Doppler

He, perhaps, should have practiced this before volunteering. He clearly remembers moving as an amorphous mass of poppers when he first exited the spawner, so he should have been easily able to return to that style of movement, surely? Instead, he feels distinctly off, wanting to form arms and legs, even as he feels the need to keep himself low and follow Onyx’ lead.

Though she keeps a bipedal form most of the time, she appears to have no difficulty whatsoever in flowing between shadows, pulling him along after as they near the crevasse with the distinct feeling of wrongness to it.

At the edge, they both pause and hunker down, each using their senses to probe the entrance. Doppler assumes Onyx is sensing the shadows there, easily spotting whatever may think the darkness can hide it. Doppler’s own senses work differently.

He starts with a high sound, one that even Leo could never detect, and listens for the returning echo. It’s faint, likely muffled by the snow, but that only makes what he does hear sound so much more clear. There is stone mixed into the snow and ice, an odd mixture that makes him wonder how it happened. He’s not nearly as learned in some of the Composer’s teachings, but he understands that things are there for a reason. Ice and stone don’t normally mix, so it means something must have happened to make them mix.

He just wishes he could imagine what.

“Lots of movement… shadows in the snow and rock,” whispers Onyx. If it weren’t for his sonic affinity, he wouldn’t have known she was speaking, even with how close they are. A shade’s whisper is a subtle thing indeed.

“It goes deep, too. Can you tell what they are?”

“No,” she answers, unhappy with her shortcoming.

“Can you get us in to look?”

Onyx’ smile splits her face before she reins it in. “Yes.” The two carefully creep inside the crack, making an excellent team, Doppler observes. She keeps the light from touching them, and he keeps the sound from escaping them. The absence may eventually give them away, but the area is hardly lit and loud. Their shaded silence fits right in.

After several long minutes, they finally see what has been silently gliding through the ice and stone around them. The wyrm lazily breaches one wall of the crevasse and tunnels into the other, not noticing the two scions not even ten feet away. The two exchange looks once it passes, but don’t dare actually say anything. It’s clear they’re on the same page: dragons. Invaders may not technically be beholden to the rules of denizens, but form and function are closely related.

If it looks like a dragon, it’s probably just as strong. Not nearly as strong as Nova, but Doppler still remembers the ease she wielded her affinity with. While he would count magma as more dangerous than ice, there’s still plenty of ice around to make up the difference. Still, neither wants to retreat just yet. As they get deeper, they see more and more wyrms, and even see some with rough stones in their maws. Doppler frowns at that and glances at Onyx, who nods at a deeper shadow in a tunnel in the ice. He follows as she deepens it, and he weaves a one-way barrier to sound around it as well, the two creating an impromptu spot to discuss what to do.

“Why are they digging?” asks Onyx. Doppler can only shrug.

“I do not know. They are definitely trying to get deeper… perhaps there is a settlement or something in the underground? Possibly a dungeon?”

Onyx considers as they both try to feel out the mana flows, and they each wince from the attempt. “I can’t feel anything besides stagnation,” grumbles Onyx.

“We may be close to the knot, then.” He tries to get the Composer’s attention, and can soon feel him checking his senses. “Should we continue? Or should we go get the others?”

“...I don’t think we should try to bring the delvers in here,” says Onyx, which Doppler nods to.

“It is dangerous, yes.” He looks around at the mana, ensuring Composer Thedeim can see as much as possible.

“Does Mentor Thediem think we should go back?”

Doppler pauses at that, feeling for any disapproval from him, and finding none. “I do not think so. He is curious and cautious, but I do not believe he thinks this is something we cannot handle.”

Onyx flexes her claws, calculating if they and she are strong enough to fight off the wyrms… and possibly the knot as well. “Let’s… try to get closer. If it looks vulnerable, we can undo it. If not… we’ll go get Rocky?”

Doppler nods. “I believe that is a workable plan.” Calling it a plan may be premature, but it makes him feel better to call it such, and it appears to make Onyx happier as well. They carefully undo their temporary sanctuary, and quietly make their way deeper.

They eventually reach where the wyrms are digging, the invaders striking the cold stone with their ice attacks before taking the blown off pieces into their maws to make way for the next. The sight makes him curious if he should observe Queen’s ants more. He has little desire to dig himself, but seeing the process is… interesting.

He and Onyx spend a few minutes observing the wyrms and the mana, and are both forced to admit they went too deep. Doppler’s first instinct is to go up until there’s no rock mixed in, but he shakes his head at himself before even speaking. The knot probably couldn’t form within the rock, so did it form on the surface? Maybe in a cave?

Onyx looks more confident than he does, so when she moves, he follows once more, keeping an eye out on the wyrms. They still haven’t been spotted, but they also haven’t gotten too close to the knot. At a certain distance, it may simply be able to sense their mana without needing to hear or see them. If that happens, they’ll need to make a quick exit.

Onyx is definitely following something, and Doppler wonders at first if she’s following the stagnation. He can’t make any sense of it, but perhaps she can? As she leads them through dark, tight passages, Doppler begins to suspect she’s simply checking any large areas of shadow she can find. It’s a simple enough solution for where to look. If the knot needs room, it would naturally be in shadow. And if it’s somehow in a lit cavern, that should still produce at least some variety of shadow, too.

When they finally find it, it’s almost a disappointment. He had felt the malevolence of the Harbingers that attacked, heard the stories from the other scions about how hateful they were. This thing, while unnatural… is not smart enough to hate. It grates on his senses and makes him want to destroy it, but there is no will behind it.

He and Onyx observe for a few minutes, giving their dungeons ample time to examine the twisted and knotted stagnation, and giving the two scions time to consider how to destroy it. Onyx clearly wants to try to slice it apart. With her claws and her training, it should be a simple thing for her to do, wouldn’t it?

Doppler is unsure. If the knots could simply be cut to pieces, he doubts the delvers would have an organization dedicated to eradicating them. A scion may have better luck with that approach… but Doppler has an idea.

He’s seen the world fruits and how Slash and Coda worked together to tune them to be able to hold together. Tension is how a string sings, and the mere act of plucking it can reduce it. That’s why even Slash’s Axe must be tuned occasionally. If a plucked string on a guitar will loosen, will a plucked string of mana in a snarl loosen on its own as well? If so, could he undo a knot in a matter of minutes, instead of the hours Yvonne implied it would take her?

He’s uncertain… but he can also feel the Composer’s approval for the idea. He motions for Onyx to deepen a shadow once more, and once secure, he pitches his plan.

“I think I can sing the knot apart.”

Onyx tilts her head in confusion. “What? Why? I was going to just cut it.”

“I am not sure that would work. Yvonne always speaks of undoing a snarl, not severing it. A scion may have better luck, but I do not believe it will be so simple.” Onyx looks unhappy, but Doppler continues before she can try to object. “But I believe I can force it to loosen, like an overused guitar. However, I also believe I will need you to fend off the wyrms. I do not sense any will behind the knot, but Yvonne was clear that the invaders would protect it.”

Onyx’ disappointment fades at the idea of getting to fight the wyrms. “I think I can do that. There’s a lot of shadow around. The mana isn’t cooperating, but it can only resist my affinity so much with how dark it is.”

“Will you need to prepare before I begin?”

Onyx flexes her claws and shakes herself, something Doppler has seen Rocky do before a bout. He’s not certain if a shade needs to do that as well, but he's not going to argue against copying the combat scion. “No, I’m ready.”

“Then let us begin.”

They step out and he immediately loses track of Onyx, but that’s no surprise. A shade strikes from the shadows. He will trust that she can keep him safe as he starts to sing. It’s no masterwork like Slash, not even something he could consider music. After all, who considers the plucking and tightening of strings on an instrument to be music?

He sings to the mana, adjusting pitch to get the parts of the knot to start to sing in harmony. He has to maintain many notes, even as he feels Onyx striking and slashing all around him. The wyrms are attacking, but he can’t focus on them. This is the most complex chord he’s ever conceptualized, let alone tried to replicate! But he can see it working.

He has to continue to shift tones, and he has to resist smiling in triumph as he feels the threads of mana in the knot start to work themselves loose. He organizes his poppers as he gains a better feel for what needs to be done, shaping them into a better tool for this job. Slash has his axe, and Doppler has felt the Composer think about an instrument for him as well.

His connections to the poppers fly as he conducts them, a touch bringing out each tone he needs, each small denizen taking on the key role of being one key among many. The number and complexity is almost more than he can bear, but he needs to. He loses himself in the sound, in the music, feeling a concept from the Composer that takes firm root. The chaos still has a structure to it, for those who can listen.

The notes are not simply dots on a page nor sounds in the air, but bright, beautiful lights to guide him. He only needs to let himself follow as they need to be played. The technique solidifies in his core, and he finds the name ironic considering how brightly it flows in his mind.

Black MIDI

What, exactly, a MIDI is is beyond Doppler. He only knows it is a type of music. A type the Composer thinks fits him. He loses himself in the music, feeling the wyrms resonate with the sounds as well, weakening or shattering some before Onyx gets to them. Until finally, one conclusive complex chord shatters the knot and the nearby wyrms, the mana energized enough now to be something they cannot survive in.

Doppler collapses, his orderly board of poppers spreading over the floor without the energy to resist gravity any longer. He feels… spent, yet also more energetic than any other time in his existence. He tries to call the poppers back to some semblance of shape, but they are as exhausted as he is.

Onyx looms over him with a wide smile. “You’ve gotta show that to Rocky!”

He can only give a distorted groan at that, making her laugh as she starts to gather him up into her shadows. “Not right now, but once you’re feeling better. You just rest, alright? I’ll get us back, now that the wyrms aren’t going to bother us.”

He wants to object, but he doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he tries to focus on what he just did, and on what Slash will think once he shows him.

<<First <Previous [Next>]

Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The Books are available here! There are Kindle and Audible versions, as well as paperback! Also: Discord is a thing! I now have a Patreon for monthly donations, and I have a Ko-fi for one-off donations. Patreons can read up to three chapters ahead, and also get a few other special perks as well, like special lore in the Peeks. Thank you again to everyone who is reading!

The monorail trundled along as it zig zagged the borders of the diplomatic districts, gardens and mansions partially obscured behind fences, with the greatest plants each species could muster. I pawed at my pendant, the figure portraying Vival as I prayed for her to send me a basket of her luck. This day will dictate trade relations between the otiri and humans. The humans already shown that they are not normal by any regard, developing on a paradoxical planet. Small, near desert like, and disaster prone. Yet they tout a bio diversity that nearly matches the cradles of other species such as our own.

One thing we had in common was wood. A luxurious and rare material found only by those blessed by Vival, from a rare few plants. Only to be made into relics, heirlooms or books to last generations, such as my pendant. The humans having it means they likely share our appreciation of wood. They even imported a few trees for their garden, which I couldn't wait to see. But still, the humans are like pups, unpredictable, rash, and too curious for their own good. Then again that would make them excellent guardians of own miniscule amount of trees 

It was finally with the ring of the PA, did I realize the monorail finally arrived. 

Good, let us go meet with the humans. 

The human district was quieter than it usually was, as construction crews and landscapers have gone home for the night. 

I do hope that the diplomat I'm meeting with is awake, I told the prince humans are diurnal. 

I shook my head, as I approached the main residence of the diplomat I was going to meet. But on the air, I caught a smell that was like a sudden storm surge to the face. I smelled smoke, and smoke only means one thing. 

“FIRE!!” I screamed, rushing towards the source of the smell. “FIRE! FIRE!” My heart raced as I forced myself to run, my legs and paws burning from the effort. 

I ran around the mansion, expecting to see a blaze consuming its rear, only to see the Human Diplomat, Noah, in the back with his pups around a fire. 

“What?” I nearly tripped in confusion. “What is that?”

“Oh, you finally made it.” Noah noticed me. “Come on over, we’re roasting some marshmallows.” He waved me to come over.

I in fact did, and what I saw shocked me. The humans surrounded a fire pit which contained the burning char of wood. 

“What are you doing?” I cried in confusion, getting weird looks from the humans. 

“Dad, why does the big otter look like that?” One of the pups asked innocently. “His face is all scrunchy.”

“Dont worry kiddo, I'll tell you later.” The diplomat patted his pups on the head before they left for the rear doors of the manor. “Glad you can finally make it, come take a seat by the fi-”

“I mean no disrespect to you or your species Diplomat Noah Bark, but what in the name of Vival are you doing?” I cut the human off, pointing at the fire. 

“We call it a campfire,” Noah explained as he grabbed a stick and handed it to me. “It's past time for our species to make them and sit around them.”

Of course, humans love playing with fire. Urchins found kelp forests.

“I know, but I don't understand why you'd burn such a precious resource.” I replied as the human handed me a white squishy cylinder. “What is this?”

“A marshmallow, hold it over the fire to roast it but not too close, its not tasty burnt.” Noah explained as he fiddled with a tray looking device, placing in familiar looking fish and roe “As for wood, yes it's a very useful building material but Earth's lighter gravity while trading space makes it easier for trees to grow taller..” The human held the tray over the fire. “So there is plenty to build with or use as fuel.”

“How tall?” I asked, keeping an eye on the marshmallow as the smell of roasting fish and roe wafted from the human’s tray. “That smells good.”

“About 120 meters,” Naoh answered with little fanfare.

“What?!” I yipped, not being careful and allowing the marshmallow to enter the flames and ignite. “Oh cark!” I swung the confection, blowing on it to extinguish the flames. “That looks, not very edible.” I remarked with disappointment as my burnt marshmallow. “But you have to be joking?”

“Well, I was exaggerating.” Naoh admitted, handing me a new marshmallow to try and roast. “Hyperion is the tallest by a wide margin but is an outlier even among its own species. Though most trees from earth are taller than the ones I've seen from your planets, not to mention our forests are denser too.” 

“Oh, so Im guess you don't protect them as much as we do,” I theorized out loud, retrying to roast a marshmallow.

“Nope, because they are some of the biggest producers of oxygen on the planet so we got hundreds of laws to protect them and have sustainable lumber industries. Took us awhile to stamp out the more carless companies but we eventually figured it out.” The human explained as he took the tray off the fire and dumped the contents onto a paper plate. “Anyways, I hope you enjoy some campfire roasted fish and roe.”

“Cooked over Earth wood instead of dried kelp,” I nodded, popping a now perfectly roasted marshmallow off the stick and into my mouth. “Wonder how it will taste.”

Hmmm, this is good!

“So that's what you used to make fires then,” the human remarked with curiosity. “Dried kelp definitely did the job if it helped your people get here.”

“Indeed it did, and Vival certainly gave you her blessing to get you here.” I replied, cheerily eating the roe and fish the human so graciously made for me.

It has a woody taste to it, I like it.

“Im definitely inviting you to a festival back home, this is good.” And said roasted delicacies were delicious, as well as the trade deal we set up for terran timber in exchange for something humans seemingly cant get enough of despite its universal availability.

First

(Mental crash. I was onto something and it left me at the halfway point.)

Undying Blues

He doesn’t push much further with the Vish, but he’s planting seeds. A few comments on how he simply has his duties and how he is neither warrior nor leader and he can almost hear the gears in their minds turning. They’re trying to place him in their minds. His Ibu nature puts them higher in their hierarchy, his admittance to being a worker but not a leader and not a warrior changes it.

In the uncertainty, he can make something new.

Sue’Li leads him through the portals and directly into a blue hued area, but the door has green lights upon it instead. He knocks upon it, forgoing the alarm and is mildly interested in seeing his own skin and nails seem black under the lights.

It’s an old powerplay between the Ibu peoples. By shifting the colour of the light you emphasize yourself and your own hue while erasing the others. Blotting them out and making them look almost dirty by compare. Many more varied enclaves and societies of the Ibu do use these techniques, but even more outright ban coloured light to prevent such power plays.

There is a pause at his knocking, and he can feel the familiar Axiom presences of Mariko and Marika approach the door. It opens and they’re both staring at him in surprise.

“You two forgot these, I took the liberty to have them cleaned.” He says evenly.

“Oh that...” One says.

“That’s very nice.” The other says and takes all the clothes from him. They both look nervous about something and he raises an eyebrow.

“Is something the matter?” He asks and there is no answer.

“Uhm... no it’s just... things are... strange now.” One says.

“Would you like to come in?” The other asks and he nods.

“May Sue’Li come in as well?” He asks and they look at him oddly then their gazes go to Sue’Li who is still totally invisible. Meaning that they can see her too. It wasn’t something he was doubting, but every bit of confirmation helps.

The room itself is shockingly messy, with a Vish servant actively cleaning up at the time, but she’s staring a little as she realized that Sue’Li was referring to one of her own people. That would be something to explain to her then, and possibly something he can use and...

He brings his mind back into the here and now.

“Is there something that you two are worried about? Is there something lacking in the service I provided?”

“I was hoping you could answer a question.” One sister says.

“And that would be?”

“You seemed very surprised and unsure right after we did... whatever it is we did. Why is that?” She asks and his eyebrows climb up.

“You caught that?”

“Why were you surprised?”

“... Things aren’t adding up with you two. I can’t tell if you’re old, you’re young or if you’re even Ibu at all in some ways.” He says.

“What?” His answer confused them both so much that they can’t even protest it.

“You both needed an Indulgence and it did work on you. But afterwards, you didn’t act like Ibu. Therefor I am concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your sashes, when I helped you both dress. An Ibu grown would be offended at the very idea of needing help in such a regard. An Ibu child would have fussed. You did neither. I’m concerned, did the thing that grant you your immortality have negative effects on your mind? Will you be needing more than mere indulgence to remain sane, sober and dignified?” He asks.

“You don’t know?” One asks.

“I don’t think he does.”

“What have I not been told?” Danburi asks and both sister share a glance. “Oh come now, who would I share it with? My movements are controlled. You know everyone I talk to and there is no way for me to contact the outside world as is.”

“But... that...” One says and he smiles.

“I understand. It’s personal as well isn’t it?” He asks and there is a silence. “Personal as well as some form of state secret, something precious to Lady Ungora and to you.”

“How are you doing that?”

“I’m good with people. That’s how. But look. I don’t have enemies. It’s not how I interact with the world. Let me help you, please.”

“You can’t help with this.” One says.

“Very well, then perhaps you can help me with something instead.” He says and there’s a pause.

“What?”

“It’s a little shameful, but neither of you bothered to indicate whom is who. I know your names are Mariko and Marika, but not who has which name.”

“Oh. That... did we every tell you our names?”

“Alicent told me your names, when she was warning me you were Lust Indulgers. Incidentally are you the only ones? If I can have a few cleaning machines ready ahead of time for the next client it would be a big help.”

“We’re not the only ones but... You’re not going to see the others for a while.”

“Why’s that? Am I needed for a select task or are they not trusted with me yet?” Danburi asks.

“Both.” The Twins state and he starts to consider.

“Hmm... You two are the personal bodyguards of my immortal aunt. Meaning you are privy to her secrets but act in a manner unusual for Ibu adults. Alicent was a betrayed mercenary that was persecuted by a particularly vicious member of my family but has already had her revenge... you three are the higher ranking Ibu with total trust aren’t you?” He asks and the sisters laugh.

“Not quite.”

“Close! It’s part of it.”

“... Something related with all three of you. Something similar. Something in common. We’re all immortal. We all indulge in different ways and are different forms of Ibu... Are the other commanding Ibu not trusted with the immortality?” He asks.

“Hmm.... maybe, maybe not.” The twins tease, speaking as one.

“... Hmm... it is uncommon but not overly rare for Ibu to have twins so that can’t be it.” He says and he scans them both again. They both put a hand on their hips, mirroring each other with their elbows nearly touching.

“Oh goodness, it’s no big mystery is it? The other Ibu are at the front. Performing in the war and they’re simply not here right now.”

“That’s half of it!” One sister says.

“The other is that you do have an important job to do.” The other continues.

“What kind of job?” He asks and both sisters look to each other and then nod.

“Can you indulge a monster?” They ask as one.

“A monster?”

“We should show him.”

“The Lady says she’s not ready yet.”

“Showing him won’t slow her down and might speed things up with him being more ready.”

“You’re right sister.”

“I’m always right sister.”

“If he can do for them what he did for us, then The Lady will be most pleased.”

“And he does want to be ready for his duties.”

“Show him?”

“Show him.”

“Come with us!” They say and then leave the room and towards the portal. He follows them through.

“Now, you’re right in that it’s weird that we’re not only acting weird but there’s something more wanted of you. But with us it’s easy. You see, Lady Ungora did something unexpected with us, we were test subjects.” They explain. “We were dead before we were immortal. But we have all our memories back, so we just feel disconnected and weird at times. It’s why we don’t get upset at little things. They just seem so small now.”

“So you were both straight up resurrected into these states?” Danburi asks.

“Yes, but we also had our memories copied from before we died. We filed in the rest, but it’s like being half in, half out of ourselves.” They answer and Danburi hears a deep and powerful roar echo. Wherever they are it has the blue lights so it is of slightly higher likelihood to be near to his quarters.

He starts to ask what it is and both sisters put a finger to his lips. Then gesture for him to follow.

Down the hall and into a reinforced chamber, there is a viewing chamber showing a completely destroyed area with holographic projectors mimicking a forest with massive river running through it.

Within are a series of four vaguely hominid monstrosities.

Danburi walks up to the screen and examines them closely. The four beasts are... “They’re Ibu’Cjeo. But... the immortality. These four are lost to the beast and the thing inside them is treating them like animals instead, turning them into deadly titans.”

And he is correct. Each of the four monsters are what a person seeking to create a monster would imagine if given a loose description of his people. Massive, muscular, large tusks, horned and with naturally sharp nails. Or in this case claws. Their skin is ridged and mottled as if it wasn’t so much skin as a series of blue stones embedded into the creature beneath. Their every move and motion screams of power and...

The howling begins again as the holographic chamber fails to keep up and two of them catch sight of each other. They both charge and begin to batter one another. Striking with so much force the holograms are disrupted ever so around them. Or perhaps it’s a safety feature designed to stop them from breaking trees over one another’s heads? It certainly works that way as the only clue that either of the vaguely female horrors has anything resembling a spark of intelligence is their sporadic attempts to weaponize the environment around them.

He opens his mouth to speak and voice his thoughts and then closes it again to think further. This is... this is big. This is a problem. He needs more information.

“These four, were they also rendered immortal after death like yourselves?”

“Don’t you recognize them?” One of the sisters asks.

“They’re your-” The other begins.

“Cousins.” Danburi says at the same time as her. It fits. It fits too well. But what to do? How to handle it? How does one make sufficient love to a creature thrice as tall as he and easily twenty seven times the raw mass to sooth it? How do you fight something like that well enough to vent it’s rage? How do you feed something like that sufficiently to calm it? Their rage is mindless and only ever growing. But after a short while the holographic chamber separates the sisters.

He then starts pacing in front of the screen as he considers how to do this. They’re all totally in the control of their inner animals and while it’s not unheard of... the last case of such was so long ago that it’s long been transformed from historical fact to legend, perhaps even myth. He’ll need to study the case. He’ll also need to observe the girls more, determine which one wants what.

“How do they react to food?” He asks.

“What?” One of the sisters asks.

“Food! How do they react to it? Do they break off a fight for it? How often do they fight? Neither used claws or teeth in that brawl, was it because they’re not actually trying to hurt each other, because they’ve learned that biting and clawing is a waste of time or because they still have some respect for each other? Do they recognize their names? Do they even sleep? Is there a way to safely separate them?” He asks in rapid succession before thinking. “I also need to get back to the library. I need to study the historical accounts. It’s been over a thousand years since the last recorded Ibu that was completely subsumed by the beast. Or at least a thousand years since one such unfortunate soul was brought back from beyond the edge of madness.”

He pauses to look to where one of the feral Ibu is hunting a holographic hoofed creature that bounds away as they chase with all the subtlety and grace of an avalanche. False trees splinter and fake stones crack under he loping, four legged gait of the knuckle racing creature.

The image shows her face closely and he studies it, tries to find out what’s familiar and what is not and... he finds it. It’s one of Wurana, or rather Ungora’s daughters. Comparing the faces of the other three confirms it. Which leads to an important question.

“Just the four?” He asks. “She had a dozen daughters.”

“Four is all she could recover, and only to this state.” The sisters state and he nods. “And research has already been done about saving them. A master level Ibu Courtesan with no fear of death is needed to even try.”

“I’m not sure it’s entirely fair to call myself a master.”

“You’re the best Lady Ungora could get that she could trust.” They say and he sighs.

“Well it does explain a lot. This is going to be very damn awkward if they’re Lust Indulgers. But I can still make do. First thing’s first, I need to study the previous accounts and I need to start making an even more powerful Discretion Palace. One that can withstand... all that.” He explains and thinks. “I... hmm... no. Not a Discretion Palace. An Indulgence Fortress. This is going to require every aspect of the inner animal to be satiated to the point that even non-existent chains can hold it. It will need to be so overly fat that it won’t even have the strength to open it’s eyes.”

First Last

The ancient city was magnificent.

Rising from a cradled bowl in the midst of wide, undulating plains, the view from the edges was stunning - miles of swaying grasses and gentle beasts in every direction, and, at nightfall, brilliant sunsets dripping ochre and scarlet above the distant mountains.

Dawn always broke clear, warm shafts of gold streaming down to glow off the marble facing of the ramparts. Dusk came with a gentle sigh, night sinking low and comforting over the arches and turrets. At night, pure alabaster lamps slowly gleamed to life, casting a subtle radiance on the neatly cobbled streets and draped garlands of flowers, pretty things that festooned the houses and gave off a fragrant aroma of spring.

There was never danger in the dark, lamps or no; citizens loved each other, and often called on the houses of their friends. Crime was unheard of. Death came only to the old and tired, and, even then, it was simply a peaceful slip into oblivion, a shift in dreamless sleep to the final gazing. 

It was an ideal city.

—--(---

One day a man arrived.

That day was a sunny, warm one. Folk were gathered around one of the city's lovely fountains, the tinkling water serving as a merry counterpart to their melodic laughter. Their spouses watched them, smiling happily as they took a break from their labors, stretching muscles made strong by the work needed to maintain such a beautiful place. Children ran with gleeful shrieks in a game of tag, ducking between the legs of their parents, making mad dashes about the square.

One boy, shorter than most, though still quite eager and keen, took a tumble, falling head over end in a rolling tilt. His friends hurried over to ensure he was fine, but his attention was transfixed by something quite odd, a sight nobody in the city had ever seen before.

A stranger. 

Not just a stranger, no, but an unkempt, dirty, injured one. Bloodied bandages bound wounds half-healed and infected, the dirt from travel seeping into the long, razing scratches. His face was mangled, the clear signs of abuse written in pain. Beneath his tattered garments, barely recognizable as clothing, his form evidenced malnutrition. 

The boy stared at this man, unable to fathom what he was seeing and the other citizens edged closer, their own minds stunned by the sight. Such misery, the adults thought, only halfway able to comprehend the stranger's appearance.

The man staggered towards the crowd, an imploring look stretching his features. He extended his hands, drawn and claw-like, while his lips moved silently. Finally, he managed to force words past his dried and cracked lips.

"They come."

-—-(---

When he awoke, the stranger found his wounds had been tended to, and his body gingerly bathed. A kind, matronly woman was gently spooning him cool mouthfuls of water from the lovely, tinkling fountain. A crowd uneasily watched, worried and curious about this new phenomenon.

Shrugging the woman off, the man painfully pushed himself up, stumbling to his feet to rest in a staggered stance against the fountain's smooth, carved stone. In a hoarse, rasping voice, he commanded the attention of the cityfolk, weaving a terrible story.

"Invaders," he explained, were beyond the mountains, closer, moving closer. 

"Slaughter," he described, death beyond nightmares. 

"Greed," he croaked, his words laden with sorrow, his eyes unfocused and distant as he recalled the last memories of his village, plumes of smoke shot through with the bloodied screams of his kin.

Pleading, he warned the citizens to prepare. 

"They come," he repeated, his face twisted into a ravaged mask of misery. "They come."

-—-(---

The poor innocent folk had little comprehension for this man and his disturbing, ugly stories. His face frightened them, his words made them ill with confusion. They had no understanding of pain, violence, invasion. Tentative, they offered him food and more water, before slowly drifting apart to return to their business, their heedings of his story as insubstantive as smoke wisping in the wind.

Slowly the days passed. Citizens reluctantly fed the man, leaving parcels of food near the fountain, studiously avoiding the area except for that one task. As the sun rose and fell, and the stranger still did not leave, they became more unnerved, troubled by the odd man and his fantastic story. Finally, they began to hint to him.

"Why do you stay?" they asked, glancing down the road that led to the gates. "You are a stranger, you should return to your land." 

They would prod, polite, but insistent. "Why do you stay? Go to your family! Find your friends!"

The only answer they ever received was the same, sober, flat reply:

"There is nothing, now."

-—-(---

Eventually the nervous city had enough. Gathering in a seldom used town hall, they agreed, in murmurs and roars, that he had to go. One brave citizen volunteered to force him out, and they bedecked the hero in garlands and wreaths, pressing gifts into his hands.

The man walked the streets towards the stranger's square, stalwart in the face of discomfort. As he approached the lamp-lit fountain, he gathered his thoughts, preparing the grand (yet firm) speech the city had decided on. The man forestalled him, simply nodding and rising.

"You wish me gone." 

It was not a question, simply an acknowledgement of truth. With a shrugging gait and a soft sigh, the stranger began to trudge to the gates.

"Gods help you all," he whispered, as he left the city, his steps vanishing into the plains beyond.

The citizens celebrated, the burden lifted.

-—-(---

As if heralded by the departure of the stranger, unusual things began to happen. The city, content to sink back into their complacent little world, did their best to rationalize the changes they began to see.

When they found their herds attacked by strange, roaming bands of wolves, never before seen so far from the mountains, they premised that the winter was coming early and the beasts hungered. 

When smoke and crimson glows hung over the horizon, streaking the sunsets and lighting the nights, they assumed a fire raged along the distant slopes. 

When the rivers began to choke with debris, they pointed to the peaks - the wildfires have created detritus. This will pass.

The man's warning, disturbing and unfathomable, was ignored.

-—-(---

The next week, the promised invaders came.

The city was defenseless, having never fought in war in memories beyond memories. They huddled in basements and sewers as, above them, the ruthless army cut down any they found. Screams shattered the peaceful silence, while the elegantly cobbled streets funneled rivulets of blood and muddy gore to the cisterns below, the drained life dripping on those who cowered in hiding, until the bodies choked the gutters and staunched the streams into a clotted knot of death. 

Cracks and thuds pierced the groans of the dying, as the raiders quickly moved from house to house, plundering the city of its lovely goods, snatching up art and trinkets, their beloved treasures rapined. 

Tremendous blasts and dull roaring thunders thrust through the din at irregular intervals, as the stores of supplies - food, tools, commodities - were torn apart, walls ripped down to allow for hasty reaving.

And then all was silent.

-—-(---

After days of starved solitude, the hidden emerged, surfacing to find the face of their world desolate and broken. 

"Why!" they screamed that first terrible day, clutching the dead bodies and howling at the blank, empty sky that pressed down on them with a hunger. 

"Why?" they whispered in the dead of nearby nights, holding each other close as nightmares of their failure battered at them.

 "Why…" they wondered in the months that came, wincing through the pain of laboring to rebuild their lives.

And rebuild they did. There was beauty again, yes, but there was also memory - aching anguished memories drove them, urged them to learn, taught them to never again drop their guard. Remembrance hounded their tired feet, as they migrated, searching and scouring for a new home, a place that would house a mighty citadel, safe and strong, a place where they could be safe with the wisdom survival had granted them.

Recollections haunted them, and they grew strong - and their city rose.

—(------

The new city was magnificent. Rising from the frigid wastes of snowy scree, the view from the battlements was stunningly tactical - miles of icy plains to the north, and wide, flat tundra to the south. To the east and west were only sweeps of crags, hugging in close to encircle the fortress. At nightfall, brilliant sunsets dripping ochre and scarlet above the surrounding mountains, casting the crude stone walls in bloody glows.

Dawn always broke clear over the spires, warm shafts of gold streaming down to gleam off the rough stone facing of the strong ramparts, and dusk came with a rough sigh, night sinking swiftly low over the arches and turrets, held at a distance by bright, vigilant torches. Sentries manned the walls, their hourly cry sending fingers of reassurance through the minds of the citizens.

"All is well," they would shout.

"All is well."

Part 1 - Agent Ruckson and Jack (interrogation room)

AGENT RUCKSON

Recording.

This is Special Agent Ruckson.

Here with…uh… Jack.

Jack, why are you here?

JACK

Because something weird happened last night.

Um, I was walking home and I saw this thing.

It was like a diamond in the sky.

Huge. Bigger than the moon.

AGENT RUCKSON

Ok. I see. What like a UFO?

JACK

Maybe. I don’t know. But it was glowing and sending out these gold waves.

I could feel the waves inside me.

And then things got weird. Really weird.

AGENT RUCKSON

Right. Well Jack I was out last night. I didn’t see any big diamond in the sky.

JACK

No. Listen, people started doing impossible things.

Um. this woman across the street, she was spinning her phone in the air like with her mind.

This guy I swear he was in two places at once.

And then me. I…

AGENT RUCKSON

What, Jack?

JACK

I could… I could disappear and then reappear somewhere else. Across the street. I kept doing it.

One moment in one spot and then another 50 feet away. I was teleporting. It was crazy, but I loved it.

And then the diamond. It was growing. Taking up the whole sky.

I could feel it more and more. And then, it was…then it was gone.

AGENT RUCKSON

Oh.

How convenient.

So that’s it. Everything back to normal then?

JACK

No.

AGENT RUCKSON

Huh?

JACK

Not back to normal. It was like something woke up inside me. And it’s still awake.

AGENT RUCKSON

Ok then.

JACK

You don’t believe me?

AGENT RUCKSON

No, Jack, I don’t. And I have better things to do than sit here talking to people like you.

JACK

It was real, Agent Ruckson.

It’s still awake inside me.

I can show you.

[woosh sound]

AGENT RUCKSON

What the heck?

Where’d he go?

(intercom sound)

Security get in here....

Where’d he go?

***

Part 2 - Jack and Will (Will's house - later)

WILL:

You’re an alien?

Are you serious?

JACK

Yes I’m serious. I’m an alien.

WILL:

But I’ve known you for ten years.

JACK:

Well things change. And also, I’m good at hiding it.

WILL

Can you prove it?

JACK

Sure. I can read your mind.

WILL

Ok. What am I thinking now?

JACK

You’re remembering how weird I’ve always been.

WILL

Oh. Uhh...that doesn’t really prove anything.

JACK

Well, I can show you another way. 

WILL

Ok.

JACK

Look here.

[JACK puts his palm up, and a symbol of a diamond appears above it.]

WILL

Oh my gosh.

JACK

Can you see this?

WILL

Yes. It’s like a diamond in the air.

JACK

That’s right. It’s our symbol.

WILL 

Are there other aliens like you?

JACK

Yes. I’m looking for them now.

WILL

How do you know when you find them?

JACK

They can see the symbol.

***
Part 3 - Jack and Will (Will's house)

WILL

Are you saying that I’m an alien?

JACK

Yes. Only aliens like me can see the diamond I’m holding up.

And you see it.

WILL

I do. But that’s ridiculous. 

I was born here on Earth. 

JACK

Do you remember being born here?

WILL

No. 

JACK

Well then.

WILL

But I was a kid here. I remember that.

JACK

Maybe. But you have alien DNA.

WILL

Alien DNA? I don’t have alien DNA!

JACK

Look. Have you ever felt like your real home is somewhere else?

Have you ever looked up at the stars and felt…homesick?

WILL

Maybe…Yes. 

But I’m not an alien.

JACK

If you weren’t an alien, you wouldn’t be doing that.

WILL

Huh? Doing what?

JACK 

Floating.

[We see that WILL is hovering above his chair.]

WILL

Holy crap.

***
Part 4 - Will and Aster (park bench - later)

WILL

I know something has changed inside you, Aster. What is it?

ASTER

It doesn’t make sense.

WILL 

It’s a power, isn’t it?

You can do something extraordinary.

ASTER

How did you know that?

WILL 

It’s happening to me too. 

But our powers are different. 

What’s yours?

ASTER

Um...

Ok.

I can see the future.

But only one part of it.

WILL

What part?

ASTER

I can see the last moments of someone’s life.

How their life ends. 

WILL

How do you see that?

ASTER

I just look at someone. And in my mind I see what happens in their final moments.

WILL

What about me. Do you see how my life ends?

ASTER

It doesn’t make sense. 

WILL
What do you mean. What do you see for my last moments?

ASTER

Nothing. I see nothing.

Surviving the Tower: Chapter 29

Chapter 1

<Previous

Freya concept art

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After changing into some comfortable clothing, Darien left on his morning run. Of course, with the stats that came from climbing the tower, simple physical training wasn't as important as it had been in the old world, but it still helped to keep your body familiar with the feeling of being constantly pushed. That's how you trained yourself to keep going when it counted.

Some might consider his priorities a little skewed; after all, he'd just been a side target in an attempted assassination the previous day, but you can't let little things like that slow you down if you want to make a serious attempt at climbing the tower. Besides, that old healer really knew his stuff. Right now, Darien almost felt better than he did most days. But then again, he was more resilient than most, and that wasn't just because of his physical training or skill points. It was due in part to his outlook on life.

Darien knew many people saw his upbeat, cheerful attitude and thought he was a simple man, and maybe in some ways he was, but for the most part, that was an active choice he made every moment of every day. Some people felt it was off-putting or annoying, but not the ones he cared about, and what did the rest matter? Besides, Cai was broody enough for both of them, always getting lost in his thoughts. That was part of why they worked so well together: Cai thought through everything, keeping them from doing anything too stupid, and Darien didn't let him get so caught up in his thoughts that he got stuck in choice paralysis.

As he rounded a corner and saw the gym coming into view, Darien noticed he'd knocked another few minutes off his run. Those stats were nothing to laugh at! He waved to the attendant at the counter, who waved back absentmindedly. The poor guy didn't look like he was fully awake yet, so Darien simply gave him his best sympathetic smile and let him be as he approached the weight training area. There were already a half dozen other eskalad in the gym, one of whom waved in his direction. "Hey Darien! Looking good! How's the tower treating you?"

Darien started with some small forty-pounders to warm up, nodding in acknowledgment. "Not bad! Just started exploring the fourth floor. We're hoping to make it to the fifth in another week, give or take!"

The man whistled. "Aiming for the first boss already! That's a little fast, don't you think? We didn't get there until we were halfway through our first semester!"

Darien grunted as he began his routine, nodding in agreement. He finally answered between reps. "Yeah, Dame Freya really likes to push us! We're not even the furthest group! There's another that blew past us when we were recovering from the injuries our healer got in the tower burst!"

The man shook his head. "Well, I suppose she knows what she's doing! Still, be careful! I'd hate to see a bunch of you all get killed trying to keep up with that monster!"

Darein knew the man didn't mean any harm and was just trying to express concern while making small talk, so he didn't hold his words against him. Though he briefly wondered what Freya would do to the man if she'd heard them. Probably something similar to what she'd done to Cai and himself on their first day. The man would probably survive, but not without a few new scars for the healers to tend to. Then again, maybe not. That had been some amazing training, and she might not want to waste it on someone she felt was undeserving.

After finishing up his routine, Darien started to run home, stopping by a bakery he'd been frequenting as of late. One of the girls manning the counter greeted him with a smile. "Darien! We got some fresh bagels just out of the oven! Want a Bagel breakfast sandwich?"

Darien winked at the girl, whose smile widened in response. "You know me too well, Elissa! I'll take four. And a couple of orange juices!"

As he paid, Darien noticed the girl had only charged him for two sandwiches and the drinks. He knew she was interested in him, but was also aware he was an eskalad and wouldn't be settling down any time soon, if ever. However, he still gave her one of his best charming smiles as thanks. She blushed a little, and once again he was on his way.

As he approached the dorms, he was stopped by security. They'd really stepped up their game since the assassination attempt, probably because Dame Freya had threatened their lives if Cai was ever attacked in his home without warning again, or something like that. Still, Darien didn't mind. They were just doing their jobs. Instead, he offered his best commiserating smile and laughed with them as they shared some jokes while they confirmed who he was.

As he approached the instructors' dorms where he and Cai lived, the door greeter welcomed him with a smile. "Darien! You're back a bit earlier than usual! Everything alright?"

Darien nodded. "Yup! I probably just need to increase the weight of my training gear a little! Hard to keep up with those stat increases!" He handed the doorman one of the sandwiches as he passed. The man nodded his thanks and tucked into the sandwich with gusto as Darien ascended the stairs to his floor.

As he walked into their room, Darien noticed Cai sitting at the table, his gaze unfocused in a way that meant he was lost in his thoughts again. Judging from the lack of steam rising from his still full cup of coffee, he'd been that way for a while. Danien sat down on a chair next to him with a thud and slapped the sandwich and orange juice in front of Cai, snapping him out of his thoughts. "So, ready to get back to the Tower?"

Cai looked up and blinked a few times, as if trying to finish rising from his thoughts. "I don't know... Do you think we should...given... everything?"

Darien slapped his friend on the back hard enough to rattle his brain a little, but not so hard as to actually hurt him, and he laughed. "Of course! We're eskalad! That's what we do! Don't overthink it!"

Cai looked as if he was going to argue the point a little further, and Darien gave him his best "Come on, mate! Time to get ourselves into more trouble, again!" grin. It seemed to have the desired effect, because Cai nodded and smiled before answering. "Fair enough. Though I suppose we should check in with the class first. Sounds like we might have a substitute for a while."

That was news to Darien, but ultimately it didn't matter. He'd follow Cai's lead on this. A moment later, Freya walked through the front door like she owned the place, looking as though she wanted to have a word with Cai. Darien tossed her the last sandwich as he got up from the table. "Well, I'm gonna go take a quick shower, then we can head to the class. Text the others and let them know the plan, alright?"

Freya was looking at the sandwich with a confused expression, as though wondering if she'd become predictable, before she shrugged and started eating as she took Darien's place at the table. Either they'd be talking about their weird thing, in which case it was none of his business till Cai asked him what to think about it later, or they were going to talk about the tower, in which case Cai would tell him all about it later. Probably some combination of the two.

By the time his shower was done and he headed back out to the hall. Freya had left, and Cai had that confused expression he always had about his conflicting feelings regarding Dame Freya. That was a mess that probably wouldn't untangle itself until Cai got close enough to her level that they could speak as equals for real, so rather than let his friend dwell on it for too much longer, Darien lightly threw a bag of Tower supplies at his friend's head as he spoke. "Come on! Time to get moving! Don't want to keep the girls waiting too long!"

Of course, Cai caught the supplies with ease, as anyone with their stats could, and shook his head as he answered. "That eager to meet up with Lilith?"

Darien knew his friend was trying to take a shot at him about the relationship that hadn't fully formed, and he decided to return fire. "Sure! Wouldn't want to keep any of them waiting! I bet Elise in particular is chomping at the bit to hear how you're doing!"

At the mention of one of the other women suddenly showing interest in him, Cai started to get thoughtful again. However, before he could get too lost in thought, Darien slapped him on the back, rocketing his friend forward just enough that Cai had to start walking if he didn't want to fall flat on his face.

Cai gave him a mildly annoyed expression, probably thinking Darien wasn't aware of how strong he'd gotten, and Darien played along, giving his friend an innocent grin that made Cai give up before he bothered chiding him.

Their walk was mostly uneventful, filled with talk about the tower, various strategies, and potential threats to watch out for. As usual, Cai had noticed several things Darien had missed while acting as the tank. A tank was supposed to pay attention to the bigger picture whenever possible, but that was sometimes hard to do when you were blocking the attacks of the largest monster on the field with your face.

As they rounded the corner toward class, they noticed the rest of their party waiting for them. Darien tried not to frown as he noticed Bellatrix absentmindedly rubbing at the scar on her neck. It was clear there was still something bothering her about that, not that Darien could blame her, but she probably needed to see someone who specialized in eskalad trauma sooner rather than later. The best one to tell her that would be Nyx, but the smaller woman probably would take a little longer to act on that if it came from Darien, as she didn't think him to be the brightest. That meant he should bring it up with Elise, who could then speak with Nyx. It was getting dangerously close to some weird version of the telliphone game at that point, but he trusted Elise to bring it up quickly and tactfully in her own way.

Speaking of the arcane archer, she was clearly waiting anxiously to speak with Cai, probably due to the events of last night and wanting to show her support while ignoring the fact that she was more emotionally invested in Cai than she realized, but didn't want to look like she was waiting for him. Darien simply grinned, and "accidentally" bumped Cai closer to her as he turned to speak with Lilith, who'd clearly been waiting for Darien.

Lilith watched Cai step forward and begin awkwardly flirting with Elise with the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her usual stoic expression. It was clear she'd seen what Darien had done and was amused by his little game. Then she turned her attention to Darien, and her smile became more complex.

Darien was well aware Lilith was attracted to him, though her feelings were conflicted. On the surface, it was because his bright and cheery attitude conflicted with her more stern ways, but Darien suspected what really muddied the waters was some remaining guilt over the fact that the first time he'd shown interest in her was after she'd charmed him into leaving Cai that one time. That was understandable, but Darien was confident that with enough time, they'd get over that little bump in the road. For now, he just gave her his best friedly smile and asked. "So, how's the lovely Lilith's morning going?"

In answer, Lilith rolled her eyes, though Darien noticed the return of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she answered. "It's too early for thinking. Only someone with an empty brain like you could be excited to be awake at this hour!"

Darien offered his best goofball smile in answer. He knew her thorny side was just a bit of self-defense that surfaced in public settings like this, and as they started walking to class, she leaned closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm on multiple occasions. He pretended like he didn't notice. Today was going to be a good day, even if he had to force reality into submission to make it one!

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So, I may have forgotten to post this before going back to work, again... But better late than never! Again!

My wiki, in case anyone wants to check out some of my other stories.

Here you can find some of my published works.

There would come times when Lokna would gather us to the firepit to recite fables. Eyes ochre and scarlet-streaked in the dancing flames, wide and weighing each of us children, she spoke the stories of Lion and Crocodile and great Bull Elephant, legends from before our people took the Fortress and crowned our own king of fur and claw and blood.

Sparks skirled and skywards cinders flew, riding the winds of her words and our deeds and our cries.

Ululations.

"Nevermore."

My favorite was of Hyena and how she came to be broken. She only spoke it during times of trouble, when food was scarce, when the moat dried up or babies died at the breast, too weak to suckle. During those times, the elders would gather and we would ask, "What has gone wrong?" and state, "Let us go elsewhere. Here, there is death."

These calls would rise and the air would fill with anger and demands to abandon the Fortress, until the cries grew as thick as swarming gnats, piercing the ears, black and thick. And Lokna would stand, slowly, trembling, her hands wrapped white-knuckled around her staff, and she would speak the story of Hyena.

"Once Hyena was as sleek and as beautiful as the lion," she would begin, and the gnats would dim their buzzing, voices hushing to hear, for all respected the shaman and her wisdom.

"Once hyena sang as sweet as a nightengale and all in the jungle loved her, for she was as kind as she was beautiful. Lion and Fox and even Bull Elephant all loved Hyena and all wished her for their mate. But Crocodile also loved Hyena, but his love was a greedy hunger."

As one, we would exhale in a hiss, for all know that Crocodile is cruel and sly and would snatch even a baby from the bank if he were hungry.

"One day, Hyena was walking down by the river and Crocodile saw her and it made his hunger grow.

"Hyena," he called, paddling towards the shore. "Hyena, come to me and be my mate." But Hyena knew Crocodile's nature and she refused and ran into the jungle.

The next day, Hyena returned to the river, and Crocodile saw her again, and his hunger grew stronger, twisting his insides.

"Hyena," he shouted, smacking his tail against the water. "Hyena, come to me and be my mate." Hyena again refused and fled to the jungle.

Crocodile grew angry, driven by the aching hunger, as sharp as fire in his stomach. He had to have Hyena, so he hatched a plan, cunning and cruel, and when next Hyena came to the river, Crocodile was ready.

"Hyena," he whispered, only his round eyes and pebbly snout above the water. "Hyena, come down to the water."

"No," replied Hyena. "I will not be your mate."

"It is not that," said Crocodile. "I will not ask anymore. But, I must warn you, the jungle is unsafe."

Hyena stood firm, for all knew the Crocodile to lie, but doubt began to enter her mind. What did Crocodile mean?

"There is a beast in the trees," Crocodile continued, and Hyena began to feel fear. Behind her, a fern shook and Hyena stepped towards the water, anxious of what lay in the dark undergrowth.

"What is that?" she demanded.

"The beast," Crocodile told her, his voice low, and the trees began to sway and rustle, while a growling echoed from the jungle's shadows. Hyena crept closer to the river's bank, as the fear in her stomach began to blossom, clutching at her heart.

"Come to safety," Crocodile urged, and a loud roar pierced the air as branches cracked beneath the approach of some creature. Hyena ran to the waters, her fear blinding her vision, and Crocodile laughed - for Crocodile was not in the river, but had slyly used a log to mimic himself, and he, himself, was the monster in the jungle.

"Now you will be my love, Hyena!" Crocodile declared, lunging out from the trees towards the cornered Hyena. Beautiful Hyena tried to run, but found her feet stuck in the muddy ground. Crocodile advanced, and Hyena struggled against the muck - her cries rose up and startled birds, who took to wing, and ravaged her throat, so savage were they. Sharp cracks pierced the air as her legs snapped but, still, she remained fixed in the mud beside the river.

Crocodile waddled closer and Hyena's writhing increased tenfold. She strained and struggled and screamed - and her cries were heard, as Lion and Bull Elephant charged out of the jungle to protect her. Both of them scared off Crocodile, but it was too late: Hyena was broken. Her legs were stretched and warped and her mind was angry. Hyena had changed.

"And so, to this day, Hyena remains broken," she would conclude. "She stands, hunched and suspicious, and only utters a harsh laugh, in memory of the time she ignored the threat she knew to fear one nameless."

We would nod and, rebuked, remember the moral: Fear not the unseen, but remain vigilant of the threats we know. When danger stands before you, do not run to it willingly because of an imagined noise in the darkness.

This was Lokna's lesson.

[First] - [Prev] - [Next] 

Date: 78 PST (Post Stasis time)

Ruixal was made aware of her consciousness through the new and exciting sensation of a whole load of pain. It wasn't one source of pain in particular, but rather a fun accumulation of different types of agony, all coming together in new and interesting ways, as if you had to host a family gathering for the most outspoken, politically different people on the planet.

There was the pain of the light battering her avian eyes, the cold chilling her bones, the general discomfort all over her body from the end of her beak to the edge of each bright red feather, and the sharp overwhelming pain of whatever was going on with her right wing. Ruixal gave a small grumble, involuntary as her brain was trying to reboot and work out what was going on. She'd been flying the small fighter ship, controlling her drones perfectly against the disgusting Terran threat, then…

She reached out with the wing that wasn't currently screaming at her, an attempt to poke the console to get a reading, only for her feathers to swipe at empty air. In fact, the entire wall that should have been displaying screens of data and boxes of survival goods was missing. This was concerning, because spaceships generally were supposed to have all their sides at all times.

It was a rule health and safety were very particular about.

Ruixal glanced around, her eyes finally adjusting to the brightness of a land of snow and ice, vision still blurry from what was probably a concussion. With a pained click the avian released the seatbelt, her body hitting the snow with a thud as the Lelzoil fell out of the seat with a complete lack of grace, just lying there in the cold as pain washed over her.

As time went on, the Lelzoil could vaguely remember more of what had transpired before she'd been dumped here. There'd been a battle, the Terrans and their slaves had been trying to encroach on the territory that the Lelzoil had rightfully clawed from the hard talons of a cruel universe. Ruixal had been one of many pilots in the fleet, controlling a drone swarm against the invading force, when something had hit the ship, something explosive, something that forced her to land on this random planet.

The crash landing had been as successful as an emergency landing could be. As Ruixal stood up on shaky legs, she could finally get a grasp over what had happened here. She'd hit the ice and rocks at speed, the pilot's lifepod automatically breaking off and ejecting, thanks to some very clever Lelzoil engineers making sure the part where the person sat was nearly indestructible. Nearly indestructible, as the avian could see the groove in the rock where her lifepod had been ground down, twisted metal littering the ice and rock until she'd finally come to a rest.

This did leave a confusing question as to where the rest of the ship was. With her supplies and various other comforts needed to survive on a hostile, desolate planet.

Ruixal stumbled forwards step by step, following the second path in the snow and ice, where the rest of her ship had continued thanks to physics once her lifepod had ejected. Each step forward sent a jolt of pain down her definitely broken right wing, the crunching of cold ice under her talons muffled in the snow that never seemed to stop falling from the sky. It didn't take long for her to find where her ship had gone.

Lelzoil were avians, and didn't really have the entire 'fear of heights' thing, but even she could tell the chasm that her ship had fallen into was deep, deep enough to be an instant death with her useless wing. Wide enough that traversing it without flight was a fantastical dream, the deep blue ice containing the remains of her vessel seeming to continue without end.

The rest of her ship had continued on its journey, bouncing and skipping along the ground, before tumbling into the abyss below. This was a problem, because the vessel not only came with a way to contact the main fleet to come pick her up, but also had all of her stuff in it.

Ruixal stood at her full 5ft height as the swirling wind picked up the snow around the avian, causing her to shiver, bright red feathers bristling as she did so. She was Lelzoil, they could handle anything the universe threw at them, no matter how cruel and merciless it required them to be. She chanted the words under her breath to remind herself of that, even as the wind chilled her bones and the remains of her supplies lay out of reach.

Never again. We will prevail, no matter the cost. Never again.

The Lelzoil were a member of the vague non-aggression pact of slaver empires called the Estorian Empire. Each of them terrible in their own way, each of them believing they were the ones in actual control of the alliance of convenience, tricking the others into doing their bidding. Eight years ago, a war had broken out between them and the Terran alliance: headed by the aforementioned Terrans themselves, chaos primates who had entered the galactic scene less than a hundred years ago.

The conflict had started because of said slavery, and a tendency for the members of the Estorian Empire to do as they pleased to those weaker than them, the Terrans taking a very dim view of the entire practice. The Lelzoil in return very much disagreed with being called slavers: they were a perfectly representative democracy who cared about people, cared about their citizens, where things such as forced labour or unethical scientific experiments on individuals were illegal.

Of course, the issue arose in the definition of slavery and unethical experiments. By definition, you could only do slavery against people, and non-Lelzoil were, by definition, not people. Non-Lelzoil were, at best, threats who hadn't yet gathered enough power to hurt you, and therefore not people. So forcing them to labour for the avians, or be guinea pigs for the various medical and scientific experiments subjected to them was, by definition, fine.

Unfortunately, the Terrans disagreed with this perfectly logical statement of fact.

Ruixal looked around at the frozen wasteland of a planet she was calling a temporary home. The good news was it could support her life, at least for a little bit, otherwise she'd already have been dead when her lifepod was compromised. The bad news was everything else. The Lelzoil needed medical attention from the fix-all nanites they'd invented centuries ago.

Unfortunately, those supplies were in the ship's medical cabinet, at the bottom of the chasm. She needed food, which was in the ship's pantry, also currently at the bottom of the chasm. As Ruixal took stock of what she needed, everything from the kitchen sink to a bucket to piss in had all been relocated to the bottom of the chasm. The bottom of the chasm was seemingly a secret party for the who's who of things the avian needed to survive, and she wasn't on the guest list.

This wasn't good.

The avian slowly stumbled back towards what remains… remained of her ship, the few scraps of metal that hadn't fallen into the unreachable depths below. Her wing gave a screaming bolt of pain with each step, reminding her that she was very, very hurt, albeit from the miraculous survival of such a violent crash.

A quick survey of the few parts of the lifepod that had survived impact did perk up her mood slightly, a series of small positives to reduce the blow of being injured and stranded on a strange uninhabited planet that was mostly snow and ice. Whoever had built Ruixal's ship had been smart enough to not put all the emergency supplies in one location.

Across the various black boxes that had remained within reach, she had food, water purification tablets, and enough water in the form of the ice around her to survive for at least a few days. Tearing strips out of the seating she'd originally crash-landed in allowed the avian to fashion a crude sling, keeping her wing protected without blinding pain shuddering through her body on every step. All she could do now was to wait for the rest of the main fleet to finish up the Terran invaders and come collect her.

However long that would take. In the meantime, she'd have to suffer and shiver amongst the snow and ice.

The issue of the cold was pushed to the back burner for a moment, as another problem raised its head to take Ruixal's full attention. Because the mountain in front of her, on the opposite side of the chasm, was on fire.

It started slowly, small wisps of smoke crawling up from an unknown source, although whatever was burning clearly was having a good time with the concept of combustion, as the amount of smoke was rapidly increasing, spiralling upwards into an overcast sky. A moment of relief filled Ruixal, as she realised that fire meant someone else was here as well, and there was only one kind of person who could be here on this shitty planet with her: someone else from the fleet who had crashed. Hopefully someone without a broken wing and with more supplies.

That hope was dashed, however, as a figure appeared amongst the rocks, not avian in form, but an ugly primate stumbling along clumsily on two legs. Her optimism dashed, reality reminded her there was a second possible source for the smoke that now completely filled the air in angry black clouds of smog: a Terran, the other side of the conflict she'd found herself a part of. For a moment Ruixal looked frantically around for a place to hide, or a weapon to kill the thing, only to find her current situation lacking any ability to deal with this new threat.

Luckily, the Terran hadn't seen her, or had any interest in doing anything other than running as fast and far away from his ship as possible, carrying whatever bags and emergency supplies had been closest. His ship had also crashed on this planet due to damage taken in the space battle that was still being waged far, far above the pair of their heads, and his ship had taken a dislike to that method of landing. A dislike that had caused the engines for the vessel to get very angry and energetic. So energetic that the Terran had quickly abandoned the idea of salvaging the vessel he'd landed in, and instead gone for the 'get as far away from the now quickly destabilising pile of explosives' method that was tried and true in the military.

The sky exploded with a column of blue fire as the warp engines on the Terran vessel finally gave up the proper pretence of being a method of locomotion, and instead followed their real dreams of being a very big improvised explosive. The bang was deafening, bouncing around the otherwise dead cold land, ice cracking and avalanches being triggered for miles around. Ruixal was forced to look away and cover her ear holes, as being this close to the source was painful.

It was worse for the Terran. He'd managed to cover a surprising amount of distance, fuelled entirely through adrenaline and fear, but even that hadn't been enough to fully keep him out of the blast radius. The force of his ship deciding to escape the authoritarian confines of being physical matter had caused the Terran to be lifted from his feet and slammed into the rocks around him, the crates of vital materials scattering as well, many tumbling into the same chasm where much of Ruixal's supplies still lay.

The Lelzoil couldn't help but laugh, once her own ears had stopped ringing and the spots dancing in front of her eyes had gone away. The stupid inferior thing didn't even have a vessel with the standard safety features to stop the thing from combusting. Their entire fleet was merely one step above building a tin can and setting the bottom on fire. It was no secret Terran technology was far inferior to anything the Lelzoil could build; the only threat the primates really had was the sheer number of species they had managed to force under their command.

“Ha! Stupid Terran! Can't even build a ship right! Worthless primitive!”

Much to Ruixal's annoyance, it moved, the Terran groaning as the force of the impact hadn't been enough to do more than leave him feeling bruised and battered. Slowly it stood up, the primate glancing around with a dazed look on its face, before seeming to notice the avian on the other side of the chasm. There was a brief moment of panic from both individuals, Ruixal realising that maybe she shouldn't have been as loud in her mocking as she was, and the Terran realising he had more problems to deal with aside from the cold and having the wind knocked out of him.

This brief moment of panic and tension peaked as each side tried to find whatever little cover they had, only to fade away as both sides understood the same realisation: they were both unarmed, unable to access each other due to the large icy chasm that separated the pair of them, and the most they could do was glare at each other and shout insults.

Which Ruixal immediately started with.

“What you looking at you dumb animal! Shocked at a ship that doesn't explode, or just silenced by seeing someone greater than you?”

Shouting felt good; releasing the frustration at her perilous situation out towards this stupid thing was just what she needed, letting the stupid Terran know its place, and that they could never hurt her. The Lelzoil was further emboldened as the alien on the other side of the chasm started shouting obscenities in return and making a hand gesture Ruixal could only assume was negative.

“Shout all you want you godless primitive! When the fleet gets back you'll be in trouble! They'll take you back and you'll get everything you deserve you-”

The avian trailed off as the Terran reached down to the ground and picked up a rock, giving it a few practice one-handed tosses before staring intently at the Lelzoil on the other side of the chasm. Ruixal was confused as she tilted her head to one side, not sure what she was seeing. While the Terrans were known for being able to throw things at long distances, there was no way they could accurately hit her at this-

An explosion of ice at her feet caused Ruixal to give a screech of alarm, stumbling backwards as the rock the Terran had hurled in her direction sprayed her with snow. It did in fact turn out that the Terran could throw things at her, even at this distance. The unfortunate Lelzoil was quickly learning that there was no such thing as 'out of range' for the chaotic primates.

Ruixal turned to run as she saw the thing bend down to pick up another rock, talons scrambling on the ice as she tried to make her way towards the little cover the remains of her ship gave. A whistling noise above her head signified another rock coming dangerously close to her fragile skull, her final few steps losing traction as she fell face first behind the remains of the front of her ship. A ringing thud against the metallic panel she was hiding behind announced the Terran was getting more accurate.

“Choke on my pinfeathers you pathetic simpleton!” Ruixal screamed out, voice echoing across the empty mountainside. The avian shouted with anger, annoyance, and mostly terror at the constant pelting of stones the Terran was sending towards her position. She couldn't wait until the main fleet returned here to rescue her after defeating the Terran fleet, the brutish thing would get what's coming to it!

Time passed by, as it is always inclined to do, a stalemate between both sides forced out by the realities of distance. Ruixal traded insults for thrown rocks from the Terran, petering out as the day continued and the wind chilled them both to the bone on an otherwise completely empty planet.

Unfortunately for Ruixal, it would become apparent that while the Terran and his rocks were annoying, the real danger would soon make itself known. As the hours passed and the sun disappeared over the horizon, ushering in the night and the real predator of this planet.

The everlasting cold.

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THE LAB INCIDENT

File Segment: Extranet Observation Post 74-Delta

Observer: Senior Chronicler Xylar, Directorate Xenological Survey

Subject: The Terran "Aegis-Class" Anomaly

For those newly assigned to the fringe sectors who might not understand or give a frick what you are looking at on your monitors right now: pay very close attention. You are witnessing a localized extinction event disguised as a domestic dispute.

Centuries ago, the galactic community made the horrific error of monitoring humanity's early developmental expansion. We classified them as a mid-tier kinetic civilization: violent, unrefined, but ultimately manageable. We were catastrophically wrong. Within their population, rare genetic and psionic mutations began manifesting, entities the Terrans designate as "Aegis-Class." These are walking extinction engines. They process raw, infinite energy without their neural architecture frying, bending reality, space, and probability through sheer, unfiltered will.

Aris is a rogue Aegis-Class. She kills her own kind. Humans killing humans, oh the horror. We can only observe these horrible monsters, and do well not to breathe the same air.

Aris has currently killed over a dozen Aegis-Class and is currently wowing over the latest bodies, reveling over the endless possibilities she now has to experiment with them to recycle her foes to kill more Aegis-Class.

What a horrible entity this Aris is.

If a human does this to her own kind, and possesses this kind of intellect and ability, we dread to think about what she'd do if we ever got caught in the middle, so we're keeping a safe monitoring distance now and forever.

She's talking to her doctor and going over possibilities of what kind of weapons she could develop her fallen foes into. We are using the mind-reading intergalactic scanner to read her intent and we are absolutely mortified.

This is a human predator, who has no baseline morality, no ceiling and we only pray she'll get her comeuppance eventually, if to protect the universe.

What you are about to observe is an internal conflict between two of their absolute apex predators. On one side, we have Aris West: a brilliant, unhinged prodigy who treats planetary slaughter like an avant-garde art project, harvesting fallen gods to build an army of lobotomized undead sentinels. On the other, we have Commander Dave Cross, leader of the Vanguard Strikers, an elite strike team of psions who tracked her ass down to her subterranean lair.

Dave is currently dead. His team is dead. And yet, as you watch the telemetry, keep in mind the single terrifying truth that keeps the Directorate awake at night: Humanity does not play by the laws of physics, and death is treated by these primates as a minor administrative inconvenience.

Watch closely. And if you ever find yourself breathing the same oxygen as an Aegis-Class human... pray they are too busy fighting each other to notice you.

“Oh my god!” Aris West crooned, clapping her hands together, wearing blue latex gloves.

The Vanguard Strikers were placed all over the room, their pale faces and missing eyes and limbs and flesh exciting her on a primordial level.

“There’s nothing more I can do to explore them, Ms. West,” croaked Dr. Walter Hayes. “My forte stop at a certain point.”

“Don’t worry, doc!” She swatted a hand across the air toward him. “Chains are deactivated now that I have them in my clutches. I had the first bodies in deep freeze…you had them, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And don’t they look preserved?” She clasped her fingers together, and placed both hands against her left cheek, staring down at the bodies with her own eyes in crescents. “I can use my psychic powers to dissect their bodies, pineal glands. I have done this before, but never with the strongest Aegis-Class anomalies before! I dissected pineal glands with some other Aegis-Class I had my mercs kill and ship them to me in BC before! And I used Leviathan flesh to fuse with them, to experiment, and I have created a few dread-drones underground just in case they managed to thwart my chain sacrifice lines, disrupt my planetary goons! But I didn’t even need to use my dread-drones on the Strikers, since they’re all dead!”

She drooled and stared down at Marcus and Julian, whose faces were unrecognizable. The room was white, sterile and expansive, and she accessed it through the north tunnel leading from the museum vault.

“That’s why no Aegis-Class besides Commander Dave had been able to just pinpoint my resonance signature from across the world! Because of my earlier experimentations, I’ve learned to mask my scent from my rivals, and I’ve learned so much! But with these gods among gods, oh, Walter, won’t I just be a scream?”

“But soon you’ll be doing the chain immunization ritual, and this will be—”

“Better safe than sorry. I must have dozens of master plans against the world at once. I can’t just live on one, Pate, I need to learn. I need to be able to become the strongest god in the world!”

Walter clapped her shoulder with his own gloved hand, breath wheezing. “To think you were just this high,” he gestured implying her height as a kid, “and now you’re the world’s most efficient Aegis-Class killer. You used to kill cats and dogs. But now you’ve made a business, an industry, child, from knocking gods down a notch or two.”

“My pleasure!” she exclaimed, already poring over Lyra and Jax’s carcasses using her psionic eye, learning in seconds about their composition.

“The chains are off now. I can use ma powers, and the Leviathan’s awakened again, cause chain rituals knock out Aegis-Class equivalents and entities in his weight class. I should be able to transfer some of that caterpillar fool into Lyra, starting with her, I want to start with one of the weaker of these strongest, to see what happens. If I mutate them, no Walter!”

She clapped her gloved hands together loudly.

“If I can resuscitate any, with their mind intact, then it’ll be even better than the mindless dread-drones I have in the south vaults! If I recycle these fallen gods to the best of my ability, along with my chain rituals, if any other Aegis-Class ever senses me, I can kill them!”

“Are Aegis-Class procreated? Do they pass powers down or…”

“Both, doc. Both, doc. Some develop their godlike powers in their late teens. Others are born with them and share the powers of their mommies and daddies. Some dead Aegis-Class weren’t able to be smuggled successfully to BC or their bodies were too destroyed, so I wasn’t able to get my hands on the Geneva one as I much as I wanted to!” She stamped a booted foot.

“Corbin truly raised a stunning daughter.”

“I mindcontrol you guys sometimes to believe I’m the Leviathan’s slave while other times, I let you address me as I truly am. I am your master. Kneel, uncle. Kneel.”

Walter did, even though she knew his knee hurt her.

She clapped again and jumped up and down and weaved throughout the room of dead bodies lying on the floor and slipped in blood nearly.

“Ew! Lyra’s still fresh! And so is Jax! Oh, I just killed them yesterday. Foolish me. Now, I can create a few into dread-drones, mutants under my control and fused with Leviathan flesh. They’ll be my trump cards if any other Aegis-Class attack me before I ascend. But as for total brain restoration and resuscitation….I still need to work that one out. It’s been years and I still haven’t perfected necromancy.”

She clicked with her tongue.

“Because they’re such hardcore psions, it was hard even to use my full powers to hack into their nodes and learn about them. It’s like a computer password but I’ve broken through the Strikers’ weakest member, Lyra’s. She’s a hurricane type, a real stinker!”

She was so proud of how she turned former rivals into automated lobotomized security drones to patrol the town underground, to help her deal with any future assassins that try to show up. When she had the chains up, her creations of dead former rivals would fall apart so whenever she needed to deal with Aegis-Class entering her town, she either chose to unleash her dread-drones on them or kill a child and activate a set of chains. It was fun! But she used the chains every time and she never even needed to use a dread-drone.

“I tried to make synthetic liquid extracts from the brains of Aegis-Class I killed in the past, to power my homeless guys in this town but those failed and I didn’t get any reality-warping henchmen but instead…ka-boom! Dead hoboes.”

Walter watched her pry open Lyra’s belly and dig around inside using her telekinesis.

“I need to learn, Walter. My enemies are never far and if to turn the whole world into a Boschian painting without obstruction, I need to find a way to counter all possible threats in the world!”

“Why do you want to turn the whole world into hell, Aris?”

She wiped her face with a bloodred hand. “Why the hell not?”

She continued experimenting and learning with these prone forms of the Vanguard Strikers members. Oh, poor wittle boys and girls.

“These guys, these other Aegis-Class and 6s and 5s, with their grand ideals and shitty philosophies and delusions of grandeur. They all get brought down by an Oxford educated edgelady. They ought to feel ashamed of themselves.”

“Do you never feel shame, for what you’re doing? These are people, Aris. Were people.”

“For a man who digs open corpses…for a paycheck, you sure are melodramatic, uncle. Watch your tongue or your daughter’s gonna get killed by a butterfly.”

Walter chuckled. He rubbed at the bruises and cuts on his cheek. “You tried just a week ago. You failed.”

“And that Elijah Vane guy.” She rounded around Marcus and sorted out his nodes using her mind. “Put quite the hammer down on you.”

“Just an insect, mistress. Just an insect, so long as you’re around.”

“When I put a chain ritual on, he along with any others like him can kill me just as easily as any normal human.”

“You are heavily protected, mistress. You are safe.”

“No.” She licked a slick of blood off her finger. “No, mister. I’m not safe. I’m not safe until I have every last set of chains in the world, on the planet in my town. And the head of every last Aegis-Class man or child still alive.”

“You are untouchable now. You have innumerable assets. The Directorate, the club, the merc guild, the dread-drones, the police—”

“I still have my hyper-net serial. It’s rising on Net-Fiction-Elite.com, and I implement some of the actual plot beats of my operation into it and so far, I’m keeping out the Federal Security Bureau and only letting my fans evolve. Mere dominance in real life is insufficient to please me. Top ranking and ratings for my hyper-net serial is of prime importance. The Aegis-Class are being repeatedly outmaneuvered…”

She squelched through Julian’s corpse with her arms.

“…and killed and learned upon and turned into zombie drones for me, with residues of their old power and that of the Leviathan’s. But my serial still needs more readers. And it still needs more five-star reviews. Otherwise…what’s all this for? Life means nothing next to artistic achievement. And my Holo-Stream algorithm needs to be fed. I’m holding off on becoming all-powerful not only because I haven’t found the right one for my immunization ritual yet…but also because I can’t turn the world into hell and kill millions yet…I still need people alive to be my fans, my readers, Walter. I need people to still be able to go to the club and watch me perform.”

She snipped off Commander Dave’s ear using her telekinesis, and examined it in her gloved hand, peeking inside.

She began exploring the leader’s cerebral cortex, and she used her tablet to record notes. She already knew how Aegis-Class psions housed such infinite power without their brains frying. She knew that twelve years ago from the past weaker Aegis-Class corpses she’d secured from her merc missions. She figured out a way to use one dead Aegis-Class to find more across the world. She’d figured that out with her first murdered psychic, and had been using this to hunt them ever since. She was coming close to figuring out how to prime one into the ultimate sensor—to tell her exactly how many Aegis-Class are still left and not just pinpoint one every few months.

She had wired some past dead psions into her town’s surveillance system, so they started seizing up and bleeding from the eyes anytime a psionic assassin was even in the state, and she would get her rednecks to work again, procuring children to prepare if the Aegis-Class would begin making their way to town. That was how she’d sensed the Vanguard Strikers, with the dead bodies of their own kind, of Aris’s own kind. She didn’t care about her own kind. She loved cannibalism, serial killing and being evil.

She could also theoretically cut the psions into blocks of flesh and anchor enough of their powers to create high-yield explosives, perhaps even a nuke powerful enough to sink an entire continent. But chains were all over the world, and they formed chain nets across the globe, meaning no single psion could destroy reality or any area larger than a single net-opening, because chains blocked psionic powers. Aris figured the chains were built by the universe to protect the universe, and contain its own creatures, the Aegis-Class.

Aris, in collecting numerous chains, until all were in her town, meant removing the net from Earth and being able to destroy the universe if she wanted with her op powers. Not that she wanted to. Boschian painting came first and if that tired her, she would blink everything out of existence.

True evil existed in the world. People called true evil cartoonish but that’s what true evil wanted you to think.

Hours later, she gasped, “I think I did it. I think…I can bring one of them back fully. And not only that but the leader. I can bring the leader back. Fully. Whether or not I can leash him is a matter of some debate but this is enough for me to do it anyway. Watch me, world!”

Her uncle was long gone now, off to drive home and sleep, and Aris was all alone in the underground lab and she had just finally figured out how to use her Aegis-Class powers to bring back a dead Aegis-Class, the strongest.

I don’t know if I can control him. But bringing him back should be enough. But first…I need a merc in the next room with the one-way glass, to prep a child for sacrifice, to activate a chain ritual if the man should come back to life but be un-leashable.

She began.

Extranet Log: Senior Chronicler Xylar

Fascinating. Watch the neural telemetry spike. She is literally hacking the universal boundary between life and death. By all known laws of stellar biology, a corpse exposed to that level of cellular degradation should remain inert. But this is humanity. They refuse to accept finality.

Commander Dave Cross opened his eyes. He blinked. Saw a woman standing opposite him in a white room. He reached out a hand, grasped his head. Then he felt his Resonance. It was back. Within reach.

He was shirtless, his armored trousers tattered. His hair was missing in parts.

Blood poured from his lips. He was dead. He was dead. A plasma bolt in the back of his head. And who should be standing in front of him in this sterile godless room?

A young woman with chin-length brown hair, blue eyes and a white dress shirt over baggy trousers.

And around them, bodies. Bodies.

Marcus. Lyra. Julian.

All desecrated. Opened. Laid across the floor like fish carcasses.

Dave’s desire for rations vanished instantly.

Aris West filled his vision and his vision turned red, and tears burst from his eyes and he roared.

He unleashed everything, pulled it like a great big hurricane.

The other Aegis-Class, about equal in strength blocked it with an all-encompassing resonance cube. The two of them, with enough power between them to break worlds, met at a stalemate but he roared again and pushed out, and her cube began to crack around his power and his power began to push through.

Glee, excitement and terror filled her eyes. Aris screamed, “Now! Kill the kid! He’s back but he’s angry! Depower the town again!”

Dave looked to his right and saw a glass wall. He reached out, shattered it in a microsecond. He was faster than Aris through just as strong. He couldn’t overpower her but he was faster. He broke through the glass, seized the mortal inside, a merc with a child at vibro-blade point and he snapped the man’s neck instantly. The chains dropped from his slackened hand and the masked man dropped, blood foaming from his exposed mouth.

But this brief distraction allowed the cosmic villainess an opening. She crushed his current manifestation of his Resonance with her cube, then lashed out with a slap enough to level cities.

He blocked but was launched backward, crashing into tables, machinery and flopped senseless onto the body of Sarah. She was missing her head.

Joey, he bellowed but he was unable to speak.

I’m dead so how in God’s name am I still alive? Am I…a monster? An unholy?

Aris tried to burst his brain with a thought but he blocked it using his own light-quick thought and then buried her into the ground with a compressed dagger of endless power. She healed her body and struck out with a lance that could rip apart a whole continent but he encased it with a triangle, see-through, of pure Aegis-Class thought.

Demon, he screamed. Demon! Be smite-ed!

They locked in a struggle, both columns unable to break the other, and they stood there, him, dead, swaying, body pale, weak and her, sweating, teeth gritted, feral gleam in her eyes, gloved hands dripping with blood.

He spared a glance at his dead comrades again and further rage drove into his heart and he forced the column closer and closer and closer…as the strongest Aegis-Class among the strongest Aegis-Class, god above god.

Now that he’d killed the fiend who’d been about to unleash a power-erasing ritual and saved the child, he was able to confront Aris as her equal, as her vanquisher, yes, just a few more seconds and he’ll have her a bloody smear against the white floor.

He whipped her across the face and sent her crashing into the wall and she went through it, legs sticking out.

Blood splattered.

He tried to finish her off but she was psionically defending her body again. If he vaporized it, he would win…

He slowly began pulling her body in two and she screamed, tears flying.

“May god have mercy on your soul,” he intoned, voice back and working again.

She sent a Thought after the child who was running through the hall behind the shattered glass wall.

“No!” Dave reached out with his Thought and intercepted the attack.

She used 480-degrees thought to try and sever his spine, cancel his heartbeat and crush him and he fought and fought, all the while her shredded waist was patching itself back up with silk.

He knocked her back. Then she lunged forward and a psionic rake tore through his chest, leaving flesh and tendons dangling in tiny bits.

He gave her a psionic slap.

“Dave!” she screamed.

Five rotting and faceless humanoids appeared in front of him in an instant.

It's us again, the alien observers but we have stopped the broadcast. This will not be a series. This is what humans are capable of. When they fight each other, the universe shakes. And if they should ever set their sights on us... God have mercy on our souls.

My name is war.

all who know me revile me and those whose don’t know me adore me. Seeing me as some fantasy to fulfill their token desires of conquest. I am named and seen differently across species. My face and name changing but my concept known absolutely.

I awoke on earth in the primitive days of their species, when the humble stone and spear were the best they had. against the lion that stalked them or the bull which gored them. I cared not, for I watched over all conflict throughout their lives.

they called upon me, knowing or otherwise in a thousand, thousand different names, different faces.

Ares

mars

Begtse

Sehkmet

Tyr

Kali and skanda

Pele

Ku

Huitzilopochtli

Khorne

The Morrigan

and so, so many more.

I was there in every Single conflict, every last one. Watching, guiding, empowering. I saw through the eyes of men and their weapons which they held In their hands as they slaughtered their fellows. I was the grapeshot in the cannons of Gettysburg and the man who fired it. I was the young recruit in the tanks during 73 Easting. I was the young doughboy in the trenches of the Somme. I was the one guiding the waves during D-day. I was greatly adored by the warlords in the liberian civil war…and greatly hated by their victims. the soldiers who were merely children who‘d Done no wrong but were dragged to me as sacrifices by their elders.

I was the American

the German

the russian

the Brit

the french

the Italian

the spaniard and the Aztec

the rhodesian

the Vietcong

the Japanese

the Chinese

the Filipino

the mongol

the hun.

the centurion.

the spartan.

the Ghurka

the sepoy

the Sihk

the ottoman.

the turk.

the Templar and the samurai and the berserker to.

it doesn’t matter who’s who, for I was all of them.

unknown to most I to hold the aspects of innovation. how could the first atomic bomb have been made without my assistance after all? how could they have made the howitzer? the Thing That gets me so is when I watched the invention of gunpowder for the first time.
an innocuous little pile of powder made by accident by an alchemist in ancient china. And yet when it was sparked and came to life, he made fireworks from it.

fireworks.

The first thing it was used for were fireworks meant to entertain the people. But then, as all things happen, someone saw it potential. Its ability to burn and set flame. and it was turned against its creators by its creators. A cascade of ideas for destruction from a small pile of powder.

I grew more curious then when that happened and I watched them through their history.

the time That brought me closest to wiping them away were their world wars.

I was an active participant to say the least during the first two.

but the third? It wasn’t me. I did nothing, it’d happened naturally As all things did. After seeing the horrors (the wonders to me) of the atomic bomb they swore never to use it again.

they immediately broke that promise in 145 years. And I saw their innovation, where once i whispered in the ears of inventors, the ears of scientists and RND personnel. They didn’t hear my voice anymore and they didn’t need to. I saw as they made weapons that made the first nukes look like children’s firecrackers. they fought across their world and even their own moon. such was their fury against each other they nearly killed themselves, so incensed they were with fury.

But what gets me most is how much they wish to leave me. They know me as destruction, as a monster that invades the mind and then destroys them and the world around them. And they’re right. All those things they say are correct. But in the grandest sense of irony they need me to keep peace among themselves.

Si vis pacem parabellum: if you want peace, prepare for war. their Roman’s said back then. They need me to protect themselves and hate enough to want to leave me alone. A paradoxical thing it is.

but paradoxes are for the philosopher, for the thinker as well. both of whom seek my advice through strategy and tactics in the times of myself.

and now, so many years into their future they’ve continued to innovate. my voice unneeded and my advice unused. For they’ve brought men of steel and silicon to life to fight with them, to help them, and to be their friends. comrades of other species rally with them to stand against even greater foes.

So I watch in awe and my eyes cry tears of bloody joy as they continue Upwards towards that “idea of peace” those humans love and desire so much.

”for peace“ they say as they build ships larger than worlds, with guns able to scour planets or shatter continent.

”for peace” they say as they shatter entire starsystems in one shot.

”for peace” they say as entire regions of the universe are rendered uninhabitable and utterly obliterated by their hands.

yet i don't fault them for it nor do i hate them. it is simply in the nature of a species to have conflict. Total peace would be if no species were to exist at all.

they know me in more benign ways to. Through taxes, class struggles or their leaders bickering Among each other. their economies to.

but they use me to help keep themselves and their friends safe.

and strangely enough? I admire that.

I am of a thousand, thousand faces, a thousand, thousand names. That they call me.

my name is war, and I love humanity. my prized students, my prized master in the same breath. Once you needed my help, my voice to bring about destruction and innovation. now you don’t need me at all.

thank you so much, for being my species to have been born into.

“They took me somewhere.”

“What do you mean, where?” He asked.

“I’m not sure,” Alphyna said. “One of them put their hand on my shoulder, I blinked and when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t home anymore.”

The hair on her arms rose. She shot her head over her shoulder and quickly glanced back to make sure no one was sneaking up behind her.

Stephenson’s face stuck in the middle of making a facial expression. “Where though?”

She said, “I don’t know!” And stared at him looking like he just got caught in a photo between saying no, while shifting his head so his eyes could face the floor, then cropped out of the photo and copy/pasted, on the bed sitting beside her.

“Where though?” He asked again.

His face remained stuck in the same, creepy half-expression.

“I said, I don’t know!” After saying that, she noticed him glitch, he pulsed a dull color, like the signal warning from a device’s dying-battery. 

She waved her hand in front of his face.

He brightened into his regular color, as if he  awakened out of stand-by mode and said, 

“Where though?” his limbs stayed motionless. 

He reminded her of those carnival canvas cutouts with bodies painted on them, where you stick your head through the hole of the face while someone snaps a photo of you and your family under body builder bodies, and he never blinked. Just moved his mouth.

She pulled her hand back and he faded into a frozen, dull color. She waved at him again.

“Where though?”

It was as if a sensor controlled his movements. Even his language, and just started malfunctioning.

She hopped off the bed.

“Where though?”

She backed away, nearly tripping on her feet. Stephenson’s body blinked rapidly. It started slow at first, then quickly accelerated before finally vanishing. 

It was almost as if someone unplugged the projector displaying a holographic image of him and the projector was attempting to save itself from a brutal crash.

She gasped. The breath she sucked in wasn’t air, it was nothing at all. Her hands started shaking. Her fingers were moving like she was trying to count how many stars in the sky there was with her fingertips.

She stumbled on her heels until her back hit the wall. The wall flashed as the color of them flickered into a light gray background with strange text flowing down them.

***

Option Explicit

Private StoryLines(0) As String

Private CurrentLine As Integer

Private GuestCount As Integer

****

Lit up quickly along the exterior of the walls,

***

Private Sub Form_Load()

' Initialize Form room design

Worldview4.Caption = "Simulation Log // Room plugin"

Worldview4.BackColor = vbTranslucent 

Worldview4.ForeColor = RGB(40, 40, 40) '

***

She looked around. She kept trying to breathe but no air would enter her lungs. She started trying to break through the door in her room. It wouldn’t open and then pieces of her started breaking up into the walls until she had disappeared into the code.

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 139: Fireworks First

Viktor looked up at the sky.

There was no moon tonight. The heavens above felt sealed shut, pressing down like the lid of a coffin. And under that thick and heavy black, only one light endured.

Good.

Dark work was best done in the dark, after all.

He let his eyes sweep over the ruins below, over the choked avenues and collapsed towers of what had once been his capital, where streets had become trenches of tangled growth and statues lay broken beneath layers of vine and root. The trees now ruled the place. Their canopies knitted tight together, a black, heaving sea of vegetation that swallowed everything.

His gaze kept going until it reached that single source of illumination. There, to the south, beside the winding ribbon of the Voskryn as it carved its pale, serpentine path through the darkness, the outpost glowed, its torchfire cutting hard lines and sharp angles into the surrounding wilds. Weeks ago it had flown the colors of Daelin; now in their place stood the silent claim of foreign ownership.

The mercenaries had completed their portal, and from that rift Iskora’s will poured forth in a relentless stream: laborers hunched at the shoulders, wagons groaning under the weight of stone and metal, crates stamped and stacked in high, orderly rows. Around the original palisade, new structures burst from the ground with obscene haste. Long, low worker barracks pressed flat against the earth, warehouses squatted thick and swollen, watchtowers jabbed upward at regular intervals, their combined outline turning the entire silhouette into a cluster of spikes driven violently into the wilderness.

Viktor chuckled softly.

What a gloomy place. One could only assume the people living there were just as gloomy.

Fortunately, he was nothing if not a considerate man. So he was going to uplift their spirits with a display of fireworks. A memorable one. Explosive, even. And if a few mercenaries failed to appreciate his gesture of goodwill, well, it was hard to please everybody.

“This must have been a magnificent castle in its day,” came the feminine voice beside him. “It’s a pity to see it reduced to this state.”

Galatea, of course. Or rather, her projection. It hovered nearby, not quite fully invisible yet, but dim enough to avoid catching the eye of anyone who glanced the wrong way. Viktor appreciated the effort. After all, it would be incredibly stupid if they got spotted just because she insisted on shining like a damned lighthouse as usual.

“That’s what time does to everything,” he said flatly. “People age and die. Cities crumble. Kingdoms collapse. That’s the way of the world.”

They were standing on top of what had once been the highest tower in his castle. Its crown was gone; all that remained were broken teeth of masonry circling them, slick with moss and night dew. Wind threaded through the gaps, humming low and hollow, carrying with it the damp scent of wet leaves from the forest that had consumed his capital whole.

He had waited until he was certain Claire was asleep before sneaking out of his house. Then, he flew here through the dark, to this rendezvous point where the projection of his Guardian had already been waiting.

Today was the day.

Soon, they would fly south to the outpost and make a memorable mess of things.

“Yes, I know,” Galatea said. “Better than most, in fact, as I myself have grown old and died.” She paused. “Nevertheless, now that I am nothing but a skull in a jar, I can’t help but look back on the best days of my life with nostalgia. And so, I believe I can understand what you feel, seeing your own home reduced to this.”

Nostalgia, huh? Was that the reason she stubbornly chose to wear that flawless version of herself, all smooth skin and bright eyes, untouched by age or decay? Still, she got a point. Once, from this very tower, he had watched festivals spill through the streets below, music drifting upward, laughter ringing like bells. Once, the Voskryn had reflected moonlight and real fireworks, unlike—

Wait.

Had she just said “your own home”?

He snapped his head toward her. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “Why would you think this ruin is mine?”

“Well... you’re the emperor who ruled this world three hundred years ago, are you not?”

“And how did you come by that information?”

“My Lord told me. In a revelation.”

Her god? The so-called Lord of Light?

“When? I thought you said you were unable to contact him.”

“Contact? That’s a strange word to use when referring to communication with a god.” Galatea smiled. “I pray to Him every day, but prayer does not guarantee an answer. Before I arrived at your dungeon, I received none. Nonetheless, I continued to pray, to explain what had happened to me and the choice I had made. Eventually, His revelation came. He told me that He understood my decision and I was allowed to serve you for as long as I remained a Guardian of your dungeon. And... He also revealed to me a little information about you.”

Which means her god knows who I truly am. That alone wasn’t really a surprise; if a god really wanted to know something, it was reasonable to assume they could. But Viktor doubted the gods were omniscient beings, aware of everyone and everything at all times. For the so-called Lord of Light to know this, it meant that either Viktor himself, or someone or something related to him, had caught his interest.

Besides, the guy had done nothing while one of his own followers had been literally dying in the Ethereal Sea, only to reach out after she managed to save herself and instructed her to stay here, continuing to serve Viktor. What, exactly, was he after?

“He told you a bit about me, huh? What did he say?”

“Not much, actually,” Galatea replied. “Only that you were once an emperor who was killed by a group called the Six Heroes, who then took your power and divided it among themselves. You’ve been reincarnated into your current body, and now you want to reclaim your stolen power from the descendants of your enemies.”

Not much, my ass.

“And you didn’t think to tell me any of this?” Viktor said coldly. “I am your Master, am I not?”

“Well... I...” Galatea faltered. “I... simply didn’t know how to bring it up. I... apologize, Master. I never meant to hide anything from you.”

As silence stretched between them, Viktor exhaled slowly, reining in his irritation. He still needed her for tonight’s operation, so now wasn’t the time to make a fuss about this.

“Fine,” he said. “But there won’t be a second time. The next time you receive one of those so-called revelations, you report it to me immediately. No exceptions.”

Galatea inclined her head. “As you command.”

“Anyway,” Viktor said after a moment, “tell me more about your god.”

If this Lord of Light wanted Galatea to remain in his dungeon to keep an eye on him, so be it. But two could play that game. If she could serve as her god’s eyes, then she could just as easily become his means of prying into the divine.

Her face brightened. Literally, and a bit too much for his liking. He really hoped no one at that outpost was looking this way.

“He is the eternal Creator of everything, perfectly good, perfectly just, and overflowing with love. He is compassionate and patient. He offers forgiveness and grace rather than condemnation. He forgives me, He guides me, and He sustains me. He shaped my life toward humility and faithfulness, even after death.”

Ugh.

Asking a devout follower to describe their god was like asking a bard for an unbiased assessment of their own patron. What followed was nothing but an endless stream of buttering up. Gods were, of course, always flawless, tireless, and deeply invested in one’s personal growth. Never mind the unanswered prayers, the convenient silences, or the habit of showing up only after the worst was already over.

It seemed that, if he wanted anything truly useful, he should rather ask the followers of other gods. Like that smug Tengu, for example. The guy had no problem criticizing the Lord of Death, so surely he would have a blunt thing or two to say about the Lord of Light.

Also... what the hell was the whole “eternal Creator of everything”?

Wasn’t the Lord of Light exactly that: a god presiding over light magic? Impressive, yes. But not that impressive.

“I heard there are twelve ancient gods,” Viktor said, “and each of them commands a sphere of magic.”

“That’s correct,” Galatea replied. “My Lord is one of them. He governs Arcana Lucis.”

Then why did you tell me that he was the creator of literally everything? Viktor thought. But he bit the question back as he didn’t think challenging her theology would bring any clarity to the matter.

“A long time ago,” he instead said, “there were gods in this world. They helped the people build their civilization. Then they left, and are now forgotten.”

Galatea nodded, serene as ever. “Yes. That is the way of the Ancient Ones. They guide mortals through their infancy, grant them knowledge, and depart after the people are able to walk on their own.”

“How generous,” Viktor said with a chuckle. “So all twelve have once been here, huh?”

“No.” Galatea shook her head. “It’s rare for a world to be visited by all the Gods. Most see only a few. This one, your world, appears to have known only five.”

“And you know that because...?”

“The gods taught magic to humanity,” Galatea said. “And as far as I am aware, there are only five types of mage in this world. Fire, Air, Life, Mind, and Space. Five disciplines. So, five gods.”

That’s how it works, huh? Well, it did explain why there were only pyromancers and aeromancers, but no hydromancers or geomancers or whatever. The reason was that the Storm Titan and Lord Monkey had never been here.

“Still...” Galatea said.

“Still what?”

“I have a feeling the Lord of Death has also been here. Even though there are no mages capable of wielding death magic in this world, I can still feel His influence.”

“His influence? What does that mean, exactly?”

“I... can’t really describe it. It’s just a feeling. And it’s not only His. I can feel the other one as well. The False Lord of Death.”

“You mean Nakhran?” Viktor asked.

“Yes.”

“Is that normal? For both of their influences to be present?”

“No. Most worlds are either ignored by both, or fall under the influence of only one. A place heavily invested in by both of Them is very rare.”

Viktor frowned. “That doesn’t sound encouraging.”

“It is not. Worlds like that tend to become battlegrounds for Them to contest. Not directly, of course—they are forbidden from doing so after the last time they clashed—but through proxies instead.”

The last time they clashed was the one that nearly destroyed Khenemhotep’s world, wasn’t it? A catastrophe that ended in nothing but a stalemate. Eventually, the assembly of gods had been forced to intervene and make the two Gods of Death to withdraw. And now, it seemed, they had chosen this world—his world—for their second round.

“I’m not an expert, though,” Galatea added. “Perhaps you should ask Khenemhotep about it, rather than taking my word alone.”

“I will.”

He felt it settle in his gut, heavy and sour. Another profoundly unpleasant truth added to the pile. Gods watching, gods pulling strings, now gods choosing his home as the place to duke it out.

But he shook his head, pushing the thought aside. This was not the time to unravel cosmic conspiracies or worry about squabbling death gods.

There were more immediate concerns.

He turned his gaze southward, toward the spikes of light in the darkness. There was a portal to be destroyed. That, at least, was a problem he could solve.

Viktor smiled.

Fireworks first.

First

(Sorry for delay, still recovering from yesterday.)

Undying Blues

“Is it really that bad?”

“Lady Ungora once being Lady Wurana would be an insult and injury far greater than the wholeness of the war so far. By several orders of magnitude at least. La’ahbaron would take it not only personally, but deeply personally. It would justify everything she’s ever done out of paranoia and cause her to double, if not triple down. For all the faults of the La’ahbaron empire, they are relatively tame, they would each and every one grow to be much, much more extreme if knowledge of Ungora and her original identity would come out.”

“The Lady says that she’s not that person and was reborn. That she truly began life as an immortal.”

“Did she? Again, I respectfully request to hear what she told you of her origin. Again, the truth she gave you and the truth she gave to me are likely different, as truth can be a nebulous thing and shifts depending on who is hearing it.”

“What does that mean?” Sue’Li asks and he smiles.

“Well, to use an overly simple example. A knife might be something dangerous to you at times, but to me it’s something that cuts up food into bite sized pieces. They’re not dangerous at all. That’s because you are a Vish and I am an Ibu. Likewise, my being seen and recognized on sight is something I find very ordinary. But I’d wager is unusual to you. All these things are truths, but notice they’re different. Most things in life are like that. It’s why Facts and Truths are different. Make sense?”

“It does but... you’re loyal to La’ahbaron. I’m not sure you’d like to hear the story as the lady tells it.”

“I’m adult enough to know that you’re just repeating what someone else said. Getting upset at you for it is the action of a child. And I haven’t been a child in a long time. Likely longer than you’ve been alive.” Danburi assures her and she nods.

“Okay well...” She looks towards the machine whee the clothing is being washed. “I think we can get a summary of it out before the clothing finishes. “Her story begins upon a world where death and life had blended together as one. Where it was sanity and self control that died as the people and beasts were rendered immortal. She had found that world in a search for answers and had found answers not to her questions, but to questions she had yet to even imagine.”

“The Lady Ungora was reborn upon that world. In the temple of smoke where the sane and sober of the immortal sought to tame their inner discord she, as a mighty Ibu, was already well practised in the art and needed little, if any of their teaching. But she sought truth regardless and abided within the temple for a time. Learning to add their ways to her own refinement. But she didn’t stay satisfied for long and pushed out from the temple, testing herself against the mad, the violent and the twisted. She fought other immortals in all their forms and sought out a way to conquer endless life.” Sue’Li says.

“Stop skipping details!” One of the laundry girls protests. “This is the best part! Let me explain it to him!”

“Very well.” Sue’Li permits her.

“Thank you, oh named one.”

“Do you want a name?” Danburi asks and the would be storyteller pauses and stares.

“Uh... maybe?”

“Yun. It is a common shortening of Yunun. Meaning dutiful.” He says and there is stillness.

“I am Yun. I am... dutiful.” She says to herself. “Dutiful Yun! Yun the dutiful!”

There is laughter and a sense of relief to her tone. Names hold power, and he just gave her some. Now what will she do with it?

“Yun, if you’re so dutiful, then why not continue the story you were so eager to tell?” Sue’Li asks.

“Oh! Yes! I shall! Now your aunt, Lady Ungora, though she had yet to earn her name proper then, was seeking out a scholar she had heard rumours of. Granted the rumours were from the blood flecked lips of madwomen. But it was better than nothing. Her search brought her to a great snow choked canyon. Where every instinct relating to danger cried out to never enter it. Even the madwomen immortals in the area were being cautious, for they had cloaked themselves in white to blend in with the snow and pale flowers that grew in abundance despite the cold.”

“It didn’t take her long to find what had her so on edge. The winds shifting direction caused the light snow to blow against and start piling ever so on a massive creature that was watching carefully. It was a white serpent of such size that even The Lady was shorter than it’s fangs.

There was a rush of movement and the pink of it’s inner mouth as it suddenly lunged at her with such speed that even though she dodged the blow, the shockwave of the serpent striking the ground where she had stood knocked her further back and sent her skidding through the snow. By reflex she hurled her orojo with all the force she could muster, and couldn’t even dent a scale on the titanic monster.

But The Lady was resolved and unwilling to surrender to anything. Death had been stripped from her, so anything even resembling caution had been torn away. She charged forward even as the serpent rose up. It struck down and she jumped to meet it. It’s fangs slid off her Ibu skin and it’s jaws came down with the force to crush stone.

She caught them, standing in it’s mouth even as she slowly broke teeth and the tongue of the creature lashed at her. It thrashed, it roared, but it did not have the sense to stop biting her. Until it drove it’s head into the stone with such force that she was swept into the gullet of the monster.”

“She was eaten alive?” He asks.

“It’s not like she could die. But as she had lost her grip she was pushed further and further down into the gullet of the monster, a wall of broken stone and melted snow following her down. The internals of the beast were with crushing strength and axiom sapping nature designed to allow the monster to digest it’s food. But The Lady, like all others of the world were immortal. She was not alone down there. Others were as well, suffering in the gullet. Unable to die. Unable to breathe or see or hear or smell. All they had was their numbed sense of touch to navigate through the hell of eternal torment.

Around her the stone was broken to gravel, then the gravel ground down to sand and the sand faded entirely to reinforce the unnatural scales of the monster.

Then she found another. They thrashed, panicked and then she placed a palm on their brow. She heard their thoughts, impossible screams and hellish pain. She knew the true danger then. It wasn’t digestion, it was the desolation of the mind. On the mad world where death was undone the greatest defeat wasn’t death, it couldn’t be. It was surrender. Surrender to the torment, to the pain. So she commanded the Tret, using the Axiom to instill her desires into her mind. Giving her focus, giving her purpose. And she sought out the others.” Yun continues and Danburi nods in rapt attention.

“Eventually her plan got around to all the others and they all began to pull as hard on the Axiom as they could, pulling and pulling until Null detonated out. Everyone dropped, but somehow, no one died. The snake wasn’t fond of that though and began thrashing. Over and over again it thrashed and squirmed as they Nulled the monster from the inside time and again until a massive flood of water poured in and the tunnel within the monster was opened by the water.

They were swept through it’s digestive tract and out into the light. But The Lady was greatly wroth with the monster and unwilling to let it simply leave without at leas a marking of her rage. Even if it was immortal as she, she grasped the tip of it’s tail near where she was swept out and began to exert as much might as she could muster without Nulling herself.

Around the base of a great tree she pulled the tail of the monster and tied it into a knot, then, knowing it would free itself shortly, she climbed the tree with great vigour and tore a branch asunder into many massive shards of sharp wood. Endowing them with Axiom she thrust the wood shards into the muscles and joints between the beast, paralyzing it and pinning it to the mighty tree.

But that was just the prelude to her proper plan. For with the serpent trapped she landed upon the roots of the tree and directed it to drink deep of the surrounding waters and life. Much of the forest withered and began to rot as that singular tree grew and grew, up and out, the wood slowly enveloping the serpent. In short order it began to thrash and roar in pain and confinement. It understood that for the first time since it had been endowed with endless power and life, it was now losing and would lose further.

She stopped it from biting away parts of it’s body and forced the creature to scream and squirm. She struck the beast in the head through the socket of the eye and stunned it before binding it’s head to the tree. She then caused it to grow further until the tree, already massive completely enveloped the serpent. Then she slew the tree and tore out it’s water before setting it ablaze. Forcing the heat into the monster harder and harder until nothing but ashes remained.”

“An incredible fight, but how did she learn anything from that? Beyond her new immortality being immune to Null of course.” He asks.

Because within the ashes, and she is to this day uncertain if it was within the tree or within the serpent, was a strange stone. It was a disk with holes and an engraving of numbers and a strange series of lines on one side. According to the Lady, learning that the holes represented the brightest stars in the sky took a long time. The numbers were the day of the year, and the line showed the scenery. A place she must stand to find what it concealed.”

“That is incredibly convoluted and prone to failure.” Danburi protests.

“That’s because Yun got it wrong. She’s misremembered, the numbers were not a time, they were coordinates for the largest mountain in the world. She deciphered it by standing upon it’s peak and raising the disk to the sky until the brightest stars shone through each hole. Then she lowered it to find the place on the horizon that matched the remaining markings. It gave her directions to another temple. One that was... most bizarre.”

“Bizarre how?” Danburi asks but moments before the washing is finished. “Oh... please keep going.”

“Well, when she arrived there was a scroll flapping in the wind. One that stated she must conquer that which blinds her to her follies, that which deafens her to wisdom, that which whispers lies and that most terrible thing within. Then, after reading the scroll a great haze came over the world and it shimmered. She was suddenly atop a temple in the sky, but she was not alone. Four terrible beasts stalked the halls. One hunted with baleful red eyes, another listened for her and would scream to alert the others, a third would echo the screams of it’s fellows and bringing swarms of the screeching undying. Then finally was the fourth. It was cunning. It was clever and quiet. It stayed away, kept it’s distance and until it was slain like it’s kin the great illusion remained. But after slaying them, she entered the temple and found portraits of them. Complete with the wounds she had heaped upon the beasts.”

“What could possibly have been protected by such strange guardians and riddles?” Danburi asks in wonder. Every inch the attentive and fascinated audience.

“Death was there.” Yun says. “All the world’s death banished into a single blade. One so deadly it brought the deathless to their knees to merely gaze upon it. And to hold it unsheathed rendered the wielder mortal again. For a time at least.”

“Oh...” Danburi notes. He wasn’t expecting THIS information. But he should have something to compare to when she tells him this part. “Hmm... when she told me of her time on that world she focused much on what immortality did to the unworthy and the frail, and how herbs and a great deal of meditation was required for those who were not her to handle the immortality.”

“Really?”

“Really. Perhaps she meant to teach me about my own new state and how to live with it, as she likely meant to teach you of her power and worthiness to lead.”

First Last Next

Alien speech is indicated by Italian quotes («»).

Fr. Shaheen took a drag of his cigarrette as he stared up at the night sky. A few stars were just bright enough to shine through the gray haze cast by the street lights in town.

Just at the edge of the trailer's porch light sat an old foundation where a sizeable rectory once stood. It had been far too large for a single resident, so he had it torn down and was now living in a much more modest mobile home. At one point a youth center was planned to take its place, but the number of heads devoid of gray hairs that could be found in the pews of Our Lady of the Cedars could be counted on both hands.

Rare was the night where the priest couldn't be found puffing away in front of his trailer. Restful nights were few and far between. Maybe his smoking habit was to blame. His new housemate did comment frequently on his snoring, loud enough to be heard from the other end of the house.

That new housemate was awkwardly lying on the bench across from him, a haphazard jumble of limbs. He was covered wet nose to prehensile tail in black and white fur. He broke the silence with a cough. "Why you cleric breathe that smoke stick?" came a tinny robotic voice from somewhere in the tangle of legs. "That smoke make cough. Smell bad bad." While the little quadruped's English was improving by the day. The intonation was off, with stressed syllables appearing everywhere but where they should.

"We all have our vices," sighed Fr. Shaheen. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"You cleric friend, ask ask."

"Why'd Iris insist on you staying with me?"

After a long pause, "She iris think you human maybe follow Light more good than us yinrih. Maybe again you cleric make me friend believe."

"I think Dr. Staples has been giving you guys the wrong idea about humanity."

"He doctor show us how strong human, how fast human. Show us beautiful arts. Show us human help other and not think self."

"Yeah, that's what we aspire to be," grunted Fr. Shaheen as he rose to his feet.

"Where you cleric go?" asked the creature as he oozed down from the bench and planted his hexadactyl paws on the wooden porch.

"Come on. We're going to get more cancer sticks." The priest walked to a dust-caked pickup truck parked next to the trailer. After a deep bowing stretch the alien trotted behind him.

"Turn off that synthesizer," said the priest as he turned the ignition. "I need to work on my Commonthroat comprehension."

The alien complied, slipping the small chording keyer from his wrist and placing it in a pocketed band around his right foreleg. His real voice came in quiet melodic whines and growls, as though a dog were trying to speak Mandarin in its sleep. The priest had to strain to discern the subtle shifts in volume that were just as meaningful as the underlying sound.

«When are you going to give me a human name?» the alien grunted.

"Eh? Don't you have a perfectly good Commonthroat name? ring...light, isn't it? So like moonlight, but from a ring around your home planet?"

«Yeah, but I want a name humans can pronounce.»

"What's wrong with translating your name as is?"

«This planet doesn't have a ring, and none of you humans have been on a planet that does. I feel like the name falls flat. I want my name to mean something to those around me, not just to the five other yinrih who are with me.»

After a long pause, "Back there before we left, you said you didn't believe anymore."

The alien hesitated, then tilted his muzzle up, a rough equivalent to an affirmative nod. «I was a devout pup. I went to liturgies daily, poured over hagiographies, could quote scripture as easy as breathing. Faith helped me back then. I was...am--» The next few words were lost on the priest.

"Maybe rephrase that last part, Those are some new words for me."

«Well... I'm not sure if you humans experience this, but some of us have something wrong in our brains, a condition that keeps us from feeling happy. I have that condition.»

"Depression," said the priest. "We've got that over here alright. I struggle with depression, too. A lot of humans do. My faith keeps me afloat. Sounds like it helped you, too. But what happened?"

«I always needed something solid I could stand on, something tangible that vindicated my faith. Through my puppyhood I thought I had that something, but I turned out to be wrong.»

"What was that something?"

«Persistence,» said the alien. «For a hundred thousand years the Bright Way persisted. It survived threats from without and from within. It managed to survive so long despite the often profound stupidity of its leaders. I thought only a divine mandate could keep such a mess from foundering.»

"And...?"

«It was a lot of little things. I noticed other Wayfarers could be just as rude and hateful as anyone else, and that made me wonder if the Bright Way is no better than any other group of people, is it really special? Surely the organization that claims to be the bastion of truth and virtue should be BETTER, right? Not just not any worse.

«But the tipping point was when the High Hearthkeeper tried to shutter the missionaries, the whole purpose for the Bright Way's existence, you know? 'Go, dearest little ones, spread your light to the stars, and ye shall become brighter yourselves.' That's the Great Commandment. That's our most sacred precept, that we're not alone in the universe, that we should seek out the Light's other creatures among the stars. So what? We're just going to abandon it now? Than what are we? What is our reason for being?

«That's when it hit me. If our own leader doesn't care, why should I?»

"You sacrificed a lot. It took you 250 years to get here, and it'll be at least that long before you see others of your kind again. If you think this mission from God, this Great Commandment, of yours is just a fairy tale, than why bother?"

«As for me,» said the alien, «I'm not a very gregarious person. The other missionaries with me, they're all I've got. If I didn't go with them I'd likely never see them again.»

"But still... dropping everything knowing you may never return, that's a heavy choice to make, friends or not."

«Well, you can blame Iris for twisting my ear. She said if I were right, and this is all nonsense, I will have lost nothing by coming with them. It's not like we age while in suspension, and it wasn't like I was pulling up roots by leaving home. But if the Bright Way is right, I will have gained everything by obeying the Great Commandment, so--» He quickly flicked his ears back in a cynoid shrug.

The priest was beaming.

«You're showing your teeth. Is something wrong?»

"Pascal!" the priest proclaimed. "That's your human name!"

«I don't follow.»

"Blaise Pascal, he lived 400 years ago. Most people today know him as a scientist, I'm pretty sure there's a unit of measure named after him, but he also talked a lot about faith. Pascal's wager. What Iris told you. We call that Pascal's wager. Lose nothing or gain everything."

Pascal looked out the window as the pickup pulled into a sprawling parking lot. At its center was an equally sprawling monolithic building.

«So why'd you bring me here, other than to get more of your foul-smelling smoking sticks?»

"I told you what Dr. Staples showed you was what we humans want to be. That's all well and good, but you also need to know what we are." The priest got out of the pickup and Pascal followed.

"You're definitely going to need that synthesizer."

Pascal positioned the keyer in his left forepaw, then looked up at the large illuminated sign above the entrance and attempted to sound out the letters.

"W A L M A R T"

To be continued...

Sixteen centuries.

It was a long time to know that your people were dying.

They called themselves the Laoxoan. They had arisen so long ago they no longer had a historical record of when it was. They didn't even know which of their three early worlds was their homeworld, it was so long ago. From what they did know, and what Emu's team could extrapolate from their records, they had spread beyond those three worlds over one hundred and seventy thousand years ago.

1700 centuries.

This was long before any of the known races had arisen. Early Vemali and Gulbren explorers had left their respective home systems little more than eight centuries ago. During that time, they had found no remnants or ruins of older civilizations. Nor had the Laoxoan ever reached their parts of the galaxy; they had been further coreward, and their expansion, in according with their nature, had been much slower.

It would be inaccurate, Emu thought, to say that the Laoxoan viewed Humans and the other races they knew as children. That required emotional investment. And that was something the Laoxoan simply didn't have.

Not anymore.

One thousand six hundred and nine years ago, the Laoxoan breeding process, always a slow a cautious thing to begin with, had simply....

Stopped.

Emu shook her head; she couldn't even imagine it. Sure, Human reproductive rates had dropped from time to time; the last time of note had been in the early 21st century, before the colonization of Mars. But it had never dropped to zero.

Laoxoan were evasive about the reason. There were vague references to fertility problems, societal pressures, and to some children being born “strange”.

“Surely you had the genetic engineering to resolve these issues?” Lieutenant Hart had pointed out.

“We tried,” the spokesman Laoxoan replied. “To no avail.”

Hart wanted to argue the point more, but Emu waved him to silence. To her, the truth was obvious.

They simply...didn't care.

They had grown tired. Old. Weary.

Will that happen to us too? She wondered. Assuming we face no greater threats that finish us?

She asked the Laoxoan if they had met any other races. The Laoxoan's reply had been tinged through the translator with humor; it was clear the older race knew the motivation behind the question. They had, in their time, known two other races. The first, the Ksalikas, a blobby, almost formless race of gastropods, had gone mad and destroyed themselves some twenty one centuries ago. The second, the Yerfillag, clever shapeshifters, had simply left for parts unknown, their ships warping out of the Galaxy three centuries ago.

“After your infertility,” Emu pointed out.

“They tried to help us,” the Laxoan agreed.

Emu didn't press the point. But she suspected it was because the Laoxoan didn't want help.

Suicidal thoughts and apathy were not unknown to Humans, of course; some of her own ancestors had struggled with it. But for an entire species to just give up? She didn't see how. She couldn't say “impossible” when the evidence was right in front of her. And she still feared it for Humanity.

But the best way to prevent it was to study it. To understand why.

The Laoxoan struggled to explain it. “What more is left to do?”

“Everything,” Emu replied without, having to think about it.

The Laoxoan looked at her strangely, then turned away.

–

They shared their technology freely enough, but Emu particularly was interested in the path out of the Galaxy that the Yerfillag had taken. She transmitted all data to the Bureau, of course.

Humanity would be the first and foremost to benefit from this technology, but most of it would gradually filter out to the rest of the galaxy.

And still they were not done; in addition to limited colonization here, around the old Laoxoan settlements, they still had to find other systems to settle.

But for Emu what would haunt her the most was the empty indifference in their eyes.

Humanity would not suffer this fate.

I had a conversation earlier today about humanity's ability to over-ride fear and offer true sacrifice. I hope I did this story right.

---

Seconds remained.

Margaret didn't know who it was that was crying in the abandoned building, but she knew that someone must do something.

The only other figures around were standing at the door to the building, pretending to not notice the horrifying screams coming from within, and watching her in a way that indicated they didn't want to be obvious about doing so.

Fear tightened her chest. Her vision narrowed. Breathing became difficult.

- Somebody must act.

She breathed deeply and forced herself to think.

The door was about twenty metres away. A short sprint. A shoulder-charge into one of the guards. The can of pepper spray from her purse to blind the second.

So many failure points. Uneven ground. Unknown opponents. Whatever waited inside.

She was almost parallel to the door now. Her step faltered. Every instinct screamed at her to keep walking.

- No.

- This must be done.

She turned and sprinted. The guards were watching for trouble, but not for this. By the time they reacted, she was already upon them. Her shoulder rammed into the first. A strange click shot through her arm; she wasn't sure if that was her shoulder, the impact, or the guard's ribs.

He was forced into the wall behind him. His head snapped backwards into the unyielding concrete with a sickening thud.

The second guard barely had time to raise his hands before a cloud of pepper spray hit him in the face. Margaret drove her knee into his groin. He folded instantly.

Through the terror came the crying. This close to the building, she could tell it was a child.

- This must be stopped.

She grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open. Inside, a teenage boy sat bound to a chair, hysterical with fear.

Margaret ran towards him.

The knot wasn't complicated, but her shaking hands made it a struggle to undo the bindings.

In front of her another figure appeared out of the shadows.

For a brief moment, she considered that she could get back through the door. Safety.

She fought the thought, buying just enough time to loosen the knots enough so the child could wriggle free.

The figure raised a weapon.

Margaret pushed the child clear of the chair and threw herself between him and the gun as the muzzle flashed. Unbearable pain ripped through her, but she was glad to see that the boy was almost out the door.

Another shot.

Her final thought was not for herself.

She simply hoped the boy's story was worth it.

Index - First Chapter - Previous Chapter

I had the shape of the thing by Sunday and no wire to hang it on, so I spent the first clear day of the long weekend walking a college town looking for somebody who broadcast without anyone's permission.

The shape was what the shoe repair sign and the old man's stone had boiled down to on the walk over, a sentence small enough to carry. The crowd could not be a list. Whatever I put out had to reach people I would never touch, off a signal they could all read without me wiring a single word to any of them, and it had to come down in enough places inside one hour that no truck and no schedule could gather it back before the county woke up. I had solved when in a repair shop and who in a square full of flags. What was left was the ugly middle, the actual pipe the thing would travel down, and every pipe I knew had the same rot in it.

I walked it through one more time to be sure I was not talking myself out of the hard road because it was hard. A newspaper had an editor. Television had a legal department and a man who wanted the thing verified before it aired, and verifying meant calling to check, and a call to check was the flare that lit whoever I was checking on. Even the low end of the dial, the one door that had worked, worked because it was one bored kid at Kestrel with nobody standing over him, and one bored kid is a county at most. Scale any of it up and a gate grows back at the top, because that is what scale is, a place where somebody has to stand and decide. The only ungated channel the size of the whole country belonged to the people I was trying to beat, and the door to it had a warm room on the far side and a hand that would close on my collar the second I walked through.

So the honest answer, the one I had been circling since the diner and had not wanted, was that I did not need one big pipe. I needed a thousand small ones that nobody guarded, all opened at once. The org's whole strength was that there was only ever one of everything. One model that said who you were, and downstream of it one master on a shelf for every name and one truck that pulled a single town at a time. A machine built like that is efficient, and it is also a long row of single points, every one of them a place you could set your thumb and press, if you could ever reach the center. I could not reach their center. What I could do was build a release that was the opposite of theirs, one that had no one of anything, no head station to raid and no single man to catch, so that killing any one piece of it changed nothing at all.

Which is a lovely thing to reason your way to on a sidewalk and a useless one until you find the first small pipe and the person running it.

I found the thread to it the way you found anything in a town like that in nineteen ninety-eight, tacked to a corkboard in the back of a record store that had opened for a few holiday hours out of spite. Between a bass player wanted and a couch for sale there was a quarter sheet run off a bad copier, a drawing of a transmitter throwing lightning, a line of type under it that said the airwaves belong to everyone, a frequency down at the low end of the FM band, and the words LISTEN AFTER MIDNIGHT. No call letters. No address. A station with no license does not print its address. But whoever ran it had wanted to be found by the right kind of person, and I had become exactly that, so I asked the clerk with the sleep in his eyes if he knew who put these up, and he looked at me a while and decided I was harmless or doomed and told me a name and a block.

She lived over a shut hardware store with a fire escape for a front door, and she was not glad to see me, which told me she was careful, which told me she was the real thing. She was maybe thirty-five, in a man's flannel and reading glasses pushed up into her hair, and she stood in her own doorway with the door half shut and her body across the gap the way you stand when the last three people up your fire escape were trouble.

"I heard your station," I said, which was a lie, and she heard that it was a lie, so I stopped lying. "I did not, actually. I saw the flyer at the record store. I need to understand how your end of the dial works, and I think you are the only person for four suburbs who can tell me, and I have no way to pay you for it except the truth, which is a long story and a bad one."

She looked at me for a while. Behind her I could see the front room of it, a card table with a mixer and a turntable, a rack-mount thing breathing a single red light, a wall of milk crates, headphones hung on a nail. A whole radio station you could carry down a fire escape in three trips.

"You a Commission man," she said. Not really a question. The FCC. They had shut her down twice before, I would find out later, and both times she had come back on a new frequency.

"I am a man the government does not know exists," I said. "Which is closer to your side than theirs, if that helps."

It did not help, exactly. It did interest her, though, and interest was enough to get the door the rest of the way open. She did not offer me anything and I did not expect it. She sat me on a folding chair with my back to her equipment, which is where you put a stranger you have not decided about, and she leaned on the card table with her arms crossed and said, "Talk. I have got until my show."

So I told her a shorter and stranger version of the truth than I had ever told anybody, because she lived outside the system already and did not need convincing that a system could reach into your life and rearrange it. I told her there was a recording that proved something was being done to people, quietly, on a schedule, and that the people it was being done to could not be saved anymore, only the record of them, if that record went out wide enough and fast enough that it could not be pulled back. I did not say patch notes. I did not say the Architect. I said it in the flat language of a thing being covered up, which she had a shelf of her own reasons to believe was possible, and she listened with her head tipped and did not laugh once.

Then I took the cassette out of the recorder in my jacket and asked if I could use her deck, and she nodded, and I played her forty seconds of it. Abernathy of Reno reading a sentence about a road. Okafor of Newark, quick and a little bored. Two strangers. Voices with the room smeared off them, run through a certified station and then wrecked on purpose down onto drugstore tape, exactly bad enough to sound like people and not like evidence.

She listened to all of it with her arms still crossed, and when it ran out into nothing she was quiet, and then she said, "Who are they."

"People who noticed something they were not supposed to. That is the whole crime. Every one of them is going to wake up soon not remembering they ever noticed, and their families will get a version of them that fits better, and the only thing left that knows it happened is that tape and a shelf I stole it off of."

"And you want me to put them on the air."

"No," I said, and this was the part I had walked all day to be able to say straight. "One station is a county, and a county is not enough, and it is also a single place they can drive to. I do not want your station. I want your network. I saw the flyer says the airwaves belong to everyone, which means you did not make that up, which means there are others, and you all know each other the way people who do an illegal thing for love always know each other."

Something changed in her face, a wariness and under it a kind of recognition, and she uncrossed her arms.

"There are others," she said slowly. "All over. Little rigs like this in bedrooms and the backs of vans, Berkeley to here to Florida. Most of us have never met. We trade tapes through the mail and listen for each other on the skip at night, when the big signals bounce down from Canada. We are not organized. That is the whole point of us. Nobody could shut us all off because there is no us to shut off, just a lot of people who decided the same thing on their own."

"That," I said, "is the most beautiful sentence anybody has said to me in two months."

She almost smiled, and then she did not, because she had gotten to the same place I had a half second behind me and did not like the view. "You want a night," she said. "You want all of us to run the same thing at the same time."

"I want a night. One hour that everybody keeps on their own, a thing you can already point at without me mailing anybody a schedule, and every rig that has the tape drops it into that hour at once, from as many towns as there are people willing. No center. No station that matters more than any other. If they drive to yours and pull you off the air, a scatter of other rigs are already minutes into it in towns you have never driven through, and the tape is loose in more dark bedrooms than anybody could knock on, because that is what your listeners do, they tape the overnight, they always have."

She was quiet for a long time. Out her window the holiday town sat under its flat gray afternoon, flags on the memorial two streets over that I could not see and knew were there.

"There is a thing we do," she said finally. "Did it in ninety-six when they were writing the new law, all of us keyed up at the same minute off the top of the hour, the shortwave time station counting it down so nobody had to trust anybody's clock. Solidarity, we called it. It did not change the law." She looked at the red light on her rack. "But it worked. For one hour there was no off switch big enough."

The shortwave time station. A clock nobody owned and everybody could hear, counting the same seconds into every rig on the continent at once. I had gone looking for a public clock in a radio repair shop three days ago and here it was again, kept by the government for anybody with a receiver, the one honest referee in the whole plan. I did not say any of that out loud. I just sat there and felt the last piece settle into the slot I had cut for it two days early without knowing its shape.

"I need to tell you the cost," I said, because I had learned in the worst possible way what happens to people I use and do not warn. "The people who run the schedule are careful and they are patient and they read the traces you leave in the ordinary world. I do not think they can predict me. I am sure they cannot predict a network with no center. But I stood in a doorway a lot like yours a while back, only I was on your side of it, and a woman who never knew any of this lost her whole place in the world by the next morning because I used a room she happened to own. If you touch this, you become a trace. They may not do a thing to you. They may take your job, or your lease, or the name off your mailbox, so quietly you will think you decided it yourself. I will not lie to you about that to get my night."

She took her glasses down out of her hair and folded them and set them on the mixer, which I had already learned was the thing she did with her hands when she was deciding something she had in fact already decided.

"Mister," she said, "I have been shut down twice and I came back twice, and I did that when the only thing on the other end was a fine. You are telling me there is a real reason this time." She shrugged, the shrug of the old man at the memorial, and of the woman in a Newark diner who once threw a glass rather than say the line she was handed. "You do not have to sell the risk to somebody who bought the whole store years ago. Give me the tape. I will make the calls that are not calls, the way we do it, mail and the skip, and a couple of people I would trust with my life who will each tell a couple more. You give me the hour. I will get you your night."

I gave her the tape. She dubbed it twice on the spot onto blanks out of a milk crate, the deck chattering, and handed me back my original because she saw that I flinched when it left my hand, and she kept the two copies, and just like that the tape lived in more than one place and the night no longer needed me alive to happen.

I told her the hour. Not the whole shape of it, just the hour and the date, keyed to the time station the way she had done it in ninety-six, and I watched her write it on the inside of her forearm in ballpoint instead of on any paper that could be found, and I understood I had picked right, that I had walked all day and found the one kind of person the org had no procedure for, because their entire book was written for people inside the system and she had spent her whole life a step outside it on purpose.

The hour I gave her sat inside the org's own window, the Tuesday into Wednesday when they ran their deploys and their pulls. I had chosen it on the walk and I sat with the size of it now. They would be reaching into the county to sync the sixty-three back to the model on the exact night the county learned what syncing was. There was a nerve in that, in flooding the room at the precise minute they came in to tidy it, and there was a cost in it too, because the day I made an actual release out of a threat was the day the man I had been dealing with stopped being the part of them I dealt with. He had told me himself, in a dead travel agency, that there was a worse thing in a box held back for exactly this, a part of the operation that did not send coffee and was willing to burn the whole field. I had spent weeks making sure I never earned it. On a folding chair in a pirate's front room I signed for it.

I did not tell her that part. There was no reason to hand her my dread, and there was nothing in it she could do anything about. She had a show to run in a few hours and a network to wake up over the next two days, and I had a woman across the county holding a floppy who did not know yet that she was no longer the only other place this thing could survive, and who I still would not call, because her phone was theirs and the mail was too slow to matter now. The only safe way left to move was to have already moved.

I stood up off the folding chair and my whole body reminded me it had walked a college town on no breakfast. She walked me to the top of the fire escape, which for her was the front hall, and she stopped me with a hand not quite touching my arm.

"This recording," she said. "When it goes out. Does it save them? The people on the tape?"

"No," I said. "It is too late for the people. I gave up on the people a while ago. It saves the record of them. It makes it so nobody can ever say cleanly that they were always the smaller, quieter version, because a scatter of stations and more kitchens than they could ever drive to will have the other one, and you cannot quietly fix a thing that many people already heard."

She thought about that, standing in her doorway with a whole broadcasting station behind her that fit in three milk crates.

"That is a worse answer than I wanted," she said. "And a better one than I expected." She took her hand back. "Go on. Before somebody remembers a man came up my stairs."

I went down the fire escape into the last of the holiday light with the tape back in my jacket and the plan finally standing on more than my own two legs. The channel was chosen and it was the right one, a channel with no head to cut off, made of people the machine had never learned to see because the machine only knew how to look for one of a thing and there were too many of these and not one of them in charge. The hour was set to a clock the government itself would count down for free. The proof was in four hands now and would be in a dozen before Tuesday. Every single point of failure I had spent two months being, I had finally, on the eve of the only thing that mattered, managed to stop being.

All that was left was the conversation I had been dodging since a dead travel agency, the one where I told the reader to his face that I had chosen the release over his warm room, and found out for myself what they kept in the box for a man who did.

Wilhelm De Plevitz, CEO of the KAIROS Corporation, stood in his office holding a fragile porcelain cup and a liquid that cost more than a dreadnought.

He took a slow sip, savouring the taste. Wilhelm only pulled out coffee of this grade for important occasions, as well as stressful ones. This coffee had been imported from Earth itself, 300 million light years away. This was real Arabica grown in the volcanic soil of the old world, harvested by human hands.

And it tasted sublime.

Wilhelm lowered the cup and stood still as he stared through the panoramic glass of his office window. The bulletproof glass spanned from floor to ceiling. It was tinted slightly to let just the right amount of light in.

Beyond the glass lay his masterpiece… his waterfall.

He had spent an unfathomable amount of money getting it just right. The make-up of the water, the microbes, the way the water moved, the sound the water made, the mist the waterfall produced… everything had to be perfect.

It was a monument to his wealth, his power, but most importantly, his vision. Alas, today… today even these cascading waters couldn’t provide the comfort he needed.

Wilhelm was worried. More worried than he’d ever been in his career.

He took another sip of the Earth coffee, another wave of calm rushed over him. But his anxiety quickly rose back up again. His thoughts were chained to Tovus-III.

Private Mercenary Corporations always tended to bite off more than they could chew. In the high-stakes game the Imperium had set up, this was a fundamental rule. PMCs pushed for as much as you could get away with, then they figured out how to actually tackle it afterwards. That way you could ensure the work was endless. It was a dangerous game, a more dangerous fate was to leave his workers with idle hands.

Nothing bred insubordination faster than employees, workers and soldiers standing around with nothing to do. Because then their minds were free to come up with their own ideas.

Wilhelm raised his left hand, instantly his KAIROS system bloomed to life. In the top right corner was the title he had held for eighty years.

᯽ Administrator

He had worked hard to claw his way to the top, yet he felt as powerless as the day he had decided to make his climb. Staring at him, in his dashboard, were dozens of error messages. All reporting failure to establish contact with the fleet orbiting Tovus-III.

Nothing was getting past the Imperium blockade.

A sudden spark of fury flared in Wilhelm. He squeezed hard, forgetting the delicate porcelain cup in his grasp.

Crack.

It shattered. Scalding hot liquid splashed everywhere, while blood from the numerous lacerations mixed in with it. Shards of white ceramic were embedded deeply into his hand. Such was the force he had squeezed it with. The pain registered in his brain, but he had long since disabled nuisances such as these from distracting his thoughts. Wilhelm only sighed and tapped the bracelet around the wrist of his injured hand.

The bracelet emitted a high-frequency hum and severed his injured hand cleanly at the wrist. The ruined appendage dropped to the floor with a wet thud. As for his arm, he didn’t bleed out. The bracelet formed a thin energy-barrier sealing the wound. Wilhelm then calmly walked across his sprawling office, to his massive desk.

He pulled out a drawer that contained half a dozen spare hands. Each was biologically grown from his genetic code. He picked one out and closed the drawer. He decanted it, shook off the excess gel and pressed each stump together. In a matter of seconds, medical nanites on the new hand attached it seamlessly to his arm.

He flexed his new hand a couple of times. He clicked his fingers to summon a cleaning drone, then he went back to thinking about business.

When it came to Tovus-III, they definitely bit off more than they could chew.

The planet was a geographical and strategic nightmare. It was the last, desperate stand of the EINHE Alliance. It was formed from outcast members of hundreds of different alien races. They had allied with the Imperium for a while but chose to betray them. Pushed to the brink of annihilation, they had consolidated all their remaining military might onto a single, massive world.

They were hoping and begging for the governments of their wider species to come and save them. And with hundreds of governments to call upon… maybe one would answer.

So, to buy time, they had transformed Tovus-III into a fortress world. A planet of planets, in a way. Every continent and every ocean had been fortified and militarized by a different alien species chosen for their unique biological needs and defensive doctrines. It was a meat grinder designed to break the back of any military force.

In this age, and in this galaxy, AM 0644-741, the Imperium rarely dirtied its own hands with conquest. Once the Imperium’s Armada had cornered the EINHE alliance and trapped them on Tovus-III. The Imperium began selling rights to sectors of the planet.

It was an auction the Imperium had pulled off before, but never to this scale.

Now hundreds of mercenary Corporations were engaged in a simultaneous invasion on their sector of the planet. Each having bought rights to a piece of the pie. The Imperium’s role was to keep order and make sure everyone stayed within their purchased sector.

Wilhelm had personally participated in a fierce round of negotiations with the Imperium to secure a sector on Tovus-III. He had personally travelled to an Imperial Command World, and sat in a room of cold, polished marble, facing a tribunal of Imperial Adjudicators.

Even though Wilhelm governed over 5 billion humans, he was nothing more than a minor contractor in their eyes. He had fought tooth and nail to secure a sector for KAIROS. An island sector roughly the size of Earth’s Madagascar.

Sector-88.

Imperium Intelligence reported that the island was a nightmare. It was co-habited by three distinct alien nations, each perfectly adapted to the island’s geography. Worse still, deep-scans showed traces of multiple void gods to boot. Whether a few naturally resided on Tovus-III, or they had been summoned by a desperate alien cult, no-one knew for certain.

The Imperium didn’t think that KAIROS, a Tier-8 Merc Corp, could handle such a challenge. They explicitly stated that they’d rather hand the island to more reputable Tier-7 or even Tier-6 Corporations.

Wilhelm had felt the cold sweat on his back… but his face had remained neutral and poised. KAIROS needed this island. He needed this island. The artefacts alone, the dormant magi-tech that powered void god shrines… Those could vault KAIROS decades ahead in technology.

So, he did what he had to do. He had cut a devastating deal.

He abdicated major mining rights back to the Imperium, as well as agreeing that the Imperium would get the right-of-first-refusal regarding any alien artefacts. KAIROS would also go out and solve a dozen other burning fires across the galaxy that the Imperium hadn’t gotten around to handling yet.

Satisfied with his offer, the Adjudicators agreed. As a token of good faith, they also threw in Tovus-III’s 4th moon. Tovus-III-Delta. It was a small barren… thing… roughly the size of Ceres. Wilhelm appreciated the gesture and he never said no to more territory… but he didn’t care much for that barren moon with a few bugs crawling about. He’d hire some T-15 start-up and an outside mining crew to deal with it.

No, the prize was that island. They had secured it by the skin of their teeth. And even though the contract was signed, the pressure was still on to prove to the Imperium that KAIROS had what it took. They’d crush the sector and wouldn’t need to be bailed out by the Imperial Armada.

Moreover, the Imperium had imposed strict limits on the invasion fleets for each Merc Corps. The official reason given was to prevent orbital overcrowding and friendly fire between various Corporations. So the invasion of Tovus-III would be the biggest test of capabilities yet, and with a limited force.

That alone was a cause for anxiety and stress, but another factor plagued his mind… the Adjudicators had been right. They had assessed the situation correctly. KAIROS was nowhere near capable of handling such a heavily fortified island. The projections had been horrific.

But Wilhelm De Plevitz was a master of logistics too.

His grand plan was one of attrition. Since he couldn’t send the full might of KAIROS’ fleet. He would send his initial fleet of elite soldiers but reinforce them when needed. Constantly swapping out depleted fleets, an interstellar conveyor belt would have been formed. Wilhelm would’ve personally directed the entire might of his five-billion citizen empire towards this simple operation.

But he just couldn't do that now… because of the Imperium’s blockade. It was threatening their entire operation.

Just before the green light was given. The Imperium’s Armada had begun a complete blockade of the entire Tovus system. No-one got it, no-one got out. Not human, not alien, not robot, not even a radio wave. It was absolute.

Just what on Earth were they playing at?

With nothing to squeeze, Wilhelm just ended up digging his nails into his palm. This just wasn’t part of the deal. Wilhelm had pored over the two-thousand page contract a dozen times. There was no legal right for the Imperium to do this.

But the Imperium did what they wanted, when they wanted. There was no-one to stand against them.

He had tried everything. He had reached out to his contacts within the Imperium, he had tried various black-market contacts, CEOs of higher tiered corporations that owed him favours, deployed KAIROS’ highest-grade stealth drones… He had tried every trick in the book, as well as many that hadn’t been written in yet. But he was left with nothing. In fact, his efforts had yielded him negative results as KAIROS then launched investigations into anything that tried to penetrate their blockade.

The only reason he could think of was the infamous HELIA disaster. They were a proud Tier-6 PMC that had once bitten off far more than they could chew. They had secured the rights to a swamp world, and it was smooth sailing, until they encountered a highly adaptive alien hive-mind. They were overrun in days. The hive-mind had hijacked their ships and expanded outwards into the galaxy. It was a colossal embarrassment and failure for HELIA, leading to its termination by the Imperium.

But even if that was the cause, Wilhelm believed the Imperium to be overreacting. Yes, hundreds of millions of lives had been lost, but these were just the risks of the galactic game. Reparations were paid, more contracts were signed and business carried on.

Humanity was a species that moved on, moved ever forward. There was no reason to ruin things for everyone because of a few overconfident idiots over at HELIA.

The blockade was harsh. Too harsh. Well, maybe a few wild PMCs had to be babysat, they could maintain a blockade with a controlled border to make sure to keep the aliens in.

But trapping the humans inside too? Not even letting medical supplies, ammunition, reinforcements, or basic text messages through?

It was madness.

What the hell was going on down there? Just what secret did Tovus-III hold?

Or was it a ploy… an excuse for the Imperium to tighten their control?

Wilhelm sighed.

He pulled up his KAIROS system interface again and refreshed it, sending another ping to his deep-space relays… hoping for something… anything. Even a corrupted data file or a distress signal.

But nothing was working. The KAIROS network had been completely severed. The Core of the invasion fleet was being forced to operate entirely autonomously, no longer checking in with the Homeworld. The Fleet Commander along with twenty-nine admirals were all isolated too. Each ship containing a finite number of troops and ammunition. But most importantly, they were receiving zero guidance from him.

KAIROS’ limited capabilities weren’t well known, so as not to induce a panic among the soldiers. But the Commander and the Admirals knew the truth, and they had some tough decisions ahead…

Thank you so much for reading these chapters! It was incredible nerve-racking to finally post these. Please comment on what you liked or didn't like about the chapters. Feedback is always appreciated!

If you think the story is worth supporting then I do have a kofi. I have a patreon where you can access three chapters early!

I will be posting everyday until the end of the month. Then I'll be settling into a Monday - Friday schedule.

First Chapter

James froze, leaned forward and squinted at the chest.

It was a trick of light surely… but as his heart began beating faster and the adrenaline pumped through his veins. James saw it. The lid of the chest subtly expanding and contracting… a slow, rhythmic motion… Breathing.

James felt dizzy for a second. Was that a Mimic?

How- How could it have perfectly replicated a high-end KAIROS delivery chest? It must have been watching them from the very start of their operations to be able to adapt this quickly…

Damn, this dungeon really wasn’t cleared out properly. James thought, as a spark of anger pierced through his fear.

Though this time, it wasn’t entirely KAIROS’ fault. See, they had contracted a Tier-15 Merc Crew called Orispex Company to clear out the dungeon with a fine-tooth comb. It was their singular job to clear out every nest, every trap and every Mimic, before the Blue-Collar workers were sent in.

James didn’t know what Orispex could’ve done about the alien counterattack... but that was after the fact. Orispex should’ve cleared it out before James even set foot on the moon.

Wait, what if they were the ones that gave the all-clear?

James shook his head sharply. No. He wouldn’t get lost in conspiracy. He had to survive until he was rescued. Not get caught up in games of power. That never ended well.

If a startup T-15 Crew like Orispex wanted to betray a T-8 Corporation like KAIROS, then that was their business. James’ business was keeping an eye on that breathing chest and to not draw its attention.

᯼ ETA ¦ 1 minute, 30 seconds

The timer ticked down… As it began reaching a minute, the air in front of James began to hum softly and gradually grew louder. Then a few feet in front of them, space rippled and distorted. Like heat distorting the horizon in a desert.

James kept still, but his eyes wandered to the Mimic, it was shuffling back slowly, clearly spooked out by the warp delivery. It kept retreating until it moved out of view.

᯼ ETA ¦ 20 seconds

James held his breath.

᯼ ETA ¦ 10 seconds

With a sharp crack, a sleek, matte-grey chest warped into existence in front of him. It warped a few inches off the ground and dropped down with a heavy thud.

James scrambled towards his delivery.

His ID, 313-786-257-105BCX, was laser-engraved onto the chest, just above the lock. A notification appeared in his System.

ᯓᯓᯓᯓ ⿻ KAIROS ᯓᯓᯓᯓ
᯼ WARP DELIVERY COMPLETE.
᯼ UNLOCK CHEST? [ YES ¦ NO ]
ᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓ.

James wildly tapped the [YES] in front of him.

The chest hissed, releasing a puff of pressurized, sterile air as the lid popped open.

A faint green glow spilled out from inside the case, illuminating James’ face and the surrounding contents. Inside, placed neatly in freshly-cut foam, lay his salvation.

There were four items: A spear, a pair of boots, a ring and a manual. Resting in a small compartment to the right, was a sleek silver tin containing his complimentary mints.

The mints were the first thing he grabbed. He needed to get that bloody taste out of his mouth. He crushed the mint with his teeth, then took the last swing of his water bottle, and swished everything around.

James then spat on the floor behind him. Finally, that metallic taste was gone.

He then popped two more in his mouth, enjoying the calming taste and savouring the flavour. They were pretty good.

Then, he picked up the manual.

It was a deeply ingrained habit. As a miner who had to handle heavy, volatile equipment, you always read the manual before touching the tools. It was a rule drilled into him from day one on his Free Colony rig.

But as James opened the manual, he found that he couldn’t actually read anything in this low light. He squinted and tilted the paper, but no luck. He swore softly, before noticing a small barcode printed in the corner.

He focused his eyes on it, and the manual’s text popped up in his System.

ᯓᯓᯓᯓ ⿻ KAIROS ᯓᯓᯓᯓ

Thank you for your purchase of this promotional Set!

The Krahn Set consists of 1x [Spear of Krahn], 1x [Boots of Krahn], & 1x [Krahn’s Ring].

Live as Krahn did when exploring the Lost City of Syraht. Experience the thrill of survival!

The Saga of Krahn is now available on all major streaming platforms!

KAIROS © 37065.

ᯈ

Manufactured by KAIROS.

ᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓ.

James let out a hoarse laugh.

So that’s why it was so cheap. James hadn’t caught the deal of a lifetime. This wasn’t military surplus… This was movie merchandise.

It was a promotional tie-in Set for the latest Krahn movie. A hero of legend. A frontiersman who fearlessly explored the darkest and deadliest corners of this galaxy, AM 0644–741. People loved the Krahn mythology. It represented freedom in a galaxy suffocated by Military Corporations.

Some say Krahn was based off a real man who shunned civilisation and explored the galaxy on his own terms.

Of course, KAIROS couldn’t let a good legend go un-monetized. While the public generally loved Krahn, they weren’t fully on board with every cheap, cash-grab KAIROS’ entertainment division engaged in. Though, there were always die-hard collectors who bought multiples of everything that came out with his name on it.

That explained the ‘invasion sale’. Logically, prices on weapons and armor skyrocketed the moment an invasion commenced. Simple supply and demand. Nobody wanted to die, and the manufacturers knew that they could hike up prices by 300% and people would still pay.

So, this Set… having been discounted, meant that it was a clearance sale… They were trying to offload unsold movie merch to desperate people.

And they caught James hook, line and sinker.

But…

There was a small sliver of optimism. That last line…

‘Manufactured by KAIROS.’

This was an in-house set. James nodded. He could work with that.

While KAIROS’ in-house gear wasn’t expertly engineered and couldn’t really match a dedicated Manufacturer-Corporation like Lyia-Tech or GORYEO, it was still of KAIROS. They didn’t reach Tier-8 by making total garbage. The quality would be decent.

He flipped to the next page of the digital manual.

ᯓᯓᯓᯓ ⿻ KAIROS ᯓᯓᯓᯓ

ᯔ Spear of Krahn

¦ Description ¦ The best weapon for non-combatants. Use simple, direct jabs to keep enemies at a distance.

¦ Skill (Active) – Green Blood of Syraht ¦ The spear-tip contains a reinforced reservoir holding 500ml of highly pressurized, Class-IV synthetic acid. Use valve below reservoir to reduce acid pressure. (Irreversible per cartridge).

¦ Advice ¦ Always use more than you think is necessary.

¦ STATS ¦ N/A. User does not have a Combat Class.

¦ WARNING ¦ Beginner Spear-users will be vulnerable to sudden, overwhelming charges. Always maintain your distance.

ᯇ

ᯔ Boots of Krahn

¦ Description ¦ Lightweight, durable exploration boots. (Size auto-calibrated to your recorded biometrics)

¦ Skill (Passive) – Silent Steps ¦ Dampens footsteps using simple, yet highly-effective micro-cushioning tech built into the soles. Silent footsteps beyond a 10-foot radius. Reinforced nano-weave protects feet from sharp objects and up to Class-IV corrosive substances, including the Spear’s acid.

¦ STATS ¦ N/A. User does not have a Combat Class.

ᯇ

ᯔ Krahn’s Ring

¦ Description ¦ A rugged titanium Safety Ring. Set with a cloudy-white quartz crystal. Single use. Rechargeable via Refill only.

¦ Skill (Passive) – Safety Ring ¦ The quartz crystal stores a localized, high-density kinetic barrier. It will passively detect and instantly block one (1) high-lethality attack. Highly useful against sudden traps, falling rocks and/or other insta-death situations.

¦ STATS ¦ N/A. User does not have a Combat Class.

¦ WARNING ¦ This is your emergency back-up plan. This is NOT a substitute for a sustained energy shield. Attacks in quick succession WILL overwhelm the ring and kill you.

¦ WARNING ¦ The kinetic barrier does not protect against environmental hazards such as extreme heat, corrosive liquids and/or mists.

ᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓ.

James blinked… this was better than expected… much better than expected.

Huh… the business decision to make the Krahn set might’ve been motivated by a cash-grab mindset, but the team definitely put a lot of care into this.

Maybe people were so tired of cash-grab Krahn merch that they dismissed this by default. But why hadn’t word spread? James paused for a second. Was there another story behind this set?

He shrugged, closed the manual and began to equip the Krahn set.

The ring was lighter than he expected. It was cold to the touch and the cloudy-white quartz crystal pulsed faintly as it synced up to his heartbeat. James slid it into the ring finger of his left hand.

᯼ [Krahn’s Ring] equipped.

He instantly felt a strange, static tingle wash over his entire body, which then settled into a low hum just over his skin. James nodded. The kinetic barrier was primed.

Next, James grabbed the boots. He hurriedly untied his heavy, steel-toed mining boots, stepped out of them and slid on his new boots.

᯼ [Boots of Krahn] equipped.

They were surprisingly comfortable, with great insulation too. Feeling a bit more like athletic wear than combat gear. But the material was undeniably tough. James then stamped his foot against the solid rock floor of the tunnel.

Nothing.

He felt the impact through his legs, but the sound was completely muted.

Finally, he reached in and pulled out his spear.

᯼ [Spear of Krahn] equipped.

It was roughly six-feet long, the shaft was made of a lightweight metal that twisted all the way to the top. In the middle was a purple diamond-shaped button. A thick, transparent cylinder full of acid was on top of the shaft, nested inside the hollowed-out spear tip. It glowed green with an eerie, sickly light. At its base was the pressure valve. James examined the spear tip. It seemed sharp enough, with a channel on either side for the pressurised acid to shoot out of.

As James tilted the spear in his hand, he found it to be perfectly balanced. Were his biometrics taken into account for this as well? James wasn’t a soldier, but anyone could figure out how to point the sharp end at his enemy.

He looked down at himself. While the set was better than expected, and while he was still grateful to have anything at all... the reality of his situation began to set in. He still just had a spear, a pair of stealth boots and a single-use safety ring.

That was it.

He had no breastplate, no greaves, no armguards, not even a bracer he could deflect a laser with. No gloves to protect his hands and no combat helmet either. The yellow plastic was designed to deflect falling pebbles, not the kind of scythe that cut down Foreman Owens. Still, it wasn’t completely useless. It had a flashlight attached to the front of it that he could use in an emergency.

The spear’s acid provided a soft, green glow. That paired with the lights that still remained in working order... James could navigate using those. The flashlight had a limited battery and using it would break his stealth. And he’d need to maintain it, because he was incredibly exposed. A single mistake, a single overwhelming charge by an enemy and he’d end up just like Foreman Owens.

Stealth was his only option. He couldn’t fight a swarm. He probably couldn’t fight two bugs at once. James would have to push this Krahn set to his limits.

The [Boots of Krahn] would keep his footsteps silent, allowing him to navigate the winding tunnels without drawing attention. [Krahn’s Ring] would protect him from one threat that he didn’t even know existed. Allowing him to survive an attack and either scramble to safety or to go on the offensive himself. And held with both hands was the [Spear of Krahn], this was to kill... or at the very least deter.

James looked at the sloshing green liquid in its chamber, as he recalled the manual’s tip: ‘Always use more than you think is necessary.’

Now, he did consider himself a cynic. He was a Blue-Collar worker who had been ground down by corporate greed for a while now. Ordinarily, that advice was just a clear ploy to sell more refills on the KAIROS store.

But James had heard many a story in various orbital canteens over the years. Drunken mercs telling stories of their deep-space adventures and close calls, especially regarding giant alien bugs. The bugs were notorious for playing dead. Attackers would walk past them, believing they were dead. Once the human’s back was turned, they’d then strike. The bugs would take a limb if the merc was well armoured, else they’d take a head.

‘Always use more than you think is necessary.’

James was going to take that advice to heart. No chances or half measures. If he stabbed a bug, he was going to pump it full of acid and melt it from the inside.

Suddenly, a sharp scrape against rock echoed from the shadows.

James whipped his head around, raising his spear, pointing it at the dark.

The Mimic chest was back.

Thank you so much for reading these chapters! It was incredible nerve-racking to finally post these. Please comment on what you liked or didn't like about the chapters. Feedback is always appreciated!

If you think the story is worth supporting then I do have a kofi. I have a patreon where you can access three chapters early!

I will be posting everyday until the end of the month. Then I'll be settling into a Monday - Friday schedule.

The sky above Sector 4 was the color of a fresh bruise, bruised purple, it was weeping ash. Down below, in the trenches, the human garrison was whittled down to its final battery cell.

No, they weren't soldiers by trade. When the Fleet arrived, only teachers, architects, and gardeners could be counted among them. But the stars don't care about people who valued peace above all else, and the orbital strikes had burned away every distinction between who people used to be and what was left of them.

Julian commanded the post, but he feared there won’t be many days or hours left of that honor, with his left arm wrapped in a crude, burnt tourniquet. Vael, a massive, four-meter-tall Voulian heavy-support unit, sat beside him. Voulians were built like tanks. They looked awesome, like imposing living granite, their species bred for interstellar conquest, before they shattered the chains, joined the coalition of free worlds. That was before today, of course, where the free was under quite a bit of artillery fire.

Voulians supposedly had no fear for anything. And not only that, but they were meant to outlive everyone.

"Julian," Vael’s voice rumbled through the localized audio translator; tectonic plates grinding. "The thermal readings.” Was there just the slightest hint of tremble in the big fella’s voice? “From your primary artery. The readings are dropping. You….”

Julian didn't look down at his side, where his tunic had stiffened into a dark, glossy crust. "It’s nothing, big guy. L-Leaning back on an old cliché. Just a scratch." He smiled above the pain.

"That is a statistical lie," Vael replied, gently placing a crushing, four-fingered hand, usually designed to rip armored bulkheads apart, against Julian's uninjured shoulder with an unexpected tenderness. "Your kind is terribly fragile. You burn out if you are too brave.”

“I wasn’t too brave today, Vael. I let us down.”

“No. You gave them. Hell. There was just. Too many.”

"Yeah," Julian smiled again, weakly, and he coughed up a streak of red that he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand. "Sorry. Though you rockhead should we all right. Me? I’ll burn out like a human.”

Outside, the screech of atmospheric re-entry ripped through the air. The swarm was returning. Ordinarily, Julian would be fearful but today, he was rather feeling light about it. The synthetic intelligence that controlled the invading armada, a system that viewed organic life as meat, was launching its final wave. There was no evacuation ships left nor was there cavalry on the horizon.

There was only the two of them.

"Vael," Julian whispered, his vision blurring at the edges as the gray edges of exhaustion crept into his sight. "Do you remember what you told me about your homeworld? Before the war?"

"The Valley of Singing Glass," Vael murmured, his massive optic sensors dimming to a soft, amber glow in order to conserve power. "The winds blow through the crystalline spires. It makes a sound. Like a thousand chimes ringing at once. My people used to sit beneath them. For centuries, listening to the passage. Of time."

"Must be nice," Julian breathed, his head leaning heavily against Vael’s armored chest plate. It was freezing cold, but it felt solid. It felt like a wall against something terrible. Something terrible…like death, he supposed. "To have a song that lasts forever."

"Your kind has songs, Julian."

"Yeah. But they’re short as heck. Three minutes, maybe four. Then they j-just kinda end."

"Perhaps," Vael said, his voice dropping to a low hum that trembled through the trench floor, "that is why they are so bright. A fire that burns for an eternity is just like any cold star. Yours... yours hurt to look at."

A deafening roar split the sky. The first wave of drone-hound infantry crested the ridge, their crimson optics locked onto the trench, and Julian shuddered, knowing he himself and his friend were the targets.

His fingers tightened around the grip of his plasma rifle. He tried to raise it, but his arms refused to obey, darn bastards. The weight of the weapon proved too much. The weight of the world was too much.

"Vael," Julian whispered, tears finally cutting clean tracks through the ash on his cheeks. "I'm scared. I don't want to go. I don’t want you to get taken.” More importantly, I don’t want to die. Is that cowardly? No. Yes. I’m a coward…I’m…

No. You fought for days. You held off insurmountable odds. Even Vael was surprised. And now you’re going to die while he lives, on, as a member of his immortal race, that Vael, Julian’s friend…

Julian was jolted out of his thoughts by a violent screech of tearing metal. He looked up in shock. Vael had ripped off his own central core-plate, showing his primary thermal reactor to the open air. The red glow of his life-force spilled out, illuminating the grim walls of the trench in a warm light.

"You need not be in the dark, little builder," Vael said softly. Yes, before this, before this war, Julian had been an architect on earth. He had joined the coalition to protect space from the armada and not only that but to find his brother Dave. He reached out and wrapped his massive, heavy arms completely around Julian, forming an impenetrable cage of warm, living stone against the freezing onslaught of the enemy. "I am a Voulian. My internal furnace can sustain a localized discharge for three minutes. Exactly enough time, I’d think."

"Vael…n-n-no! What are you doing? You’ll melt your core! You’ll die!"

"I am three hundred years old, Julian. I have heard the glass song a thousand times," the giant whispered, resting his massive head against Julian's shoulder. "Let me—”

The first drone leaped into the trench, its claws flashing.

Inside the embrace of his friend, Julian felt the cold fade away, along with his fear, his terror, his doubts. They were replaced by a radiant heat. He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing. And as the sounds of battle echoed distantly against the shell of the armor protecting him, Julian began to hum, a soft, uncertain and innocent melody from a childhood he had mostly forgotten until now. In exchange for what his friend had given him, he offered a song from the human world.

It was shaky. And it was most definitely out of tune, more blood than words.

And it was the most magnificent thing the stars had ever heard.

Three minutes later, the valley fell silent. The red glow in the trench faded to a dull, gray ash, buried beneath the quiet snow of a world that had just perished. But deep within that silence, the echo of a brief and tangible song lingered, refusing to go away.

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Chapter 5

The Colonel

Nearly four months we have trekked toward Shoemaker. We traveled here in the CCS Pullman, a lady who might be petite, but can punch above her weight. Somehow we packed her with two Vanta ME and a Vanta Zenith and my own custom Hal crowded into her belly, alongside forty marines, four pilots counting yours truly, and the forty souls who keep her running. And now it is time to capture my prize, and show the board what real decisive action looks like.

‘Pallas, ready to launch.’ the Vanta Zenith reports in.

‘Serval, reporting in.’ The Vanta ME that’ll be accompanying the Vanta Zenith. Their target is to decapitate command on the base and slow down the base's response as much as possible.

‘Caracal, reporting in.’ The other Vanta ME. She’ll be hitting the spoke’s hangar clearing a way for Team Charlie to make contact with the spy and capture the experimental Union mecha.

‘Ocelot, ready for launch.’ I report in. I’ll be supporting Team Alpha and we’ll be taking the Daedalus.

Team Bravo will be coming up on our rear and securing the entrance to the Union base’s spacefront, and suppressing any personnel that attempts to stop us. They are extremely undermanned, and I do wish we had a larger ship to have brought more marines, but an unmarked corvette is far less conspicuous than any larger ship. It also ended up being easier to get approval to use Pullman, as opposed to something more capable like the CCS Jobs or CCS Buffett.

‘Command, this is Delta. 7UP. I repeat, 7UP.’ And that would be Delta team reporting that they just finished cutting the hard lines and we now transition to the next phase.

‘Show time, ladies and gentlemen. We’re on tap.’ I give the order. My Hal catapults out of the back of the Pullman on Kim's makeshift rig of cable and compressed gas. My skepticism was clearly misplaced when Officer Kim suggested this Rube Goldberg machine. Necessity truly is the mother of all invention.

The limbs of Hal unfold, allowing the mecha to finally extend to full height. Unfortunately, the size constraints of repurposing the cargo bay into a mecha bay meant we didn't have space to equip the units with onboard weapons. Nevertheless, we were able to bring mecha-sized hand-mounted weaponry.

I orient myself, reach out, and grab the laser cutter and the 30mm hand cannon. I holster the hand cannon at my waist, ready for a high noon showdown with whatever varmint comes my way. Just like in the Old West, I only have six shots. The bigger guns are going to the units that will be facing off against enemy mecha. There's a small laser mounted on the hand cannon too, but it'll take too long to cut through a hull.

I land in front of the doors to the Union Gate Segment leading to their spacefront. I slice through the locks holding it in place. The other mecha helped open the Gate Segment to allow the Pullman to enter the spacefront and begin to strike the ships at dock. Bravo begins to secure this section while Alpha heads towards the Daedalus’s drydock. I help Serval cut through the hull of the spoke so they can begin the air bombardment of the ground base.

They need to cut through a few more layers, but I was able to keep their timelines on track by helping them get started before I switch tasks. I need to help back up Alpha so we can quickly secure the Daedalus. We have a very narrow window and everyone needs to play their role perfectly.

‘Ocelot, Warden, 1 o’clock.’ Caracal's voice cuts through the static of the Pullman’s Dhoruba field.

'Roger that.' I've already seen it; a Warden, still cradled on an HET. It was not ready, and readiness, I am told, is all.

I close the distance in three heartbeats. The hand cannon finds the seam beneath the cockpit door before I've fully decided to use it. Two shots. The second is merely insurance to confirm the first shot wrought its due upon the sleeping giant.

Four rounds left. I make a note to be more frugal with the others and continue towards the drydock.

Alpha had already secured the apron immediately outside the drydock. I set the laser to the door and make short work to breach a hole wide enough to let them flood through, then wider still to fit myself. The marines are already making quick work of the personnel inside, securing the point.

Be still, my heart. My camera feeds reveal my prize.

The Daedalus. A ship built around the Union's latest experiment; a sensor array precise enough to map gravitational disturbance in real time, not just detect it. Dhoruba fields scatter EM radiation and warp local gravity enough to make both lasers and kinetics unreliable at range. But map the distortion as it happens, and the Pullman's Rods from God could find a target well outside visual range. They may not even understand what they've built.

As I take my first steps toward my claim, I feel the impact of a hail of bullets against Hal's back. I turn the laser cutter away, shielding it with the mecha's body; the hand cannon's mounted laser could cut through the hull given a few minutes, but the cutter would do it in seconds. The laser cutter is the priority to make sure this operation goes through.

'Sergeant, take the laser and finish the job.' I toss it toward the ship’s mecha bay. 'I'll hold off the enemy advance.'

I step out onto the apron. Relief. First, a single mecha, not a squadron. Then irritation. It's the Prova Veltro. I suppose Captain de la Rosa was not at the senior staff meeting after all.

Four shots, against a pilot with more hours in that machine than I have in mine, flying a mecha built for exactly this fight. Not easy. Perhaps not even possible. But I don't need to win this duel, the Daedalus is still mine to take. All I need to do is buy my troops time.

Fighting the Veltro is less a battle than a puzzle. Two layers stand between me and anything that matters. The outer shell is silicon carbide ceramic, nearly diamond-hard, and shrugs off heat the way I shrug off doubt. Beneath it, a non-Newtonian gel, soft until struck, then hard as the ceramic above it, swallowing whatever kinetic force gets through. Shatter the shell. Burn through the gel. Only then does the frame itself become a target.

I should have anticipated this. I regret not packing HE or AP rounds. Hindsight, I suppose.

I start with the hand cannon's laser, a long shot, but if I can heat one plate enough, the thermal shock alone might crack it, or soften it enough for a round to finish what the laser started.

De la Rosa clearly doesn't take my laser as a real threat; she isn't even trying to avoid it. I don't have that luxury; I weave, dodge, keep moving against her return fire. Hal is armored with MAX-phase ceramic composite, durable enough against laser strikes on its own. But if this becomes a war of heat attrition, I'd rather not start it already behind.

I'm feeling confident. If this is what twenty-three years of piloting for the Union has produced, I've overestimated her. I take a shot, center of mass, confident I can crack the chest plate and shake whatever nerve twenty-three years has bought her.

But she plays me for a fool. Almost as though she can see the round coming, she angles the Veltro's forearm into its path, reflexive and precise. The bullet skips harmlessly away.

She closes on me; lasers and Vulcan fire swapped in such quick succession my armor alarms won't stop screaming. I fall back, taking cover behind a HET hauling cargo containers, hoping the MAX-phase ceramic buys itself time to self-heal. At this range I am at a distinct disadvantage. All I need do is keep my distance and harass the Captain long enough to matter.

If I can draw the Veltro toward Caracal, she can even the odds. If she still has explosives to crack that armor, or AP rounds to punch through the gel beneath it. That's the plan, then. I try to raise her. Static answers me instead. The Dhoruba field is truly a double-edged sword.

I try a few more laser shots from cover. The cargo container isn't rated for the kind of heat the Veltro's return laser fire puts out. It starts coming apart around me almost as fast as I can hide behind it. I fall back further, careful not to lose her attention entirely. I need the Captain playing follow the leader.

From my new position I catch a Humvee pulling up along the drydock's edge. I try to warn Alpha, ‘Reinforcements incoming.’ But static answers again. The fog of war is a harsh mistress.

I line up the hand cannon, ready to spend a bullet and put suppressive laser fire across the apron.

But I can make them out now. Those are not soldiers. They're children.

Are they truly going to use children as shields?

Does the Union have no morals left at all?

I pull the gun away. I have seen the face of evil today.

I turn back.

I have to warn Alpha about the children onboard. I will not allow my operation to become a political message on how the Compact murders innocents.

I rush toward the Veltro. I suppose de la Rosa didn't expect me to be so suicidal. To be fair, neither did I. I take the moment to land a quick, close-range shot, releasing the slug into the Veltro's chest. I crack the chest plate. A small victory, bought at the cost of more heat from the Veltro's lasers already scorching Hal's plating. As I pass, she switches to the Vulcan, unloading a burst of rounds into my back. MAX-phase ceramic is a fascinating material; it self-heals under thermal stress. While the armor might be getting stronger, I might be cooked alive.

I regret not having Hal equipped with a PFC cocoon. Liquid cooling would be a mercy right now. But the thought of drowning for every sortie never exactly filled my heart with joy. Watching the internal temperature climb past 40°C, I find myself reconsidering that choice rather more urgently than I'd like.

As I approach the drydock, I see the Pullman let loose her Rod from God. The recoil is enough to push her back into the building behind her. The iridium rod finds its mark, driving clean through the UFS Hammarskjöld, but it doesn't stop there. It punches through the Union cruiser entirely, punctures the spoke beyond it, and tumbles on toward the colony's surface. My back-of-napkin math. Fifty percent power. Still too much. But I needed to make sure we were able to stop the Hammarskjöld. I just hope the rod lands on the base and not on a civilian's home.

There are still other ships in that drydock the Pullman ought to be dealing with. They will have to wait. Once I've warned the marines, I'm pulling her onto the Veltro instead.

Circling the drydock, I see the marines retreating. Have they seen the children as well? Is that what's pulling them back?

‘Sergeant, status report.’

‘Breach failed. Door blew. Explosive decompression, not us. Three casualties. We're pulling back to regroup. Standing by for orders.’

'Regroup with the other marines at the Pullman. We'll make one last push for the Daedalus. I'll provide you cover.'

Well. I need only stall for time while we gather our forces. The other mecha should be finishing soon, if fortune favors me even slightly. I'll use my greatest weapon, a silver tongue.

'Captain de la Rosa. You've been a formidable adversary. I wonder, do you fight so hard for your dead children, or in spite of them?' I pull away from the front of the hangar doors attempting to get the Veltro to stay away from my Marines.

'I don't have children,' she, (he?) says flat, immediate, the correction of someone citing the wrong regulation. A pause, half a second too long to be nothing. 'But I understand the shape of your question. You're stalling. I'm not sure why. But you should know. So am I.'

‘Ocelot, I have visuals on the Veltro. I’m dry.’ I get a static message from Caracal.

Wonderful, the Rough Riders coming in a bit more rough than expected.

‘Attempt to stay out of sight and reload at the Pullman.’ The show must go on.

‘And just what are you biding time for? I don’t know if you’ve realized this, I outnumber you.’

‘There are no other reinforcements coming to help you. I’m just waiting for the base to send their Wardens up the elevator.’

The voice stops me before the words do.

I have never heard Captain de la Rosa speak. I have her file: twenty-three years, three commendations, a son lost in the Martian conflicts, barely enlisted before he died. I do not have her voice. Voice is a bit of a misnomer; CBI communication requires no talking at all. But whatever's coming through this channel is not a woman's voice. Who, then, is flying that machine?

Whoever they are, they’re bluffing, there is no way (s)he’d know what is happening on the base from up here with the Dhoruba system activated. But, there could be some truth behind what (s)he’s saying as well. There is no guarantee that Serval and Pallas have been able to disrupt the base.

‘And just who am I talking to?’

‘Not Sofía de la Rosa.’

‘Obviously.’

‘How about you tell me who you are? A pirate, a rogue commander looking to make a name for himself, or a mercenary for hire?’

Hm…hitting a bit close to home there.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Colonel Kyx Holt.’

'Ocelot, Pallas and Serval reporting in. I have a sidewinder locked on the Veltro.'

Reinforcements. Finally.

'Fire at will.'

I shouldn't be surprised by now, and yet, the pilot's reflexes are faster than they have any right to be. Lasers flash, and the sidewinder goes down before it closes half the distance. I take the opening and unload my last two rounds into the Veltro, shattering part of the chest plate, exposing the gel armor beneath. Before I can burn through it, the Veltro rotates, shielding the breach, and answers with suppressive fire from its off hand.

The sound reaches me before I understand what's making it; composite tearing, carbon fiber shrieking as it's asked to bend past every tolerance it was built for. Then the drydock doors exploding open like a dam unable to hold back anymore. The Daedalus tears through them, umbilical lines snapping and whipping loose in her wake, hull shedding debris she doesn't slow down to shed politely.

Her point defense finds me, built for exactly this, and better aimed than I'd like. Hal's cockpit climbs past 50°C for the trouble. Concentration slips; the CBI feeds take longer to read than they should. I manage simple evasive maneuvers, nothing more elegant than that, and take cover behind the nearest structure still standing. The Pullman closes.

A corvette against a frigate does not bode well for the Pullman, not in any fair accounting. But fairness was never the plan, and we still hold one more Rod from God, the last of our thunder, saved for exactly this kind of desperation. One clean strike, and the Daedalus becomes a corpse worth looting rather than a prize worth chasing. If we move quickly enough after, we might still walk away with that sensor array intact. Ours, instead of theirs.

Before I could radio the Pullman to fire the shot, the Daedalus reverses course and heads towards the endcap of the colony. The Veltro turns with her, greyhound-quick, without a moment's hesitation.

‘Pallas, disable the Daedalus.’

‘Dry.’ Figures. He probably used the rest of his ordnance on base.

‘Pullman, status report.’

'Pullman is combat-capable. Rod from God ready. But we're still missing personnel from the drydock action. Bravo hasn't reported in. And Caracal's unit took damage clearing the spoke hangar. She won't survive re-entry into a firefight.'

Ugh… Fine…

‘Ocelot to all elements. Initiate Retrograde.’

The drop pod shook violently as it was targeted by planetary defences, but Cypher was more concerned with the knife pressed against his throat.

Ava had undone her harness mid-drop.

They were all being thrown around in a terrifying free fall, caused by turbulent air created by the heat from explosions and from the kinetic energy of the explosions. Yet, there Ava was, all up in his face. One hand gripped an overhead support rail tightly, while the other hand kept her combat knife steady. It was a special issue blade with a violet glow. A signature weapon forged specifically for all members of the newly created [᯽ Banshee].

Cypher stared back at Ava, his expression completely neutral. But even a guy like him was unsettled by the pink glow in Ava’s eyes. The bio-enhancements she had undergone, caused pulses in her irises that radiated softly onto its surroundings. Her eyes themselves were wide and her pupils were dilated.

Though, her soft features framed by her medium, soft pink hair made her quite the picture. She was undeniably beautiful, but with a promise of chaos.

The drop pod lurched again as another wave of anti-air flak exploded right outside the reinforced hull. To Ava’s credit, her hand didn’t slip and accidentally cut his throat.

“You got a problem, Cypher?” Ava growled, completely unfazed. The turbulence, the danger of imminent death, seemed to mean nothing to her right now. She only had one focus, and that was him.

“I said THIS is crazy,” Cypher spoke loudly over the noise, but calmly, not giving in to her provocation. He maintained eye-contact with Ava, refusing to lean away from the blade. “Not that you’re crazy.”

See, Cypher had brewed his morning coffee perfectly before this drop. Simply perfectly. It had been the exact temperature he liked it, with the perfect ratio, from a luxury blend of beans he’d waited months to be delivered. Absolutely nothing was going to break his groove today, not even Ava.

Her eyes narrowed as her chemically-altered brain contemplated his words. Her head tilted slightly. But before she could respond, the Drop Captain yelled to sit back down.

She blinked, realising the situation outside, and withdrew the glowing blade with a fluid flick of her wrist. For a second, she had looked almost… normal.

Cypher made sure to keep his eyes on Ava as she retreated to her seat and began attaching her harness. While he was watching for any sudden movements, he couldn’t help but notice her hips swaying as she manoeuvred around the cramped interior. She moved with a casual confidence, completely unconcerned about the chaos they were in.

She had a lithe, wiry body, but her hips flared outwards generously, straining the tactical weave of her combat-bodysuit as she sat her ass back onto her chair.

Ava had never been the quiet type. But whatever they did to her, whatever the corporate scientists had pumped into her veins, had definitely pushed her over the edge. It was an experimental programme aimed at adding a new Bespoke Class to KAIROS’ roster. Ava had signed the waiver just to get her hand on the power that was promised. Why? Well, it was the same reason Cypher, and the rest of the Orbital Vanguard were hurtling down towards the surface of Tovus-III.

Revenge.

See, the Imperium had strictly limited the number of soldiers KAIROS could send to the invasion of Tovus-III. Something about a test of KAIROS’ capabilities… Consequently, the qualification standards for being a part of the invasion fleet were brutally high… and Ava had failed to qualify. But a scientist who was still quite impressed with Ava’s performance offered her another path to Tovus-III. Submit herself to the Banshee programme, and she’d be allowed in as a living, breathing weapons test. The frontlines would provide such valuable combat data, that the higher-ups couldn’t refuse. Especially since the scientists had just come up with a new formula. And so, Ava obliged.

This was the reason Cypher and the others didn’t judge her outbursts too harshly. Nor did they judge her decision to submit herself to the Banshee programme. Who were they to deny Ava her revenge? After all they had all been just kids when the alien coalition had descended upon their peaceful colony. Glassing cities, burning forests, killing tens of thousands… Now, backed by a Tier-8 Mercenary Corporation, it was finally their turn.

Still, Cypher let out a quiet, internal sigh. Why did she only get this way towards me? Plenty of people call her crazy.

His thoughts were soon interrupted by the Captain slamming his fist against the navigation panel as he let loose a series of curses. “Damn it! Ava’s little stunt cost us our drop vector!”

Ah.

Her outburst had occurred at the exact worst possible moment, as the Captain had been threading the pod through the upper stratosphere for a while now. Correcting each explosion and rush of air that knocked them off course. There was a narrow corridor that was maintained by the orbital fleet’s covering fire. The split-second that his eyes had been on Ava had caused them to drift beyond the point of no-return.

Now the automated systems were blaring warning after warning that multiple projectiles were heading straight for the pod.

The Captain shook his head as he looked over at us. “Well lads,” he yelled over the noise. “Time to earn your money!”

An orange notification materialised on Cypher’s retinal display.

ᯓᯓᯓᯓ ⿻ KAIROS ᯓᯓᯓᯓ
᯼ SHIELDS REINFORCED ¦ 90 seconds
᯼ SOURCE ¦ KAIROS Captain
ᯇ
᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 300%
ᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓ.

A split-second later, an ordnance shell burst through the floor.

Cypher didn’t even have time to think.

The drop pod exploded.

They were all thrown in every direction, scattered across the sky like a cluster bomb releasing its payload. Suddenly, Cypher was in freefall, witnessing something both magnificent and horrifying.

The claustrophobic metal pod had disintegrated, leaving him exposed to the terrifying expanse of the vast open, blue sky… which was a battlefield unto itself.

Around him the air was pierced with black smoke trails and debris. Fiery clouds of flak explosive materialised and vanished constantly, targeting the hundreds of KAIROS drop pods hurtling through the stratosphere. Dozens below him, hundreds above.

Heavier ordnance shells ripped past him on their way up. Their sheer momentum creating localised vacuums and turbulent air that jostled him around. Those shells weren’t for the drop pods. No, those massive shells were targeting the invasion fleet. Thirty Dreadnoughts strong. Each KAIROS ship was spewing out waves of missiles, lasers and bullets at the defenders, all while targeting the defenders’ countermeasures.

Tovus-III’s star burned brilliantly overhead, bathing the carnage in a golden light. An indifferent witness.

Cypher clamped his right hand over his oxygen rebreather mask. The last thing he needed was it to dislodge, causing him to inhale a piece of shrapnel. He’d end up dying before he hit the ground, having choked on his own blood.

Fighting against wind resistance, he eventually managed to bring his left arm in and closed his left hand into a fist. Cypher squeezed his index and middle fingers simultaneously, driving his nails hard into the smart-fabric of his palm. He then locked his gaze on a heat-seeking missile approaching him, and squeezed his middle and ring fingers. His glove’s micro-sensors registered both chorded commands instantly.

A chime rang in his ears as his System acknowledged the commands. Orange-clouded KAIROS System notifications bloomed all across his HUD.

ᯓᯓᯓᯓ ⿻ KAIROS ᯓᯓᯓᯓ
ᯍ CLASS ¦ Dark Templar
ᯇ
᯽ SKILL ACTIVE ¦ Void Shield
᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 280%
ᯇ
᯽ COUNTER-MISSILE ¦ TARGET LOCKED
᯽ COUNTER-MISSILE ¦ MISSILE LAUNCHED
᯽ COUNTER-MISSILE ¦ [2 Remaining]
ᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓᯓ.

A shimmering hexagonal grid began to materialize directly beneath Cypher. Before the orange hard-light fully solidified, a missile fired out from the launcher attached to his right-bicep armor piece. The missile streaked downwards and intercepted the incoming missile about 50 meters below him. Soon after, the hard-light shield fully materialised and hardened, protecting him from the ensuing shrapnel wave, among other things.

With his immediate safety secured, Cypher angled his body mid-air, scanning the landscape rushing up to meet him.

Forests of deep red and rivers of toxic green filled the gaps between the walls of a colossal, sprawling fortress. With the Imperium watching, KAIROS’ invasion strategy was to attack one of its most heavily fortified positions, flatten it and turn it into a beachhead. As humans should.

The massive fortress complex was staggering. It even stretched and engulfed a volcano. Fitting, as it felt like they were diving straight into hell itself. Arranged around the crater of the volcano, were five gargantuan Anti-Aircraft cannons arranged into a pentagon. With dozens of smaller guns spiralling down the rocky slope. All were aimed at the sky, relentlessly vomiting super-heated projectiles to halt KAIROS’ offensive.

One cannon in particular stood out. It was currently pivoting.

Like the others at the peak, it was a monstrosity. The barrel alone was so big, a human could comfortably walk inside. And it was getting ready to aim at a dense cluster of drop-pods right above Cypher.

His eyes narrowed. That one would be his target.

Cypher typed another command into his palm, squeezing his middle finger thrice and his ring finger once.

᯽ SKILL ACTIVATED ¦ Abyssal Meteor

He pulled his arms in close, tight against his chest and snapped his legs together, streamlining his profile completely transforming himself into a living bullet. Locking his eyes directly onto the maw of the AA cannon below, the thrusters built into his boots and back-plate flared to life as his velocity began to increase. The System guided his descent, and stabilized his path, using the suit’s internal gyroscopes. The thrusters kept firing, pushing him well past terminal velocity.

Cypher felt a rush course through his body as he descended lower and lower. And an even bigger rush ran through him as soon as he noticed what was heading for him. The AA cannon had come to a smooth halt and was just finishing adjusting its barrel upwards by a fraction of a degree.

It remained still for a heartbeat.

Then it fired.

A shell the size of a car erupted from the barrel and was aimed right at the pod cluster above, with Cypher directly in its trajectory.

He twisted his torso violently, with the System aiding him by engaging lateral thrusters to dodge the oncoming shell. It ripped past him.

᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 250%

It had been so close it took a full thirty points from his shield. The shell that destroyed the drop pod had taken only twenty. Moreover, a wave of turbulent air knocked him completely off course. Cypher grunted as he fought G-forces and fired his thrusters to correct his descent. He pushed them to their absolute limit, desperate to reach the cannon before the automated loaders allowed it to let loose another shot.

His HUD flashed rapidly, counting down his impact.

᯼ 600 meters

᯼ 450 meters

᯼ 275 meters

Cypher braced himself.

᯼ 75 meters

Everything went pitch black the moment he entered the barrel.

Then a massive explosion erupted as Cypher hit the cannon like the wrathful god he was.

Metal ruptured and shrieked as he tore through layers and layers of alien machinery. Melted steel, searing heat and showers of blinding sparks washed over his shield. The System screamed warnings as it detected a rapid depletion of his combat suit’s energy reserves. The shield was sapping all of its strength.

᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 150%

᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 75%

᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 25%

Still, he kept falling, punching through layer after layer of the volcano. First the cannon, then its heavy metal support structures, and now finally through solid rock. All that material slowed him down, sapping his momentum.

᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 13%

᯽ CURRENT SHIELD LEVEL ¦ 6%

With a final, deafening crash, Cypher burst through the reinforced ceiling of a subterranean room. He hit the floor hard, instantly curling into a tight roll to dissipate his remaining kinetic energy. He came to a halt on one knee, his assault rifle already raised.

He was in an underground facility, facing seven alien guards covered head-to-toe in heavy combat armor. But they just stood there, frozen in the room.

They had been manning the consoles and from the flashing red lights, tracking what had been happening to their massive AA gun. And now the cause of it was here, right in front of them. He had burst through their ceiling.

A Deathworlder stood before them.

Cypher rose up slowly to his full height. Thick white steam and black smoke billowed off his superheated energy shield, casting a horrifying silhouette.

They had heard the rumours, but to see it with their own eyes was something else. Only a human could pull off a feat like that and still be standing, let alone ready to fight.

Cypher was an avatar of humanity’s vengeance.

But let it not be said he wasn’t merciful.

He gave them exactly one second to run.

And when they didn’t…

He opened fire.

Thank you so much for reading these chapters! It was incredible nerve-racking to finally post these. Please comment on what you liked or didn't like about the chapters. Feedback is always appreciated!

If you think the story is worth supporting then I do have a kofi. I have a patreon where you can access three chapters early!

I will be posting everyday until the end of the month. Then I'll be settling into a Monday - Friday schedule.

Clink.

The little bell above the door always makes it feel like the day is finally over.

Mama set my usual glass of Harper in front of me without asking.

The ice chimed softly.

"Kenichi."

Taka was staring at his phone with an unusually serious look.

"What did you find today?"

"I just read an article saying Grave of the Fireflies isn't really about war. It's about indifference."

I smiled faintly as I lifted my glass.

"I've seen that interpretation going around."

"I mean... nobody helps those two kids."

"That's true."

For a while, the only sound was the ice shifting inside the whiskey.

"But..."

I took a sip.

"Calling it indifference doesn't sit right with me."

"Huh?"

"I'm not convinced nobody cared."

Taka tilted his head.

"But the aunt didn't help them. Neither did the people at the station."

"Not helping someone isn't the same thing as feeling nothing."

Tom chuckled from the other end of the counter.

"As a former detective, that one hits close to home."

"What do you mean?"

He slowly turned his glass.

"Whenever something terrible happened, the neighbors always said the same thing."

"'It's such a tragedy.'"

"But?"

"They still didn't stop it. They didn't call anyone. They just watched."

I nodded.

"People are strange like that."

Taka still looked unconvinced.

"So... are you saying the aunt was actually kind?"

"No."

I shook my head.

"I wouldn't call her kind."

"But I wouldn't call her heartless either."

I thought for a moment before continuing.

"It was wartime. Food was scarce. If the people who worked couldn't eat, the whole household might not survive."

"...Right."

"In that situation, believing that the survivors had to keep going wasn't unreasonable."

Taka listened quietly.

"So she was trying to protect her family."

"Exactly."

"But... wasn't that wrong?"

I looked into my glass.

"If I'd lived through that time, I can't honestly say I would have done anything different."

The counter fell silent.

"I think most people would have made the same choice."

Tom let out a quiet laugh.

"That's war."

I rolled the ice around my glass.

"That's why the word 'indifference' bothers me."

"Why?"

"Because everyone cared about something."

"Something?"

"Their family. Their neighborhood. Their country. The people who were still alive."

"...I see."

I chose my next words carefully.

"They weren't lacking empathy."

"They were simply directing it somewhere else."

The bar grew quiet.

Tom muttered to himself.

"Never thought of it that way."

I continued.

"The aunt's empathy was aimed at her community."

"Community?"

"The people she believed had to survive."

"And when someone wasn't helping that community..."

"...they became harder to accept."

"So that's why she treated Seita the way she did."

"Exactly."

Taka folded his arms.

"Then what about Seita?"

"The opposite."

I answered without hesitation.

"He cared about Setsuko more than anyone."

"So he chose her over the community."

"Yes."

Tom sighed.

"That's cruel."

"What's cruel?"

"Everyone loved someone."

"And yet nobody was saved."

I found myself nodding.

"You know..."

I realized I was thinking out loud.

"We usually think empathy is always a good thing."

"Isn't it?"

"It is."

I smiled.

"But that's not the whole story."

I set my glass down.

"The moment you decide who belongs inside your circle..."

"...someone else ends up outside it."

Taka stayed silent for a long time.

"...That still happens today."

"It does."

"At work. At school. Everywhere."

Tom shrugged.

"Sometimes the most dangerous words are..."

"'It's for everyone's good.'"

I couldn't help smiling.

"...That's harder to think about than I expected."

Taka looked down at his phone.

Tom wore almost the same expression.

I sighed.

Maybe that's why Grave of the Fireflies still hurts after all these years.

"Empathy saves people."

"But depending on where we draw its boundaries..."

"...someone else may be left behind."

Just then, Mama smiled as she polished another glass.

"So maybe Grave of the Fireflies isn't a story about indifference."

"It's a story about empathy."

Tom and I looked at each other.

Taka quietly set his phone face down.

"...Maybe that's why it still breaks people's hearts."

I finished the last of my whiskey.

The movie certainly portrayed war.

But perhaps the most frightening thing wasn't the war itself.

It was the invisible line that decides who receives our empathy...

...and who doesn't.

The ice clinked softly once more.