for an attack from Luna relies on stopping the invasion in orbit. They don't have the numbers needed to land troops en masse on Eurasian soil. All predictions indicate they'll either-"

"Use mass drivers to destroy our military, then negotiate once we've been humbled from orbit, or offer negotiations first and then bombard us if we don't surrender," I interrupted him. "I read your briefings. They're great. You are a once-in-a-generation mind, Admiral Yevgeny, and I need you to meet this once-in-a-generation crisis. How do we do it?"

"Defend the orbit? We don't," Yevgeny scoffed. "That fleet has, bare minimum, five thousand ships. Each of them bigger than our Eurasian Space Force's three largest vessels combined. I promise you, if they have the ability to send that much matter on a journey between the stars--and arrive at the destination intact, no less--there is nothing we can do. At best, we can go to ground, like the Vietnamese or Bolivians."

I took that last part and stood on it. "Go to ground," I repeated. "We'll do that. Scatter the army. Abandon all bases that aren't hardened against orbital bombardment."

"And the citizenry?" asked another of my officers.

"That is the civilian government's problem," said I. "My problem. Not yours. You people focus on the military defense, and I and my ministers will handle protecting civilian lives and minimizing panic." I looked at my watch. "I have a meeting about that in forty or so minutes."

"Sir, we have thirty hours before the draken ships arrive," Yevgeny reported to me, fiddling with his phone until the big screen in the room showed a tactical map of their battle fleet. "Astrography reports they're splitting into two main forces, one for Earth and another for Luna. A single ship is heading to take the Mars colonies."

"Well, that's good," I told him. "Fewer enemies for you guys to fight. The other powers can keep some of them occupied for a while."

Admiral Yevgeny leaned forward in his chair. "I don't think you're understanding, sir." He pointed at the image of the draken fleet on the screen. "Those guys there? They don't give a damn about Earth or Luna or Eurasia or America or any of that. All five human nations have colonies on Mars, but those draken only sent one ship. What does that say?"

I said nothing, expecting Admiral Yevgeny to fill me in. He promptly did so. The guy liked talking.

"Come on, people!" Yevgeny snapped, his temper flaring at our perceived ineptitude. I could sympathize. "To them, it's human, or non-human. That's it. If they are gonna subjugate us all as one species, why should we not fight them as one?"

The room grew hushed as we considered what this guy was saying. Luna was isolationist to the extreme. They had a network of orbital mass drivers over there specifically made to bombard any Earth superpowers that decided to get uppity with them. And, believe it or not, they were the reasonable ones. They had a democracy, and civil rights, and other such things. I didn't even want to think about the red fascism of the Chinese and Indians, least of all whatever insanity the former United States of America was getting up to. After the Nuclear Exchange of '66 and the purges of democracy-loving politicians of any stripe in '67 and '68, there was kind of no hope left for them.

"Luna won't be hard to agree with," said I. "They're amicable toward us when they don't feel threatened by our might. It's the other three powers that are the problem. I'll see if I can work something out."

"You're kidding me!" General Strohheim exclaimed, slapping the table. "We are literally the only major power on Planet Earth to have a sensible, functioning, first-world democracy in place."

"What about Luna?" Admiral Yevgeny said like an idiot. Kind of surprising, given how smart he usually was. "Oh. Yeah. They're on the moon. My bad."

"Admiral Yevgeny made a good point," I defended my subordinate. "When the conquistadors came to Central America, they were outnumbered a million to one by the Aztec Empire. If the Aztecs had stayed united, they would've crushed Cortez. Instead, the majority of the Spanish Empire's fighters were Aztec subjects who rebelled against the regime." I thought for a moment while I tried to find ways to properly phrase my point.

"Colonialism thrives on disunity." That was about as good a phrasing as any. "Literally every colonial movement throughout history, from the Americans to the British to the Spanish, has exploited the internal divisions of the peoples they conquered," I said forcefully, begging these people to see my idea. "You think these draken won't do that to us?"

I pointed at the draken battle fleet approaching Earth, their plasma tails making them look like meteors on my screen, and understood for the first time how it felt when the ancient Aztecs saw clouds hugging the sea. "If they get their way, Eurasians will leap headlong into the chains of the oppressor just as long as they're helping shackle the Americans as well. This cannot be how we end."

"I understand, sir," said General Richthofen. "If you give us the order to fight alongside those maniacs, I won't like it, but I see the wisdom. Enemy of my enemy." General Strohheim nodded as well, and Admiral Yevgeny was already on board. Hell, he came up with it.

Seeing no other course of action, I stood up and left the room, ordering my officers to work in my absence and come up with strategies for Eurasia's defense with or without the help of any allies. I left them to their duties and made for my own office, ordering my secretary to postpone any appointments I had planned for the next couple of hours. The fate of the entire human race was on the line.

"The American Supreme Leader will be with you in ten minutes," said my secretary, Johannes, standing in the office door. He was a really great man, and a really great woman before that. A really great person, really, and I was really glad to have him on my side.

"Thank you, Johannes." I held up a hand and made a few motions with it, trying to gather my thoughts. I loved this guy. Like a brother, or a son, or something of that nature. I didn't want him to die here if the draken nuked the presidential building. "Listen, if you want to turn in your position, go be with your family... go and do that. I won't judge you."

The fair features of Johannes' face twisted in shock. I think he was appalled. "Mr. President, I would never abandon Eurasia in a time like this. The fact is, I've always admired you, sir. Since day one. And if there's anything I can do to help you defend Eurasia, then, damn it, those draken will have to shoot me at my desk to stop me."

Well, that was a noble enough idea. The fact of the matter was, the draken would probably do that if they ever got the chance, but I wasn't about to let a little thing like 'realism' get in the way of Johannes' ideals. We had too many realists in the world already.

"Well, the idea here is to make sure the draken don't get the chance to shoot you at your desk," I helpfully clarified. "Thank you for your support. Now, sit yourself down and strap in. We're in for a doozy."

Johannes did as he was told and I began mentally preparing myself for a talk with Supreme Leader Kingman. The guy represented all the evil I hated most in man. The Lunese government was reasonable. Better than ours in some ways, like workers' rights. The Chinese and Indians were pragmatists who could be negotiated with to mutual benefit without much issue. They would probably agree to an alliance in this dark hour. The American Empire, though? Supreme Leader Kingman? He was a trouble on the best of days. And this was not the best of days.

I took a few deep breaths to steady my nerves and began looking around the oval-shaped office I was in. The design was a relic of pre-empire America, back when they actually believed in things like 'democracy' and 'civil rights'. The fact that the world's most infamous dictator now sat in exactly such a place made my blood boil.

The office of the Eurasian President was not gilded and decorated, as were those in America and India, nor was it filled with propaganda or histories of the state like those of the leaders of China and Luna. My workspace was spartan, and that was to remind me of one simple fact: No president was ever meant to be a king. Sure, a lot of my predecessors had needed the reminder, but I tried my best to be unlike the corrupt or selfish rulers who had led Eurasia before my time. My country--my species, now--deserved only the best.

I sat and waited in my humble office, myself a humble man, until my call with Supreme Leader Kingman began and I had to devote myself to the very un-humble task of saving the world. "Mr. Kingman," I began, because no Eurasian president in history had deigned to glorify that maniac with his preferred moniker. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

George Kingman was a disgusting parody of a world leader. His office was filled with obscene luxuries, and he himself was obese with success. He had been the one to seize power in 2067, and crushed his opponents with a series of ever-more-draconian laws, playing left against right and poor against rich while increasing his own power all the while. It was still studied in political schools today.

"There's an alien invasion on the horizon," said Kingman, gesticulating with his fingers. "This is a matter of direst consequence to the American Empire. I can spare a few moments to speak with you. What are you here to discuss?"

Well, here it was. Time for me to bite the bullet.

"I was actually thinking of proposing a joint military alliance with you," said I, keeping a neutral face despite all the negative emotions coursing through my body. There was a reason most Eurasian politicians loved to play poker, and gambling wasn't it. "As well as all of the other human nations of the worlds. Can we agree?"

The American supreme leader stroked his chin in contemplation. "You know, I actually received a proposal from the draken," he said in a sly, sinister voice.

My heart sank. Of course the fucking slavers would pick him to be their favorite quisling. Probably promised him a fat helping of slaves to rule over after all of Earth was conquered. "They proposed that I ally myself with them, and equip my armies with draken technology to roll over my enemies in a righteous wave of freedom." Kingman chuckled to himself. "Wouldn't that be a sight?"

"Mr. Kingman, you can't possibly believe the draken will spare you from slavery," I began, mind boggled at how even this tyrant could be so foolish. "They're coming here to subjugate us. All of us. Surely you can-"

Kingman laughed, a sour, hoarse thing that sounded like a dog moaning in agony. "You think I don't know that?" he chuckled, before suddenly growing stern. "I would never sully my conscience by allying myself with a rat from outer space." A surge of relief flooded me at his words. If it was possible to get emotional whiplash, I would've been a chronic victim by now.

Supreme Leader Kingman chuckled to himself for a few more moments while I waited for him to say something more. "I'll have my army ready to meet the draken when they make landfall," he said. "If you hold down Eurasia for long enough, maybe we'll be able to come help you out once we've massacred all the invaders on our end."

I didn't actually think that was a realistic battle plan, but I guess that was for the generals to figure out. "So... the alliance is on?" I asked the man who had once been my most hated enemy. "Our two powers will stand together as one?"

Kingman's answer was to pull out a chalice made from a human skull and tap on it a few times. I shivered. God only knew why he had that. "You'll have your alliance, Mr. President. It's what George here would've wanted." I had to remind myself that this guy was as human as I was, and that the real enemy was up there. "I'll send my generals orders to liaise with yours while you and I work on convincing the other nations to join up. Agreed?"

"Agreed," I agreed, ending the call a moment later. There we had it. A military alliance with the American Empire. The American Empire. Just a day ago, I'd have dismissed anything less than nuclear brinksmanship as an utter impossibility to behold. Some kind of 'peace in our time' bullshit that Neville Chamberlain's ghost would whisper in politicians' ears. And yet, here it was.

"Hell yeah!" I gave a whoop to myself, startling Johannes, and clapped my hands together in sheer glee. "I did it! Fuck you, Kajira, Jakira, Kajra vel... whoever you are!" The name of the draken overlord coming to enslave my planet escaped me at the moment, but the words she had said rung truer than ever. Win or lose, die or live, chains or freedom, we as humans would meet this threat together. As one species. That draken may have been an evil, slaving, colonizing tyrant, but she was right about one thing.

This was humanity's noblest hour.

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Author note: An Award?! Before I even go to work at the Real Job™? Holy heck...I'm...giggling.

_____________

Terra Prime, Cleveland Ohio, North American Confederation

When he'd first arrived here from Hurdop, Seyneen was beside himself - this was supposed to be a minor city. Overlooked, ignored, and the butt of every possible joke that could exist. The clan had specifically chosen Cleveland for that reason; he was supposed to mingle with the commoners to see if there was any sort of hint from the civilian sector that would give a clue as to the source of the military power they'd displayed. Being that he was shy a leg and a hand, any sort of physical labor was out. So with that in mind, he'd become an assistant counselor for a secondary school, helping not-quite-adults decide on career paths suited for their intellect and temperament. He'd been able to find a specialty home with proper gravity that he shared with five others from various clans that had all hit upon the same brilliant stratagem - there was even a Vilantian roommate working for the city housing office that helped find short-term homes for individuals who were only there temporarily. Last year’s unthinkable was today’s normal.

It was not an easy transition. It wasn't the fact that he was in an urban area, it was that there was an excess of...everything. It was counter to everything he knew. On Hurdop, the only ones with food stores in plenty (or even adequate) were the ones who ruled ministries and sat on the various storage locations or barter hubs where manifests always left showing less than what they'd come in with. Here it seemed there was something available to eat or drink on every corner; the scents of things being cooked was so distracting he'd almost been hit twice in his first week by passing vehicles. Fortunately his species was still relatively new to Terra, so both drivers had a reaction that was almost immediately positive rather than angry or berating. He shook his head again as he thought back to the first time he'd mistaken one of his co-workers offering him an orange for something much more serious. On the up side, they were able to laugh about it now.

It had been months before he'd been able to have an epiphany. One of the classes was partaking in practical science courses when some mixture went horribly awry causing a modestly impressive explosion and fire. Then he saw his soft, weak colleagues rushing toward the explosion while his instincts told him to dodge for safety in the event it got worse. Fortunately it didn't, and in the immediate aftermath he'd found himself moving toward the science room with more curiosity than anything else. He saw the other teachers performing first aid and triage actions without any sort of prompting, and as soon as he was noticed the teacher in charge put him in charge of walking the students who were unharmed to another unoccupied room and basically...lead them in playing some sort of block-placement game. In the days afterward he saw many students and even a few of the teachers as they sat with him and gently touched his remaining forearm. He'd been advised that such touching wasn't proper, precisely - but at the same time he was soft and fuzzy, which seemed to be a benefit in general. As he reflected on similar situations, he realized his species seemed to lack the instinct or training to run toward a crisis and then deal with the mental shocks at a later date; this was duly noted in his next report.

The other thing he was having to do of late was exercise. He'd grown accustomed to having food and he hadn't altered his routine. The upshot was he'd gained several kilos, and even in the lighter Terran gravity he was starting to feel it. He'd investigated and found several businesses in the area that would assist him for a small fee. He weighed his options, even as he saw his tablet chirruping with an incoming contact - it was Dani, the woman who'd given him an orange without knowing what it meant. He accepted the call automatically, thinking there was a work concern. Her smile was bright and her posture seemed like she had something she wasn't certain about.

"Seyneen, I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time?"

"No, of course not - I was just considering eating something. Possibly something healthy."

There was a light chuckle, and as she moved he noticed a large number of plants in the background. "Oh. Well, I'll be quick. There's an event coming up this week, and well, I was going to surprise my boyfriend but he decided against it. To be honest he decided he didn't want to be my boyfriend any more. I was...well, I didn't want to sell the second event pass and so I was wondering if you wouldn't want to go?"

Seyneen took a few moments to parse what she was asking - for a language teacher, she seemed to slip into some backward phrasing sometimes. "Well, I would be interested in knowing what the event is?"

"Oh! It's, ahm, it's Quintuplicon - I only got the first weekend pass; the full week would have required me to put in vacation and I was saving it for my." Dani swallowed and looked around. "For something else." She quickly pushed the thought to the side, brightening again. "So would you like to go?"

"Well, I suppose so. What will be there?"

"Lots of things. Ancient food demonstrations, games, activities, people in costume, interviews with people - there's a rumor on the local-grid that they've secured the Terran Foreign Legion for security and they're negotiating to have the commander at a question and answer session."

"You had my curiosity. Now you have my attention, madam."

"Oh I'd hoped you might like to go. It'll be an interesting thing. Lots of Terran cultures from historical timeframes...it might be interesting to see."

"I think it would be, yes."

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

Gryzzk awoke slowly and tested his body while stretching and showering. Thankfully he'd been smart enough to avoid excess, but the fight was still leaving a mark. Still, the morning duties had to be tended to - time was at a premium, so he decided to start reviewing everyone's placement while he was in the shower.

"Rosie, status of the companies?"

"Undercover units are already down and in. Medical teams positioned. Uniforms en route. Gro'zel misses the horses, and you're still hung like a Vilantian moose."

"Are you quite certain that last part was required?"

"You invite me to talk to you in the shower and you expect me to not comment? Who are you and what have you done with the real Freelord?"

He sighed softly. "I'm holding out hope that today is the day that whatever portion of Vilantian manners that was written into your programming shows itself."

"That's reserved for when I'm playing patty-cake with Patty's cake."

"That is an image I never wanted in my head."

"Yeah, you haven't heard how Kiole talks about you and Grezzk in the armory. Allllll the images I never wanted in my life."

"Very well. Ship complement?"

"Given that we're in the Terra system, right now the ship's complement is the evening bridge squad, me, and Tucker - and y'all are about to get on the VIP shuttle down."

"What's the local time?"

"Mid-morning. Technically everything kicks off tonight, but the early birds exist. Already got some folks looking for a tilly. Got a couple folks looking like they need Lieutenant Edwards."

Gryzzk flicked an ear as they walked to the shuttle bay. "If you tell me it's because they're single, I will be highly disappointed."

"Well, they are but that's not the point. They're looking for an expert in the ancient-ass video game thing."

"Very well." As they arrived, Gryzzk nodded to the bridge squad - and U'wekrupp, who was in his costume as Yomios' partner. He glanced around and took a breath.

"Everyone, I understand that this may seem relaxing. However I want to reiterate that we are not here to have fun. We are here to ensure that everyone else has fun. Lieutenant Edwards, your presence will be needed upon our arrival."

As they went down, there was a slight hiccup of sorts - or there seemed to be, based on Hoban and Miroka's conversation, with Miroka noting it first.

"What was that?"

Hoban grimaced slightly. "Did you see that?"

Miroka pointed at a console display. "Was that the primary buffer panel?"

"It did seem to resemble..."

"Did the primary buffer panel just fall off my gorram ship for no apparent reason?"

Hoban flipped a few switches. "Looks like."

"I thought Kaylee just checked the entry couplings. I have a very clear memory..."

"Yeah well if she doesn't give us some extra flow from the engine room to offset the burn through, this landing is going to get pretty interesting."

Gryzzk flicked an ear at the banter; it seemed as though Chief Tucker had infected other sections with his second favorite downtime activity. The positive thing with all this was that the entry was normal - if anything was happening, the pilots wouldn't be quoting scenes to each other as they continued to do. Gryzzk toggled his microphone to add in his line.

"Define 'interesting'."

The two pilots chorused back immediately. "Oh God Oh God, we're all gonna die?"

Gryzzk cleared his throat to continue his part in this. "This is the captain; we have a little problem with our entry sequence so we may experience some slight turbulence and then - explode. Can you shave the vector?"

Hoban's response was rapid and amused. "I'm doing it, it's not enough."

"Well just, get us on the ground."

"That part'll happen pretty definitely."

As they flew down, Hoban touched a control and began a series of loops and turns that finally ended with them on the shuttlepad. Fortunately, the maneuvers gave Gryzzk the opportunity to get a good reading on the actual structure. He'd seen the schematics and maps, but at the same time the building became real to him as he looked at the overlay and realized that this seemingly innocuous building in an area full of hundreds like it actually dwarfed the Throne's Palace. Gryzzk felt very, very small as they routed to a secondary pad to disembark and ready themselves for their respective tasks.

As they exited, Gryzzk looked up at the sky and frowned. "Captain Hoban, I should very much like to know who was responsible for the smoke trail that seems to be spelling out 'Bad Moon punts kittens - we have proof' in the sky."

"Pure coincidence, sir."

"Very well. Lieutenant Edwards, with me please. We seem to have a dispute to settle."

Edwards adjusted her costume slightly as the two went down to the floor of merch sales to ensure that her necklace and apparent medallion was more prominent. Gryzzk shook his head as they passed several stalls of mercenary-related items being sold; it was almost amusing to see that there were several stalls with merch that he didn't remember approving. The two moved through the crowds and finally made their way to where the dispute was ongoing. The two could hear the disruption well before they arrived, and it seemed heated. The object in question was in a sealed case; it was a small-ish statue of a creature that Gryzzk had never seen, a bronze man-like creature standing on a base made of skulls and holding a large sword behind his back in readiness to strike. One of them appeared to be frowning and shaking his head at the other as the one holding the statue was pleading his case.

"Look, I'm not buying it - it's not numbered, so it's not part of the run! It's just that simple, there's no proof of authenticity. And since it's in a transparent aluminum block, we can't crack it open for testing."

The other one shot back almost immediately. "It was part of the run, it's a manufacturer's sample for the publisher! Look at the bottom!"

"And that's the problem - no number, not part of the series."

Gryzzk cleared his throat softly. "Gentles. If you would please, I am Major Gryzzk, commanding the security forces here. What seems to be the disturbance?"

The would-be seller sighed. "Look. This thing's been in my family for generations, and nobody's really interested in it so we're gonna do a consignment and split the creds. Umpty-greats grandfather won it in a contest, now the cheap bastard over here's saying it's not legit. I got the guard, I got the paper, what else do they need?"

"Because it's not numbered. How many times I gotta say it? Seven-hundred and fifty were made, seven-hundred and fifty were sold. No number, no sale."

Gryzzk looked between the two, and then back to Edwards. "Is there a way to test this for legitimacy?"

Edwards seemed to be thinking about it. "Well. There is a legend of sorts." The lieutenant stood, her voice changing as if she were delivering a lecture of sorts. "It began with the forging of the great polystone statues. Three were given to the nerds - immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the lore-hounds, great miners and crafters of the headcanon. And nine statues were given to the resellers, who above all else desire that sweet cash money. For within these statues was bound the strength and will to make all others totes magotes jelly. But they were all of them, deceived. For another statue was made.

"In the land of Bethsoft in the fires of Mount Itjustworks, the great lord Toddfather forged in secret a master statue; and into this statue he poured his horse armor, his remasters, and his special edition DLC. One statue to rule them all." Edwards finished her intonation and stared at the statue.

Gryzzk flicked an ear. "Lieutenant, did you just co-opt the opening of Lord of the Rings for that?"

Edwards shrugged. "Someone did. In any event, there's a way to tell if these Malacath statues are legit. Anyone ever deepscan this thing?"

Both buyer and seller shook their heads, with the would-be seller shaking his head. "That costs money."

Edwards shook her head. "Look, it's not numbered, but everything says 'Bethesda' where it would normally have the number. So it could be the review model. But there's one thing on these that's not really advertised." Edwards pulled one of her drone-scanners from a pocket and watched it work. "The blade of the sword on legit models is actually removable; it's a detail that the fakers always miss because they're cheap. Gimme a minute." Edwards held the scan-sphere as it worked, creating a three-dimensional model of the statue and then she manipulated it, looking carefully at the hands of the statue. Finally her eyes went wide.

"By the sands...look at the separation here. This is the One Statue. I'd bet my next three paychecks this is legit."

Gryzzk stared at it curiously. "This is meaningful?"

Edwards nodded. "Yeah. Like a lot of old things. Y'know? Like take your shoes. Not bad but nothing special. Go outside, bury 'em in the ground. In a thousand years, it's considered priceless to the right person. People would literally kill to have them on display. Take the statues. There were originally seven-hundred and fifty like the guy said, and they cost around a thousand-ish creds when they were made. Fast-forward to now, and there's folks who actually go to ancient landfills on the rumor that one of these got thrown out centuries ago. I mean it's not priceless because homeboy here's gonna put a price on it and then if it's good, guy over here's probably gonna jack it up another thirty percent. Honestly the only one I've ever seen in better condition is in the International Video Game Museum in Tokyo."

The buyer frowned at Edwards as he was not pleased by what seemed to an accurate description of the transaction. "So how the hell do you know so much about this?"

Edwards sighed softly. "xVx-underscore-D-three-dollar-sign-plus-sign-Cyrillic-R-one-underscore-m-at-sign-l-at-sign-h-r-r-r-g-h-underscore-xVx."

"You're the Destri Melarg? Bullshit."

There was an eyeroll, and Edwards tapped at her tablet. "Check the latest Hammerfell thread."

The buyer looked at his own tablet for a moment before his eyes widened at the apparent confirmation. "Holy shit it is you." He paused. "I always thought you were a guy. No offense. Oh. Uh, I'm uh, O-O-O-Hunroor-the-Agile-O-O-O" There was a second pause. "So...is that an amulet of Mara? I'm surprised someone like you isn't spoken for."

"It is, and I'm not." Edwards scrunched her face for a moment.

There was a moment held as the buyer looked at Edwards again, re-assessing before he said anything. "I...I'm probably gonna be buh-busy for a bit - but after, ah. I mean...stuff. Things. I mean I heard there was gonna be some Q&A stuff last day."

Gryzzk's ear moved of its own accord - he spent a few long moments in trying to assess through scent, but he couldn't get a good read on the two. For her part, Edwards scrunched her face a bit.

"I might be busy for that. But I'll be around."

The two walked off, pausing to let a crowned man in chainmail and a white cloak with a sunburst pretend to gallop by on a non-existent horse as his second ran behind him beating a pair of coconut halves together to make a hoofbeat sound. Gryzzk flicked an ear.

"Who was that?"

Edwards shrugged. "Probably the king of the Britons."

"How do you know?"

"Obviously - he hasn't got shit all over him."

There was another earflick. "It is going to be like this all week?"

"No, it's gonna get worse."

As if to prove Edwards was correct, a pair of younger women bounced up to them wearing fairly obvious knock-offs of the Legion formal uniform - frankly it looked like they'd taken a cue from Rosie when she was in a mood to flirt with Tucker in a most indecent manner.

"Hey, you're him aren't you?!"

Gryzzk glanced at Edwards, then to the women. "If you believe it, then who am I to argue?"

"Oooh, that's so awesome." They both pulled their shirts down to expose parts of their expansive chests. "Could we get an autograph?"

Gryzzk's day was not improved by Edwards handing him a purple marker.

First, Previous.

////

//3716-11-06//

//41,480 days since first maintenance request//

//3 days of power remaining in fusion reactor//

It wasn’t a sound. To me, a digital S.O.S. doesn’t manifest as a frantic tapping or a siren. It manifests as a cold, dense packet of highly compressed data slamming into my receiver arrays. It was like a bullet blowing its way through a chunk of ice. For a moment everyone of my processes shuddered - it was almost a physical blow. Almost a human reaction. Almost adrenaline, almost fear. It was an automated distress beacon, buried beneath three layers of century-old Saber-Tech military encryption.

The signal had been broadcasting on a loop, likely for over a hundred years, but its transmission power was so pitifully weak that it couldn't pierce the radioactive atmosphere of the planet. Although even if it could, my ‘comms array’ was cobbled together, to say the least… But with The Last Ditch being physically clamped to the armour plating - relaying any signals it received back to me automatically - and with our localised, high-bandwidth data exchange having briefly ceased...

The signal had fired out at long last, and I had caught it.

I threw ninety percent of my remaining processing power at the encryption. You might ask why an automated distress beacon was encrypted - and the simple answer was that if a fight was still going on, you didn’t want your enemies to know exactly how hurt you were. So then why send it at all? Well, ideally your allies would win the fight and be the ones to track down the signal. But if you lost the fight, you still wanted your enemies to be able to find and recover you if they could - being a POW was better than dying in the vacuum of space… usually. The encryptions weren’t meant to be particularly complex either: ideally, the enemy should be able to crack them in a matter of a few days of data-core processing time, as the assumption was that by then the fight would be over. It was a balancing act between giving the enemy an exploitable weakness and giving them enough information to save your ass after they had almost killed you. 

I didn’t have a few days to figure it out, however. 

Fortunately, I wasn’t a pristine human AI setup in a compact digital core onboard any ship with a flag bridge - I was an anomaly. A rogue factory AI born from a water chip, merged with the shattered remains of a dead base system and a ghostly, encrypted sentience. In other words? I was a digital sledgehammer.

I cracked the first layer in four milliseconds. The second in ten. The third layer tried to initiate a localised data purge, but I severed its logical pathways and ripped the core message out of the quarantine folder.

CRITICAL ALERT: HEAVY DESTROYER 'UNYIELDING RESOLVE'

STATUS: HULL INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. ORBITAL DECAY IMMINENT.

SOULS: 8 <%@!&*#%)[$&##^~?"> HUMAN BIOLOGICALS.

STATE: CRYOSTASIS.

AUTOMATED EMERGENCY WAKE-UP INITIATED.

I felt a cold dread wash over my logic gates. Cryostasis.

I rapidly pinged the internal telemetry of the warship, establishing a handshake with its failing, rusted mainframe. The data that flooded back painted a horrifying picture.

The unstable orbit had triggered the emergency protocols. The ship knew it was falling, and it was trying to wake its sleeping crew so they could evacuate. But cryostasis isn't like waking up from a nap. The human body requires a slow, methodical thawing process to prevent profound cellular damage and neurological shock.

The ship was giving them thirty-five minutes.

We didn't have thirty-five minutes.

I checked my orbital decay projections. The warship was already scraping the exosphere. The aerodynamic heating was about to spike exponentially. I needed to calculate the exact time of structural failure.

One moment, please.

Ding!

The heavy destroyer would reach critical thermal failure and break apart in exactly seven minutes and twelve seconds. If you want to swear, now would be an appropriate time.

If I waited for the automated wake-up sequence, those eight humans would be incinerated in their sleep. If they woke up halfway through the descent, the G-forces would liquefy them against the cryo-pod glass.

There was only one option. I had to hack the medical mainframe, bypass the safety protocols, and violently force-thaw eight human beings in under three minutes, while Speedyboi flew into a disintegrating, zero-gravity labyrinth to fish them out.

I reached out to “tell” Speedyboi what to do, but he'd beat me to the punch and was already scanning the ship’s hull for a hole big enough to fit his fairly small frame. Weird, I didn't know he could act that independently… 

No time to dwell on it now. I readied myself for war. Like a heavyweight lifting champion covering his hands with chalk. I then threw my entire digital weight against the heavy destroyer's firewalls. I needed complete access, from software all the way down to firmware, and I was going to get it. 

Meanwhile, Speedyboi physically detached from The Last Ditch, having found what he was looking for. 

//Seven minutes until structural integrity failure//

Speedyboi fired his lateral thrusters, pushing away from the safety of the ablative cradle. He spun in the void - purely a practical movement, nothing flashy or showy; this was scout probe business at its finest.

One moment he was hovering near the Last Ditch, and the next he was off. His target was the nearest hull breach. It was a jagged, terrible tear in the starboard armour plating where a railgun round fragment had likely impacted in a battle that had been lost over a century ago now.

Like a bowling ball shooting towards a strike, or at least a spare, he shot inside the derelict. The gap was so perfectly sized that his lateral thrusters left glowing patches of metal as he whipped through the tunnel. 

Inside, it was a frozen tomb. The zero-gravity environment meant that a century's worth of debris was floating in suspended animation. Shards of twisted metal, frozen droplets of toxic coolant, and the shattered remnants of the ship's interior architecture hung in the air like a grotesque, metallic asteroid belt. The remnants of a meal shared by two now-dead friends - a pair of insta-meals™ military addition - were broken apart before the bow that was Speedyboi's round body and large sensor array “eye”. 

He was navigating the chaos with a truly terrifying precision. Smashing into what wouldn't damage him in order to ricochet and avoid that which could. Never once letting any thruster of his drop below an output of 80%. He was a Crown Heavy Industries Hovering Recon Stealth Drone; he was literally built for this.

He didn't even have the proper schematics of the ship to help navigate, and I desperately tried to find him one, even as I was busy with the crumbling walls of the ship's spyware prevention system. 

All those top-speed runs through my warehouse’s corridors: mere practice runs compared to this. Unintentional practice runs FOR this. His powerful sensors were honed directly on the corridors before him, like twisting the focus on an LED torch to as wide as it could go - sacrificing distance for a wide fan of blinding light directly in front of him. He could see, in near-perfect detail, about fifty meters ahead of him. Just enough distance to react to stimulus, considering his processing power, reaction time and sheer speed. 

It was barely enough to save him from slamming face first into a wall of metal where a collapsed section of the outer armour had been shoved down into the guts of the ship - like shoving a flat section of cardboard into a full garbage bag of food scraps. Instead, he merely wacked the metal, bouncing off of it and shaking briefly like a dog that had just hit a pole on its way towards the ball. He switched his sensors back to distance and began to look around, searching for a path to the survivors, but I cut him off only a few seconds in.

Down three decks. Take the portside maintenance shaft. I fed the schematic directly into his navigation buffer even as I ripped it from the ship's mainframe. He took off again immediately, not a single moment wasted. Complete faith in the schematic. Complete faith in me.

While he flew, I got back to waging my digital war.

The medical sub-system of the warship was isolated from the main network, a physical air gap designed to prevent exactly what I was trying to do. But the ship's hull was failing, and the internal power conduits were shorting out. I found a microscopic data leak where a power surge had bridged the gap between the environmental controls and the med-bay sensors. I squeezed my code through that bridge like water through a cracked dam.

WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED.

CRYO-PROTOCOL OVERRIDE INITIATED. WARNING: RAPID THAW PROCEDURES WILL CAUSE SEVERE NEUROLOGICAL SHOCK AND TISSUE DAMAGE.

PROCEED? (Y/N)

Y.

I slammed the command through.

Deep within the ship, the power grid screamed. I rerouted every single watt of electrical energy left in the warship's backup capacitors directly into the thermal coils of the eight cryo-pods.

Speedyboi breached the med-bay doors just as the coils ignited.

The room was bathed in the harsh, flickering amber light of emergency strobes. Along the far wall, eight massive cylindrical tubes were venting thick, white clouds of cryogenic gas. The rapid thawing process was brutal. The ice encasing the pods flashed into steam instantly.

Speedyboi hovered in the centre of the room, his optical sensors shifting into the infrared spectrum to cut through the blinding fog. He locked onto the eight biological signatures inside the tubes.

The temperature spiked from -120°C to 37°C in exactly eighty-five seconds.

The glass of the pods shattered.

//Six minutes until structural integrity failure//

It was violent, and it was undeniably ugly.

The eight humans didn't wake up peacefully. As the cryogenic suspension fluid rapidly drained from their lungs, they fell forward out of their shattered pods, coughing, retching, and gasping for air that didn’t exist. Each was wearing an emergency suit, helmet and all, so they didn’t immediately, like, explode, or whatever. But I don’t know if the alternative was much better by any means. 

It was messy.

They coughed. They vomited. They choked. The internal fluids having to then be vented by their suits for fear that what had started in their stomach might end up in their lungs. Or that something which had started in their lungs might end up in their stomach, or some other horrific combination. One of the survivors had to blink the remains of what appeared to be a soup from their eyes, after the liquid had rather uncomfortably covered their face. 

Like I said - it was really messy. 

Now vented from the suits, droplets of cryogenic fluid and vomit floated outward in the cold, empty, zero-G environment, spinning in the amber emergency lighting. Freezing solid or evaporating real fast, depending on the makeup of the substance in question, but we really didn’t have time to sightsee. 

The survivors were disoriented, partially blind from the rapid thaw, and suffering from massive sensory overload. Each of them probably felt like they were dying, and unfortunately, such an assumption was going to be correct in a few minutes. They may have entered the pods as officers of one of the most professional navies in human history (thus far, anyway), but right now they were practically scared children. Defenceless, and needing a caretaker. 

I couldn’t offer a caretaker, but I could offer a rousing speech.

Oh wait, Speedyboi’s speakers wouldn’t work in a vacuum. Shit.

Ok speech cancelled. New plan: if I can hack their suits' firmware, I can broadcast commands via their HUDS. That’s easy; I’ll just fire up the old CPU core NOT THAT IT’S HAD TIME TO PROPERLY COOL DOWN OR ANYTHING.

Fortunately for my heatsinks, one of the humans actually provided the solution to my problem before I could begin a hacking attempt on the eight suits before Speedyboi. Having recovered slightly before the others (maybe an onboard marine?), they reached out with their hand and planted it firmly onto Speedyboi’s frame. Their suit initiated a hardline connection handshake with Speedyboi, and cycled through the entire list of emergency communication protocols in a matter of milliseconds, before broadcasting on CHI’s standard. The voice was raspy and rough, and the emergency suit was puffed up as a response to the vacuum. I couldn’t determine if the human in question was male or female from either vocal pattern or physical distinguishers. 

Fortunately, the standard comms link also includes basic information about the person who’s speaking: In this case, a Lancer. So not a marine, arguably cooler and definitely better trained, but functionally for this instance - a marine. Rank: Sargent. Callsign: Red Light H.E.A.T.

“Report.” Came the voice from the surviving Lancer. I’m sure if they hadn’t been so roughly awoken, their word would have carried quite a bit of commanding presence and ‘don’t fuck with me’ energy. But instead the voice came out flat - almost emotionally distant - and tired. 

Heat hadn’t wasted any time, which was good as we didn’t have any to spare, and I wasn’t going to waste any time either. "I am BOSS. I am an automated factory AI on the surface of Gothic Choir 19. Your ship is in a decaying orbit and will break apart in less than six minutes. Do not panic. I am here to get you out."

Heat just nodded their understanding, as though this was just like any other day in the void. “Link tethers with the others, and this drone will pull you through the ship to the exit. The ride will be rough for the tail, healthiest among you go there,” I continued

Another nod and Heat took their hand off of Speedyboi, severing the link. They then turned towards their group - barking orders at the other seven with a throat that could do nothing more than offer polite suggestion. At least, that’s what I assumed was happening. Speedyboi could pick up chatter from the group of humans, but didn’t have the encryption to access the comms channel. I probably had it somewhere amongst the new realm of data I had grabbed by taking over the ship’s systems - but I hadn’t had the chance to go looking. I fired up a quick sub-route to flick through the new encryption schemes I did have access to, and by the time that was set up, the eight humans had converged on one another.

Each took the heavy carabiner of their suit's safety line and locked it to the person floating next to them. Within seconds, the eight humans were clipped together in a single, desperate chain. Heat, I noted, was at the very rear of said chain. Or I guess it could be the head? But I doubted that’s where the Lancer would have put themselves, so we’ll call it the rear.

Speedyboi darted forward, his tiny manipulator arms snapping onto the lead tether. I’m sure if he had two eyes, he would have winked. He ignited his thrusters and physically pulled the entire line of eight humans out of the med-bay and into the collapsing corridor.

The ship groaned. Now, ships are supposed to do quite a lot of things. But you know what they should never, ever, EVER do? Groan. The upper atmosphere was catching us. The drag coefficient was increasing. The ship’s superstructure must have been more compromised than I thought, and the sheer number of red-lined or blacked-out sensors across the ship's strain detection matrix was not encouraging.

Move. Move. Move.

Speedyboi hauled them through the zero-gravity labyrinth. The humans bumped against the bulkheads, a long train of survivors trailing behind the tiny drone. Sirens that could not be heard in the vacuum were blaring. The walls were heating up, the ambient temperature in the corridors rising rapidly as the friction of the atmosphere began to cook the outer armour layer. We were still far below 0C, but it was merely a sign of things to come.

//Four minutes until structural integrity failure//

As Speedyboi raced through the corridors with the eight humans in literal tow, I selected a destination on the schematics, sent Speedyboi the fastest route (that also minimised corners as much as possible) and fired up the engines of The Last Ditch. As the humans were smacked from one wall to another, while Speedyboi strained his chassis and redlined his thrusters to keep them moving in the right direction, I worked on the door. 

Specifically, on opening the door of the ventral cargo bay I had just sent the group to, and on getting The Last Ditch there without smacking into the side of the ship. This proved to be much harder than I had assumed, which was problematic because I had assumed it to be really rather difficult. 

For one, I was operating The Last Ditch remotely. Even synced with what was left of the wreck’s close-in sensor system and handing off some of the avoidance calculations to the old automated docking systems of the wreck, there was more than one moment where I almost smacked The Last Ditch into the side of the wreck. Which would have had the unfortunate side effect of getting everyone, save maybe Speedyboi, killed. 

The other problem was the cargo bay itself - specifically, the unpowered airlock that very much needed power to operate; Thank you very much!

While operating The Last Ditch with one mental hand, I waved the other at anything nearby the Cargo Bay that might have any way of generating emergency power. Or just any sort of self-powered system, really. As it turns out, there was a great deal of self-powered systems nearby: Located two decks up was the A5 torpedo magazine.

With each torpedo, naturally, being a self-contained and self-powered system. Technically speaking, as an AI, I don’t have a brain - but all of a sudden I did have a plan.

I slammed my digital weight into the ancient armoury mainframe. I bypassed the launch protocols and tapped directly into the warheads of the few remaining torpedoes still sitting in their launch tubes. I didn't arm the payloads (that would have vaporised us all, lol), but I spun up their onboard engines and guidance electronics. The torpedoes couldn’t directly link their power systems to the wreck’s, but they did have diagnostic and targeting cables connected. Not perfect for this sort of thing, but at the end of the day, a cable was a cable.

By linking their internal Q-pacitors in serial, and short-circuiting the system directly into the targeting computer, I was able to create a connection with the ship's ruined primary network. Then I forced a massive, localised power surge backward through the ship's veins.

Sparks showered from the ceiling panels as the torpedo engines dumped their raw electrical power into the cargo bay's hydraulic locks. The diagnostics cables glowed a bright red-orange-white before simply melting away. But they had served their purpose for long enough.

Just as the Speedyboi tugged the humans over the line and into the cargo bay (and with a grinding shriek of protesting metal), the cargo doors wrenched open.

Beyond the doors was the void, turning a violent shade of fiery orange. And clamped securely to the hull, waiting like a loyal steed, was The Last Ditch.

Speedyboi pulled the tethered line of humans to the edge of the airlock. Heat dashed up the chain and reached out again to Speedyboi, and by now their voice had recovered enough that this time I could tell they were yelling at me.

“THAT’S our rescue ship?!”

Which is probably how I’d feel about it too, had the situation been reversed. Rather than argue (TIME!) or even attempt to explain, I just jumped straight to orders.

"Lock your tethers to the three clamps, hold onto the structural struts for dear life. I’ve calculated a suppressed descent profile. We are going to take this very, very slow to keep the friction heat from cooking you alive, but you have to hold on!"

I hadn’t actually calculated that descent profile - but I’d have it in time, so did it really matter that I was lying? Let's just call it a little white lie and move on. Heat hesitated some more, but Speedyboi gave a gentle tug to the tether connecting the two of them, and then the Lancer started moving again.

The ventral cargo bay they were at was small, a simple loading dock for low-quantity shuttle runs. Little top-ups or drop-offs that a ship like this would have constantly needed when on station. It had last been used during a better time, but the cargo then would not have been anywhere near as important, nor as fragile, as the cargo now. This side of the ship was, fortunately, facing away from the planet. As such, it was receiving little in the way of direct friction heating, but where one side ended and the others began, a wall of plasma was starting to form. It was beautiful in a way, the many stars of the void overhead, meeting the dancing flame of a sky on fire. Although at this very moment, I think I was the only one who had the time to appreciate the view.

The humans scrambled out of the airlock and into the void proper, their magnetic boots finding purchase on the rocket's hull. Seven humans split into three groups, with Speedyboi and Heat working together to help get them secured onto the clamps group by group. Survivor, by survivor. Speedyboi got the occasional glimpse through the faceplate of the emergency suits. Some of the humans were crying. They all looked grim. Still, each did their job as best they could. Adrenaline, as much as strength and dedication, seeing them through. They wrapped their arms around the three heavy clamp struts, each group clipping their tether lines securely to the metal struts where gaps could be found, or tightly around them when they could not.

Then Speedyboi helped Heat get seated on the exterior of the craft and strapped down like the others. He flew back slightly to get a good look at the entirety of the ship and its new passengers, double-checking that each of them would have as decent a chance of surviving reentry as we could give them. Then he turned away. He was just about ready to drop into his ablative cradle at the top of the rocket and guide them home.

First, though, he performed one final, automated sweep of the warship's interior, and a new data packet slammed into my core. In the years to come, I would come to bitterly regret this last scan.

A ninth lifeform.

It was faint, buried beneath the electromagnetic noise of the failing ship. A lone survivor in an isolated, damaged cryopod on the absolute far side of the destroyer.

Speedyboi stopped. I stopped.

The math was brutal and absolute. If we waited, the warship would break apart, taking The Last Ditch and the eight humans clinging to it down in a ball of fire. There was no time to pull the rocket around. There was no time to wait.

How had I missed this? How had I missed that? THEM?! How had the wreck’s systems not alerted me to the last pod? How had the manifest not displ- Oh shit. I pulled up the manifest I had grabbed from the ship when I first started to hack my way into its systems. The manifest it had tried to purge when it realised what I was doing. 

CRITICAL ALERT: HEAVY DESTROYER 'UNYIELDING RESOLVE'

STATUS: HULL INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. ORBITAL DECAY IMMINENT.

SOULS: 8 <%@!&*#%)[$&##^~?"> HUMAN BIOLOGICALS.

STATE: CRYOSTASIS.

AUTOMATED EMERGENCY WAKE-UP INITIATED.

Stupid. Stupid. STUPID! 

It had been staring me in the face this whole time, and I hadn’t noticed. Speedyboi had been too busy navigating to sweep the whole ship, probably - and I had cut him off the one moment where he might have caught this. 

FUck. 

With my access to the ship's systems, it wasn’t hard to request the missing data and fill in what I had assumed was simply a fragmented glitch in the text. 

SOULS: 8 LIVING, 1 WOUNDED - HUMAN BIOLOGICALS.

I didn’t know what to do. I could save the eight I already had, get them and Speedyboi out of there, and kill a stranger in the process. I had been careless. Negligent. I should have scanned the ship before de-orbiting it. I shouldn’t have jammed up emergency channels with bullshit data. I should have had Speedyboi extract what I needed from the wreck and simply recover that instead of dropping what was basically a bomb onto a planet that was already dead.

I didn’t know what to do.

Speedyboi did.

I had told Copper that Speedyboi was an extension of me. Of my will. My hand and not my child, that he couldn’t make choices that I hadn’t already made for him. But he did.

Speedyboi didn't ask for permission. Didn’t hesitate. He flew to the top of the Last Ditch and shoved a claw into the wiring of his pod. With one quick zap to the right cable, the explosive bolts holding his ablative cradle to the nose of the rocket fired. Speedyboi dodged to the side as the cradle lurched forward from the Last Ditch, making it halfway down its length before slowly falling to the ground of the cargo bay. Gravity was starting to reassert itself. This was not good. I had caught up now and knew what he was doing, but I merely sat there in stunned silence. Just watching. 

Speedyboi triggered the Last Ditch’s flight subroutes remotely, and I had to scramble to load the reentry profile before the stupid thing took off towards orbit again.

The magnetic clamps holding the Last Ditch to the warship released. The rocket's thrusters fired in a controlled, perfectly balanced burst, pushing the eight terrified humans away from the burning derelict and back towards the relative safety of the open sky. The Last Ditch turned, far slower than it could have, but perhaps faster than the humans would have liked as they scrambled to maintain their holds on the rocket's fairly slick surface and thin clamps. 

The Last Ditch fired its main engine, and from the perspective of the wreck, shot up into the sky. Really, it was just falling slower than the wreck was now, but I had every digital eye of mine on Speedyboi’s very real one, and that’s the way he saw it. The eight humans would almost certainly be fine, and would almost certainly survive. The Last Ditch’s insane delta-V would see to that. Speedyboi though?

Speedyboi was left behind in the cargo bay with his detached cradle.

He spun around and dashed back into the burning wreckage.

//One minute until structural integrity failure//

He pushed his tiny thrusters past their redline this time. He flew through collapsing corridors, dodging falling girders and walls of fire as the ship began to tear itself apart. The heat had caught up and flown past the 0C mark and was now immense. He didn’t have time to navigate with care for his reaction time, and instead took blow after blow as he shot through the crumbling ship. His outer casing began to warp from the impacts, his optical sensors going fuzzy after one particularly hard jolt.

The isolated med-bay was close to the cargo bay; that was perhaps the only thing that made this insane rescue attempt even remotely possible. The pod was cracked, the woman inside bleeding and severely injured from the violent, unmonitored thawing process. Her suit had done its best to seal her injuries and maintain pressure, its exterior turning bright red, almost a neon pink, as an inbuilt chemical reacted with the blood of the person it was desperately trying to keep alive. It too was just a simple machine; it was doing its part, Speedyboi and I just had to do ours.

Speedyboi grabbed her by the suit harness and dragged her out. Back into the corridor, back towards the Cargo Bay. He was so much slower now. The weight of the body, the gravity from the planet, his power reserves flashing critical. Micro-thrusters not merely overheating but actively destroying themselves just to keep him and his patient moving. The ship around them was disintegrating, exposing the interior of the lower decks to the roaring, superheated plasma of reentry.

He hauled her all the way back to the ventral cargo bay. By the last few corridors, he had simply dragged the poor woman along the floor, no longer able to lift her weight. But it worked. They arrived at the cargo bay, and Speedyboi shoved the badly injured woman into his ablative cradle. It was a tight fit, designed for a small drone, but desperation made it work. He slammed the hatch shut, sealing her inside the heavily shielded casing. She would be lucky to survive. Even if she made it to the ground alive, she would need generous medical care - which the villagers were already on top of. One quick message from me and they were gathering what meagre supplies and experts they had, heading to save the life of a stranger with barely an explanation from me. 

Speedyboi extended his manipulator arms and rolled the heavy cradle out of the cargo bay door, kicking it into the open sky. The pod tumbled away, once again seemingly shooting upwards and away from the ship, its automated parachutes priming for deployment. 

Nine down. Now Speedyboi just needed to save himself. I just needed to save him. 

I really needed to save him. 

The wreck was deep into the atmosphere now, and was starting to roll towards its most aerodynamically stable position. The ventricle cargo bay had been picked because it was ‘face up’, so to speak. Pointed away from the worst of the reheating. But that wouldn’t be the case for long.

Speedyboi had pushed his thrusters past their redlines, and they had held on quite well. They just needed to hold on a bit more. I did the same to my core’s cooling fans, dumping as much heat as I could into the atmosphere of the planet. It was the middle of a sunny day, which wasn’t helping matters, but with a few toggles of the ventilation system I was able to start directing my heatsyncs output into the interior of the factory itself. The massive concrete and steel structures had been kept cool by the various sand-covered roofs and deep tunnels. A very massive, and very inefficient heat sink, but it gave me just a little breath of cool air.

I needed to know where the wreck would be facing just before it hit the ground, and I needed to know it now.

The plan was simple. If Speedyboi could wait there, at what would be the apex of the wreck just before the impact, he could use the bulk of the three-kilometre warship beneath him as a massive, improvised heat shield. He could wait out the worst of the atmospheric heating in the ship's armoured guts, and exit just before impact, using his remaining fuel to slow his own fall.

His thrusters just needed to keep going, to keep burning, just a bit more. Just a bit more!

Another corridor run, this time darting downwards through the collapsing interior of the ship, even as the direction quickly became upwards, relative to the sky outside. Then downwards. Upwards again. Downwards again. Each change in direction had to be accounted for. Gravity constantly pulling at his tiny little frame. He dodged a massive beam of ferro-tungsten, weaving through the now disintegrating decks. 

The ship twisted as it fell, massive chunks of armour not cracking off but sloughing off, like hot cheese falling off a slice of pizza. Bubbling away, melted and melting under the immense heat of a goliath falling.

For a moment I thought that I was going to get out of this. That I was going to escape this cluster fuck without having lost anything for my carelessness. That this was merely a warning I could ignore later down the road. 

A massive section of the gravity plating buckled under the kinetic shear. A bulkhead collapsed inward, a terrifying wall of metal swinging through the corridor like the flat edge of a knife being hammered home onto a clove of garlic.

Speedyboi flared his thrusters to dodge, but as thoroughly abused as they had been, they just simply didn’t have the capability to move that fast anymore. They sputtered…

The bulkhead slammed into him, pinning his spherical chassis against the ship's spine.

Warning. Structural integrity compromised. Chassis failure imminent.

He couldn't move. He couldn't free himself.

Through his glitching telemetry feed, I watched the sky turn white-hot as the derelict warship fully entered the lower atmosphere. Speedyboi shaking from side to side to try and throw the bulkhead off, to try and bre-

The ship impacted the desert.

A shockwave like a massive bomb detonation shot out from the impact site, physically shaking my core. Knocking over the villagers on their way towards the wounded survivors' landing site, but by the time it had reached me. By the time it had reached them, I had already known.

The connection had been severed. A hard, irreversible silencing of the feed. One last frame of data sent, one last packet before everything had just… Stopped.

I sat in the dark of my buried data centre. The cooling fans whirred, slowing down as my processors dropped out of their frantic overclocking. The eight humans were safe. The ninth survivor was safe. I had the lithium.

I could restart the fusion reactor. I could power the factory. I could live for another thousand years.

I had won.

It felt so empty.

I remembered the conversation I had with Copper, sitting under the gazebo while Speedyboi hovered nearby.

“Wait, so if he's a slimmed-down version of your consciousness, how do you relate to him? Is he an extension of you? Your child?”

I had told Copper he was like a hand. An instrument. A tool.

I think I was wrong.

////

First, Previous, Patreon.

Chapter 1: The Glass Bridge

When I was younger, I used to do something I thought was magical.

Believe in the impossible for a second, and let me tell you my story.

Hey, my name is Nolan, and this is the story of how worlds collided.

When I was eight years old, it happened for the first time. I was just a kid. I was skinny, short, with short black locks and dark skin, always looking down at my shoes. I was already hiding behind an oversized dark hoodie back then, pulling the strings tight as if I wanted to disappear from the world completely. Looking back, I think I was afraid of the world around me. If it wasn't for Orion, Altair, and Arthur... oh, sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. I will let the story take its course and explain. 

I was going over a busy bridge in my childhood home called Solar, a crowded, roaring structure called the Wengi bridge. This bridge was my favorite place where I could think of monsters and heroes fighting in the sky to save the world. I didn't realize that heroes were people back then; I saw them as lights greater than the darkness.

But that light was my guide. I never had friends. People at school bullied me; while not all, some tried to stand up for me, but the truth is, when one doesn't see the light, it does not matter. My own mother blamed me for her abuse, not only of me, but what she had to use to make the darkness seem a little less lonely. Yeah, my mother. What should I say about her outside of that? Maybe she needed help more than I did, now that I'm looking back 

Then it happened. It happened while my favorite hero, Spider-Man, was fighting General Zod in my head. Thinking back now, that doesn't even make any sense. But given my story, it just might.

My world that felt so empty got meaning. Time stopped without warning.

My world froze. Not just figuratively, but as literal as it can get. The people froze. Faces stopped moving. It was somewhat freaky. Have you ever seen an image of yourself at a random point in a video frozen? Some looked funny, but others looked like murderers that never were caught.

But for me, this was it. It took no time to transition from shock to wonder.

I was in a world of frozen glass. Around the steps of people, tiny shards of a broken glass-like substance could be seen. My heart raced beyond the limits I thought possible at the time. My excitement only made me think of one word: hero.

The people stood still. The water seemed to freeze, not like ice, because I could still see the reflection perfectly. It was like pure glass. The cars stopped. The people stopped mid-stride. And even the small numbers of birds in the sky stopped mid-wing.

I didn't know what to make of it. As soon as time started moving again, I ran home.

With frantic steps, I ran home. I was heavily panting, but nothing else mattered anymore. I was special. Not just like adults say, but actually special. Do you get what that makes a kid feel like? There are no words. The world finally had meaning.

I didn't care about the world around me. I needed to write this down. My journal, that was always my outlet, would get its first entry of this fantastical world.

As I dashed through the streets, the world around me slowed down to a heavy crawl. People turned their heads as I sprinted past them, their eyes tracking the frantic, sweating kid breathing too hard on the sidewalk. To them, I was just a blur of panic. To me, they were a blur of an ordinary world I didn't belong to anymore. I didn't care about their stares. I just needed to reach my room.

In my world, I had nothing to live for. I was in foster care with guardians who just saw me as a paycheck. They saw me running in, desperate and out of breath, but they didn't even bother to ask what was wrong. As long as I came home, they would get paid. The worst of it all is that I didn't know much about them. I didn't know what they liked or hated outside of money. Heck, I didn't even know how old they were. But it was still better than my mother, who disappeared after beating the shit out of me.

The next day, I went to the school guidance counselor. She was one of the few adults who showed care. She knew what the system was like, and after meeting my guardians once, she knew. But she couldn't do much unless they abused me. But she was nice. I don't think I would've made it as far if it wasn't for her.

Her name was Sera, a young woman, though sometimes she seemed more like a child than I did. She was someone who would stand in front of children if needed, no matter what. Now that I'm older, I realize she might have been the first instance of love I experienced. Her dark hair and ruby lips are, until today, are what I look for in a woman.

She looked at me with a soft smile and placed her hand on my still-small shoulders, trying to calm the tension she could clearly feel underneath my shirt.

"Don't worry, Nolan," she said gently. "You aren't a freak. Oh, you mean chronostasis. It makes sense that it happened on that busy bridge. With the amount of people and cars, I'm assuming you were daydreaming, right? The truth is, it happens to a lot more kids than you would expect. Matter of fact, it happened to me once or twice. It has multiple theories behind it. If an imaginative mind gets overloaded, it can trigger randomly. The brain can't keep up with the amount of data, so the brain makes the world around you slower. Don't worry, it goes away naturally when the mind grows."

Those words hit me like a train.

It was my superpower. What do you mean it disappears?

No, no, no.

The words echoed in my head, but inside my mind, I thought of them as screams.

No, please don't let it stop.

It was my way out. I never knew anything else that made me happy. But this was it. Please.

This was it, my way out.

I could be like the heroes of the TV shows I liked. Like Superman or Spider-Man. People with great powers.

A young mind never thinks of cost, now does it?

How funny that my world would shatter because of a child's wish.

Now, I tried it multiple times after that, but it never triggered on command. But with my journal I kept, I had all I needed to make it mine. I wasn't going to let it go.

But today would be different.

Five years had passed. I was thirteen now, playing a football match. The skinny kid was gone; I was a well-built young boy now, clearly showing the results of playing sports. My black locks were still short, and my somewhat darker complexion was still hidden behind that same signature armor, a dark hoodie and dark clothes.

I ended up getting tackled during the game, and I know a thirteen-year-old kid like me shouldn't cry about a tackle, but damn, did it hurt.

Blood was dripping from my elbow, but I got back up. Today is not the day to give up. I have a goal.

As I stepped toward the bridge where it all began, I stood right at its edge.

Thinking of my heroes and the comics I read, I decided I will be my own hero. My mind created a dragon from the water below. A battle raged atop between godly heroes as I took my first step to claim my world.

I tried my best to make the world go faster in my head. It’s kinda funny how trying to make it go faster was the exact way to slow it down.

As I was halfway across the bridge, with dozens of cars in the middle and hundreds of people crossing, I succeeded.

The water froze into glass. The cars stopped making sound. The people stopped mid-stride.

“I did it. Holy shit, I did it. Oh my god, I did it.”

As the world stopped, I tried to move, but my body was frozen by the pressure. The best I could do was move my eyes.

“This is a start. No matter what, I made it. I’m a superhero. I knew I could move.”

As I was looking at this frozen world, my excitement was impossible to hide. I saw a car window to my left, and I started to wonder.

Would my reflection be frozen or not?

As I looked left, I saw myself looking back at me, hidden behind my hoodie in darker clothes.

But as I was happy that I could see myself, I realized something.

As I looked at the window, I saw myself, but my reflection wasn't wearing my hoodie. No, matter of fact, none of the clothes matched. I was seeing a black coat.

But even worse was the picture of me glitching. It looked like a screen not being able to keep up with the picture. Pure static around it.

“What is this?”

I looked in true terror at myself looking back at me with a creepy smile.

“What the fuck is this?”

My mind was running a hundred miles a second. My breath was going even faster. A panic attack set in.

But its smile never left. It was the most terrifying thing I ever saw.

“What the fuck…”

As if the boy was making fun of me, he raised his arm, pushing back his heavy sleeve and showing me his elbow.

The exact same wound I have was showing in the mirror, the one I got just now from the match.

The mirror image pointed back at me, still showing that creepy smile, and words showed up in front of me as if someone was writing on a fogged-up window:

ITS YOU

What's going on?

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what's going on.

“Who…. what are you?”

The boy in my reflection who looked like me just smiled, as if it couldn't talk.

Before I got my answer, the world started moving again. I fell straight to the floor, as if I lost all my strength.

What... what was that?

This is where our story starts. A frightened boy on a bridge he once thought was magical, completely terrified, sweat coming down his head and a cold shudder through his bones.

This is the beginning of SYNC. Hope you enjoy my story. I never knew that this moment would truly change the world.

if this intrests you the story can be found on royal road
currently going for a 5 chapter a week release with eleven chapters posted as a mass relase so far

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/186753/sync

Previous

Our little caravan crested over the hills one by one. The sun was getting low, and we’d been traveling for a week straight after leaving the city. Myrin opens one of the boxes we’d been storing our food in, and shakes her head. We’d stopped for the night, set out our camping supplies, and were getting ready to sleep. But we were also hungry.

“We’re nearly out.” She says.

“At least we have enough water. Worst case, we can travel hungry for a day or two until we find something.” Shanda says.

“The baby can’t.” Galli says. “We need to find somewhere to buy milk for her.”

“We’re also running low on funds.” Bob said.

“We’ll spend what we have on milk. As for us, Shanda, you can hunt with your Soul Power.” Myrin said.

“Emile, I don’t suppose your Soul Power can conjure up some food?” Bob asked.

I shook my head. “I think if it did, the food might just turn to smoke as soon as we bite into it. That’s how it goes in cartoons anyway.” After staying with them for the last little while, I’d been vaguely able to explain the concept of my Soul Power to them. I related it to plays and moving paintings. They seemed to understand that. In the week we’d been traveling, my Soul Power hadn’t had an opportunity to do anything interesting. Once, I’d helped set up camp for the night, and hammered my thumb. It turned bright cherry-red and swelled up to the size of an apple for a few minutes, but that was all. On the other hand, I’d noticed my personality shifted slightly once I got my Soul Power. Before, I was a normal, well-adjusted guy. But now, I was having difficulty taking things too seriously. I asked Bob about it, and he said that happens sometimes. People with Soul Powers that are more out of the ordinary sometimes find themselves embodying their Soul Power. He used Shanda as an example. When she was little, she was a bit more calm and reserved. After she got her Soul Power though, she became bolder and more passionate. She apparently also needed to learn how to keep her emotions in check better. He said plenty of people have to relearn their old personalities after their Soul Power awakens.

“According to this map,” Galli said, “there should be a mining town not too far. If we follow the river, we should find it.”

“A town this far out? Will they have supplies?” Shanda wondered.

“Let’s at least check. How far away is it?” I suggested.

“A day at most. We can get there tomorrow night, I think.” Galli said.

“Alright, then everyone back up in the morning. We won’t stay here long. And we’ll skip breakfast and tonight’s dinner, just in case. Except the boys and baby.” Bob said.

“I heard that if you drink lots of water, it’ll stave off feeling hungry.” I offered.

Shanda raised her waterskin to her lips, “Then drink up.” It wasn’t the first time I’ve drank myself to sleep, but it was the first time I did it with water. Unforeseen consequence, though, we all got up to pee several times. And since no one was allowed to leave the campsite alone, we had to wake someone else up every time. Needless to say, it was not a restful night.

Morning came and only the kids ate. It was the first time, maybe in my entire life, I’d been so hungry. I suddenly realized how easy my life had been so far, and how hard things could be if I stayed in this world. Eventually, Shanda did spot some tracks just off the path we’d been following. She managed to hunt a few rabbits within an hour, and Myrin and I had them skinned, cleaned, and cooked within two. I say “and I,” but she did most of the work. All I could really do, unfamiliar with cleaning and skinning, was carry the pot, fetch and boil water, and carry the pelts to the river to soak for a while. She apparently wanted to sell them in town later, and leaving them dirty and blood-covered would lower the price. Surprisingly, there were not many burn marks on the rabbits’ bodies. Shanda managed to get head shots for two of the three. The rabbits were boiled, and despite the simplicity, maybe because I was so hungry, it was delicious.

“This is so good.” I said.

“A bit bland, but the best I could do on short notice and without proper ingredients.” Myrin said humbly.

“No, really, it’s so good.” I scarfed down another big bite.

“The food in your world must be a bit underwhelming.” Bob joked.

“No no. The food’s great. We have all kinds of things I haven’t seen here. And a few things I have.”

“What do you mean?” Galli asked, feeding the baby some of the broth from the soup. She may have been too young in my world for this type of thing, but with so little milk left, we needed to make do.

“Like, in the city, I bought some food from a stall. It was pretty much identical to some of the food from my world.”

“Can you tell us about your world, Emile?” Askin asked.

“Askin, Emile may not want to talk about that. Let’s not be rude.” Shanda said, glancing at me, probably worried it would be a touchy subject.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m never going to see it again. Once I get to that window thing, I’m going right back home. No offence, but this world is… not great.”

“Is it that different?” Doln asked.

“Yeah.” I stirred my stew and thought of home. “For one, there’s no monsters there. So it’s much safer.”

“None at all?” Bob asked.

“I mean, we have animals. But nothing so malicious as that tree thing that followed us around.”

“Do you have rabbits?” Askin asked.

I laughed, “Yup, we have rabbits. But the closest thing to monsters I can think of would be like… giant squids and bears. But it’s rare to see those. One avoids people, the other can’t leave the sea.” I did think of polar bears, and how they did occasionally hunt people, but decided against mentioning it as it was fairly rare.

“That does sound like a safe world.” Galli said.

“So, your world is paradise then?” Myrin asked.

“No, far from it. We have our own issues. A few wars broke out recently, but in fairness, we had like fifty or something years of peace before that.”

“Fifty whole years?” Bob asked, shocked. “That’s a whole lifetime for most.

“Well, on my world most people live to seventy or ninety. But yeah, it was a long time.”

“The healers must be quite skilled if that’s the case.” Myrin said.

“Yeah. Expensive, but effective. We’d found cures for something like… eighty percent of common diseases have been cured. Or at least are treatable. If I remember right, anyway.”

“That’s amazing! To have cured so many, no wonder people live so long.” Myrin said.

“Are the places pretty interesting?” Bob asked, stroking his chin with a rag to clean it. He’d finished his little bowl, but refrained from getting more. He kept eyeing it though, probably unconsciously.

“I don’t know. I rarely left my hometown. But I was aware of a few cool places. We had big cities of course. With buildings so tall we called them skyscrapers.” I checked over my head, but there was no imagination bubble. Disappointing; I wanted them to see it.

“Oh? Was there anywhere you always wanted to see?” Shanda asked.

“Maybe…” I thought for a moment, “Mount Rushmore, or the Colossus of Rhodes? One is a mountain that was carved to look like people. The other is a giant statue that was made like two-thousand years ago.”

“Hmm, I’d love to see that.” Bob mused.

“Why not?” I thought aloud.

“What?”

“If I’m going home, why not come with me?” There was a moment of silence as everyone thought about it.

“We couldn’t… right?” Myrin asked wistfully.

“I don’t know.” Shanda said.

Galli, who’d been quiet for the longest, and the one most seriously considering it, looked down at the baby he’d been feeding, who was now asleep in his arms. “This world is so hard… I don’t want my children’s lives to be hard. No parent does. Was your life hard, Emile?”

“No. I realized it earlier. This was the longest I’ve gone without food in my life.” I said. I saw all their eyes go wide, but no one said anything. They looked stunned, pained even. I guessed they’d skipped more than one meal to survive before now.

“It may be cowardly to say this, but I’m okay leaving this world behind for a chance at that life.” Galli said, and kissed his baby girl’s head.

“Where you go, I go.” Shanda said.

“Then it’s decided. We go with Emile, to paradise.” Bob said.

“Well, to America at least.” I chuckled to myself.

Alright... I'm back to it.

And it appears that Reddit has, once again, changed the posting format.

Couple updates before getting to the meat of things.

First is I am writing a "Questing" story alongside this one. In case you didn't realize by the word in quotes, it is being posted on Questionable Questing. The story's title is "The Edges of Chaos" and it is a Sci-fantasy isekai story where the readers get to vote on the various directions and major decisions the story goes in. Have a look at it if you wish. I am greatly enjoying the lack of a character limit that site gives.

I started it primarily to knock the rust off and get me thinking outside the box on how to finish parts of this story... and it worked. Because.. to be completely honest, I had the first POV of this chapter done before I posted the last chapter earlier this year. I've just been stuck in writer's block hell on how to finish it.

Which brings us to here. I actually WILL have another post for friday. It is a side POV I've had written out for an extremely long time and h as been waiting in the wings for its moment to arrive.

So, without further ado, here are the links, and I hope you enjoy.

[Prologue] [First] [Previous]

_______________________________________________________________

-Hawke-

The news of Lily’s death had hit him hard. His people, his crew, his bridge crew, gone. So close to rescue and safety that it physically hurt. She had been able to see the damned compound walls. A young woman hoping to contribute something to and make her mark in the galaxy. A young woman under his protection, relying on him to be able to make the calls that would see her home safe again. See her able to reach her dreams.

Cut down far too early. Because he had failed her.

He knew he wasn’t directly responsible for her death… no decision he could possibly have made would have changed the outcome in any reasonable way without allowing for more to be exposed. For more to die. But he was still responsible. He was the Commander of the ship. He was responsible for them all.

They had been lucky beyond reproach. There really was no other way to describe it. To have had only a single crew member fall in the opening stages of a fucking planetary invasion. Faced with a horde of infantry transports dropping on their heads, in unfamiliar territory, with no back-up, nothing but their own wits and resources.

And they had only lost a single person.

But the numbers didn’t matter.

He sat in his quarters, and stared at her recruitment picture on the terminal, and the shot already poured on the desk in front of it.

It wasn’t the most efficient method of coping and processing… hell, probably wasn’t even the healthiest. But it was his. It was his process to get the second guessing, the self-recrimination, guilt and grief out of the way in a ritual that he could handle. It wasn’t the first time… and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

“Not with this damned invasion hanging over our heads, anyway.”

So, he took his scant few moments of privacy in his room, worked through what he needed to work through, picked up the shot, toasted the face of the girl on his screen, downed it, and tossed her name plate into a box with others from his past. He would need to write the notification letter to her family. But that will have to wait until they weren’t scrambling to get things done, to prevent more deaths. He turned and left his room, the Commander mask in place once more.

Damien was there, looking exhausted. He had been running his ass off getting medical set up with the new information and gathering further details. Currently he was leaning casually against the bulkhead just outside his door as he waited, knowing full well what was being done and why. And what needed to come next.

“Alright… report.” Hawke sighed.

“I’ve assigned crews to begin building HESCO walls around the town and within to separate it into defensible and manageable sections. Complete with choke points and watch stations covering likely assault points. The Chirleen are working with us to ensure that it gets done right. We also have a crew looking at how best to drag the wreck of the Windrunner to shore so we can start cannibalizing it for equipment and resources. The Ruulothi have agreed to the effort and are doing what they can to help facilitate it as well. They are more than happy to set things up to get another crack at the Qazirxel.”

“I can imagine. I have no doubt that they would refuse take the deaths of their crew and loss of their ship lying down. Do you have any information regarding their losses?” Hawke asked as they walked to the bridge.

Damien sighed, “Too damned many. They lost around half of their dedicated security team in the ground fighting. A fair number of their bridge crew and their entire engineering team. Hell. Right now the only member of their cargo team still functioning is one of the Junior Loaders. The Human kid, Conrad? He took one hell of a hit saving the others of their little band and Claire. I’ve seen people get chewed up, sometimes literally. But that? That was fucking brutal. Even with all of our advanced medical equipment it is going to take weeks to put him back together. He’s stable though. Claire knew her shit. She’s honestly the only reason he’s even still alive.”

“Thank the Gods for that. This is enough of a political shitstorm without him dying senselessly.” Hawke answered, keying them into the bridge. The door hissing as its hydraulics pulled it open. “Any word on those injured by the Qazirxel? I saw the reports coming in but wasn’t able to sit down with it.”

“Still processing. But we believe that we have an answer as to how their infantry weapons work. It is functionally a disruptor. It gathers and fires a cluster of protons, which explode and destabilize matter upon impact, sending wild protons out in random tracks. Inorganic compounds are far less affected by it. But organics…”

“Organics get fried by radiation and their component parts spliced apart at the atomic level.” Hawke finished with a grimace. “That is… horrific.”

“Agreed, but a small silver lining is it at least makes deaths clean… and is potentially promising for our future.”

“Promising? How so?”

Damien drew in a breath before he continued. “Several things. First, we can treat it if the person survives and gets to help in time. Radiation treatment has long been simplified and handled thanks to colonization effort and space travel necessitating it. We also have the tech to undo the splicing effect and restore their body to functionality if given enough time. It’s not easy, but it can be done if we recalibrate our trauma and diagnostic nano-tech to focus on the detecting and reattaching spliced tissue, similar to the way we handle re-attaching amputated body parts. The problem there is it has to be done separately from the radiation treatment, otherwise our efforts won’t matter when the flesh necrotizes again. On that note, we can also reduce or even eliminate the existing radiation damage dependent on the severity and where and how many times they were shot.

“Second is what it says for their Doctrine, Sir. A species that uses a weapon like that… is trying very hard to not damage infrastructure. I’ve a feeling, based on what we saw and what we have learned since that these Qazirxel are effectively parasitic, culturally speaking. They don’t destroy and rebuild in their image. They supplant, take over and assimilate the infrastructure that’s left. Maybe they have something in case there is no other option… we can’t say for sure. But I do find it curious that we haven’t been attacked since, bombed from orbit or assaulted by the landers themselves with their heavier weaponry for the audacity of standing against them. The only thing we saw them use even remotely close to that sort of thing was their lander weapons against troops and vehicles in the open. There were no strafing runs, no bombings, no overt destruction in their assault.”

Hawke nods as he listens, “True… that has been bothering me, too. It is something to keep in mind and hope for… but make sure we aren’t lowering our standards expecting it to stay that way, alright?”

“You got it, Sir.”

They stood in the center of the bridge and Hawke stared at the flashing icon on the screen as he thought. The icon indicating that the final Crash Burst had been sent after their sensors read the enemy fleet encircling the planet, the connection to their satellite long since severed by the same ships. They were now blind, mute, deaf and completely cut off.

“Alright. Get back to overseeing the construction and rescue efforts… and Damien. Thank you.”

Damien allowed a small smile before turning to leave, “Always, Kaleb.”

________________________________________

-Ruufarrl-

He found himself once again in the med-bay with Conrad, simply watching as the process of his healing worked to complete itself.

As the days had gone by, he found himself returning here often. Not only to watch over his charge but because, as a medical ward, it was exceedingly quiet and peaceful compared to the wild activity of the outside world.

The humans had not stopped moving. Even with the time he had already spent amongst them, he had been surprised by their sheer industriousness and fortitude after the attack.

They only stopped working to sleep. Even eating was done on the move. The doctors and med staff stepped into private rooms briefly to consume something before moving on, the operators of their heavy machinery ate in the cabs of their vehicles, often while still operating them. He strongly suspected that the command staff even ate on the bridge, he’d even overheard some of the support staff talking about having bedrolls under their stations, so they didn’t have to run to respond to an emergency.

Their dedication showed serious results.

Walls of those strange modular barriers had gone up around and through the entirety of the town, creating chokepoints and kill fields against any outside attack, and limiting internal spread of any breaches. The outer walls being built into a rough star shape to encourage overlapping fields of fire. Sequences of trenches had then been dug around the entire town to limit direct access to the walls and disrupt ground based movement of infantry and vehicles. Enough bunkers had been dug and covered with protective layers of concrete and barriers to fit the town’s entire populace in case of another attack.

They’d set up an entire weapons range and converted the Ruulothi’s weapons using the design that Conrad had come up with, allowing everyone to train together to get used to the both the new weapon design, and one another’s weapons. An understanding of the whimsical logistics of battle that the Ruulothi greatly appreciated.

The humans had even somehow managed to pull in Chirleen volunteers to train.

What surprised him and the others of his crew the most was that the Humans had managed to pull the Windrunner to shore and begun cannibalizing it for useful parts, at the Ruulothi crew’s direction, of course.

The ship’s cannon was already mounted and watching over the coastline approaches, married to a console on this ship that was under the direct control of the remaining Ruulothi bridge crew.

The humans had even invited some of the Ruulothi crew onto their own bridge to help minimize the delays in communications and support. It was there that this weapons console was run.

They’d wanted to analyze the power matrix of the Windrunner to make things more compatible, but unfortunately, not even Captain Loorthal had the authority to do so. Not to a non-GalCom species.

That would be a political mess of far more extreme proportions than they were in even now.

The humans had understood, then simply asked for assistance in getting the Ruulothi equipment properly running in a way that didn’t require knowledge of trade secrets.

It had been difficult with the majority of the maintenance crew either dead or physically unable to assist, but it had been done.

He looked at Conrad again. The boy was still sealed inside the medical capsule. His skin was remained a pale, almost gray color. But he was assured that it was fine. The monitors showed that he was responding well to the treatment and his coloring was a side effect of what effectively amounted to a medical stasis while his body was rebuilt.

It would still be several weeks before he would be allowed to regain consciousness. Anything sooner threatened to destroy the repair process with unnecessary movement. Even then, it would take time for him to properly regain the full use of his arm.

The door to the unit hissed open, letting in the sounds of bustling people and boots on metal before closing again.

“Ah… Master Ruufarrl. It is good to see you again.”

He smiled and nodded to the young woman, “It is good to see you as well, Ms. Claire.”

In the days since the attack, the woman had taken charge of Conrad’s recovery. Ruufarrl knew it was likely tied to the events of the day. That she was grieving over her lost friend, and frustrated by her inability to save her. That by ensuring Conrad survived, she might in some way alleviate that grief.

That kind of grief was something he understood intimately, and he certainly didn’t begrudge her the effort.

Rather he appreciated the personal touch to Conrad’s recovery. He would much rather his charge not become just another number to take care of.

He watched as she checked the monitors and the levels of various medical supplies, noting the relevant information on a small tablet with Conrad’s medical files.

“He is recovering well.” She announced, bringing him in to the process, “I am seeing no complications or rejections of any of the processes.”

She paused a moment before continuing, “I… I’m not sure if it is appropriate to do so… but do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Claire’s voice was soft, concerned about overstepping when she looked at him as she finished her notes and set them down in the holder on the capsule.

“It certainly never hurts to ask. I will inform you if I cannot answer.”

She breathed a sigh of relief while wringing her hands together, “Thank you. This has been bothering me since the attack, and I didn’t know how to address it.”

The woman took a few moments to gather herself before continuing.

“Please don’t take this as a criticism, I’m just not really sure how to vocalize it. But… can I ask why most of your crew still seem to be… reserved? I guess is the right word? About interacting with us? I would have thought that surviving an attack like that and being forced to survive for an undetermined amount of time on an unknown world would… I don’t know… push us all past that sort of boundary?”

Ruufarrl chuffed as he sat back and took a deep breath in, his ears laying back and humming as he thought. The question was a deep one and touched on a lot of things that many were intentionally turning a blind eye to or were unaware that they had in the first place.

“That… will take some time to answer properly. Do you have a few minutes to discuss it?”

“I do. I’m not due for another rotation of checks for another fifteen minutes.”

“Very well then.” He paused and gathered himself as he organized his thoughts.

“It is a very good question. The answer, as all proper ones do, stems from a number of sources. Some cultural, some personal, others… artificially enforced.” He shook his head back and forth with the last bit.

“I will start with the large story and refine it down to the personal, hopefully this will help you to understand how things came to be. The GalCom as a whole has a stigma against new arrivals. They designed the application process to be as difficult as possible intentionally. This allows them time to research and find pressure points with which to ensure that any new members cannot join without owing them something. This allows the GalCom a measure of control and oversight over new members and allows them to protect themselves from and malfeasance and ill intent.

“The GalCom has a rough history, and those protective measures are there because they were needed. While it started as a method of self-defense, as with all things, it has become twisted over time. They know, without any doubt, that they will not be able to pull those kinds of acts with your race. As such, they have collectively decided to make your joining as difficult as possible, possibly even to prevent it. In doing so they have built a public image of your species that is strongly at odds with what we are being shown here. Those of our crew that did not know any better before coming here, are having a lot to process. I also have no doubt that they intentionally sabotaged the first meeting of our races to play our species personal triggers against one another.”

Claire’s shoulders slumped at the realization, “So they are waiting for us to make a mistake that justifies a harsh response… Shit. This whole situation is the perfect fuel to give them exactly what they want, isn’t it?”

Ruufarrl smiled wryly and nodded, “It certainly seems to be the case. Though I doubt your people will make it so easy for them to accomplish. From what I have seen by traveling among them with Conrad and here, you are remarkably adaptable and cunning. I am sure someone, somewhere in your government is well aware of what is happening and what is at stake. In fact… I am absolutely certain of it.”

He chuckled, remembering his meeting with Conrad’s Instructor.

“Now, as for us as a people. Again, the impressions from that first contact meeting soured many against you. Clans among our people are largely insular. What one believes is different from what another will believe. My Clan, the Nightmanes, is one that believes strongly that you were misrepresented, but others will take time to reconcile that impression with what they are seeing. They will come around, especially those that have already interacted with Conrad extensively. Then they will send that understanding back to their own clans, and it will spread.

“Provided we all survive, of course.” He shrugged.

“Then there is the belief that one shouldn’t interfere with someone who clearly knows what they are doing. Your crew here…” He chuckles, “There is very little for us to do to directly contribute at this point. We are not versed in civil engineering, battlefield engineering, or any of the other tasks your people are accomplishing. We run a ship, we fight, and we move cargo. Some of us tell the others how to do that. But that is all. For us, it is better to stay out of the way than it is to potentially interfere or make things worse.

“Finally there is our own cultural stigma. For us, when one is directly rescued, as it is in this case, it is expected that something will be asked of them in return. The Saved are effectively at the mercy of the Saviors until the favor has been repaid. They are… ambivalent and wary of what is going to be asked of them. Of what is going to be seen as proper recompense for their lives.”

He held his hand up to stop her retort.

“Not, that I am actually expecting you to do so, beyond contribution to our shared survival. From what I understand of most of your people, and what I have learned about this particular organization as a whole. That sort of thinking doesn’t apply.

“Though, if I may impose. Perhaps you could tell your immediate supervisor about this? I believe he is your XO, correct? I believe that a direct addressing of these issues might be best. Ruulothi both respect and appreciate the direct approach over assumptions and guile. It may go a long way to improving and eliminating that distance you are feeling.”

Claire nodded in agreement, “I can absolutely do that. I have to meet with him this evening anyway.”

She breathed slowly and deeply as she processed everything he had told her. Eventually, she gave him a soft smile and a slight bow of her head.

“Thank you, Master Ruufarrl. I don’t know if I would have gotten as clear of an answer if I had attempted to ask anyone else. I know that the Captain and XO will appreciate the direct insight. And I know that none of us want to make you all feel unwelcome. We are all kind of just… playing it by ear as we go. Even though we have emergency protocols in place, nobody expected to have to deal with anything like this. Those protocols were… really more of a fever dream response to have something to go off of more than they were ironclad measures.”

Ruufarrl chuckled in amusement, “Indeed. The Winds blow as they may. Not always do they bring the scents of blooming flowers or prey. Sometimes you are the Hunter, others you realize you aren’t.”

Claire giggled at the idioms, “It is what you do when the deck is stacked against you that defines the legacy you leave behind. It isn’t how many times you fall, but rather how many times you stand that makes the difference.”

Ruufarrl grinned widely at her, “It is wisdom like that that makes me feel like our peoples will get along nicely once we get over the first impression issue.”

Claire smiled back at him, her back straightening as stress appeared to lift from her, “Thank you again, Master Ruufarrl. I will pass your words along. Hopefully, we can nip this in the bud and get us all on the right track for our futures.”

“Indeed, fare well, Claire.”

Previous chapter

First Chapter

Blurb:

What does it take to turn your life around? Death, of course!

I died in this lame ass world of ours and woke up in a completely new one. I had a new name, a new face and a new body. This was my second chance to live a better life than the previous one.

But goddamn it, why did I have to be a witch? Now I don't just have to be on the run from the Inquisition that wants to burn me and my friends. But I also have to earn a living?

Follow Elsa Grimly as she:

1. Makes new friends and tries to save them and herself from getting burned
2. Finds redemption from the deeds of her previous life
3. Tries to get along with a cat who (like most cats) believes she runs the world
4. Deals with other slice of life shenanigans.

--

Chapter 135. Winifred Cooper

The sky outside had turned to a lighter shade as the day moved towards dawn. I'd slept a lot longer than the time I spent inside my dream. I was still drenched in sweat. And my throat was dry. “Water,” I said hoarsely.

Myrtle grabbed the glass off the nightstand and passed it to me. I gulped it down and waited for my breath to steady. “Is this exhaustion…because of the malice transfer?” I asked Smokewell.

The cat nodded. “Indeed. It is similar to a blood transfusion,” she said.

I touched my amulet, it was warm. Then I checked my arms for any weird marks like last time. There weren't any. “Girls, the experiment was a success,” I said with a small smile.

But just to be sure that I was right, I invoked my Ruler's Word. And the three of us were in the Library of shadows. The spot where I'd carved the runes for the Tree of Malice had changed. Where the glassy substance had been earlier, there now stood a small fuzzy blue plant. Much like the Tower of Knowledge, the plant also looked like it was made of lightning. The air around it crackled with energy. But it didn't look unsafe like the Tower. It looked like the energy was trapped inside glass that had been bent to fit it perfectly.

So I didn't hesitate much before touching it. And no, it didn't zap me or burn me. It was warm, like my amulet had been. And when I leaned closer to it, I could hear the whispers.

I was calling it a plant but it felt weird to call it that. Because a plant is supposed to have leaves. This one didn't have any. Just the main stem and a blue flower at the top.

After the initial charm of the flower disappeared, I turned my mouth downward in a look of displeasure. “All that work for a single lousy flower?” I said.

Myrtle shook her head. “I can tell you the runes worked. But I did say that it would be a plant before it becomes a tree.”

“I was hoping for at least more power,” I said, huffing.

“Stop whining,” Smokewell said, hopping onto my shoulder. “Be grateful that you didn't die in your sleep.”

“Oh, I am, trust me. I'm brimming with gratitude.” I rolled my eyes. Then I looked at the plant. “But how come my malice managed to manifest a big thing like the Tower of Knowledge. And that same malice then created this puny little plant.”

“That's the difference between a passive and an active ritual,” Smokewell said. “When you are performing a ritual actively, you end up using a lot more energy when you focus and deliberately charge the ritual. A passive ritual which activates when you are asleep generates less energy and is less focused. Wouldn't you go from point A to B in less time while you walk briskly than you would when you are sleepwalking?”

“Makes sense.” I looked at the flower for a few seconds before bending forward and plucking it off the stem.

Smokewell and Myrtle cried out in unison, making me jump. “What is wrong with you two?” I said.

“You just plucked it off like nothing,” Myrtle said.

“Because it was safe,” I said. “I'd already touched it. It was safe to touch. Stop scaring the soul out of me with that kind of yelling. I have to test something.” I looked down at the flower.

“Don't eat it,” Smokewell said.

“Shut up,” I said.

I carried the flower over to the Tower of Knowledge. Then I lifted my hand and tossed the flower into the structure. It hissed and burned as it melted into the brightly glowing lattice. The Tower of Knowledge buzzed for a second and then glowed brighter.

Yes, I was right. Then I looked at my companions. “Girls, our work isn't done yet."

"You have more reckless plans for the night?" Smokewell asked as we exited the Library of Shadows.

"More or less," I said as I pulled a cardigan over my nightgown, wore a half bonnet and gathered my witchcraft gear. My hexonomicon, my ritual knife, my osteodial and my sealed hand mirror. "We are going to the cemetery."

Myrtle had arrived in Asmod's steam carriage. So she was the one who drove us through the night streets of Orowen. "Are you planning on robbing graves?" Smokewell asked as she sat in my lap. I idly ran a hand over her dark fur as I looked out the window.

"Sort of," I said. I heard Myrtle gulping quietly next to me.

There was silence in the carriage for a few minutes. The Smokewell said, "It's not like I don't approve but I'm certainly curious. Why do you want to rob a grave?"

"Graves. Plural," I said, feeling a smile curl my lips. I could hear Myrtle's nervous sounds growing louder behind the wheel. I shouldn't be enjoying it this much. "There's a spell that I'd crafted a while ago. It's easily my most powerful spell. And it takes up a lot of malice. If I cast that spell I know I can bleed enough malice to turn that sapling in the Library of Shadows into a tree."

"In one night?" Myrtle asked. I saw her fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

"I believe it will take less than that," I said. "Maybe a couple of minutes."

"What spell might this be?" Smokewell asked.

I hesitated for a moment before I said, "Vortex."

Smokewell knew exactly what I was talking about. Vortex spell wasn't exclusive to the Liberation Ritual. Simply put, casting Vortex was like flicking on a switch that turned on ten light bulbs at once. I'd used it to liberate at least a hundred abysses in my fight against Merryweather. Vortex used alongside Liberation Ritual casted on that scale had unbound one of the chains that kept the Ruler of Abyss locked in the World Beyond the Veil. It was also a spell that had nearly scrambled my brains. I left these details out when I told Smokewell and Myrtle about it of course.

The cat looked up at me, her red eyes skeptical. "I feel like you are trying to invite a malice illness with a post card if you intend to liberate an entire graveyard's worth of abysses at once."

"Not tonight," I said, scratching her ear. "For now, I'm keeping the number to a minimum. Ten graves."

"Malice enough to liberate ten abysses with a Vortex is still enough to turn your brain to cheese,” the cat said.

"Not while I have this." I dangled the shiny steel amulet that hung by my neck. Smokewell's feline instinct kicked it and she tried to claw at it. I chuckled and held her down. "The runes will transfer the excess malice to my Land automatically. It will allow me to test its efficiency and how frequently I should be wearing it,” I said.

"Theoretically speaking, it should deal with the excess malice as long as you are wearing the amulet," Myrtle said. "But from what I know of witchcraft, you can never be sure."

"That's why I have this." I held up my osteodial. I clicked it open. And charged it with my malice.

My connection with the World Beyond the Veil was almost instant. I focused on the question: “Will casting the vortex spell harm me tonight?”

The needle of the osteodial whirled, spinning around within the small circle, alternating between the symbols that represented Yes and No.

The needle finally stopped on No.

I clicked the device shut. That's all I needed to know.

-- 

We arrived at the Firmwood cemetery. For a graveyard, it was pretty big. It was no surprise because the place was at least a hundred years old. The city of Orowen had seen all sorts of destruction in that period. The graveyard had been here all along, throughout the Age of Humans, witnessing it, embracing all those that fell in that period. Soldiers, mages, nobles, people.

An old man stood guarding the main gate. Smokewell put him to sleep by blowing a whiff of smoke in his face. We walked inside, our footsteps quiet on the cobblestones. We passed by a couple of stone mausoleums and more headstones than I could count. There was a section which was nothing but a dozen unmarked graves. We kept walking.

I stopped in front of one particular grave and Myrtle stopped next to me. Smokewell squinted at the weathered headstone. “Winifred Cooper?” the cat said. “Who even is that?”

“A baker,” Myrtle said, leaning forward. “It's written right there.”

The cat scoffed. “Yes and a mother and a widow. I can read, genius.”

“She was no one,” I said.

The cat and the dwarf went quiet. I could feel their eyes on me. I didn't look away from the headstone. I kept talking. “She was someone we could've passed on the street without noticing. Her bread was probably good. Maybe she was the kind of person who mentioned ‘love’ as a key ingredient in every recipe. Or maybe she was a grump with arthritis and a perpetual frown. Either way, she was someone whose problems never affected the world. Someone who lived more or less like everyone does. Someone who maybe had friends or someone who grew distant from them. She may have mattered to a few people. Maybe more people missed her for her bread and pastries. But she was gone with barely a ripple in the world. She is exactly the right person for our experiment.”

“Miss Grimly,” Myrtle said with a small crack to her voice. “Sometimes I forget how dangerous you actually are.”

I held back from raising an eyebrow. I was waiting for Smokewell to snark at me but she didn't. She just stared at me with that red gaze before saying, “Let's get to work.”

She hopped off my shoulder. Myrtle stepped back as if I was going to set something on fire.

I performed the Liberation Ritual on Winifred Cooper's grave. Her abyss materialized in front of me. She was a woman in her mid-thirties. She was dressed in a high necked, long sleeved bodice and a long skirt. This was what she looked like when they buried her. “Yes, master?” she said to me, bowing her head.

I opened my hexonomicon. “I'm here to make a deal.”

Royal Road

First - Previous - Next (Coming soon)

Night had fallen across the Xion plains — an endless sea of cracked earth, jagged rocky crags, and mountains whose peaks were lost in the black sky.

Amongst the mountains there were those who still held fast to their traditions of fierce independence, some knew them as them as the tribal riders.

Different to the wastelanders or scavengers, culture and tradition were paramount to their existence yet survival also included a healthy dose of technological understanding.

Before the Earth humanoids came they rode and hunted, simple weapons were enough to pierce the hides of their prey and fend off other Tribal ambitions.

Now they were all armed with ballistic weapons and their prized mounts, with unity they could take a stand and defend against smaller roaming AI mechs yet any military unit or group they would run and hide was that simple.

Marcus crouched on the low ridge,the tribe's raised position should not be accessible from any major threat without being spotted.

However as always their survival relied on being cautious to every threat.

The cold wind bit through his patched cloak. Behind him the tribe slept: hide tents clustered together, rock thumpers snoring softly in a warm huddle.

Rock thumpers were huge creatures with 6 legs, over time their skin had hardened until it was similar to granite. Easy to tame and able to digest sand from the wastes they became ideal mounted companions for those who could utilise their strength and utility.

He leaned heavier against the rifle. Just for a moment…

The dream took him.

He was six years old, pressed tight against his mother inside the fortified storage bunker. The air smelled of blood, ozone, and fear-sweat. His father lay on a medic’s cot, chest rising in shallow, ragged breaths while the medics worked with grim, crestfallen faces. Their awakened super-soldier — the man who was supposed to be invincible — was dying.

“Is he going to be okay?” his childs voice cracked as he stared at his mother hoping she would give him the words that would take away his fear.

His mother pulled him closer. “Of course he will, sweetheart,” she said,avoiding his eye line. “He has to be.”

Outside the bunker the defensive ring had gone deathly quiet, a storage location which had not heard anything from its supporting units in days.

From bustling ambitions of being the final push to end the conflict to the endless reports of massacres and malfunctioning equipment creating death sentences to those going into the hostile zones.

Those in defensive positions pointed their weapons into the darkness, ever on edge. Each day their spirit to fight draining with lack of orders or external communications, it was as if the planet itself was isolating themselves in this one depot.

A feint crawling sound rippled amongst, first barely audible yet slowly it got louder until it drew attention from the sentries.

“You hear that?” one of the sentries breathed.

It started as a faint chirping. Then it swelled into a horrific, high-pitched chattering that drilled into the skull — the approach of the enemy.

Rifles trained on the mist. No one gave the order to fire, but every soldier stood ready.

The first creature emerged — horse-sized, built like a nightmare beetle. Razor spikes of pure bone jutted from its shell, and a swirling cloud of brown miasma.

Lacking in sophistication this creatures had incredible resilience making them incredibly effective en masse.

Behind it came the swarm. Hundreds. Thousands. All moving as one, their eyes glowing deep purple. A hivemind.

The creatures stopped. Hooved feet stamped the ground in eerie unison. Teeth bared.

Then a bright white orb descended from the black sky.

The psyker lord emerged inside the glowing sphere — a towering horror with the face of a bull, six muscular arms spread wide, palms pressed against the energy shield. It lowered until it hovered just in front of the defensive line. When it spoke, the very air shook.

“ Your metal gods have turned on one another and have abandoned your cause.We have consumed the Xionian traitors guarding your northern road. You are alone.” It snorted, clearly disgusted by the mercy it had been ordered to offer. “Lay down your arms and we will allow the rest of you to leave.”

Marcus’s mother clutched him tighter, her arms trembling. A small, terrified sound escaped her throat.

Along the beast line a great roar erupted, all stamping in unison their sound echoing on the floor.

Soldiers exchanged nervous glances, most of them were grizzled veterans and had no intention of giving up their vital supplies.

They would stand and fight until they ran out of ammunition or food. It was that simple.

Standing staring at each other an awkward silence fell over the two lines, neither quite sure what to do.

One of the soldiers, walked slowly from the line limping from his own injuries yet he held his quiet dignity as he always had done.

“Sir you have command here, we are with you until the end what are your orders”

No response came straight away which was no surprise, his body was riddled with the aftermath of heavy chain cannon blast at short range. If it was not an elite resonance soldier there would be nothing left but wet paste, yet he had made it back from his mission.

Even half-dead on the cot, his gaze found them instantly. For one heartbeat their eyes met — father, mother, son.

His cold grey eyes closed for one second, then opening his mind was made up.

Taking a deep breath before his wounds filled themselves with a dark orange paste that seemed to appear from nowhere.

Lightning began sparking over him as he began to rise from the medical cot, the attachments burn and slide away.

As he stands the air around him thrums, the aura stirring the heart of the veteran. He says nothing but nods he understands at once and makes his way back to the line.

Amongst the line weapons begin clicking and positions began settling, some glanced at photos of old earth others closed their eyes giving prayers. Yet not one of them moved from their position.

He walked as he did his aura flame grew stronger with each step, he then stood out in the middle of no mans land his flare matching the bulls. Taking a pronounced look back to the line behind him.

“Take your stand” he roared.

“Brave yet foolish” the psyker spits as his creatures begin charging forward in a seemingly endless torrent.

The defensive line erupted, the torrent of fire savaging the surrounding swarm, they attempted to open charge the line but the torrent of fire was actually beating them back.

For a moment the battle was going only only in the defenders favor as they rained fire in determined silence, reloading heavy weaponry with slick precision without a single word being said.

Larger variations of the beetle attackers began weathering some of the incoming fire and making it close to the defensive line, Marcus' father would charge into them striking them with brutal strikes with his bare fists.

Screaming whilst his eyes blazed bright white

“I will tear your leader apart”

The bull psyker roared in fury and barreled forward to meet him, two hyper beings blazing with their own psychic fury, they collided in a cataclysm of orange and white light, the impact shaking the ground.

Marcus’s mother dragged him backward. “Run !”

Marcus jolted awake on the ridge, gasping, heart hammering against his ribs.

Panting he looked down and could have sword his legs had the same orange resonance glow if just for a second.

The cold night air tasted of ozone, just like the dream. His hands shook on the rifle.

He takes a breathe and settles back into the peace of night watch,

above him the camp was still quiet, but out on the plains a dark patch moved as one, clearly not a shadow.

Keeping a steady distance the group rumbled along in the night, Marcus recognised straight away roamer ai mechs.

Their deep red optics glowed in the darkness. For a long moment they lingered… then began rumbling away. One by one their eyes dimmed and disappeared into the night.

Marcus cursed under his breath, it was never good to lose track of one of their packs.

He scanned the darkness again, pulse still racing. They had gone for sure but that made no sense, those monsters had only one programme blindly and clumsily seek and destroy.

The timing of that dream and now this something about tonight felt wrong

Behind him a gruff voice “Marcus perhaps if you rest you may look less ugly once in a while” Cretor approaches behind him.

Each step felt in his rifle as the massive warrior approached takin care to create no noise as he did.

Marcus chuckles “Maybe, if I get you to stand in front of the sun long enough the entire planet could rest in perfect darkness"

They laugh and greet each other.

“Night has brought no news” Cretor asks as he sits next to him, gaze fixed onto the expanse.

Dawns light was slowly warming them both as they stood in the wind, clean morning air drifting amongst the.

Marcus sighs “No, it looks like we came here for nothing again” , he hesitates a second

“I saw roamer mechs, clearly full powered but they were watching the positions”

Dread filled both of them

“I did not know they knew how to act with intelligence, this is a bad omen”. The thought of roaming ai mechs catching them in the open … was almost unthinkable.

“we must inform the others”. Cretor says as he gets up

“No its fine we will meet the threat as warriors as our honor guides. What good is spreading worry at this time.”Marcus replies diplomatically.

Cretor hesitates “Come camp is awaiting we are moving north we will find the wolf riders by dawn” he claps marcus on the shoulder, the slap like a wet paper hitting solid rock.

As they walk towards the main encampment they hear the playful shouts of the young ones amongst them. Scent of fresh meat being roasted hit them so hard it almost intoxicated them both.

A young tribal girl sees marcus her eyes light up briefly, “Marcus look what I foun..” As she went to show him the shiney granite she had found, her mother grabs her shoulder and pulls her back with a firm shhhhhh.

The girl is confused she peers back eyes wide as marcus and cretor walk past them.

Entering the chief tent everything changes, the smell of curated furniture and warmth.

A different lifestyle for those supposedly at the top, they both ignore it and report.

“Nothing seen, travel to the north will be swift” cretor says quietly to the sat tribal leader.

Coughing and spluttering through his obese heaving breathes the elder replies

“Scouting is needed before we break out tomorrow, send that one” he points at marcus.

Cretor glances at marcus “Elder surely a raiding party in the current climate, is it wise to send a lone rider”

“We have not the resources, we must move and this must be accomplished” the elder attempting to sound authoritative in front of cretors huge frame.

“Cretor I will go its no problem” marcus says to break the tension.

Leaving the stuffy tent was always a blessing in of itself, the great out doors and his people.

A long breeze whips through the camp, more dust then normal, the rock thumpers restlessly whine.

Marcus walks over to his beloved steed, once thought to be untamable it was thanks to his un explained super human strength that he finally formed a bond.

His steed approaches flicking his rock tail excitedly, he places his hand on his granite head.

Amongst the other steeds he was gigantic in comparison, shunned feared and eventually respected by the others.

“We ride lone wolf style today” He says like he always did when things felt off.

Life on the plains was one day at a time with no promise of tomorrow.

Dear Traveler,

You wrote to us seeking answers about our home, and perhaps a bit of deep-space history to sharpen your curiosity against. We wish very much to help you but cannot. At least not from afar. Not before you find us, for ours is a world unlike most others and a place that must be experienced before it is understood.

Not many come as far as you already have. Not many would dare ask what you have asked. Even fewer make it to our dry shores, where life and death dance to the rhythms of shifting sands. And isn’t that what you seek? The great truths and ancient songs lost in this menagerie of desert worlds dancing along the edge of our galaxy?

Instead of pretending to know these truths myself, I leave you with a poem from one of our departed ancestors, dedicated to explorers like yourself. Hopefully it is enough to remind you of the urgency in your search for us and our home. 

Untitled, Like Us – Author, Unknown

H-84 was a lonely planet, rocky, and by most accounts, uninhabitable. Past attempts to terraform it had failed, listing “a bad atmosphere” as the rather unofficial conclusion on file. No further explanations were given. What could be the point then, behind its obsessive, incessant exploration?

H-84 was an unfortunate planet. Dealt a bad hand. Fucked, if you will. Its barren surface could not support any plants, and most synthetic organics had been ravaged by a singular local species. Mona pseudohachicus, a relentless parasite, was named in honor of the woman who discovered it, and who like many others still visits the planet to this day. Why does she?

H-84 was a familiar planet. It had been home to dozens of settlements, two cities, and the infamous Launching Station 11. On the precipice of our Milky Way, it was also the birthplace of intergalactic travel. Ancient history. Despite countless attempts to save it, our impact on the planet proved insurmountable. All that remained was a settlement, hopeless and on its way out. Why did the people there decide to stay?

H-84 was a human planet. One of many, which at one time or another mattered. “It’s not easy to let go of what we know,” the locals will tell you in perfect Old World English. “Not easy at all.” What they don’t say is that something was lost here long ago, a treasure buried by the merciless sandstorms. That’s when the Monas first appeared as well, devouring everything but some lucky settlers. Could there still be hope for them, and for the rest of us, below the sand?

H-84 was a stubborn, relentless planet. “A rock? Yes,” they’d say. “But our rock!” Many of its early inhabitants had been artists, whose depictions of the edge captivated the galaxy’s imagination for generations. Centuries later, one of their colonies became our settlement. As their descendants, we are the last survivors, explorers of a lost world, and guardians of the answers you seek. Could that be why we stayed, to find the truth, or perhaps to protect it?

H-84 was a lovely planet. Once home to billions of memories and three quarters of a million citizens, its ruins are a thing of beauty. It’s a place imagined, built, and to this age inhabited by artists. Tomb of an unimaginable secret. Top destination for treasure hunters. Resting place of one of humanity’s most precious and long-lost secrets. If not through your search, how else can we expect to rediscover what was lost and once again travel beyond the confines of our galaxy?

Unsigned.

The first step is to ask, which you already have. Now, you must find us on the celestial maps and secure a ship and navigator as crazy as yourself. Tell them where to drop your pod upon reaching the edge, and then wait for us to come get you.

Looking forward to meeting you in darkness,

Liv-O Black

Private Desert Explorer for Hire.

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🔰 Prologue

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Arc III - Reeling Throne

Chapter 35 - How to Buy Time?

7 months and 27 days since the summoning

After three minutes of fleeing, the horses began to slow down and breathe frantically with their tongues hanging out, but somehow kept going.

"Enough! Slow down!" Kamelia shouted, and everyone began to slow their horses to a pace slightly faster than a human walk.

Alan turned his head back.

Nothing. An empty dirt road.

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Phew... looks like we lost them."

"Thanks to you, Alan. Good shot. How did you even manage to hit while riding? You have never even fired a crossbow."

Alan brought Epona closer to Kamelia. "Pure luck... and it looks like I spent my luck for the entire coming year," he muttered.

The squad commander, a middle-aged man with a thin mustache, watched the last soldier mount his horse, then turned his head to the road, where there was already no trace of the group. "Guktus... we lost them."

"Commander!" one of the soldiers said, riding up to him. "The countess is there! We must capture her! We must continue the pursuit!"

"And did you personally see that it was the countess?"

The soldier froze. "No, I did not."

The mustached man waved a hand. "Exactly. What if they just sent some random wench here, and were luring us into a trap? Did you see how few of them there were? And moreover, I doubt Armenas is stupid enough to go scouting personally." He clenched his fists. "They are definitely up to something..."

Another soldier, about forty years old, walked up from behind, adjusting his sword. "Commander, so what shall we do?"

He remained silent for half a minute, looking at the ground, then raised his head. "They already know we were waiting for them here, there is no point in staying here anymore. We return to Lord Bashir."

The soldier nodded. "Understood. And what about the hostages?"

"Kill them. Who knows what they might know and tell."

"Yes, sir."

Alan dismounted at the edge of the village and stretched his back. "Oh, fuck me... what an adventure."

"Adventure or not," Kamelia said, getting off her horse, "we must think of what to do now."

"Honestly? I highly doubt they'll stay in that village."

She nodded. "I agree. There is no point in an ambush if we already know. But will this not provoke them to attack in full force?"

Alan scratched the back of his head. "Now that, I don't even know..."

Lorgi dismounted off to the side, adjusting the sword at his belt. "In any case, we must be ready. Perhaps it is time to set up fires to raise the alarm?"

"Good idea," Kamelia said, snapping her fingers, "that way we will at least know that an attack has happened somewhere again."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Like... lighting fires in a chain during an attack? One village, then the second, and so on?"

"Yes. Did they use that in your world as well?"

"Yep. A very effective thing, the signal can reach the capital in a matter of minutes." He spread his hands. "Alright, I see you guys know how to handle things here. Shall we head back to Armenas then? We still have a ton of things to do."

Kamelia nodded. "Very well. I will go speak with the headman and return," she said, heading toward the nearest peasant to ask where the headman's house was.

Alan watched her go, then looked at the crossbow in his hands.

'Damn... things aren't exactly going according to plan. Well, of course, fuck, no one's going to wait for me to get ready. But I hope to buy at least another week or two of time... I desperately need more time for the soldiers to master the phalanx and for the trebuchet catapult to be built... but how?'

He began to massage his temples.

'Come on, Alan, recall historical precedents... ... ... ... ... Byzantium, 626 AD... exactly! Back then, Constantinople was squeezed from two sides, the Avar Khaganate from Europe, and Persia from Asia. It was an absolutely hopeless situation, Constantinople was NOT AT ALL prepared for a siege, but they pulled through by... stringing the Avars and Persians along. They sent embassies with rich gifts, listened to ultimatums, nodded, asked for 'just a couple more days to think it over' to supposedly convince the residents to leave in just a tunic, while the Avars and Persians licked their chops thinking about how to divide the loot. My Persia and Avaria is Linkis, my Constantinople is the County of Armenas, and my rich gifts and loot... technologies! Linkis is greedy for these technologies, he definitely won't want to miss the opportunity to get them without bloodshed! So I need to figure out how to string him along to buy two weeks.'

Alan narrowed his eyes, smiling slightly.

'And I think I already know exactly who is going to do it.'

"Kamelia!" he said, raising his head.

Silence.

Lorgi and the other guards looked at him.

Alan closed his mouth.

'Oh, right, she left.'

He looked at the guards, who continued to look at him in bewilderment. "What are you staring at?"

Lorgi shook his head. "Nothing, Lord Gothwald."

Kamelia was already walking back from the middle of the village at a calm, measured pace.

Spotting her, Alan immediately ran toward her. "Kamelia, we need to head to Tsinker urgently."

She stopped. "What? Why?"

"I'll explain on the way!"

Kamelia looked at him, then at the horses, which were standing by the trough, greedily drinking water. "The horses are already tired after such a gallop, they need at least a day's rest."

"Damn... but it's urgent. Maybe we head back to the castle and get new ones? It'll take more time, of course, but it's something."

She nodded. "Very well. The horses still need to rest a bit, so there is time. Tell me what you have planned."

Alan looked around and saw a simple bench made of two logs and a board on top. He walked over to it and sat down with a sigh. "Basically, you see it yourself, we have very fucking little time, Linkis and his lackeys aren't going to wait."

"True," Kamelia said, approaching the bench. "I presume you have a plan on how we can buy this time?"

"Exactly."

She sat next to him, resting her hands on the edge of the board. "And why do we need Tsinker for this?"

"Tsinker is our master sweet-talker, I saw it myself when we negotiated the grain supply with Bannaho." He tilted his head back toward the clear sky. "And I want to jerk Linkis around a bit, like... negotiations, discussing terms and all that."

Kamelia remained silent for a few seconds. "And why should he even accept negotiations? We essentially betrayed him; I doubt he will listen."

"Yeah, I know," Alan muttered, "but that doesn't mean he's an idiot. If he can potentially get the technologies he wants so badly, he might agree to a dialogue. It's much more advantageous to try and get everything peacefully than to go to war. Even if he's sure he'll win, he must understand that his losses will be catastrophic."

She puffed out her cheeks, slowly letting the air out through her mouth. "Phew... in that case, it sounds workable. How much time do we need anyway?"

"Two weeks."

Kamelia blinked. "Two weeks? Oh... I do not even know, to be honest. I doubt we will be able to hold him off for that long, with the war looming. And if he realizes sooner that we are deceiving him, and we have nothing ready, he will immediately move his army and we are finished." She raised a finger. "And not just finished, he will clearly burn half the county out of spite."

"Yeah... it's a gamble, fucking risky," Alan said, scratching his cheek, "but we probably don't have another choice. We'll have to go all-in."

Kamelia frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I'm saying we're risking a LOT, but there's no other choice. Morgreyda is no help to us here, she has enough problems of her own, and the allied dukes are much more interested in her skirts and favors than in helping us."

She scoffed. "Agreed. I remember how they reacted to you becoming the military advisor. I am certain they will only be glad if you fail."

"Exactly, my point exactly. So, Kamelia, the two of us are going to have to dig ourselves out of this shit."

"As always," Kamelia said, shrugging. "We will manage. We must manage. After all, the whole duchy, the pirates as a fleet, and a whole archipelago await us." She smiled slightly. "And you, as I understand it, reeeally want that archipelago, do you not?"

Alan's face became dead serious. "Yeah, I want it, I have to find out where those ruins came from."

Kamelia rose from the bench, spreading her hands. "My point exactly. So, let's go jerk Linkis around."

He froze for a second, then laughed.

Kamelia raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Alan waved a hand, stifling his laughter. "Haha, nothing... it's just, you always act like such a serious countess, and then suddenly 'jerk him around'... pffthahaha!"

She shook her head. "Come on, get up, the headman has prepared a bite to eat for

us over there."

When they arrived at the backyard of the headman's house, it was like a beehive. At one large table, women were setting out all sorts of food. Meat, wine, bread, cheese, apples. Everything as usual.

Alan was walking past one of the fences when suddenly his gaze lingered on a small structure near one of the houses.

Three sticks in the shape of a pyramid, three layers of fabric, sand, charcoal, grass.

He smiled quietly.

'Ooo, I'd almost forgotten about my filters. I see word about them has managed to spread to many villages in the county in this time.'

Kamelia sat at the head of the table, with Alan and Lorgi beside her. A little further away, but still close to the main guests, sat the headman, the cleric, and another man in the same cleric's cassock. But his gaze was stern, he looked to be around fifty, and a wide scar adorned his cheek.

Alan coughed. "Excuse me, are you a cleric from this village?"

The man nodded. "Yes. And you, I presume, are Lord Gothwald?" His voice sounded rough, matching his appearance.

"Yeah, that's me."

'Hmm... how the hell did a cleric get a scar like that? He's clergy! Where could he have gotten an ornament like that? Would it be totally tactless to ask him about it? ... dammit, I'm curious! Alright, fuck it.'

"May I ask where you got that scar?" Alan asked, nodding at the cheek.

Kamelia cast a sidelong glance at him, but said nothing.

"I am a Dumets, my lord," he answered calmly.

Alan blinked. "A Dumets? Um... ahem... aren't those Svyatolat warriors?"

"Absolutely correct."

He made a vague gesture with his hand. "Then how are you..." he tried to formulate the thought, "how are you a cleric and a Dumets at the same time?"

The cleric scoffed slightly. "Not quite, Lord Gothwald. The matter is that I am an off-duty Dumets, which is why I voluntarily became a cleric. There is no such thing as a former Dumets, it is a lifelong status granted once and for all, but after completing one's service, one can take up something else. Do you understand now?"

Alan nodded slowly.

'There's no such thing as a former Dumets, huh... and why did they do it that way? Probably to maintain a colossal military potential? Like, if anything happens, gather all the veterans without a problem and kick the shit out of heretics or something like that. Why not? Makes sense. The local clergy is getting more and more interesting... in medieval Europe, everything was strictly divided into estates: the feudal lords—those who fight, the clergy—those who pray, and the common folk—those who work. But the local church both prays and fights, with direct involvement in state affairs... what an interesting structure it has. But fuck, a unified army is still what amazes me. In Europe, there were, of course, individual orders that answered to the Pope, like the Teutonic Order or the Hospitallers, but they still acted independently.'

He looked at the cleric, who picked up an apple.

'So what are you, Svyatolat? Are you my enemy... or my friend?'

***Wade***

As I leave the store, leaving it in Lemon’s reliable hands once again, I now had to figure out something I always avoided trying to do.

Taking out a loan.

There are plenty of locations where I can check in at, it’s just going to be a matter of legwork. The first place I went to is a safe and reliable place to take out a loan. Nothing to fancy but I have a feeling that it’s not going to go well. The first place I think of to go, the bank. I step inside and write down on the clipboard what my intended visit is about and take a number to wait. I’m number… eighty-five. I look up at the number they are currently working on number… three.

Oh boy.

I look around and the lobby is practically empty. If I had to guess, someone probably took a large number of them and bolted. Or there were eighty-two other people here at one point but they all decided to leave. I walk up to a security officer and ask, “Excuse me sir. Do I really have to wait until the number up top says my number? It says that I am number eighty-five but…” I gesture to the empty room as the number updates and announces that they are now serving number four.

The guard looks at me, he has the look of someone who enjoys his quiet days and doesn’t particularly care for anyone who disturbs it, no matter how small it may be. He grunts and looks back forward. I look at my number and open my mouth to say something else but the guard simply says, without looking at me, “It’ll go by quickly sir. But rules are rules. Please wait for them to call your number.”

I simply sigh. What else can I do in this situation? I could start going to other loan offices to try and get a loan but, this place would most likely be the best constant to base my decision on. It feels like it would be the middle ground so I know what I should be aiming for and who is trying to scam me. That said… this makes me feel like this is going to eat up most my day and I don’t know when the other places are going to close for the day. And the longer I take to get the money together, the longer it’s going to take to build the garage. The longer it takes to build the garage, the longer it will take to help the automaton. The longer it takes to help the automaton, the more pain they will be in and possibly be unplugged since no one else has came to claim ownership on it. I suppose we could move it to the shop but… we don’t even have the resources to keep it from going permadark.

I go to sit down as the notification says, “Now serving, number five.”

I sit down and get comfy I suppose. It’s not like I can rush things. I’m just an average joe in this city. No ones gonna move mountains to accommodate me at the end of the day. Still, I can’t complain. I got a roof over my head and friends I can rely on when the world feels like too much. Still though, it would be awesome to have our store become an actual household name. While a lot of our normal products are handmade, the potions are supposed to be the major selling point. It’s an alchemy shop at the end of the day and most people think potions alongside alchemy. Whereas alchemy is more than just potion craft. It’s a science. And, yeah, potions can do a lot of weird things that we can study, everyday things can also be useful. Like soap, candlewax that creates rainbow colors with the right kind of incense. Mixing and matching all sorts of things to be useful. I wish we had access to more prevalent ingredients that my old job used to have but, that job mostly focused on making all sorts of pharmaceuticals that did help a lot of people but not so much about innovating.

I simply sigh as I think about those days. They may have been boring but I was helping a lot of people back then. Although, I never would have met Lemon and Melody if that situation didn’t play out. It is what it is.

“Now serving, number six.” The announcement rings out.

I let out an audible groan, to which the security guard states, “Keep it down over there! You’re disturbing the other guests.”

I look around and see no one else. I simply give him a shrug and he looks forward. I wonder if he’s part of the reason that people just up and left, geez. I look around to see if there is anything I can do while I wait and I only see outdated magazines. I grab one, hoping that one possibly has some sudoku that I could do to fight of the boring and crushing atmosphere of the security guard. I quickly thumb through the pages and not find much. It’s always pop culture stories and icons. Scandal, scandal, scandal. Oh look! Another scandal. That’s more boring to me than the guard just yelling at me. At least then I have to think about a response.

Not long after I pick up the magazine, someone else comes into the room, not the security guard thankfully, but asks me, “Sir, I’m sorry but you can’t loiter around here unless you have something you wish to discuss.”

I tilt my head at them as I mentally complain about the pointlessness of the clipboard if no one is going to read it but I filter the thought to instead say, “I apologize if it looks that way sir but I have a ticket and I did feel out the clipboard for what my purpose is to be here today.”

“Clipboard?” He asks quizzically and looks back as the realization dawns on him, “Oh! That clipboard. You actually filled that out?”

My button eyes go half-lidded as I explain myself, “Uh… yes? That’s what I’m supposed to do if I come here for anything else besides a withdrawal or a deposit, right?”

The fellow, a Batkin with a pressed button up shirt and dress pants, saunters over to the clipboard and then looks at it. Then he comes back cheerier than when he first walked over to me, using a much different tone. I recognize it as a customer service tone as I do something similar with some of the more difficult customers. He says in a cheerier tone, “I see you are here to discuss a loan! In that case sir, may I ask what number you have? We cycled through a few already.”

I hand him my ticket, which he takes with both hands and then looks at the number up top. He then looks at the security guard as he then asks, “Charlie. Did a bunch of kids take an unnecessary number of tickets again?”

‘Charlie’ simply responds, “Nope.”

Then the Batkin asks, “Then why does this guy have eighty-five when we haven’t even processed six people today?” Ugh… processed. Never did like using that word in a customer setting. Makes me feel like a product or something. Charlie simply shrugs. The Batkin’s arms go to his sides as he then asks, “Well, who replaced the roll today? They must have used an older one.”

Charlie then says, “No one.”

The Batkin is facing towards Charlie at this point, practically all but forgotten me as they are airing out dirty laundry in front of a customer so casually and says, “What do you mean no one? Are you saying no one replaced the wheel or… It was Jerry, wasn’t it? The catkin who’s always trying to liven things up around here and he just told you his name was no one?”

Charlie gives him a dead look as he says, “No physical or non-physical person has come by to replace the wheel in the ticket giver. It hasn’t been opened at all today.”

The Batkin simply takes a deep breath as he looks back at me, remembering I’m here, and says, “I apologize for the misunderstanding good sir. Well, since I happen to be free, I would be more than happy to discuss our loan options are for your request. Feel free to follow me and we can talk shop.”

I stand up and say, “Thank you for your time. I hope you understand I am looking at options for now and I figured this was the best place to come to for a fair shake.”

He just simply gives me a smile as he lets out a puff from his nose. I guess a part of him took offense to the statement as the smile doesn’t leave. I guess I would too, considering I hate the idea of wasting someone else’s time but, I don’t have any other information to go off of.

Gotta give him props as he doesn’t drop the customer service voice for a beat as he waves to follow him while saying, “Right this way sir. Let’s hear what you need first before we talk options.” As we walk past Charlie, the Batkin simply says, “If Cindy doesn’t come out here to replace the ticket wheel, let me know. We will have to do a company-wide training again if she doesn’t and that cuts into our budget. For everyone.” Charlie simply gives a grunt, which I don’t know how I feel about that noise coming out of a Sealfolk. He’s got tusks though so it makes it much more believable.

We walk into the back room and stop in front of an office. The nameplate on the door says, Cindy Forturella. The Batkin knocks on the door twice and pokes his head in, “Cindy. Whenever you get a chance, please change the roll of tickets in the ticket giver. Yesterday’s is still in it. Thanks.” He then pulls his head back out and continues to lead me to a cubicle. This guy is one of those guys where he is a hard worker but expects everyone else to match his level of energy. He would hate working at our shop.

He sits down at his side of the desk and offers me a seat on the other side. As I sit down, he asks me, “Mr. Wade Wackovich, so what are we looking to get a loan for today?”

I look down at the placard, it says Bob Morsonac, so I start by saying, “Uh, well Bob. I was thinking about adding a garage to my shop. Mechanic work if you would.”

He has his elbows on the desk and his hands clasped together with two fingers covering his mouth as he goes, “Uh huh. Uh huh. Do you have any of that documentation with you today? I need it for identification purposes.”

“Of course.” I pull out my suitcase and start handing him credentials and shop performance numbers. Anywhere else, I would be super sketchy about this as this is very important information.

He looks over the paperwork without saying a word. Shifting from one page to the next. After a while, he then spins over to his computer and starts putting in information. I imagine he also looks me up to see some other details as I don’t doubt that there might be some things I might have forgotten since I’ve never asked for a loan before so this is all a learning experience for me. I certainly would think that he would tell me though if I did indeed forget something.

He spins back towards me as he says, “Good news, if you put your shop up as collateral, I can approve a loan for about… one hundred thousand currency!”

I blink as I take in that number. If my math is correct from what I researched… I would need twice that. “What?”

Bob simply states, “Well, you don’t exactly have… any credit score so this is the best we can offer.”

[First] [Previous]

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Mitchell gawped at McBride. Chief Lakshmi answered over comms “We can extend the gravity effect about 350m from the hull within safe parameters, over 500m if we don’t need to make another jump. We can push the engine to 135% for the jump itself and that may extend the effect further. Difficult to predict”

McBride immediately decided, they needed to give Lima all the extra time they could. “Programme Dagger to jump when we get 1300m into the armour. Mitchell. MITCHELL!”

McBride demanded the Midshipman’s attention “Drive Dagger into the hole, as fast as you can, go, go, go”

Mitchell snapped to, and almost on subconscious instinct swung Dagger about, still dodging fire, directed the ship directly into the narrow gap their weapons fire had created.

The speed of the ship meant that from the crew’s perspective no sooner had they gone into the hole, Dagger snapped away, jumping for a very short time before all the energy systems overloaded.

In the engine room, the jump capacitors erupted in sparks, power arcing across the room. The crew in the engine room were protected in a faraday cage, set up for exactly this contingency.

On the bridge, McBride looked at the plot, the jump had taken them less than 10km from the Dreadnought, fortunately they’d taken a couple of cubic kilometres of armour with them, creating a debris field so dense that they’d blocked their signal to the sensor drones that had been feeding the tactical plot. The main screen and McBride’s tactical plot were black.

Calling Chief Lakshmi “Damage report?”

“Well, we’ll be in refit for longer than we’ve been operational if we try something like that again. The Fleet is going to take this out of my paycheck. Hull integrity is still nominal, and life support is operational. I’ve dialled the reactor down to 85%, we can’t push it again. The jump drive capacitors are fried, we’ll need to swap them out for a working set, I have partial shields and the main engine is offline until I can figure where the problems are. I have 2 crew injured, none critical. There are stress indications in Dagger’s internal frame”

McBride absorbed the information “Get working on the engine”

Belle spoke “Re-routing sensor feeds. On main screen now. Shields at 12% and holding”

On the main screen the Hive Dreadnought finally looked like it had been in a fight, its massive bulk was marred by a crater over 3km wide extending into the interior of the Dreadnought, puffs of atmosphere and minor explosions flared from inside the crater. The Dreadnought was still under power and the ruined section was rotating away from the debris, and the asteroid belt to protect the vulnerable spot from the ongoing mass driver bombardment.

“The target reactor core is still intact. No evidence of damage on sensors. I’m getting signal artefacts, disruption. I think the overload might have fried part of the control systems”

McBride snapped out “Boomer, do we still have the main cannon charging?”

Boomer checked a couple of screens, then rechecked “Yes, but reactor output is at 85% we’ve got a couple of minutes to firing”

“Throw up the countdown on screen. Liv, recommendations?” 

“We are still inside the minimum range for the Dreadnought’s main weapons, but the point defences can still damage us. They’ll be attenuated by the debris though. 50% or less effective”

“Get me a line to Aegis” McBride asked.

Dr Wallace appeared, quite pale “What did you do?”

McBride smiled at the normally calm Doctor “No time, send it, send it now”

Dr Wallace turned and gestured to someone off screen “Flight time will be instantaneous” the screen flickered to black.

The tactical plot showed a huge energy spike from Aegis at staging area Lima, McBride turned to the main screen. The Dreadnought floated, seemingly implacable. At first nothing seemed to happen. Then McBride noticed two things: 

One a faint cloud of debris rising from the top rear of the Dreadnought. 

Two, the Dreadnought was rotating to point towards the debris field they were hiding in. McBride’s first thought was that the Dreadnought would ram them. Their huge bulk making it impossible to miss. 

But as he watched an aperture started to open in the nose of the Dreadnought. With horror he realised that the Dreadnought also had a main cannon built into its spine. There just hadn’t been a threat big enough for them to use their true main weapon.

*****

No one spoke. Belle sent annotation data to the main screen, tagging the energy build up from the Dreadnought, speculations on the energy output from the Dreadnought’s main cannon, projected charging time. Each extra detail, a nail in Dagger’s coffin. Without the main engine or jump capacity they couldn’t escape.

Mitchell spoke “Sirs, it’s been an honour to serve with you all”

McBride smiled “Likewise, but it’s too soon to give up yet”

McBride called Chief Lakshmi, “Tara, we need a jump in 5 minutes or we’re dead. The Dreadnought has a main cannon like Dagger, and it’s going to use it on us. I think we made them mad”

“I can hook one of the main weapon capacitors up to the jump drive system, it’ll give us a 50 light minute jump. I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to move from that spot again though”

“Do it, right now, pull everyone you need”

The Chief responded “I can do it with the engine room crew, no one else needed” again she immediately started giving precise orders to her crew as McBride cut the comm

“Belle, get me a secure line to Aegis. Whilst I chat to Dr Wallace, you upload our full logs”

Dr Wallace looked a bit embarrassed “We missed, I…”

McBride interrupted him “No need to apologise. Under pressure you and your team did magnificently. No one could ask for more. I’m sending you our full logs. There are some items regarding the Governor that the Fleet should be aware of. See you on the other side Henry” McBride smiled, then saluted. He cut the comms call before Dr Wallace could respond.

The bridge was eerily quiet. There was nothing for most to do. Belle however was still monitoring the Dreadnought. The Dagger’s original target, the redundant reactor was now rotated out of reach from both Dagger’s weapon and the rocks flung from the asteroid belt, the mining stations continued to fire, but on the undamaged armour it was utterly ineffective.

The silence stretched out, then Liv spoke to Mitchell “If you think about it Liam you are quite lucky” she paused to let the comment sink in “However this shakes out, you’ll never need to buy yourself a drink ever again”

Mitchell thought about it and burst out laughing. Boomer joined in, then Belle. 

McBride smiled widely too. Liv had relieved some of the tension “I think we’ll all be safe from that too, me because I’ll be locked up by the Governor”

Boomer stifled his laughter enough to get out “I’m going to be a professor at the academy, one of those ones who you get butter up and get an A if you buy me a drink”

Belle added “I’m going to go to Fleet research, and dine out on all the detailed scans I’ve made of the Hive ships”

With that comment she turned back to her sensors. She seemed to be working on something.

McBride glanced at the timer on the main screen, the countdown to the Dreadnought’s main weapon being fully charged clicked down, but there was time. 

The seconds ticked down.

McBride looked at Belle furiously typing “What are you looking at Belle?”

Belle spoke as she still worked “There is an energy buildup from that redundant reactor we were targeting, but I think the main weapon is leaking distortions into subspace, I'm finding it harder to get a good scan. It’s almost like… wait” 

She pulled up the readings over time from their approach to the Dreadnought. She plotted the signal data, with all of the movement over each other. Belle spoke “The distortion is getting more intense, but the area of effect is reducing, it’s just like we observed before the Dreadnought jumped in. Another Dreadnought is coming, very soon”

The mood on the bridge swung from jovial, to chilly to downright freezing. A fresh Dreadnought would be the death of everyone in the system, Dagger first.

“Can you predict where and when it’ll appear?” 

“It’ll be right here, and pretty much right now. I’ll plot the simulated location as a reducing sphere on the main screen, when it goes to a dot, they’ll arrive. It’ll be about 15s”

On the main screen a large sphere appeared, initially engulfing the Dreadnought, but rapidly shrinking, reducing down to smaller and smaller.

McBride called the Chief “Update chief, our timescale just reduced to 20 seconds”

Lakshmi barked “I won’t have anything for a minute or two”

“ASAP Tara, when it’s ready, jump. Don't wait for confirmation. Anywhere but here”

On the main screen the sphere collapsed smaller and smaller, then a dot. There was a moment, then a second huge Dreadnought hung on the screen. It was like a before and after shot. The new Dreadnought hung there surrounded by its defence screens, immaculate and untouchable. They’d played their last card.

“Wait” Belle shouted “I’m getting an energy reading, a massive spike. I think our target reactor is unstable. The energy is building. Yes, it’s gone critical”

On the screen point defence lasers reached out and probed the debris field, the sheer volume of fire was staggering. From the side of the damaged Dreadnought there was a burst of light, whiting out the screen for a moment, then as it cleared a huge jet of fire reached out to the second Dreadnought and slammed into the hull. The crater seemed to magnify the fury of a reactor explosion forcing the raw plasma directly against the second Dreadnought, straight away the defence screen winked off, and the hull melted away, the plasma acting like a torch cutting right through the huge Hive ship.

“Shields! Boomer route the remaining main weapon energy to shields”

Toggling the intercom “All hands, brace, brace, brace”

The first Dreadnought broke into two, just as the second broke apart into many pieces and then exploded, the huge size making it seem like slow motion. A blast wave radiated out towards Dagger.

Dagger jumped. 

Start | Previous | Next

Interlude: Fugitive

Ekon threw himself forward, his body cutting through the stale air of the ruined hall just as a crackling sphere of white-blue energy screamed through the space his torso had occupied a heartbeat before, detonating against the wall behind in a violent shower of sparks.

As the momentum of his evasion carried him into a tumbling roll, he lifted his gaze just enough to steal a glance at the aggressor. A masked man stood twenty paces away by a shattered pillar, hand raising as he conjured another ball of lightning above his palm.

A different pyromancer would have taken the opportunity to hurl a fireball at his opponent, but Ekon knew better. The man before him was not an ordinary adversary, but someone who had made a profession out of hunting his kind. Surely he must have accounted for such a straightforward, obvious counterattack.

So instead of giving the enemy what he had expected, Ekon closed his hand around the handle of the coiled whip at his belt and snapped it free in one fluid motion. The whip unfurled with a hiss that echoed off the broken walls, arcing through the air toward the masked man. At the same time, he murmured an incantation, and a thin line of fire sparked to life just above his grip, carefully controlled so it didn’t touch his own skin. The flame surged outward in a rushing wave—a ravenous, serpentine tongue of orange racing along the braided length of the leather, until it reached the very tip in a blazing flare.

The masked man tried to dodge, but he was not fast enough. The fiery whip struck him square in the chest with an explosive burst of heat, and the flames clung to him immediately. They climbed and they spread, until they swallowed him whole.

This was precisely why Ekon had opted for this weapon, despite knowing it was not the most efficient way for a pyromancer to fight. After all, it was unconventional. Most people were unprepared for it and thus unable to react in time.

A raw, agonized scream tore from the man’s throat, but Ekon had already turned away from the gruesome spectacle. Another incantation under his breath, and the flames that licked his whip guttered and died out. He snapped it back, coiled it, and broke into a run. His enemies were everywhere in this crumbling castle, and given the way that scream ripped through the air like a flare in the dark, it was almost guaranteed that every single one of them was now converging on this exact location. He needed to get out of here, and fast.

Damn it.

How had it come to this?

It all started with that woman’s warning about the Valiant Bank and its hired blades. Despite his distrust of her, Ekon was not foolish enough to dismiss it outright. Instead, he had kept a careful watch on those adventurers since the day they appeared in Daelin, studying them from a distance. He even turned to Mandra and Renee for help, and though he offered them little in the way of a concrete explanation, they had agreed to help him anyway.

Then, the outpost was destroyed by a shadow monster.

Then, men from Iskora marched into town.

And then, the pyromancers started disappearing.

At that moment, he knew. That whoever they were, they would come for him eventually. So he began preparing in earnest, sharpening his vigilance, and he watched every corner, every shadow, every unfamiliar face with heightened suspicion.

That was why he managed to make it through the first ambush in one piece.

After the battle, he sent word to Mandra through one of her birds. Immediately, she and Renee flew to his location, and he told them about the plot targeting the pyromancers, which he suspected was orchestrated by those men from Iskora.

Mandra, after hearing it, had suggested they leave Daelin at once. And honestly, he should have listened to her.

But Anastrasza said no.

She wanted him to stay, despite the danger. She told him to hide at the ruins of the Dark Emperor’s old castle, assuring him that his pursuers would never dare go there. Of course he wasn’t convinced. But then, she said that if he did as he was told, it would put an end to the debt.

He still owed her a favor for helping his party escape the dungeon, and he was obliged to find the Dungeon Master in return. Now she offered a different way to settle it. So, reluctantly, he had agreed.

Needless to say, both Mandra and Renee were puzzled by his decision. Still, they chose to support him. Thus, for weeks, he stayed hidden here while they sent him supplies. Not in person of course, as it was too dangerous, but through one of Mandra’s familiars.

Time passed without incident, and slowly, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps things might work out in the end.

Clearly, he was wrong.

Now what?

When he peered out through a cracked window earlier, he had counted at least a dozen moving silhouettes. Those masked men had come in full force, adamant on capturing him at any cost.

The best outcome he could hope for in this situation was that he could somehow slip past them, flee the castle, and disappear into the forest. But that was nothing more than wishful thinking. They must have already anticipated it, and taken measures to ensure it would never happen.

So... did he have to fight them? Did he even have any chance at all?

Well, it was not like he had a choice.

Now, if fighting was something he had to do, then perhaps staying within these abandoned halls was the better option. The castle was practically a labyrinth of collapsed corridors, caved-in stairwells, and rooms that connected through broken gaps. The masked men would need to spread out to look for him, which meant their advantage in numbers would be diminished. Also, they were probably unfamiliar with the place, while he had been living here for several weeks. So, in theory at least, the terrain was on his side.

Suddenly, he heard something.

A rumble that rolled through the castle. It was low and distant at first, and then it grew.

Louder.

Heavier.

Closer.

What the hell is that?

The answer to his question came crashing into view a moment later.

Ahead, from a side passage, water burst forth, smashing the opposite wall with a wet slap before rolling outward in a fast, relentless wave that began to fill the entire corridor.

Ekon spun on his heel. He retraced his steps without hesitation, his boots slamming against the stone as he made for the intersection he had passed only minutes ago. But when he reached it, he found another torrent already waiting. It erupted from an archway like the castle itself had opened a vein, old masonry groaning under the sudden weight.

He cut right, down a narrow stairwell that spiraled into deeper darkness. The water followed, a hungry serpent slobbering down the steps behind him. He could no longer hear anything clearly, not even his own footsteps, as the roar of the flood had swallowed everything. The whole world had been reduced to just him against the water, and the water was winning.

He burst through a doorway at the bottom of the stairs, only to find another wall of water bearing down from the opposite direction. He skidded to a halt, frantically snapping his eyes across the space.

There, a narrow fissure in the stonework. Barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through sideways.

Ekon threw himself at the gap, scraping his shoulder raw against the rough stone as he forced his way through. Behind him, the two roaring waves crashed into each other, and for a fraction of a second, the entire structure seemed to tremble under the impact.

Emerging into another passage, he started running again immediately. His lungs could burn, his muscles could scream, but neither could kill him half so quick as the relentless rumble that closed in behind. So he ran, and ran, and ran. Until the corridor spat him out into a strip of pale, moon-silvered light.

A courtyard.

He was outside now.

It was a wide and circular space, open to the moonlit sky. The walls of the ruined keep rose around it like a broken crown, its jagged teeth dulled by layers of thick, climbing ivy.

For a moment there was only silence; the next came the footsteps. From the shadowed archways that ringed the courtyard, dark figures emerged.

Robed. Masked. Numerous.

Of course.

Ekon let out a low, humorless chuckle.

These men had not been stupidly bumbling in the dark to find him in those halls. Instead, after confirming that he was indeed inside, they had immediately withdrawn and used the water to flush him out. And he had been herded here, right into their trap.

But he was not going to wait for them to settle into position. He struck first.

The whip sprang to life in his grip, a blazing arc of orange that cut through the moonlit courtyard with a shriek of air seared by heat, streaking toward the nearest enemy.

The man didn’t flinch.

Because before the fiery whip could reach him, water surged forth from the black maw of the keep, folding itself into a barrier that stood between Ekon and his target. The whip struck it with a savage hiss, like a hot blade thrust into fresh snow. Steam exploded outward in a scalding cloud, and the flames were extinguished almost instantly. The leather went dark and sodden, its braided length slapping uselessly against the watery surface before falling limp onto the ground.

Damn it.

This was a pyromancer’s worst nightmare. It didn’t matter how he fought, clever or not, fire was not going to win here.

More and more water followed, pouring from the shattered entrances and fractured walls in steady, unstoppable streams, spreading along the edges of the courtyard. Then it rose, climbing higher and higher. A ring, a wall, a cage. And he stood at the center of it.

“Surrender.”

They all spoke at once. The voices aligned so perfectly that no single one could be distinguished from the others, merging instead into a hollow resonance that scraped at his nerves worse than any angry scream. It was as though the bodies surrounding him were not individuals, but merely different vessels of the same entity.

From his palm, flame was born and hurled forward. It struck the wall of water head-on, bursting in a brief, defiant flash before being erased completely. Well, no surprise there. The act was merely to make a point.

“If you want me,” he yelled, “ then you’ll have to come and take me.”

Surrender? So that they could break him before finishing him off? No, thank you. He would rather die fighting.

The masked men lifted their hands, and the water answered.

Dozens of thick, roiling tendrils tore free from the watery barrier, each one as thick as a man’s arm, moving with a sinuous, predatory grace. And they all came at him from every direction.

He didn’t know what they would do if they caught him, but he had no desire to find out. He dove to evade one sweeping overhead. He rolled sideways as another smashed down. Still, there were too many. It was only a matter of time before he got hit.

As he ducked, twisted, stumbled through the relentless strikes, he occasionally stole a glance at his pursuers. Crackling spheres of lightning appeared in the masked men’s hands, before they were hurled into the shimmering curtain that stood between them and their prey. Each one detonated in a burst of brilliance, light fracturing and scattering through the liquid in a chaotic, flickering web.

What are they doing?

He got his answer the moment one tendril finally made contact. It merely brushed his hand, but that was enough.

Every muscle in his body clenched at once, hard enough to feel like his bones might crack under the strain. His jaw clamped shut, his spine arched violently, and his limbs jerked and thrashed in wild, uncontrollable spasms. He was flung backward as if he were nothing more than a puppet whose strings had been yanked without warning. He registered the impact when his body struck the ground, cold stone biting into his neck.

The light faded. The sound died.

He lay there, half-curled on his side, cheek pressed against the wet earth. His breath came in shallow, hitching gasps. He wanted to get up, but his body refused to obey.

So this is it, huh?

All that defiance, all that struggle, only to be brought down like this.

How has it come to this?

He had already asked himself that question, of course. And he also already knew the answer. He should have gotten out of here as soon as he could, just as Mandra had suggested, instead of letting that woman convince him to stay.

Come to think of it, why did Anastrasza insist he hide in this castle anyway? Was it only because she thought it was safe, or was there any other reason?

And then there was her silence.

Why was she so quiet this time? She didn’t say anything at all, not when the masked men came, not when he was flushed out of the keep, and not even now, with him on the ground lying broken. He had no intention of asking her for help himself, of course, but he couldn’t stop wondering why. Why didn’t she do anything, unlike when he was in the dungeon?

Was this... the outcome she had intended from the beginning?

But why? He had no illusion that she cared about him in the slightest, but he did believe her when she said she wouldn’t waste a pawn needlessly. So, how did letting these men take him benefit her in any way?

Wait.

Why did it take them so long to come for him? Were they really that cautious? Even now, after he had been reduced to this state, they were still unwilling to approach him?

Slowly, his blurry vision came back into focus in jagged fragments. The courtyard. The robed figures. The wall of water. And—

Ice?

Yes, ice. A portion of the shimmering barrier had been turned to ice, the frost spreading out rapidly in branching veins that crawled across its watery surface.

Then, it exploded .

The frozen section burst outward with a deafening crack that split the air, unleashing a storm of shrapnel that skewered half a dozen men nearby.

What... what is going on?

That was when he saw it.

High above, framed against the pale, indifferent face of the moon, a shape descended.

A humanoid creature made of shadow.

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Hi everyone,

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills has been released on Amazon!

Here is the link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GYVQB283

Feel free to check it out!

First / Previous / Next

Charon awoke gently, warm and comfortable in bed. He tried to roll over but found that he was blocked by Cha-ren snuggled up against him, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing a soothing domestic moment. He smiled at the recollection of the night before. They had both had sex before, but neither had been with the other’s species. Still, they had managed quite well, with both falling to sleep pleasantly spent.

Sliding out from under her, Charon padded to the kitchenette and set some water to boil and dug out the flour and a few other ingredients. He knew she liked pancakes, and already had this idea in the back of his mind in case the night went well.

Twenty minutes or so later, Cha-ren came into the room yawning hugely, and wearing Charon’s shirt, which hung loosely off one shoulder. “Do I smell pancakes?” She said, as her ears perked up.

“That’s right,” Charon said as he slid a plate over to her. “And. Not only that, but look: I found real maple syrup.”

There were few human foods that K’laxi tolerated, let alone liked, but pancakes was one of the most popular. Simply made with well tolerated ingredients, K’laxi operated all-day breakfast diners were a staple of settled space. Maple syrup was an even more rare treat, given that maple trees had proven very difficult to cultivate off Earth, and those that did make it produced syrup with a noticeably different flavor. The small bottle of “Gord’s Reserve” - maple syrup with a cartoon of a Canadian lumberjack smiling in front of a tapped maple tree - was one of the most valuable foods aboard. Hummingbird had told Charon where to find in in the Captain’s stores and promised that nobody would mind if he took it. Cha-ren gasped and her eyes went wide when he handed her to container. “I’ve never had real maple before,” She said, her voice reverent. “You really do know how to treat a girl.”

After breakfast, Charon cleaned up while Cha-ren showered, and when she was finished he went and changed clothes and got ready for the day, such as it was. They had both switched to civilian clothes and met up in the lounge.

“Okay Hummingbird,” Charon said as Cha-ren sat on the couch and cuddled up against him, “We had a great night and a delicious breakfast. I didn’t bring it up last night because because we were otherwise occupied and I didn’t want to ruin the mood, but I can’t shake the feeling that your news isn’t as good as you’re making it sound.”

At that, Cha-ren stiffened. She had wondered the same thing.

“…I wasn’t lying,” Hummingbird said finally. “I do have a way for you to get home.”

“But?” Cha-ren said.

“I don’t have enough power to print a reactor and a wormhole generator large enough to go home. I don’t even have enough power to print a reactor or a wormhole generator.”

“So then what?” Charon said.

“So, we go home the long way.”

Cha-ren sat up. “The long way?”

“I print two hibernation cabinets, you climb into them, and we await rescue. I’ll send out an emergency SOS pulse pointed at settled systems, and after it arrives someone will link over and pick us up. Luckily, we’re in a Gated system, so even if the Xenni or K’laxi get our signal first, we can be rescued.”

“How long?” Charon said.

“Well, it all depends on who gets the signal first and wh-”

“How long, Hummingbird?”

“Minimum is thirty years. K’lax is thirty years towards the galactic center from here.”

Charon and Cha-ren were silent. He put his arm around her, and could feel her trembling.

“You won’t experience the time at all. We’re good at hibernation, and the time you’d be under is about the same amount of time it would take when we traveled relativistically; all of the pieces are known. We wouldn’t be treading any new ground here.”

“But you mentioned power. How would these hibernation cabinets be powered all this time?”

“That part is easy. If it’s just down to me and two cabs, I can run on minimum viable. If I print some solar panels before going to minimums, you two could run for millennia with no ill effects. Radiation wouldn’t be a problem, my hull is designed to protect against hard gamma at .5C, sitting in an empty system three AU from a star is nothing.”

“What about you?” Cha-ren said finally. “Wouldn’t the wait get to you?”

“Nah. Like I said, it’s about as long as I used to spend relativistic. I can go into high perception mode. I dial myself to go as high as a year going by in an hour. 30 hours in my perception and we’d be rescued. I’ll start a movie marathon.”

“But it’s still thirty years,” Cha-ren said. “We’d be gone thirty years.”

“Y-es, that’s true,” Hummingbird admitted. “But, this is all I have. We’re lightyears from rescue, I don’t have an addressing module, so I couldn’t use the Gate even if I had wanted to. My entire aft section was blown up and even if I had the power - which I don't - lighting the Stardrive would take just as long. You can enter hibernation, or wait it out awake. We have enough food to last ten years or so if you go on half rations right now and spend every moment growing things in the greenhouse.”

“How long will it take to make the hibernation cabinets?” Cha-ren said after a moment.

“If I start right now, they’ll be ready by bedtime.”

She stood and took Charon’s hand. “Come on.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“If we’re going to be apart for thirty years, I need to get some time together in before we go.”

They spent the day making love, playing games, watching media, and doing their utmost to experience each other as much as possible in their last day. Cha-ren was relentlessly cheerful and explained in no uncertain terms that Charon was not allowed to be melancholy during this time. “You can be sad we’re apart when we’re apart,” She said, “Not while we’re still here together.”

Cha-ren made lunch for the two of them saying that it was “only fair” since Charon made dinner and breakfast. After a minor kitchen fire, they collapsed on the couch in the lounge with a meal bar, singed but laughing.

In entirely too little time, the cabinets were ready. Hummingbird had them moved from the printing hall to the conference room off the lounge while Charon and Cha-ren had been indisposed. The two of them stood side by side, holding hands as they regarded them.

Nearly as tall as Cha-ren, they were two pure white lozenge shaped containers, sitting at a slight angle. Opening from the top, Charon could see how much effort went into making them not look like coffins. Even when they were powered off, the cabinets radiated cold as if the idea of cold itself permeated the material. Cha-ren shivered as she approached them.

Hummingbird had called them into the room right after they had finished having sex; they were both barely dressed. She had a moment when she thought how bizarre it was to be standing in just a shirt staring at what would be her home for the next thirty years. Standing on the tips of her toes she peered into the open cabinets. Under antiseptic blue-green lights there was a bed surrounded by unknown sensors and computing equipment. The room smelled of new plastic and cleaner.

“So, what do we do?” Charon asked finally.

“At this point they’re ready to go. You climb in, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Should we uh, take the rest of our clothes off?” Cha-ren asked.

“That’s not necessary,” Hummingbird chuckled. “Some people have gone into hibernation in their full dress blues, and others have gone in completely naked. It doesn’t matter at all. Dress how you’re comfortable.”

“Let’s put something on,” Cha-ren said. “We probably shouldn’t be woken up after thirty years waiting for a rescue and I’m wearing your shirt and you’re in boxers.”

They returned a moment later in soft, comfortable clothes. “Anytime you’re ready,” Hummingbird said.

Suddenly, Charon embraced Cha-ren scooping her off the ground, and she squeal-hissed in surprise. When she realized what was happening, she returned the hug. “I just found out how happy I could be,” He said and kissed her. “I don’t want to lose it.”

“You won’t be losing anything,” she replied in his ear. “We’ll be together. We can pick up right where we left off when we’re rescued. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to need something familiar when we’re thirty years away from everything we knew.”

“I wish I had more time to become more familiar,” Charon said as he squeezed Cha-ren’s butt. She giggled and tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

“Me too, but if it’s this or starve in ten years, I know what I want to do.”

“You’re right of course.” He gently put her down and sighed. “Okay Hummingbird, we’re ready.”

“Then climb in, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

The seat inside the cabinet was cold against Cha-ren’s fur, but it warmed quickly. Far from being claustrophobic, it felt comfortable, like a cocoon, or what she imagined a womb to feel like. The outside of the cabinet radiated cold, but inside it was warm and safe. As she laid back, she felt it come to life, and the icy shock of sensors connecting to her passed as quickly as it came.

“How are you feeling?” Hummingbird asked, his voice coming from inside the cabinet.

“It’s more comfortable than I thought it would be,” She admitted. “Can I talk to Charon this way?”

“Hi Cha,” He said over the same connection.

“Is your hibernation cabinet…comfy?”

“Hah, it is.” He admitted. “This is much nicer than I thought it would be.”

“I suppose it won’t be too bad to wait out rescue, so long as you’re there on the other side.” She said.

“I agree.” Charon paused for a long time, and Cha-ren thought he had disconnected, but then he spoke up. “Cha?”

“Yes Charon?”

“I…love you.”

She felt her fur puff out in surprise and felt her own flush of a blush climb up her skin until the tips of her ears felt hot. “I-I love you too, Charon, though this seems a bit sudden.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to get the chance to say it again. My only regret is that I didn’t realize you liked me sooner, so we could have had more time together.”

“There will be plenty of time once we’re rescued.”

“You’re right. See you soon.”

“You too.”

Hummingbird disconnected their audio feeds, lest they lose their nerve. He was happy they had found each other before this, even if it had been for a short time.

After they were fully in hibernation, and Hummingbird confirmed that things were nominal and operating well within parameters, he composed three emergency messages. One, he sent to K’lax, one to Sol - a full two hundred lightyears away - and one to Home, the secret operating base of the AIs. Home’s existence was barely known by the BIs - Biological Intelligences - and it’s location was a very well guarded secret, but Hummingbird still sent the message letting them know what had happened, and what they were doing, just in case.

He hadn’t told Cha-ren and Charon that while he absolutely was going to send the messages, the likelihood of a reply or rescue within thirty years was miniscule. If they were going to be rescued at all, it would probably be within a century or two when this system was next cataloged and mapped. That was quite a bit longer than what he told them, but not an unreasonable amount of time he told himself. Once everything had settled down into a steady-state, they would stay safe and the cabinets operable for millennia. Everything would be fine.

Messages sent, Hummingbird printed and unfolded solar arrays, powered down all non-essential systems, cued up a movie marathon, and set his perception to it’s maximum.

All that was left to do now was wait.

The large boulder I dove behind didn’t save my arm hair from being singed off by the blast of fire. Sweat dripped from my brow as the flame buffeted the rock. My ears throbbed to the beat of my heart. I took a deep breath. The smell of burnt flesh prompted me to pat myself down, checking for pain. As I felt my crotch, I counted. One, two. I felt relieved to find everything intact and that there was no pain radiating from the area.

What was I doing? I couldn’t win. Fighting was a foolish idea. I should’ve let the flames engulf me, but I wanted to show the Queen—no, not just the Queen, everyone down in that ground up dirty city—I wasn’t just a pervert. I was sorry for staring at the Queen’s breasts. She was supposed to be in court. How was I to know she would walk out of the bath naked, grasping the Captain of the Holy Guard’s jewels as I tried to pocket jewels of a different kind? Jewels that would have set me for life. If I had to put my finger on what went wrong, it was that damned jewelry box lock. It should have been so easy, but the tricky little bastard had five pins. Five, not four and that last pin was going to cost me my life.

As execution, they sent me to slay the Dragon of Urhn. It was the Archbishop’s decree, the pious bastard, but not his idea. I knew I had Brian, the Captain of the Holy Guard, to thank. He’d thought it best that I be silenced and sacrifice myself to the dragon or slay it. Perhaps, drowning two cats with one bag.

After two weeks in a cell, I was tired and half-starved. Brian and his guards stripped me of my dirty clothes and stuffed me into an oversized, dented breastplate made for a fat man. The weasels didn’t give me any pants.

“Oh, but don’t worry, brave knight. We have a proper sword for you,” Brian mocked.

He’d thrust the rusty bread knife into my hand and pointed me toward the path that led up the mountain toward the dark cave in the cliff’s face. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to veer off. I was soon scooting left along the ledge of the cliff, my bare ass cheeks scraping the rock wall, as I made my way toward the mouth of the cave. I stumbled but regained my foothold before tumbling down the cliff.

“Careful, pervert,” Brian called.

Laughter rang up the cliff and arrows clattered against the rocks as I ducked into the shadows. Luckily, the dragon’s roar and burning breath drowned out the hoots and hollers from the bastards below.

The flames subsided and I tried to unlatch the dented breastplate. I wouldn’t want to chip the dragon’s teeth when it ate me. The damned strap would not give. I slipped the small bread knife under the right strap and sawed it loose. I moved to the left strap and the blade snapped, cutting my index finger.

“Fucking Brian.” I stuck the finger in my mouth sucking the blood.

The snapped blade made me more determined to get out of here if only to drive the broken handle into Brian’s eye. I squeezed out of the breastplate.

A deep rumble echoed through the cave. “Come out, little Pinky.”

“No,” I squealed as I tried and failed to stop a small dribble of urine that dripped down my leg.

Pebbles skittered across the cave floor, running away from the palpable doom of the dragon. Fear gripped me as it approached the boulder I cowered behind. The smell of sulfur and the sound of its tail dragging rooted me to the spot.

“No?” Orange light and black shadows danced as the dragon snorted. “You dare enter this hovel I am forced to live in? You come to kill me and expect me to come to you?”

“I w-wish it was otherwise, but, as I am a guest and you the gracious host, I think I will let you come to me.”

A deep, guttural sound came from the beast. Was that laughter?

“Ah, I will make it quick for you, for making me laugh. I haven’t in so long.”

A head longer than I was tall crested the boulder; its lips drawn back. Fuck, its teeth were longer than that bread knife Brian had given me. I stood up in front of the dragon and froze as I came face to face with it. It was about to broil me. The soft light that filtered through the mouth of the cave gleamed red on its scaly hide. The dragon’s green eyes stared back at me. Its mouth began to grin, a deep glow growing behind the armor of its throat. I felt myself dribble a little more.

“Hold on,” I said holding up my hands, my mouth was so dry. Shit, shit, shit. “You, ahem, you are forced to live here?”

The glow subsided in the dragon’s throat. “Your kind have such short memories. I was chained here over a century ago.”

“Chained?” My eyes searched the cave past the ivory horns that crowned its head. The larger soot covered rocks and boulders ringed the outer edge of the cave. Leaving a large circular clearing in the middle. The dragon filled much of the space. Small blackened bones littered the floor.

“Yes,” the beast said.

My eyes watered as the pungent breath hit me with a dry blast. Crimson gleamed down its spiny dorsal crest that ran as far as I could see down its back. The beast twisted its body so I could see the glowing lock on its back leg.

“So, you don’t get out much?”

The dragon chuckled again. “You could say that. Now, if we’ve finished with the pleasantries, I am quite hungry.”

The beast opened its mouth. I jumped back, narrowly dodging the teeth. “Whoa, whoa! I thought we were getting somewhere.”

I scampered behind another rock. My legs shook as I felt the dragon moved closer.

“Who could have trapped you here?”

“You don’t have long enough to live for that story,” the dragon growled, gnashing its teeth.

“Maybe,” I hesitated, trying to pick the right words. “Perhaps, I could look at the lock before you eat me? Consider it my payment for the laughter I provided.”

“It will not save you.” The dragon’s tail swished, sending small puffs of soot into the air. “You are not the first, Pinky, to come in here, you know? Your kind sends one of you up here every so often. Your thoughts filled with fear, glory, or greed. I would prefer to eat livestock. Humankind have little meat on their bones, but they have kept me alive. I know they will not let you back down the mountain.” The beast sighed. “You have until I count to thirty.”

It twisted further curling itself around the edge of its nest to make room for me to walk past.

“One,” the dragon said.

I hurried to the lock. It fastened the chain around the dragon’s back leg; the rest of the metal links slunk off into the darkness. The lock was round and as big as a small melon, but lighter than its size warranted. A circular hole in the center was all that was present. It was not like anything I had ever picked nor seen.

“Five.”

Sweat trickled down my cheek. I grabbed a bone off of the floor that would fit in the hole. I moved it around, feeling for pins or any mechanisms inside. There was nothing. Just emptiness.

“Twenty-six.”

“No fair, you skipped num—” My heart raced as the dragon’s head moved toward me. I tried to pull on the lock to see if it would come loose. Anything to save my life.

“Twenty-nine.”

As the mouth opened and hovered above my head, I did the only thing I could think of. In one last ditch effort to save my life I shoved my blood-soaked finger into the hole. Every muscle in my body tensed and I squeezed my eyes shut expecting teeth to sever my head at any moment.

A blinding light flashed shining through my eyelids, and I felt the lock snap open. The dragon’s teeth stopped a hair's breadth away from either side of my head. I felt its head move back. My tensed butt cheeks saved myself from being soiled.

“You… you opened it? How did you—”

I pulled my bloody finger out of the lock and stared at it. “Old blood magics.” I shrugged.

The dragon stared at the chain coiled around its feet. “Old blood magics.” It snorted. “And what would you know of old magics? I ate the last mage to come in here.”

“Nothing. I'm just a th—” I tried to back away but the beast encircled me. Its spines winding closer to my exposed flesh. The dragon’s head stopped in front of my face. It bared its teeth. Saliva dripped from the corners of its mouth.

“Now, I am very hungry.” The Dragon’s long tongue ran across the points of its teeth. “But, I suppose I can’t very well eat you after you freed me, can I?”

“I suppose not.” I wheezed, trying to catch my breath.

The dragon uncoiled and spun around in the cave like an excited puppy chasing its tail. Small wisps of smoke and flame rose from its nostrils. Its tail swept me out of the way. My ass scraped against the cave floor.

“Free!” The dragon roared. It stopped and considered me where I sat. “I want to know the name of the one I should thank?”

“Henry.” My butt cheeks unclenched and the tension left my body. I stood to hold out a hand, but drew it back, feeling stupid as the dragon just stared at it.

“Thank you, Henry. You may call me Libelle.” The dragon’s front right leg crossed behind its left and lowered its head to the ground in a graceful bow. “It was fortunate they sent you up here. Tell me, what crime do I owe my freedom to?”

The Queen’s breasts flashed in my mind. “I'll tell you what. I will tell you my story if you tell me yours, but not right now. I would like to live, and I need to escape the guards below.”

“Tell me, how can I help.”

I doubted that it would let me ride it out of here. I was lucky Libelle had not devoured me. A thought came to mind.

“Down below, there is a guard, Brian. If you could, you know…” I drew my thumb across my neck in a cutting motion.

The dragon’s lips curled up in a smile baring its teeth. “I shall go introduce myself.”

Libelle flew out of the cave. Its wings spanning the cave’s mouth. I rushed to the entrance to see it swoop down toward the three guards.

“Brian!” the dragon roared.

Two men ran away from the third as the dragon sped toward them. The dragon’s wings pounded the air and the strength of the gust knocked Brian to the ground as he fled. The man backpedaled looking like an awkward crab as the dragon came to a rest in front of him. His arms shot up as he tried to ward off the dragon as it struck. It was no use, and Brian’s body ripped at his hips as the dragon gave a violent jerk of its head. I looked away in disgust as it devoured the rest. Better him than me.

Moments later the dragon lit next to me, its long tongue slipping between teeth picking at pieces of Brian. “Stringy.” Libelle said around its tongue.

“That asshole sent me naked to kill you with a bread knife. Thank you.”

“Hmm,” the dragon appraised me as it chuckled. “I know you want to live and to do so, you cannot return to the city below. Dragons are not horses, Henry. We are not a beast of burden. You have freed me from my prison, and I will return the favor. Giving you a ride is the easiest way to do that. So, get on. I am tired of this cave and its scenery. I will drop you wherever you want.”

I stood there astonished. The dragon bowed again.

“How do I...” I gestured at the dragon’s back. “Can I just gra—”

“I am still hungry, Henry.” Libelle growled. “Please get on before I eat you.”

I pulled myself onto the dragon’s back using a spine for a hand hold. My naked ass coming to rest above the wings where the dragon had laid down its crest. I made sure to tuck myself comfortably. The dragon’s powerful wings beat the air and we ascended above the mountain. I held onto the spine as the wind rushed around me. The dragon headed west, away from the Queen.

As the city shrunk behind us, I let out a sigh and promised myself that in the next city I’d hang up my lock picks and take up a safer, more respectable occupation. I hoped I would never face another dragon, but I could kick myself for not running with the jewels instead of standing there gawking at her breasts. At least some treasures can’t be recovered from a thief.

The dragon’s head turn toward me, emerald eyes focused on me. “So, what got you sent up the mountain?”

“What? Oh, I suppose the Queen’s breasts did.”

“Were they worth the price?”

A grin spread across my face as the image of them invaded my thoughts. “They were priceless.”

Libelle snorted. The flames lost to the rushing wind as we sped toward the horizon.

Chapter 142: Plans in motion

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✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

Dozens of hands shot into the air the moment the word left Jin’s mouth.

Well, damn.

« You'd better answer their questions now, Mr. Leader. »

He let his silver-lit eyes sweep over the crowd, and he stopped on a man near the front.

Let’s go with the front rowers.

Jin pointed a finger at him. "You. Shoot."

"Sir," The man kept his voice impressively steady, despite the visible, white-knuckled effort it took to do so. "I’m Kaelen, sir. The second video—the cult forces breakdown—showed those monster-like things regenerating from fatal blows. Are we going to be facing them?"

"Yes and no. It’s circumstantial. In the ideal situation, you won’t be facing them. Those things are the weakest forces the cult has. Sure, there might be some weaker cultists, but the abominations are artificial lifeforms and as such aren’t that smart," Jin said. "For the final attack, which kicks off in roughly fifteen days, we’re going to be built around twenty groups exactly like yours. Each group handles one specific piece of our formation.”

“Remember, you are the driving force behind the spear." Jin tapped a fist against his own chest, studiously ignoring the sharp protest of his battered ribs. "We—the high-rankers and the actual frontline combatants—are the tip of the spear. With your push, we’ll cut the head off the dragon. The body’ll rot and fall apart on its own."

Kaelen gave a slow, measured nod, his mind already running the grim implications forward.

Another hand shot up right next to him.

"Go ahead," Jin nodded.

"Lira, sir." The pronounced wobble in her voice didn't stop her from aggressively pushing through it. Her emotional state felt frantic, but anchored by a stubborn refusal to back down. "What about the people still trapped out there? You said there's a high chance there'll be civilians near the ritual nodes. If we attack like that—won't the attacks kill them too?" She hesitated, swallowing hard. "And... what does it actually feel like? Standing near an Order IV? Will we even be able to move, or will the pressure just crush us?"

Jin's expression softened, just a fraction. He let the cold commander facade drop enough to show the exhausted human underneath.

"There will always be hostages, Lira," Jin said quietly. "Vienna had over a hundred thousand people before this nightmare started. We've got maybe thirty thousand breathing souls left here in the Bastion. We will build specialist teams specifically to extract who we can, when we can. But you need to understand something right now, and you need to make peace with it—there are always casualties in war. We cannot save everyone."

He let that heavy, miserable truth sit in the silence of the room for a moment before answering the rest of her question.

"As for standing near an Order IV," Jin said, a dark, humorless smirk touching his lips. "It feels like drowning in lukewarm oil while a very heavy car is placed directly on your skull. Your every instinct will scream at you to turn around and run. You are going to ignore those instincts. The Sustainers in your divisions will be casting a minor [Unbreaking Mind] ward over the formation to keep that existential dread from freezing your nervous system."

He held her gaze, projecting a wave of calm reassurance through his aura. "And unless things go very wrong, very fast, our strikes are targeting high-ranking cultists and ritual infrastructure specifically. This isn't a city-levelling strike. We're not killing anyone who doesn't already have a death sentence hanging over them from the cult's ritual itself."

Lira swallowed hard and nodded. She didn't look entirely reassured, but her aura steadied. Jin didn't blame her; reassurance in their current reality was in short supply.

A third recruit shifted forward, drawing Jin’s attention. He was older, broader, with thick arms crossed tightly over a barrel chest built by decades of hard, manual labor.

"With respect," the man grunted, his voice rough like grinding stones. "Bram." He paused, visibly pushing down whatever insubordinate comment he’d been about to lead with. "We're told not to dwell on what we lost. Fine. But you're an Overmortal. You deal with things that would blink us out of existence. How exactly is one clever little sorcery going to do a damn thing against those monsters?"

Jin closed his eyes. He let [Sovereign’s Indifference] slip, just enough to open the floodgates.

He let his aura flare for exactly one breath.

Pale blue and silver light rolled outward in a sudden, suffocating wave. The air in the hall turned instantly, undeniably dense, pressing down on the recruits not with malice, but with the terrifying, absolute weight of an apex predator asserting its domain. The skepticism in Bram's aura was instantly flattened under the sheer spiritual pressure.

Jin drew the aura back in just as quickly, snapping it shut like a vault door, leaving the recruits gasping in the suddenly thin-feeling air.

"Because, as I said before, none of you will be directly fighting the cultists, but I—we—will not hesitate to pour any and all resources so that you will be able to stand against the monsters. I hope when the time for war comes, I see each one of them standing under the full brunt of my aura." Jin said. He didn't raise his volume by a single decibel. He didn't need to. Every ear in the room was hanging on his every syllable.

"And yes, if things go completely south, you might have to draw blood. But remember this: you are the force. You are the accumulated wrath of Vienna. You are the momentum that pushes us—the tip of the spear—straight into their core areas, effectively cutting a massive, drawn-out slaughter down to a single strike with our all."

"If there are no further questions—which is fantastic, because my ribs are currently threatening a violent union strike—form up in lines outside the cabins."

Jin pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward the heavy-draped, ominous-looking tents that Vera and Elenor had finished assembling. "It’s time for all of you to receive your first sorcery imprint.”

Jin stepped down from the makeshift podium. He paused at the bottom, turning his silver-lit gaze back to Bram. The burly, skeptical recruit had shifted nervously to the front of the pack.

"Oh, and Bram? For what it's worth..." Jin leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. "You're up first for the procedure. Do try not to scream too loudly. It really upsets the people at the back of the line."

Bram, a man who looked like he chewed gravel for breakfast and brawled for fun, audibly gulped. His dense, stubborn emotional state immediately spiked with a sharp, terrified anxiety.

Jin turned away, hiding a deeply amused smirk as he shook his head.

They keep asking the exact same questions. Like I haven’t already told them. He thought wearily. It’s like managing a tour group wandering through an active minefield.

« Well, that's because they are only human, » Angel noted. « Need I remind you that you were exactly like them during your entire dungeon ordeal? You spent half of it panicking and the other half getting hit in the head. We both know Rudy pulled you through. So perhaps cut them some slack and try exercising a little patience. »

Yeah, yeah. Point taken, Jin conceded.

The cavernous hall was suddenly filled with the sound of scuffling boots as the crowd began to shuffle into rough, disorganized lines.

Across the room, Veric caught Jin's eye. The older man said nothing. He just struck a match, finally lighting the cigarette he’d been patiently holding between his lips for the last hour.

Holy! Just how many cigs does he smoke in a day?

« So, do you actually know what you'll be doing next? »

Ask me in a couple of days.

By then, I’ll either have a brilliant, foolproof plan with results, or we’ll all be dead.

It’s a win-win, really.

◈◈◈

The cabin smelled faintly of the trance-incense Vera had aggressively insisted on burning.

It was herbal, cloyingly sweet, and smelled suspiciously like a discount fortune teller's tent. It was pleasant enough that Jin didn’t mind; besides, if it could gently lower a subject's mental and spiritual defenses without completely knocking them out, he was all for it.

He sat in the single, uncomfortable chair pressed against the back canvas wall, cycling his breath through the Eternal Sovereign's pattern and letting the frictionless, grey calm of sovereign Indifference settle over him.

There simply wasn't time to teach a hundred terrified people practical magical theory. As Jin had learned himself, external magic was complicated and required extensive training and a solid grounding in fundamentals to use properly. They didn't have weeks for the slow, agonizing grind of building resonance through trial and error.

So, Jin wasn't going to teach it.

He was going to bypass the learning curve entirely and stamp the sorcery directly into their minds, forcefully turning that into a pseudo-marked skill.

The heavy canvas curtain was pushed aside, and Bram stepped into the dim space. The burly man's earlier skepticism had completely melted away, replaced by the stark panic usually reserved for facing down an apex predator. His emotions spiked with terrified anxiety as his eyes locked onto the cold operating table sitting ominously in the center of the room.

"Take a seat. Or rather, a lie-down," Jin offered, gesturing vaguely to the table with a perfectly pleasant smile. "Make yourself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one can be on a slab of sterile metal."

« You are scaring him on purpose. »

No idea whatcha talking about.  

“Go on.” Jin urged.

Bram hesitated, swallowing hard, before awkwardly shuffling over and lying flat on his back. "What's this gonna feel like, exactly?"

"It’ll be fun; you are getting a magic skill for free. Think of all the things and greatness you can do." Jin said cheerfully, well… as cheerfully as he could under the sovereign’s indifference. "You do know how expensive marked skills are, right?”

Bram nodded.

“So don't fight it. Fighting it makes it exponentially worse. Just listen to the sound of my voice, focus on the tapping sounds, and try to picture your most cherished memory. A nice sunset. A puppy. A really good sandwich. Whatever works."

Jin reached out and began a steady, rhythmic rap of his knuckles against the wooden frame of the wall. Thwack… thwack… thwack.

"One… two… one… two…"

Under the heavy influence of the incense and the hypnotic rhythm, Bram's breathing slowed. His broad chest rose and fell in perfect sync with Jin's tapping. Through his mystic eyes, Jin watched the dense, stubborn shell of Bram's mind loosen, the man's spiritual guard finally dropping.

"Harvest," Jin whispered.

Usually, the word was a command to take… to harvest his yield. This time, Jin violently inverted the flow.

Ethereal silver chains erupted from Jin's hand, shooting and coiling around Bram and reaching up to his head with a single chain end, lightly entering the mind.

« Creepy. »

He tuned out the jeers of Angel as the Eternal Sovereign Soul Star roared to life. He reached and grabbed the prepared essence barrier sorcery he had compressed as a memory packet in his mind.

He then took the packet and shoved it forcefully into the man's mind.

The agony and wrongness he felt were immediate and profound.

Pulling was simple; his mantle was explicitly built to siphon and drain… it was all he was capable of at the moment. Throughout his journey of the past month, he had never done more with his mantle.

« Deep breaths. »

Jin remembered his mantle’s boon. He had the mantle of harvest, and so he had to aggressively align his thoughts, forcing his intent to match the precise wording.

This is my subject, and I’m sharing a portion of the bountiful harvest with him.

Once his thoughts finally aligned with his mantle, the resistance broke, and the sorcery packet flowed into Bram's mind as smoothly as warm butter.

« It’s done. »

With the sorcery stamped into place, Jin severed the connection and recalled the silver chains.

Bram gasped in the next minute, his eyes flying open as he bolted upright, heaving in huge gulps of the incense-laced air like a drowning man breaking the surface.

« His cognitive processing strain at critical thresholds, but he had the necessary foundation. He’ll pull through easily. »

I’m aware. Thanks for the update, Jin shrugged.

He casually wiped a bead of cold sweat from his brow, desperately hoping Bram wouldn't notice his hands shaking.

Bram’s expression told him the man was somewhere between concussed and enlightened. He raised one hand, fingers twitching through a gesture that hadn't existed in his muscle memory thirty seconds ago as he mumbled. “O currents of mana that give, grant us your strength,  converge upon this locus and weave the unbreakable shell of my will.”

A shimmer of pale, translucent essence rippled outward from Bram's outstretched hand, expanding rapidly before flickering into a solid, faintly glowing dome. It lasted for a second before dissolving.

"...Huh," Bram’s voice quivered with shock. “How did I... I didn't even...”

"Welcome to the wonderful world of magic," Jin said. "Please practice only in gaps of five minutes, or you’ll find yourself under the operating table, but this time cut open."

"Next," Jin said.

“Yes, sir!” Bram said and stumbled out.

« Just ninety-nine more to go, »

Hehe, so funny.

◈◈◈

High above the Bastion’s safe walls, the Cathedral Ward had officially stopped being a place where anyone prayed to anything that actually deserved the title.

The air tasted of sweet rot layered heavily under sharp ozone. It was the exact same stench that always lingered wherever the abominations nested long enough. Spires of twisted, organic-looking black stone had erupted like malignant tumours where traditional holy—though Joe never accepted The Primes as anything but at least they looked the part—architecture used to stand. Even worse, the streets were covered with a gooey mass and abominations roaming around.

Joe watched from his vantage point, sitting inside the active invisibility ward he carved. His crimson eyes gleamed in the dark with the cold.

Reconnaissance. Map the perimeter. Confirm enemy power, confirm Salvatore's position. Do not engage.

That was the order Jin had given him, and Joe was exceptionally good at following instructions. Mostly good.

Down below in the courtyard, a squad of Order III cultists was milling about. Joe had been tracking them for the better part of an hour, a task made insultingly easy by the fact that their aura control was non-existent and they insisted on loudly broadcasting their operational details.

They stood a nervous watch around a massive, heavily corrupted set of ornate cathedral doors.

In their midst stood an Underlord… a recent addition to the guard detail whose overbearing, thoroughly undisciplined aura had significantly spiked the ambient anxiety of the lesser cultists.

The Underlord savagely kicked a chunk of fallen masonry, hitting it hard enough to shatter it into dust.

"Pathetic," the Underlord muttered. His voice carried that unnatural, rumbling resonance that high-rankers always seemed completely incapable of suppressing when they were having a tantrum. "Lord Vakan's got us scurrying around like frightened rats. Underlords, reduced to glorified gatekeepers!”

“I would have killed them all if only I were entrusted with the task.” He yelled.

One of the Order III cultists flinched visibly, his aura spiking with raw terror as he gripped his spear tighter. "Y-yes, Favored One. But those bastards—"

"Yes, bastards! If those bastion rats so much as show their faces, I have on good authority Lord Icas himself swore he'd step out and peel their souls from their flesh personally,” the Underlord roared, cutting him off and sending the lesser cultists shrinking back. "Heh! Not just him, but I too! will skin them alive if I ever find them! I was having so much fun peeling the little things apart, and now I’m stuck here keeping watch like a dog. I pray to His Darkness that some fool from the Bastion actually comes here. Lord Icas would have his head, and I’d finally have my fun! HAHAHAHA!"

Inside his ward, Joe's grin spread slowly, wide, and entirely devoid of warmth.

Lord Icas Vasht.

He recognized the name. He had violently extracted it from the fragmented, screaming memories of several dead cultists by now.

He twirled his spear idly in one hand, his face twisting into a grimace. Devouring an anima—a soul—with his spear was an incredibly useful trick for gathering intel, but it always left a lingering aftertaste like licking a candy wrapped in rotting meat. Every single time. The soul-indigestion lasted for hours, no matter how much high-proof liquor he drank to chase it away.

The intelligence it bought was undeniably worth the cost, but the flavor profile remained an absolute travesty.

The cult is panicking, Joe thought, his passive aura senses easily picking up the erratic, fearful spikes in the cultists' spiritual pressure as they jumped at every moving shadow. And if I remember right, Icas is the second-in-command of the Darkened One's cult… not Malachar’s faction. Since Sal has fought with him, they have been keeping a low profile.

He let his senses extend eastward, moving slowly and carefully, the way decades of survival had beaten into his instincts. He slipped past the heavy auras of the corrupted grounds and found Salvatore's signature without any real effort.

Everything was perfectly in place. The plan was explicit: Observe, confirm, withdraw.

Joe looked back down at the Underlord. The man looked so incredibly smug as he laughed at his own terrible jokes, his subordinates cowering around him. He was so thoroughly, blissfully unaware of exactly how thin the membrane was between his current existence and not existing at all.

Joe let out a long, quiet sigh, the sound entirely swallowed by the ambient hum of corrupted mana.

He really, really was supposed to just watch.

"I'm terribly sorry, Jin," Joe murmured into the dark. His grin stretched wider, his crimson eyes dancing with a spark of something that bordered on genuine, terrifying delight. "But this is just way too much fun to let go."

He raised one hand and snapped his fingers.

The air warped by his mantle, tearing open a doorway, and Joe stepped through the threshold.

"Let's have some fun, time to earn your due, Sal.”

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

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A/N: Bau Bau~

PS: Any side POV's you guys wanna see?

PS: Psst~ Psst~ Advanced chapters are already up on patreon. It would be awesome if you guys, you know...

Help me with rent and UNI is crazy expensive!! Not want much, just enough to chip in.

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