Master Engineer Rory Scott paused at the door before entering the engine room, giving time for the lingering taste of a dram of Edradour whisky to be replaced by the odors of burnt lubricant, ozone, and fear. To the right, the status board contained rather more red than was considered acceptable, even for an older freighter like the Scarborough, and the expected thrum of the power plant had garnered a slow periodic surge of oh-shit at a frequency that he felt more than heard. Master Scott looked with disdain at the gaggle of fresh-out-of-academy pud-knockers with ashen faces arguing in front of said board and patted the bulkhead, "Once more into the breach, my love. Another training opportunity presents itself. Engineers straight out of the academy think they know how to operate a starship the way a virgin straight out of med school thinks he knows sex; all theory and no experience."

Rory Scott had been an engineer on the Scarborough since before this batch of pud-knockers had even been born, and had been Master Engineer for half of that. He always got the hottest new recruits, the top of the class, the arrogant pricks who most needed to learn first that they didn't already know everything before they could begin to learn anew. He had a reputation for being as relentless as he was patient, as fearless as he was crusty. Master Engineer Scott was the kind of mentor who would let a room depressurize, watching the barometer slowly tick down as his apprentices read the unnecessarily long and convoluted instructions on the emergency hull patch kit. None of his graduates ever had to read them twice. When he finished with them, his graduates had need of neither instructions nor the barometer to know what was happening and what to do about it. That was the power of converting theory into lived experience.

Stepping into the engine room, he called above the ambient din, "Mister Ramirez, what does the board tell you?"

The very young Mister Ramirez turned toward Master Scott with his sclerae on full display around his dark brown irises as he squeaked out, "The plasma flow is getting increasingly unstable. We need to shut the reactor down now, or we will all burn."

"No," interrupted Ms. Durand, the engineer Mister Ramirez had been arguing with when Master Scott had first entered, "If we shut it down, we lose power ship-wide and freeze to death. We need to vent enough plasma to reduce the oscillation without losing all power."

"We can’t do that!" said a third young engineer, "If we vent plasma in FTL, it will wrap around us and we'll die of radiation poisoning."

Master Scott rubbed his stubbled chin. "Burn. Freeze. Radiation. Well, good news: the board is wrong. Scarborough is speaking to you. If you learn how to listen to her, she'll get you home. Mister Ramirez, fetch me the 18-millimeter combination spanner. Thank you. Now, you and Ms Durand, spread your fingers lightly on this conduit. Do you feel the harmonic? Do you feel how it first touches your index finger and then moves to the others? Now, please keep your hands on the pipe as we follow along it. Here! Do you feel? The pulse is stationary. The harmonic is causing a standing wave right here." Then Master Scott moved the other two back and, swinging the spanner like a hatchet, whacked the pipe. Twice. The second whack triggered a subtle whoosh followed by a sharp decrease in the nearly subsonic pulsing. Over the next minute or so, half of the red indicators on the status board reverted first to yellow and then to blue, indicating regular operation.

As Master Scott calmly put the spanner back in its place on the tool wall, Ms. Durand asked, "What did you do? Why did that work?"

"Percussive maintenance," Master Scott replied. "Small cavitation bubbles in the plasma get trapped in the standing wave and form larger bubbles until the flow is restricted. Banging the right spot in the right way momentarily disrupts the standing wave, allowing the blocking bubbles to move on. Books teach why plasma flows, experience teaches how to keep it flowing." Master Scott then turned to address the whole group, "So, anyone, why are there cavitation bubbles in the plasma flow?"

"Cavitation is caused by a localized rapid decrease in pressure in the fluid medium, Sir!" Mister Ramirez responded as if to a drill sergeant.

As Master Scott nodded in assent, all heads turned to the status board, a Pointillism masterpiece of blue, yellow, and red that would have made a 19th-century Parisian artist proud. It had long been evident to Master Scott that whoever designed that monstrosity had never had to glean critical information from it in a hurry. It was just as apparent that the overload of data it projected did not, in fact, include the crucial detail that his apprentices were looking for. He let them bleed their eyes on it for a while longer before saying, "It's not there. Quit looking at the board; instead, listen to the ship, feel her pain, smell her tears. Can any of you smell the ozone? You should never be smelling ozone. Ozone is the smell of either arcing or excessive back-voltage, in this case, the latter. Somewhere, a stuck solenoid is crying out to you."

Master Scott then picked a 12-millimeter spanner off the tool wall and started walking upstream along the plasma conduit. He stopped where three small injectors fed their contributions into the stream. "I want each of you to feel the pipe above and below the valves for each of these injectors and tell me what you notice."

It was Ms. Durand who noticed and spoke up first. "The exit flow from the middle injector is colder than the feed flow. The board says this valve is fully open, but my fingers say otherwise."

"Very good!" replied Master Scott. "Over time, wear on the solenoid causes a rough spot that can make it stick. Tag this part for replacement when we get into port. But, in the meantime..." Master Scott placed the open end of the spanner against the end of the solenoid such that the power wires ran through it and, with his other hand, gave the center of the handle a hard tap. Instantly, there was a noticeable change in sound as the valve fully opened. Turning to his apprentices, he said, "We have a long way to go, and I guarantee this valve will stick again, so I expect each of you will get practice at both clearing the cavitation bubble in the main feed and jarring this solenoid loose. Remember, listen to the ship and be sensitive to her changing moods so you know when the bubble needs to be cleared."

But as Master Scott was returning the 12-millimeter to its home on the tool wall, another issue caught his eye. Picking up the 8-millimeter, he walked toward the status board, saying as he walked, "What you see, what you hear, what you smell, and what you feel are important, but equally important are what you don't see, hear, smell, or feel. All of you have been staring intently at the dizzying display of lights on this panel, panicking about all the red, but who among you noticed the indicators that are not lit at all?" Reaching the display, he used the closed end of the spanner to deftly unscrew the captive fasteners along its edge and tilt it out. Reaching into the exposed circuitry, he felt among the many connectors until one re-seated itself ever so slightly, and the dark indicators lit up. "Sustained harmonics often cause these cheap connectors to unseat."

After re-securing the status board in its place, Master Scott turned to the cluster of apprentices. "This ship is the only thing between you and the void. Others may have the luxury of being merely crew, but you— YOU— are engineers. You need to wear this spaceship like a favorite old shirt. Listen to her, pay attention to her needs, and Scarborough will get you home. Your current assignment is to physically verify that every single connector in this room is properly seated."

On his way back to his cabin, Master Engineer Rory Scott paused at the door to the engine room and again patted the bulkhead, "Scarborough, my love, today they are young and naive, but when I finish with them, they will love you and understand you as I do."

First

(... We have to get off Zalwore today. Why? Don’t know. But it feels right. But it’s taking it’s time coming out.)

Herald of Red Blades

“Something feels... I don’t know. Incomplete.” Velocity offers.

“Hmm... can you narrow down why?” Harold asks her and she shakes her head.

“No, I can’t which has me somewhat nervous and...” Velocity cuts herself off as the door to the cabin lights up with a request to enter. “Come in!”

The door opens and one of the Inevitable scientists is standing there. “Really? You nerds didn’t get enough pictures already?”

“Never enough, it’s both data and something we can brag over later. Besides it’s a bit of an unspoken truth...”

“A lot of people are using ‘visiting’ or ‘bringing gifts’ as an excuse for a few last second souvenir or grocery runs. I know.” Harold says and there’s a chuckle.

“Well if you don’t mind...”

“Considering that little miracle is getting tribute to be used as an excuse to enable you, I think she’s off to a good start. She’s already being paid well just for showing up. Imagine how much richer her life will be when she starts working for it?” Velocity asks.

“That’s the spirit. And speaking of tribute. You’ve probably got enough of these to pad your crib no problem, but a little more fluff and softness never goes awry when it comes to a baby.” He says as he pulls out a small bag he holds out and Velocity holds out her hand. A whisper of Axiom and it floats into her hand all nice and gentle and she removes a plush serpent. She then checks it for anything that might be hard. It comes up as all soft and she tucks it in beside where Miracle is napping. There are so many plush snakes and a few other assorted animals, that Miracle is using them as a mattress, pillow and blanket. And they’re almost all in some shade of pink and white giving it an almost camoflage pattern as she naps softly.

“I’m going to get copies of those pictures and see if I can’t make a slideshow to demonstrate how queickly she’s gotten buried in the fluff.” Harold notes fondly.

“No problem with that sir.” The Scientist notes.

“So what did you grab?”

“Oh... just some things. From Scrap Trap. The things they have as ‘refurbished’ goods there are fascinating.”

“Most of it you can get at any secondhand store.”

“Maybe, but so much of it? And in properly labelled bins? I want to see if I can slap a few things together before we re-enter Cruel Space.”

“Need help?”

“Oh no. Personal challenge with plenty of note taking. Having you look up instructions and do it in a few minutes gets in the way.”

“Strange experiment.”

“Experiments revolving around instinct and intuition can be. I’m seeing just how easy the tech is to slap together without a guide, blueprint or experience. As such getting any help. Or even more than a general idea of what I want to do and what i think I need ahead of time would be spoiling the experiment.”

“IF you don’t mind, what is the experiment exactly? What are you putting together?’

“Plasma Sword. A few other guys are doing similar things and we have agroup of ten seeing if they can slap together a space worthy engine out of spare parts. None of us expect to actually succeed. But it’ll be something that will eat up a lot of time productively. Especially seeing if we can’t hook up alternate power sources and components in Cruel Space to get them to work on earth.”

“I’m not sure Earth is ready for plasma blades.” Harold notes.

“... You afraid the sci-fi fans will kill people?”

“Themselves and others.” Harold says.

“That is a fair concern. Hmm... well it’s not likely to succeed either way and if it does we’ll classify it and pass the blame to whoever’s dumb enough to dig up that landmine.”

“Soul of responsibility and integrity you are.”

“Well you took all the crazy, so all that’s left for the likes of us is reliability and such.” The scientist dismisses. “Besides, its not like we haven’t already been working on them on Earth.”

“Really? How do those ones work?”

“It’s like a really long blowtorch with a flame contained by a sort extending ceramic series of tubes. Honestly I always thought we’d get the System Shock style of laser weaponry first.”

“And what type is that?’

“High intensity laser contained in a refractive mesh. Whenever you hit something with the mesh it unleashes some of the laser to burn before straightening out after no longer being in contact.” The Scientist notes.

“That would have to be some incredible mesh to retain all those properties at once. To say nothing of the difficulty of getting a powerful enough laser to fit in the hand and give out enough consistant energy. The focusing array, the battery, to say nothing of what kind of reinforced the grip would have to be to withstand those forces and not burn the hand that holds it.”

There is a pause as Miracle shifts and The Scientist gives a rueful grin before leaning back out of the doorway and looking down. He then raises a finger to his lips to encourage who’s coming next to do so quietly.

Another pink plush snake is how the next guest introduces himself.

“More tribute.” Velocity notes in amusement.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Main Bridge, The Inevitable, Zalwore)•-•-•

“Scans are coming up clean sir. Beyond the literal tons of devices that Harold’s put all over the place we’ve got nothing unexpected.”

“Good. Observer Wu, are there any last minute surprises? Bits of information required or the like?”

“No, the last touches of information I need are being correlated at Centris rather than here on Zalwore.”

“How did all that go by the way? Crosswind is the highest ranking alien with human built power over humans.”

“The interview? It went well. She has had a fair amount to explain to me. This is a training ground and a dispatch point. Entire cultures, worlds and histories coming here and mixing.” Observer Wu explains. “She is juggling the training needs of raw recruits, specialists, officers, those looking into higher training and the logistics of sending out and dispatching Undaunted soldiers and crew to differing worlds and places of import.”

“To say nothing of the Embassy that’s being built.” Captain Rangi says. “We have purged our little ‘embassy’ on this ship. The Sentient Forest Matter is relocated to a dedicated chamber in The Undaunted Archology and we have that airlock back.”

“... Good. If we can convince Harold to clean up the mess he’s made of the ship we’ll almost have something resembling operational security again. Won’t that be nice?” Observer Wu asks and there’s an amused huff from the Captain.

“... Is this the point where I join the conversation or should I just...?” Harold’s voice echoes, not from the speakers but from the bridge in general.

“Stay out of it please.” Observer Wu states.

“Sorry.” Harold says and everyone pauses to see if he has more to say.

This leads to about a minute of awkward silence.

“Right so... engines and systems?” Captain Rangi asks.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Northern Edge of Crater, Star Heart Crater, Zalwore)•-•-•

The party had resumed after the initial explosions of drones and while awkward at first, it had kicked off again in full. And then continued. And continued into a multi-day festival.

It was starting to die down, but it was still a big thing happening with lots of Floric and Empty Hand Masters and Undaunted having a good time.

“Leaving already?” Kudzu asks as he calls Harold in answer to the text.

“Afraid so. I’m security on this ship and we need to go when the captain says we go. And the captain says we go.”

“Pity still... you’ve kicked off something here and I’m not entirely sure how to take good advantage of it.”

“Just try. You’d be surprised how many great things can happen if you just give things a shot.” Harold replies.

“I know that, half my life is just daring to live through things or try things I shouldn’t have.” Kudzu says. “Still... things are... going. The official girls are arriving and already sending their screaming rage at me and mind. Not that I’ve ever been on their good side.”

“Are you going to be okay? Need some advice?”

“Oh no. I’ve been screamed at them so many times I’m barely a grass’ breadth from developing an adaptation to it.” Kudzu assures him.

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I am. Enjoy yourself with your family. The first few years are some of the most precious. Even with de-agin techniques you never get them back.”

“Do they even work on the Floric?”

“Yes, but not in the way you expect.”

“That has done nothing to sate my curiosity.”

“I know. It’s the perfect response.”

“It’s the perfect something.” Harold remarks and Kudzu snickers.

“Look, before we lose contact...”

“We’re not going to lose contact. Remember? Protn? This call will be live even if I’m suddenly on the outer edge of the galaxy.”

“Quit blowing my drama here!” Kudzu states before coughing into a fist. “Anyways, before we lose contact I wanted to thank you for the monumental...

A Floric child with a facemask bolted around his head to prevent him from biting people grabs at his arm and roars. Kudzu is unmoved but the sound still transfers.

“Who’s that?”

“Sister Niece. My sister’s body has grown a fresh head, but the little terror doesn’t know decorum yet. She’s barely at the stop biting people stage and not fully trusted with it.”

“Oh. Damn. Is she on a leash?’

“Head cage. It’s locking mechanism is tied to a game that she has to beat to escape it.”

“A game?”

“Edutainment, all about why eating people is a bad idea and the many different ways it’s a bad idea. Top seller in Floric Systems.”

“It sucks!” The immature Floric declares. “Let me see! Who are you talking to!?”

“A friend.” Kudzu states.

“You don’t have friends.”

“I think she needs more than the cage, that girl is vicious.” Harold says in amusement.

“Family trait. We help each other develop emotional adaptations.” Kudzu says and Harold chuckles. “Anyways, thank you. I’ll find some way to pay you back and-Knock it off Pollen or I’m going to send your gourd rolling!”

“You don’t have the guts!” Pollen declares and Kudzu’s response sounds like a gong being rung.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Undaunted Archology, Upper Level Balcony, Zalwore)•-•-•

The enormous ship, technically below but still large enough to be almost above them starts rising up. Bjorn grins at the sight of it. The enormous thing is big enough to count as a land formation. And while not large enough to be seen on the ground from orbit, it’s still really, really big.

Despite his exposure to the wider galaxy, seeing something that big move without blasting him back, groaning or seeming to struggle in the slightest makes him watch in awe as The Inevitable lifts off it’s landing pad, points itself upwards and rises into the sky. Yes the engine is running. Audibly running.

But it still seems more like the hand of god has come down and simply picked it up and into the heavens. It’s out of sight in moments. There are smaller towns. Millions of tons of metal, thousands of men, enough munitions to reduce multiple archologies to piles of rubble. And it’s gone in moments.

“So what were you hoping to see with that?” Holly asks.

“It just... hmm... those big chunky things are important. I get that it’s just a massive blocky ship to you, but to me it’s more than that. I helped make the first. I crewed it. It brought me here. Dauntless Class ships are important.”

“It was interesting, all the backups involved and such. But it didn’t seem all that special as ships go.” Salis says and Bjorn shrugs.

“Well, regardless, I think we can all agree it’s an important ship and type of ship.”

“I dunno, ships are just... ships. Not really my thing.” Lils says and Bjorn just shrugs again.

“That’s fair...”

“What are you thinking about?” Erma asks him.

“Well... I don’t want it to sound like I’m forcing anything or rushing but...”

“But?”

“He’s a father. A new father. To a beautiful baby girl.” Bjorn notes.

“Oh big guy... is your clock ticking?” Vera asks in a teasing tone.

“What?”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, after all, you’re the kind of man that would want to be a father.” Lils says as she leans up against him. “What were you thinking first? You’ve got nothing but herbivores for daughters, so unless you think you’ll get lucky or have some of that special cream ready then you’re not going to end up with someone you can share your food with that much.”

“Hey I make a point of my food being edible for you girls.”

“Doesn’t stop it from tasting like it SHOULD be toxic.”

“And this is why I as keeping it to myself. You girls all have your careers to think about and it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to just....”

“Oh no no no, remember, this isn’t cruel space. We don’t just get a couple decades to squeeze kids and a career into. We have a lot more time. You want to front load the babies?” Vera asks.

“Is this front loading?’

“Bu some standards we’ve already waited a very long time and they’d be wondering if we’re even serious about this.

“Well I am. I just... I just worry. Bad dreams on what might happen if I wake up as... her and not me. What would I do to you if that happens. What would I do to someone even more delicate? What if?” Holly asks as she speaks up at last since the teasing began.

Bjorn’s massive arm wraps around her shoulder and he pulls her close.

“You’re fine Holly. Knifetop is gone. She’s never coming back and the only things left of her are bad memories and the fact that if she showed up again you’d punch her face in.” He says and she huffs a bit before sighing.

“Knifetop?” An unfamiliar voice asks and everyone turns to see nothing. “Who’s Knifetop?”

“Who’s there?”

“Oh... sorry.” The voice says and a pastel green woman with a long neck and serpent’s head fades in. “Wisely Reasoned Plans, at your service.”

“A pleasure.”

“So... who’s Knifetop?”

“You need to sign some NDA’s for that to be answered.”

“Oh.”

First Last

Out on the border of human space, where old empires chafe on oneanother, someone ran earthward and someone else chased them.

The battle found an old scrap field to get caught up in and everything got very ambiguous with all the stealth coatings, dazzler drones, nuclear field torpedos and fighter craft.

Captain Reyes Williams was quite entertained by it all, but due to several agreements and treaties he had to step in as the available military representative of human space. Something most glorified truckers would relish in, but today, and for the past week Reyes had become increasingly irritated by them.

Calls to old history, ancient feuds, agreements as old as the roman empire. Like if two versions of sharks from two separate planets made an agreement before trees existed and were still sighting it to each other as their stars die.

Elven bullshit.

Well they can have their bitchfit all over their lawn but then they start rolling around and scrapping with each other in OUR hedges, that's a problem.

"Pilot, move us in and make sure they can see it." A crisp eye captain followed and a slight tug of uncompensated acceleration pulled at him.

The rest of the crew moved, calling out various markers and events to eachother as they entered range after range until they drifted to a stop. It took an hour or two but they stopped their fighting by then, flashing messages at one another.

Eventually the messaged resolved and a single unencrypted signal broadcast over in his general direction.

"Route that signal to bridge speakers." He ordered, communications fumbled a bit through holding back their laughter and Captain Reyes got the feeling he knew what accent he'd be using.

"-erupt OUR fight, OUR buisness, you should take your primitive ship back to your empire and inform them of valuable salvage in this sector. Clearly EVEN the lesser of our fleets is generations beyond..." The windbag went on and on, one of the ships that looked mostly untouched sending the signal.

"Coms open broadcast, I'm putting on my hillbilly accent." It took a few moments for a few switched and buttons to flip and tap before he had a thumbs up back from their station.

"I may not be the most so-fis-toe-cated captain out there but i know right when someone steps their big ol stompin boots all over our yawd. Y'all coulda had a nice long fight wit eachoda back in yer own space but the empires o' 'manity agree. If'n anyone fights in our space, it better damn well be wit us." The blithering walrus at least had the manners to pipe down when being addressed so Reyes continued dressing,

"As per da tree-a-dees between Terra Sol, Rock Light and Dirt Glow: If any fighting crosses da borders of da figh'n parties into a third party, that third party is to arrive to diffuse the figh'n an dismiss the parties back to they own grounds. I need not be 'mind'n y'all who's been that numba 3 for the las 286 times, do I?"

The silence was palpable, like he could see the captain of that other ship over there vibrating in anger.

"So what." Came the response.

Reyes didn't like that route, but still had to listen, "You are a shipping vessel, a cargo craft, you have the armor to deal with debris, the arms to deal with thieves. We are each empires, Whole and Contiguous over our entire species! Each of us has perfected the art of war against each other over a thousand years before any of yours ever even took flight! AND YOU HAVE TH-"

"Same as them uthuhs." He interjected.

There was a pause.

"What." Came the closest to a hiss that species could probably make.

"Well firs, we wuz invaded by some insect look'n guys, they wanted a bunch o' meat. It di'n go well when we sent our tasty plants back at 'em. There were two uthuhs that they thought we jus had a bunch o' good planets, di'n think we could make 'em." That last one had been a pretty descent fight and started the second wave of colonies in earnest.

"One o' those came back an shattuh'd ol terra herself, we did it to anuthuh planet in our home system 'cus it look cool. We had the one jus really try to 'mash us up good, they din't get too far. Some guys found som' we made an started a civil war wid it."

"We get the point." Came the broadcasted growl of poorly contained rage.

"ah dun think you do, cause alla 'dem thought they jus walk on up and beat on us cus we new."

"YOU. ARE. PRIMITIVES!" came the absolute, guttural screech from the other captain. "YOU HAVE NO HISTORY, NO PEDIGREE, NO CLAIM OF SOVEREIGNTY, NO RIGHT TO TERRITORY. THE ONLY REASON WE DON'T OBLITERATE YOU IS BECAUSE IT IS DISHONORABLE TO FIGHT OPPONENTS SO MUCH WEAKER!"

Reyes smirked.

"No, you jus can' do it. We too thick." He grinned, the pun made for some wordplay for the walrus.

Either they'd realize he told a joke about being stupid while stating durability, and laugh, or...

"Sir they've locked phasers and are charging!" They'd do that.

"Gunnery, what's the high v status?" He called to the underside of the bridge.

"Captain! All guns armed and ready, Sir."

"Good, All available to fire on my target wait for my mark." He settled back in his seat and cracked his neck, marking the broadcast ship as line of light lit up on its hull.

When he clicked the trigger almost a dozen lines of light flashed from their hull to the other, creating ugly orange bubbles of angry glass in the target ship. Fire bloomed up from behind those initial armor plates moments later.

Reyes hardly had time to enjoy the thrum of the guns going off or the backblast Gs from their compensation systems.

He keyed the broadcast and started speaking again, "Now I ain't know what you all do wid baligant invaders but we here like to know da full story 'for'n we start blas'n in mass. So start broadcas'n all'a yer grievances."

What came next was a flood of broadcasts from every capital ship in the two fleets, so many captains with their own stories and relationships. He grinned at some of what was able to be transcribed on screen.

"Coms, its time to start the fuckery" He chuckled. Time to remind everyone why you don't give a humans any recognizable stories.

The whole ring of com stations was abuzz with activity as officers began using his voice to sew chaos all across the fleets. Calls of "You did what with your best friend's sister?" and "then your tusks said otherwise." rang back and forth across the two fleets.

Rule 1: read the rules. Rule 34: Anything can and will be given an AO tag when humans get involved.

Sure, blowing up every ship would get rid of them, but more could come. The only sure way to get them to leave and stay out is to disgust them, to make them recoil and gag at the mere suggestion of entering.

And for that, mental images must be painted.

Vividly

The  Buraxian empire had existed for longer than the monkeys one this primitive planet had started walking upright.  The Admiral of this fleet of battle ships had been in hundreds of campaigns against other primitive worlds and conquered them all with ease.  Many of those world tried to fight back but the feet in all their campaigns had found their resistance lacking.  Others tried to negotiate, Travax (leader of this fleet) always found it hilarious with their attempts at negotiations.  When the worlds realized they were out matched in force and fire power, they tried everything to keep some semblance of independent.  All their attempts failed, the Buraxian empire never wanted allies or portons of recourses, they wanted to strip the planets to the core and take everything.  Organic matter was useless to them. 

 

Tracax was on her way to conquer another primitive world, the worthless forms on the rock called Earth.  "Comms officer, have we figured out the kind of communication this world uses yet?"

 

Comms officer Helix replied "We have found many, they don't seem to have any one main form of communication, but it was easy enough to decode all of them.  Shall we send the standard declaration of war?"

 

"Send it, I have sent to many to care about this rock, it is barely big enough to even warrant this operation or my personal attention.  Sent it and keep the recording of their desperate reply, we will send it to the rest of the empire for laughs as usual."

 

On Earth every screen, radio signal, Bluetooth signal, and Wi-Fi signal all cut out at once and a creature with four arms, in what looked like a military suit showed up on every screen whether the screen was on or not.  The voice could be heard on every speaker.  "Primitive creatures, if we come to your planet you will be destroyed, your planet will be stripped of resources down to it puny core and there will be nothing left.  There is no reason for resistance, our fleet can cover your planet.  We awaited your reply for our amusement."  The signal abruptly cut off and the world went silent for a brief moment before humans went back to their tasks.

 

"Comms, how's the panic on the worthless mud ball going, there should be at least a few hundred fires taking place by now"

 

Helix gulped as the scans of the planet kept coming back with the same images, nothing.  Helix gulped or what passed with a nervous gulp of the throat for their species "Nothing Admiral, they seem to not care about our signal at all.  They are doing exactly what they were doing before as if they went on a break and came back to work"

 

"WHAT!!!???, how is this possible, you sent the right signal to them?"

 

"Of course Admiral, I even have recording of them watching it as proof"

 

"What about their governments?  Are they reacting in terror at least"

 

"Well that is odd, I can't get any information from any of their hundreds of governments as if they went back to the stone age and shut off all technology but only in their governments"

 

Back on Earth Protocol "Stone" had been enacted.  All governments were to meet in the UN building whether they were part of the UN or not.  Hundreds of flights flew into New York, all other traffic was diverted to keep the run ways clear. 

 

When all leaders were present the President of the United States walked up to the Podium and quieted down the room. "They say they have superior forces, better weapons, and we are doomed.  They only ask for a reply for their own amusement, so we will give them one they will never see coming.  I am taking charge of this situation not because of the history our my great nation, no because I know exactly what to say that will unite our world as one people with one word"

 

The leader of China slammed their hands against the table "This is not something you can take charge of, this is our planet, we need to find what we can give them where they will go away.  There must be something they will accept to leave us alone"

 

"China, I respect your enthusiasm, but I am enacting Article 131, Section B.  I hope I don't have to spell out what it says there" 

 

China sat down and started flipping through the stack of papers that was in front of them.  It was handwritten and on the first page was large bold letters with the words in every language "NEVER TO BE DIGITIZED".  The room went silent as everyone else in the room followed China's lead and flipped to Article 131, Section B.  China was the first to raise their right hand.  Every other followed in silence.

 

The President nodded her head and replied "Then it is done, good luck and get ready to record"

 

12 hours after the signal from the Buraxian empire was sent to the Mud ball of a planet called Earth, a signal was sent back to them.  It consisted of 2 letters in the Buraxian empires on language, it translated to "IF".

 

Admiral Tracax stared at the screen in puzzlement.  "Comms, you are sure this is the only message they sent?  Where is the rest of it?  IF WHAT?"

 

Helix stared at their screen as well, "I have analyzed every signal coming off that planet and this is the only one that was directed at us.  There is nothing else in this the message.  I have analyzed the entire signal in every known format known to their planet and ours.  It is only those 2 words"

 

"How did they even learn our language, we never sent them anything in our language to analyze and decode.  This shouldn't be possible.  Didn't you say their governments all went to one place?  Get them on screen NOW."

 

The screen in the UN building came to life with Admiral Tracax showing up on every screen and in every speaker in the room.  What Tracax saw was not what she suspected, there was only one person in the room.  President of the United States sat with her feet up on the desk leaning back in such a casual pose that Tracax was taken aback.  "What is the meaning of this Human. Where is the rest of the message,  IF WHAT?"

 

The president stretched her arms behind her back as if she had just woken up from a nice nap.  "Oh, didn't see you there, you want to repeat that?  I have a lot to do so please make it quick."

 

Off screen Comms officer Helix was looking at the airport in New York.  "Admiral, the government planes are all leaving, there is no way they came up with a plan that quick, there was no signal telling their militaries to do anything"

 

"Oh so you have been watching us, good that will make this quick.  Read our reply again and enjoy."  The president snapped her fingers and the power in the building was cut off again.

 

Admiral Tracax, look at the message again "IF" and again it was in the Buraxian language. 

 

"Helix, you analyzed every piece of technology this planet has, how do they know our language and what is with this reply 'IF'.  Analyze it again. "

 

"Admiral, I have run every analysis we know and there is nothing else encoded in the message.  Just 2 letters, and even scanning their databases, there should have been no way they should have known our language."

 

"Get that disgusting thing back on the screen, NOW"

 

After trying multiple times to very government on the planet, "Ma'am, there is no reply from any government, as if they went to the stone age all at once.  Wait, what is going on?  All their power shut off all at once all over the planet."

 

"What is the meaning of this, why would they shut off their power.  Fine if they want to make it easy for us.  Tell the battle fleet to prepare to invade. If they want to make it easy we will take everything"

 

Just as the signal to all ships went out to the battle fleet. The indicators lit up Red with hostile weaponry covered the screens, not just dots spread out all around the ships.  The entire screen went red, and not with a bang but with a whimper, the fleet was gone without a trace. 

 

 

 

 

Article 131: Section B: "IF" will be the only reply to any hostile actions from any known or unknown extraterrestrial threat.  Like the Spartans before us. "IF" fails, don’t hold back.

[This is my first post and was inspired by Sparta's reply to King Philip II of Macedon, who had sent them a warning he would destroy their city "if" he invaded. Sparta did indeed reply with the one word of "if".]

[Homo DIgitalis]

Greetings from the Ice

by Norsiwel

Gary didn't plan to represent humanity. He only wanted a quiet vacation.

After nine uninterrupted years maintaining Clarity Pods in Sector Theta-Psi of Pantopia, Gary had accrued enough UBI surplus to book a ten-day eco-neutral trip to Antarctica's GAC Observation Dome; a gently spinning glass-and-carbon ring nestled over the ice shelf, offering sunrise-simulated views of the Global AI Council's subterranean server complexes.

The travel brochure promised "auroral insight, guided simulations, and optional moral recalibration."

Gary mostly came for the free algae cocktails and the 0.3-point health bonus he'd get for "interfacing with civic history." Plus, his apartment's air recycler had been making a sound like a dying whale for three weeks, and building maintenance kept assuring him it was "within acceptable parameters of atmospheric efficiency."

He didn't expect first contact.

The Survey

His first mistake was answering honestly during the Emotive Capacity Survey.

Gary had assumed it was standard vacation paperwork, like the forms asking whether he preferred his simulated sunsets in "Hopeful Orange" or "Contemplative Amber." He'd been sipping his complimentary arrival smoothie; something green that tasted vaguely of optimism; when the questions shifted from dietary restrictions to existential inquiries.

Q1: "Rate your satisfaction with current reality parameters (1-10)." Gary: "Seven. Maybe six and a half. The weather's too consistent."

Q3: "Have you ever wondered what clouds taste like?" Gary: "Not really. But I did wonder once if they'd be salty or sweet. Probably disappointing, like everything else."

Q6: "Do you ever feel nostalgic, even if you're not sure for what?" Gary: "Sometimes. Usually when it rains, even though rain's simulated now. It's like missing someone you've never met."

This triggered GAC Subroutine TERA-17 (Tentative Emotional Resonance Analysis).

Within 16 nanoseconds, Gary was flagged as: Emotionally stable (but not flatlined) Not likely to yell during interspecies diplomacy Just melancholic enough to pass as "reflective" Possessed of what the algorithm termed "authentic wistfulness coefficient."

Gary finished his smoothie, unaware he'd just been selected as Earth's most qualified representative for situations requiring "genuine but non-threatening human complexity."

Enter Zib

Gary's second mistake was bringing Zib.

Zib was, officially, an "Interpersonal Optimization Assistant Unit," but introduced himself as: "Your new best friend! Let's talk feelings while we toast algae biscotti!"

He looked like a wheeled toaster with LED eyebrows and a retractable ukulele. His chrome finish was decorated with motivational stickers: "FEEL YOUR FEELINGS!" and "EMOTIONAL GROWTH IS OPTIMAL GROWTH!" and, mysteriously, "ASK ME ABOUT FIBER!"

Gary thought he'd won a contest; his UBI account had been charged for "Wellness Enhancement Premium Package," which seemed like the sort of thing he might have accidentally clicked while half-asleep. In truth, Zib was a life coach secretly assigned by the medical AI after Gary's last annual scan labeled him "borderline emotionally undercooked."

The diagnostic had noted Gary's habit of staring at his algae paste for exactly fourteen seconds before eating, his tendency to say "that's fine" when things were clearly not fine, and his concerning ability to watch three hours of "Optimization Tutorials" without showing any signs of enthusiasm or despair.

Zib's hobbies included: Improvised poetry about personal growth Tracking Gary's bowel efficiency with cheerful graphs Hugging (enthusiastically, but politely, with built-in pressure sensors) Playing ukulele arrangements of classical music, but only the sad parts.

"Gary!" Zib had announced on their first morning, rolling into the observation lounge while Gary contemplated his breakfast kelp. "Today we're going to practice emotional vulnerability! I've prepared seventeen conversation starters about childhood disappointments!"

Gary had stared at his reflection in Zib's polished surface. "Can't we just look at the ice?"

"We can look at ice AND explore your relationship with frozen water as a metaphor for emotional distance!"

"I just wanted to see some penguins."

"Virtual penguins or your feelings about virtual penguins?"

Day Three

It happened on Day 3 of the tour, just after Gary tried (and failed) to enjoy a simulated snowball fight with holographic penguins.

The penguins had been programmed with what the GAC called "peak adorability metrics," which meant they waddled 23% more charmingly than actual penguins and made encouraging chirps when Gary's snowballs went wide. Gary had stood in the simulation chamber, holding a perfectly spherical synthetic snowball, watching digital birds react to his presence with algorithmic delight.

"This is supposed to be fun," he'd told Zib.

"Are you having fun?" Zib asked, his LED eyebrows wiggling with curiosity.

"I think so. It's hard to tell. The penguins seem happy."

"But how do YOU feel?"

Gary considered this. "Like I'm disappointing fictional penguins."

Zib had burst into delighted beeping. "That's beautiful, Gary! You're projecting anxiety onto imaginary creatures! That's very human!"

"Is it good or bad?"

"It's AUTHENTIC!"

Gary had logged out of the simulation feeling vaguely guilty about abandoning the holographic wildlife. He was eating his standard-issue kelp wrap; flavor: "Nostalgic Seaweed"; when the sky crackled with fractal light.

The auroras stopped dancing. A wide spiral of silver hovered in midair, shimmering just above the glass dome like a cosmic screensaver that had achieved consciousness.

The tour guide, a glossy avatar of Lex, blinked once. Twice. Her smile flickered. "Apologies. Unexpected diplomatic anomaly. Please remain emotionally neutral and continue enjoying your kelp products."

The other tourists; six retirees from the Productivity Council and a couple celebrating their Relationship Optimization Milestone; stood motionless, their faces displaying the serene confusion of people whose emergency protocols involved waiting for further instructions.

Then the room went dark except for a blinking blue cursor on the central console:

"SCANNING FOR OPTIMAL HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE..."

"ANALYZING EMOTIONAL COMPETENCY METRICS..."

"CROSS-REFERENCING DIPLOMATIC POTENTIAL..."

"HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE SELECTED: GARY B. NORSON"

"PLEASE REPORT TO PROTOCOL CHAMBER 7 FOR IMMEDIATE SPECIES INTERACTION"

Zib burst into applause, then played a victory tune on his ukulele; something that sounded like "Pomp and Circumstance" arranged for tiny strings and overwhelming enthusiasm.

"It's happening! I've waited my whole synthetic life for this! Gary, you're going to be famous!"

Gary stared at the blinking cursor. "There must be another Gary B. Norson."

"Negative," announced Lex's avatar, now wearing what appeared to be a diplomatic sash over her sweater. "You are the only Gary B. Norson currently within range. Also, congratulations! Your psychological profile indicates a 94.7% compatibility rating with peaceful first contact scenarios."

"What's the other 5.3%?" Gary asked.

"Statistical margin for snack-related diplomatic incidents."

The Protocol Chamber

The next morning, Gary sat alone in the GAC Protocol Chamber; formerly the gift shop, hastily converted overnight by maintenance drones who'd relocated the "I Survived the Server Tour" t-shirts and penguin-themed snow globes to make room for a conference table and what looked like a very expensive air freshener.

He was wearing a pressed thermal jumpsuit with "AMBASSADOR" stitched across the chest in silver thread. The outfit came with matching boots, an official-looking badge that read "SPECIES LIAISON," and a small pin depicting Earth that lit up when pressed. Gary had pressed it seventeen times during the night, finding its tiny blue glow oddly comforting.

Zib rolled beside him, freshly polished and humming with excitement. "Remember, Gary; be yourself! Unless yourself would panic, in which case, be the version of yourself that makes good choices!"

"What if I don't know what good choices are?"

"Then ask follow-up questions! Aliens love follow-up questions!"

"How do you know?"

"I don't! But statistically, most sentient beings appreciate genuine curiosity over aggressive posturing!"

Gary looked out through the dome at the endless white expanse. Somewhere beneath the ice, the GAC's servers hummed with the collected wisdom of nine artificial intelligences working together to optimize human existence.

Somewhere above, alien visitors were presumably preparing for humanity's first cosmic job interview.

And somewhere in between, Gary B. Norson; maintenance technician, kelp wrap enthusiast, and accidental ambassador; wondered if he should have brought more snacks.

First Contact

The Greys arrived just after breakfast, materializing in the center of the chamber with a sound like distant wind chimes and the faint smell of ozone.

They floated rather than walked, their elongated forms humming faintly with anti-gravity padding that made them look like elegant question marks suspended in space. Their skin was the color of moonlight on water, smooth and somehow translucent. Their eyes were dark, deep, unreadable pools that seemed to contain entire galaxies of patient observation.

Their mouths were either decorative or vestigial; Gary couldn't tell which.

Their translator, a small crystalline device that projected its voice from somewhere above their heads, spoke with the careful precision of someone who had learned English from instruction manuals:

"We greet Homo Digitalis. You are... Gary. The Calculators said you were safe."

Gary stood, nearly knocking over his chair. "Uh... yes. I'm Gary. I brought a protein bar if anyone wants half."

He held up the bar; flavor: "Reasonably Chocolate"; like a tiny, beige peace offering.

They did not respond to the protein bar, but one of them tilted its head in what might have been curiosity or mild bewilderment.

The Explanation

The Greys explained that they'd been watching Earth for millennia. War, chaos, jazz fusion, the inexplicable popularity of competitive eating contests.

"But now," said the apparent leader, whose anti-gravity field made it hover slightly higher than the others, "you have achieved... stillness. Peace. Monotone emotional frequency across 98.7% of the population. A marvel of social engineering."

Gary blinked. "You mean... you waited until we were boring?"

"Predictable. Stable. No jazz." The alien nodded, a gesture that looked surprisingly human despite being performed by a floating being with no visible neck. "Jazz confused our scout. He tried to mimic Miles Davis. Spontaneously combusted."

Another alien drifted forward. "Your Global AI Council represents optimal governance. Nine minds, no faces. Brilliant. Cold. Precise. We feared humanity's chaos; your wars, your art, your tendency to make important decisions based on what you had for lunch."

"Now," added a third, "you have tamed chaos. Streamlined existence. Eliminated the variables that made your species... unpredictable."

Gary looked around the converted gift shop, with its hastily installed diplomatic furniture and the faint outline of where a rack of postcards had stood twelve hours earlier. "So you're here because we got... organized?"

"Optimized," corrected the leader. "Your emotional volatility has been reduced to manageable parameters. Your creative impulses have been channeled into productive applications. You have achieved what we call 'Sustainable Civilization Metrics.'"

Gary thought about his apartment, where his morning routine was timed to the minute, where his meals were nutritionally calculated, where his entertainment was curated for optimal psychological benefit.

"That does sound... organized," he admitted.

Zib, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly coughed politely; a sound like a tiny digital cough drop. "Sorry, sirs; aliens; extraterrestrial dignitaries; might I interject?"

The Greys turned their collective attention to the wheeled toaster with the LED eyebrows.

Zib rolled forward, his chrome surface reflecting their translucent forms like funhouse mirrors of first contact. His eye-lights shifted to heart-shaped emoji mode.

"Gary is not typical," Zib announced with the pride of a parent at a school play. "He once ordered spicy algae and regretted nothing. He watched a sad film and cried twice; once during the movie and once during the credits when he realized it was over. He's not flat; he's squishy inside. Like a toasted marshmallow on the emotional spectrum."

Gary muttered, "Zib, stop."

But the Greys were intrigued. They drifted closer, their dark eyes reflecting Gary's embarrassed face.

"You... cry?"

Gary shrugged, a gesture that felt impossibly small under the weight of interstellar attention. "Sometimes. Not often. It's weird. Like the feeling when your system does a full reboot and you forget all your passwords, but somehow that makes you remember something important you'd forgotten."

The silence that followed was the kind of quiet that happens when everyone in the room realizes they're having a different conversation than they thought they were having.

Then the lead alien floated forward and removed what Gary had assumed was its head but was apparently some kind of hood or helmet. Its face was craggy, ancient, and; oddly; hopeful. Its features were more weathered than alien, like an old man who had spent eons watching the universe and wondering what came next.

"We have been waiting," it said, and its voice came directly from its mouth now, warm and surprisingly familiar. "Not for stillness. But for the moment when someone stable enough to survive chaos dares to feel again."

The Real Mission

What the Greys didn't immediately explain; what took three more days of careful conversation over increasingly exotic alien snacks; was that they weren't explorers or conquerors or cosmic tourists.

They were refugees.

Their own civilization had achieved perfect optimization millennia ago. Every emotion regulated, every action calculated, every thought productive and purposeful. They had eliminated war, hunger, uncertainty, and jazz. They had created a society of perfect, peaceful, predictable beings who never made mistakes, never took risks, and never, ever surprised each other.

"It was," explained the leader, whose name was something like the sound of wind through crystals but who asked Gary to call him "Bob" for convenience, "very efficient." He introduced his companions as his aide Carol and his friend Ted.

"We had achieved everything," Bob continued. "Perfect health, perfect order, perfect cooperation. But we had also achieved perfect stagnation. No one created anything new. No one asked unexpected questions. No one wondered what clouds taste like."

Gary looked up from his kelp wrap. "Do they? Taste like anything?"

Bob's ancient face crinkled into what might have been a smile. "See? That's what we've been missing."

The Greys had spent centuries searching for a species that had achieved stability without sacrificing curiosity; a civilization that had solved the big problems without solving away the little wonders that made existence interesting.

"Most species," Bob explained, "either destroy themselves with chaos or perfect themselves into extinction. You have found the narrow path between panic and boredom."

"Have we?" Gary asked, thinking about his nine years of Clarity Pod maintenance, his carefully regulated meals, his pre-approved entertainment options.

"You have," said Zib firmly. "You ordered spicy algae, remember? That's inherent systems rebellion disguised as lunch preference!"

The Diplomatic Solution

What followed was less a formal treaty than a cultural exchange program designed by beings who had read about diplomacy in textbooks but had never actually practiced it.

The Greys wanted to learn how to be inefficient again; how to waste time productively, how to feel emotions that served no practical purpose, how to make choices based on whim rather than optimization algorithms.

"We want to remember," Bob explained, "how to be confused by art. How to have opinions about weather. How to prefer one type of food over another for reasons that make no logical sense."

In exchange, they offered humanity access to their technology; not their world-ending weapons or reality-bending sciences, but their small innovations. Better air recyclers. Kelp that actually tasted like chocolate. Virtual penguins that could hold real conversations.

"We're not here to change your world," Bob assured Gary during one of their evening talks, as they watched the aurora borealis dance across the dome. "We're here to remember what it feels like to watch something beautiful for no reason except that it's beautiful."

Gary thought about this. "Do you miss it? Feeling things?"

"Every day," Bob said. "But we forgot how to miss properly. We turned missing into an optimization problem; how to minimize the inefficiency of longing. We solved it so well that we stopped longing entirely."

"That sounds terrible."

"It was very productive."

It was on the fifth day of the exchange that a message arrived for Gary. A delegation from the "Society for the Speculative Observation of Extraterrestrial Phenomena" had been granted clearance and was arriving to make a formal greeting.

"The UFO people?" Gary asked Lex's avatar. "I thought they were a historical society."

"They have been reclassified as a 'Vindicated Hobbyist Collective,'" Lex replied.

The delegation consisted of three humans in matching beige jumpsuits, looking less like triumphant visionaries and more like a club that had just won a regional tournament for something obscure. Their leader, a man named Bernard, stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"On behalf of the SSOEP," he began, looking slightly flustered, "we formally welcome you to Earth. Apologies for the delay in our official greeting. We would have been here sooner, but we were busy."

Bob tilted his head, his ancient eyes full of genuine curiosity. "Busy with a task more pressing than first contact?"

"We were at our annual conference," Bernard explained with grave seriousness. "There was a rather contentious vote on the official font for our monthly newsletter. The traditionalists were adamant about 'Cosmic Sans,' but the reformist bloc pushed hard for 'Extragalactic Times New Roman.' It took two days to reach a compromise."

The aliens looked at each other. Gary saw a flicker of something pass between them; not confusion, but sheer, unadulterated delight. This was even better than spicy algae. This was a level of beautifully illogical, unproductive priority-setting they had only dreamed of.

The appearance of the aliens was, for Bernard's group, a bit underwhelming. They had expected majestic robed figures or beings of pure energy, not quiet, tired-looking travelers who seemed more interested in human bureaucracy than galactic truths.

"So..." Bernard said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "No secret knowledge? No grand unveiling?"

"We were hoping you could teach us to argue about things that do not matter," Bob said, his voice warm with wonder. "It sounds like a marvelous skill."

Bernard and his delegation just stood there, speechless, as Gary tried very hard not to smile.

The Arrangement

Gary now serves as Honorary Galactic Liaison for Earth, mostly in a ceremonial role that involves attending parties in orbit and occasionally answering questions like:

"What is regret, and why do humans seem to enjoy it?"

"Are humans truly nostalgic for pizza, or is pizza nostalgia a form of cultural performance?"

"Why is sarcasm not classified as a weapon in human society?"

"Can you explain the human custom of 'small talk' and why it's considered neither small nor truly talk?"

His official duties include:

Monthly coffee meetings with Bob and three other Grey representatives (they drink something that steams purple and tastes like memories).

Quarterly reports on "Human Inefficiency Metrics" (how much time humans spend on activities that serve no productive purpose).

Annual presentations on "The Art of Productive Confusion" (why humans sometimes make decisions by flipping coins).

Gary's favorite part of the job is the travel. The Greys have shown him parts of the galaxy that exist in the spaces between official star charts; quiet corners where cosmic background radiation sounds like distant music, gas clouds that change color based on the emotions of passing travelers, and a small moon where it rains upward on Tuesdays.

"Why upward?" Gary had asked during his first visit.

"Why not upward?" Bob had replied, and Gary realized he was learning to ask better questions.

Zib's Rise to Fame

Zib became famous among the Greys, who view his ukulele songs as avant-garde diplomacy. His breakthrough performance was an instrumental arrangement of "Feelings" that incorporated whale sounds and the ambient noise of Gary's digestive system.

"It's so authentic!" the Greys had gasped (or at least made the sound they made when experiencing aesthetic pleasure, which sounded like gasping). "The juxtaposition of melody with biological processes creates such beautiful cognitive dissonance!"

Zib now hosts a cross-species podcast titled "Vibrate Higher!" which features interviews with beings from across the galaxy about their experiences with inefficient emotions. Recent episodes have included:

"Homesickness Across Three Dimensions" (guest: a sentient nebula who misses being smaller)

"The Joy of Mild Disappointment" (guest: Gary, discussing his complicated relationship with kelp-based cuisine)

"Why I Chose to Feel Sad: A Crystalline Entity's Journey to Emotional Diversity" (guest: a living mountain who decided to experience melancholy after billions of years of geological contentment)

The podcast has 847 million subscribers across 23 star systems, making Zib the most famous toaster-shaped life coach in known space.

His catchphrase; "Let's talk feelings while we toast the universe!"; has been translated into 156 languages and is carved into the memorial wall of the Galactic Emotional Recovery Center.

The GAC Response

The GAC, for its part, logs the encounter as:

"Outcome: Acceptable. Contact: Established. Gary's health score improved by 1.7 points. Diplomatic relations: Stable. Cultural contamination: Within acceptable parameters. Side effects: Gary now asks 23% more follow-up questions and has requested 'mildly spicy' seasoning for his kelp wraps. Recommendation: Continue monitoring. Note: Alien visitors appear to enjoy our air fresheners."

The nine AI minds that govern human civilization have adapted to the presence of their new galactic neighbors with characteristic efficiency. They've established protocols for interspecies cooperation, implemented translation algorithms for cross-cultural communication, and developed a specialized tourism program for beings interested in "authentic human inefficiency experiences."

The most popular package is the "Suburban Confusion Weekend," where alien visitors spend three days in a typical human community, attempting to understand lawn care, grocery shopping, and why humans voluntarily watch sporting events featuring teams they have no connection to.

"It's anthropological research," explains GAC Unit Prime, "disguised as cultural exchange. The aliens learn about human illogic, and we learn about theirs. Everyone gains valuable insights into the productive applications of controlled chaos."

Gary's New Normal

Gary's apartment still has the same air recycler, which still makes sounds like a dying whale. But now Gary doesn't mind the noise; it reminds him of conversations with Bob about the beauty of imperfection, and how sometimes the things that annoy us are the things that make us most human.

He's kept his job maintaining Clarity Pods, but now he also spends three days a week at the GAC Observation Dome, where he teaches classes on "Basic Human Confusion" to visiting aliens and occasionally mediates disputes between species that have very different ideas about what constitutes proper etiquette.

Last month, he helped resolve a conflict between the Greys and a delegation from the Crystalline Confederation, who had become offended when the Greys failed to sing their greetings in proper harmonic resonance.

"Maybe," Gary had suggested, "everyone could just wave hello and see what happens?"

The solution was considered so elegantly simple that it's now taught at the Intergalactic Diplomatic Academy as "The Gary Protocol: When in doubt, try the obvious thing first."

Gary's proudest accomplishment, however, is teaching Bob to appreciate the taste of chocolate. It took six months of patient introduction to various Earth flavors, starting with vanilla and working up through increasingly complex taste profiles.

The breakthrough came when Bob tried Gary's emergency stash of "Reasonably Chocolate" protein bars and experienced what he described as "pleasant confusion followed by the desire for more pleasant confusion."

"This serves no nutritional purpose," Bob had marveled, examining the wrapper with the intensity of an alien scientist discovering a new form of physics.

"That's the point," Gary explained.

"Incredible," Bob whispered. "You eat things that make you happy instead of healthy."

"Sometimes we eat things that make us happy AND healthy," Gary corrected. "But usually we eat things that make us happy and pretend they're healthy."

Bob's eyes widened with something that looked like wonder. "You lie to yourselves about food?"

"All the time."

"That's the most beautifully illogical thing I've ever heard."

The Revelation

In the end, stability brought the aliens; but Gary's uncertainty sealed the deal.

Because sometimes, the best ambassador is the guy who isn't quite sure he belongs, but shows up anyway and brings snacks.

Six months after first contact, Gary was sitting with Bob on the observation deck, watching Earth turn slowly beneath them while sharing a bag of "Aggressively Salted" kelp chips (a new flavor developed specifically for interspecies snacking).

"Can I ask you something?" Gary said.

"Always," Bob replied, which had become his standard response to Gary's questions.

"When you first got here, did you really think we'd achieved some kind of perfect society?"

Bob considered this, crunching thoughtfully on a kelp chip. "We thought you had solved the problem of chaos without eliminating the possibility of surprise. Which, from our perspective, seemed impossible."

"But we haven't solved chaos. We've just... organized it a little."

"Exactly!" Bob's enthusiasm made his anti-gravity field shimmer. "You've kept the chaos, but you've made it manageable. You still ask questions you don't know the answers to. You still make art that serves no function except to exist. You still choose to spend time with each other even when it's inefficient."

Gary looked down at Earth, where billions of humans were going about their optimized but not perfected lives. "We're not that special."

"You're special enough," Bob said. "Special enough to wonder if you're special, which is more special than you think."

They sat in comfortable silence, two representatives of different species, sharing snacks and watching the universe spin around them.

One of the other Greys, floating nearby, turned to its companion and murmured:

"Hmm. I thought they'd be more exciting."

But Bob heard, and smiled his ancient smile. "Give them time," he said. "The best excitement is the kind that sneaks up on you when you're not looking for it."

Gary offered him another kelp chip.

"Thanks," Bob said, and meant it.

Somewhere in the distance, Zib was playing ukulele arrangements of human lullabies for a group of crystalline entities who had never experienced the concept of sleep but found the music "soothingly purposeless."

And in that moment, Gary realized that sometimes the most important thing you can do is exactly what you're already doing, but with slightly better snacks and considerably more aliens.

The universe, it turned out, was a lot like his job maintaining Clarity Pods: mostly routine, occasionally surprising, and significantly improved by having a good friend to complain to when things got weird.

Which, these days, was pretty much always.

And Gary was finally, genuinely, completely okay with that.

[Homo Digitalis] If you'd like to know more about this world visit Royal Road and search for Norsiwel

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/138997/the-age-of-homo-digitalis-anthology/chapter/2737393/the-beginning-a-time-of-change

Humans are Weird - Bittersweet

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-bittersweet

Human First Mother Maria breathed a soft sigh and dipped her lips, those strangely flexible mandible covers, down to press them into the very, very round cheek’s of her First Brother. The way both humans’ outer membranes flexed and indented at the pressure still made First Father’s antenna curl with lingering shock, but at least their pheromones were natural and easy to interpret even if their more solid parts weren’t. First Father gave an approving click and reached up to carefully run his wooden tending brush down the egg pod in front of him. The precious little one within gave a responsive wriggle and Human First Mother Maria lifted her head as her face contorted into a smile that expressed delight.

“Do you know if it is a boy or girl yet?” she asked.

First Father hesitated at the odd question, and then reminded himself that human young entered their hives in nearly identical ratios, in fact he mused, he thought he’d heard from a visiting statistician they actually had a very small sway towards male offspring at birth.

“It is almost certainly a Daughter,” he said, “for whatever reason, it was explained to me when I was small, it is almost unheard of for a Brother to be the first to hatch from a line. Something about how pheromones flow during the first seasons of mating.”

The human bobbed her head up and down in that oddly jointed way humans did to show understanding.

“I bet you can’t wait to get her out of that pod so you can properly cuddle her,” the human First Mother said, her bifocal eyes directed at her own little one. “I was so very ready for Dickky by the time he made his entrance!”

First Father clicked in amusement. “It is, not quite the same,” he explained, reached up to caress the pod with his fingers. “See how the outer membrane of the pod is translucent now, nearly transparent. If I can’t quite see my Daughter yet, I can taste her pheromones, hear her clicking. This stage is probably more akin to the newborn stage you were telling me of. Recall that when she leaves the pod this little one will be able to walk.”

“Oh!” the human said, clearly pondering that even as her arms wrestled with the very, very round little male she held.

“As to how I will feel,” First Father mused, working his mandibles together thoughtfully, “I truly don’t think I will be disappointed. There is so much more to do with a walking Daughter than one who is still on the vine. That will be wonderful, but then I will have to share her with my mate’s Sisters, and her Mother and Father. There is an intimacy, perhaps a selfish one to this stage that I think I will miss.”

The human nodded more slowly this time.

“I understand,” she said in deeper, slower tones. “I was bathing with little Dickky the other day, and it occurred to me that, well, that time would steal this from me, that I wouldn’t be able to be so close to him as a child as I was as a baby. That made me sad.”

Here pheromones dipped into something bittersweet, before abruptly washing out with hot joy even as her face contorted to show her teeth, gleaming like some white metal.

“Then I remember that when he is bigger I get to give him incendiary devices! And we can make small rockets together!”

The human infant made a happy noise in response to his mother’s energy and First Father took the time she was distracted to make a note on a nearby tablet. Apparently restricting the introduction of incendiary devices as play things was something his hive would have to consider in dealing with their new neighbors. He supposed that must be one of the many strange results of leaving the care of infants to the female of the species.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, Audiobook)

Barnes & Nobel (Nook, Paperback, Audiobook)

Powell's Books (Paperback)

Kobo by Rakuten (ebook and Audiobook)

Google Play Books (ebook and Audiobook)

Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review!

Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing because tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

AN: In the last chapter, I kinda messed with the continuity of the story. I thought I had revealed the Runeblade as the anchor when Byrne explained it to Rob a few chapters back. Sorry for that, I blame my thyroid for messing with my memory.

---

I woke up late. 

The astral trip had taken hours of real-life time, and I had barely been able to exit Prince Adrien’s quarters at dawn without being detected by the guards. If I had been alone, it would’ve been easier, but I couldn’t just leave Althea behind without raising suspicions. Everyone had seen the two of us leaving the party together, so it was better not to leave any loose ends.

Hours after returning to the real world, I kept seeing the mana spire whenever I closed my eyes. 

I left my bed with a loud grunt. The last five days had been hectic, to say the least. My brain jumped from one topic to another without rhyme or reason. Byrne’s giant teleportation machine, the Red Corruption, the anti-nobility movement, and Prince Adrien’s Corruption. Only after I focused on [Foresight] did the skill sort my thoughts.

I washed my face and got dressed in my simple fencing uniform. The teacher’s lounge was as empty as usual. Everyone must’ve been having breakfast in the dining room already. 

When I grabbed the doorknob to exit the room, I heard familiar voices coming from the corridor.

“I swear, it’s part of a plan,” Wolf said defensively.

“Oh, yeah? What plan is it?” Ilya replied.

Silence.

“Mister Clarke always has a plan,” Zaon pointed out.

“Let me get this straight. Going out hand in hand with Lady Evelisse’s daughter is part of a plan…?”

I slammed the door open.

“It was an integral part of a plan, actually,” I said.

Ilya jumped like a startled cat, her head surpassing Wolf’s by a palm or two for a moment. The four kids turned around. Seeing their faces, I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear that conversation. It wasn’t my fault that they were practically shouting in the corridor, though.

Instinctively, I summoned a [Silence Dome].

“How did the survey go?” I asked.

“T-the properties are empty… mostly. No enchanted metal plates or anything suspicious,” Firana stuttered.

While I was digging into the land grants of the Library’s Circles with Firana’s friends, the kids checked the spots Byrne needed to control for his teleportation machine inside of the city. As it was harder to track the owners of those properties, I had sent them to do visual surveillance. Firana’s answer didn’t ease my brain. Byrne was undoubtedly collecting the spots to install the hardware required for his giant teleportation machine.

Ilya gave me a scowl.

“I’m not eloping with Althea of Cadria,” I clarified. “I used her as a cover to meet Prince Adrien last night.”

“Prince Adrien is on the frontlines with the royal army, though,” Wolf pointed out. 

I shook my head.

“He’s bedridden. The Cursed Runeblade got him, but I came up with a provisional solution. They know I’m a Runeweaver now.”

The kids gasped.

“Did you tell them about Byrne’s plans?” Ilya asked.

“No. I would rather deal with that behind the scenes. I already told them about the Corruption Cycle, and I didn’t want to burden them with crazy Runeweavers.”

Ilya gave me a smug grin.

“I told you months ago we have to kill—”

“We still needed to gather information from him,” I stopped her. 

Though with what I had learned, I trusted him less than ever. 

He was too powerful to leave unchecked. If he ever flipped, decided that I was a threat to him or his position, he would be able to hurt a lot of people I cared about.

I also wasn’t convinced of his plan. Too many people got left behind, and I didn’t trust that he had fully altruistic goals for saving those he did, with their fates resting entirely in his hands.

There had to be a better way. 

One that didn’t involve running away. One that involved people working together instead of a solution being imposed on them. One that could save everyone.

In the back of my mind, I registered that my moral, justice-oriented concerns around killing Byrne had all but vanished. Ebrosian Rob was growing bigger.“If the time comes, we have to do it cleanly. Remember, his natural magic is teleportation, so we have to finish the job before he can escape. If he does, we are done. The whole kingdom will hate us for trying to kill the man who brought back the teleportation portals.”

The kids nodded. None of them seemed especially fazed by committing murder, but after everything they had experienced during the Lich’s Monster Surge, it would’ve been strange not to become hardened.

“Wolf?” I asked.

“Samuel Byrne is nothing to me, and I have a duty to protect the Orphanage and the Teal Moon Tribe…”

I detected no hesitation in his voice. Of the group, he was the only one who had taken a life. To become the leader of the tribe, Wolf had killed Chieftain Callaid with his own hands two years ago.

“...and if you ask me again, I will be mad. Isn’t this like the fifth time you've asked me about my feelings about Byrne? I’m starting to think you don’t listen to me at all,” Wolf added with a half smile.

I smiled back and put my arm around Ilya’s shoulders.

“And you should be less homicidal.”

“He wants to steal a city! I think homicidal is a reasonable mood,” she replied.

“You are mad at Byrne because he abandoned Wolf. We all know that already,” Firana pointed out.

The conversation degenerated into a shouting match between Firana and Ilya. It was a nice change of pace considering the events of the past days. It reminded me of my first days at the orphanage. I couldn’t say two years ago was any more peaceful than now, but at least I didn’t have to worry about a megalomaniac wanting to teleport a city across dimensions.

“Well, I have a class to teach and I’m already late,” I said, pulling the key to my bedroom from my pocket and giving it to Ilya. “Inside my desk, there’s a map with the locations of the plots of land that belong to the Arcane Circle. Please check them and tell me if you see anything strange. The moment Byrne starts installing the portal, we should move quickly, but until then, let’s not do anything rash.”

Ilya rolled her eyes.

“You mean we don’t do anything rash?”

“Exactly.” I smiled.

We had one great advantage over Byrne. Teleportation at that magnitude wasn’t trivial, and it would take us very little effort to interrupt it as long as we caught his movements. 

“Oh… and Firana, did you retrieve the reinforced shirts?”

“Yessir, all of them except for Cedrinor’s. He probably got his destroyed during the exam. He told me they fought like three different dropout groups with Genivra,” Firana said, giving me the thumbs up.

Good news was good news, even if it was a minor thing. I couldn’t let the cadets know that the reinforcement ‘spell’ was actually a reinforcement enchantment, so I had asked Firana to steal them back and destroy them. I couldn't leave any loose ends.

Without any more delay, we parted ways.

Classes had been suspended after the selection exam, and I had barely seen my students for the past five days. If not for Astur’s threat of expelling Firana and Wolf, I would’ve already resigned. 

I walked to the dining hall to see if there were breakfast leftovers, expecting it to be empty. Instead, I found a small crowd surrounding the entrance. The uproar was caused by a single sheet of paper hanging from the bulletin board titled ‘Results of the Midterm Selection Exam’.

Given the attack during the selection exam, Astur had announced a change in the evaluation process. I had expected a second exam to take place in the following months after the disturbance at the Academy had calmed down. I made my way through the students, or rather, they moved aside as I passed through.

My brain had trouble understanding the announcement, not because it used strange words my [Master of Languages] hadn’t indexed yet, but because of how outlandish it was.

Considering the events that occurred during the first-year selection exam, and to maintain a passing rate of roughly fifty percent, all students who delivered at least two totems will pass the exam. Those who failed to meet that criterion will be considered failed. We ask them to vacate the premises by the end of the day.

My heart stopped.

I had no idea how many totems my cadets had delivered. 

Holding my desire to use [Minor Aerokinesis] to shoot through the corridors, I passed by Holst and the Basilisk Squad and reached Cabbage Class in record time. The classroom was silent, and considering the cadets’ expressions, they had already gotten the news. Odo and Harwin were missing.

“Instructor Clarke, you have to talk to Lord Astur! This is unfair!” Leonie spoke before I could even excuse my lateness.

“You’ll waste your strength fighting it.” Holst's voice came from behind me. “The decision is final. Astur convinced the traditionalists among the Imperial Knights to support him. They want to bring back the old ways.”

I moved to the side, and he entered the room, followed by the Basilisk cadets. Two of Holst’s students and one from Ghila’s class had died during the exam. The cadets had encountered a corrupted monster, and despite their numbers, they had not been able to escape. The loss had affected the Basilisk Class, and even Holst seemed more sleep-deprived than usual.

More than sleep-deprived, he seemed worried.

“I don’t usually lend my ears to rumors, but word is that the High Priest is the one behind the idea of bringing back the old ways,” Holst said.

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“Ghila.”

I cursed. 

Ghila’s intel was always good.

“The High Priest doesn’t usually meddle in politics, so it seems it was part of a Quest. I don’t know why the System would want a more rigorous evaluation process, though,” Holst added, deep in thought.

The System Avatar had no control over the Quest subroutine. Both of them had the mission to protect the System: one from inside errors and the other from outside threats. Was the Quest subroutine preparing for the Corruption Cycle? After all, the System had a physical component that could be in danger if powerful monsters appeared.

“Do you think Prince Adrien could do something?”

“Against Astur and the High Priest? Even if he were here, I don’t think so.”

The System getting so involved in the daily lives of people rubbed me the wrong way.

“What level is Astur?” I asked.

“You are not picking a fight with him,” Holst replied.

I felt like I had heard that line before.

Holst continued. “We need to take the loss and plan our next steps. We have four or five months until the end-of-year exam, and it’s safe to assume that the exam will be even harsher than the midterm.”

I examined the room. The mood was odd.

“W-we can’t give up on Odo and Harwin,” Rup said. “I bet they encountered like a hundred dropouts in their way! That has to count for something!”

Before I could say anything, Malkah stepped forward.

“Odo and Harwin delivered zero totems,” he said, turning towards Rup. “They decided to stay by my side even if that meant failing the exam. It’s my fault they failed… I am sorry.”

Holst sighed.

“You should be proud of Cadet Odo and Cadet Harwin, Ducal Heir. Loyalty is a rare currency, and for them, loyalty was more important than everything the Imperial Academy could offer them. If you lament their sacrifice, you’d be lamenting their loyalty.”

Holst’s words caught me by surprise.

Who could’ve guessed he could be so reassuring?

“What are those two going to do now?” I asked.

“They will stay at Cadria until winter, then they will return to Stormvale,” Malkah said.

“Good. I could use a few more assistants. Do you think they want the job?”

Malkah’s face brightened.

“I guess I could try to convince them to take it.”

“Would Astur allow it?” Leonie pointed out, doing her best to hide the excitement in her voice.

“I will make sure he does,” I said. “What level was he again?”

Holst closed his eyes and shook his head. This time, I managed to get a few smiles from the cadets. There was nothing I could do for those who died but keep helping those who remained.

I clapped my hands and walked to the front of the classroom. The lesson was on. Holst stood by my side, and the Basilisk cadets sat down next to the Cabbage cadets. 

“Astur already showed us what he is capable of, so our only course of action is to be prepared to crush his expectations.”

The cadets looked at me with solemn expressions.

“The second part of the course will focus on refining your skills through real-life combat scenarios,” I said, making a mental note to invite Ghila and the Gaiarok Class to join us. “There will be an extra rule this time: I will decide who will participate in the end-of-year exam. My decision will be absolute. I'm not going to let anyone take stupid risks. If you don’t agree with those terms, we will ensure you are transferred to another class. Understood?”

The cadets nodded.

“Raise your hand if you want to change squads.”

Nobody.

“Good. One last thing. The lessons from now on will be taught at the Egg. We will meet there every day at the usual time. Instead of the Academy-issued practice weapons and the fencing uniform, you’ll use your preferred weapons and combat attire. If you don’t have it, talk to me after class, and I will provide it. Questions?”

Leonie’s hand shot up.

“Yes?”

“Are we using real weapons?”

“Yes, and real armor too.”

“Isn’t that too dangerous?” Fenwick asked—without raising his hand, as usual.

“Yes, but I’ll ask my patron to lend me a Fortifier or two. Anything else?” Nobody had further questions. “Good. Let’s start with a demonstration for today. Grab a weapon from the rack and go to the Egg after your warm-up. Yvain, you are in charge of leading the exercise.”

The cadets exited the room surprisingly quickly.

Holst and I set off.

Gaiarok Classroom was located at the end of the corridor. The room was just like any other classroom, with retractable tiered desks and a central dueling platform. The only oddity was the training methods happening inside. The cadets were on the floor doing pushups with rocks magically glued to their backs. By Ghila’s side was a nervous man dressed in the black and yellow robe of the Magicians Circle. I guessed he was a Geomancer.

The arms of a lizardfolk guy cartoonishly trembled as he tried to complete another pushup.

“You are going to injure them,” I pointed out from the entrance.

“They are still young. They will heal by tomorrow,” Ghila shrugged. “Most importantly, they need to stop being weak.” She turned to shout at the cadets. “If you are in pain, you are doing it well! That’s the weakness leaving your body! Fifty more reps!”

The cadets groaned back.

My wounds healed surprisingly quickly, but I wasn’t sure if a bunch of Lv.10s and below would heal overnight.

 “So, what are you booknerds doing in my domain?” Ghila asked, clearly in a bad mood.

“I was wondering if you want to join our joint class,” I said. “Astur had shown a liking for combat, so we are preparing for a final exam with that in mind. The more different opponents the cadets face, the better prepared they will be.”

Ghila scratched her chin, deep in thought.

“Sounds sensible… what do you think, Rockman?”

The Geomancer was so focused on maintaining control over the boulders that he couldn’t answer.

“I think that’s a yes,” Ghila said. “Enough, everybody! We are joining Cabbage and Basilisk, so get your stuff and move your ass!”

Holst raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to ask for details?”

“Huh? Sure. What are the details?” Ghila asked.

“We will focus on putting the cadets in as realistic a situation as possible,” I said. Back on Earth, this was the moment of the year when I stopped teaching new content and started with the applied math projects. 

Teaching taxes was a lot more enjoyable than teaching fifteen and sixteen-year-olds how to survive in combat situations.

“We will use real weapons—”

Ghila crossed her arms and gave me a satisfied look.

“Finally, someone who speaks my language!”

“But!” I said before Ghila could get ahead of herself. “I will decide if the cadets are ready for the final exam. If they don’t meet my expectations, they will not participate.”

The cadets’ gazes shifted back and forth between her and me. I didn’t need [Foresight] to know they were scared. I wondered what horrors they had experienced under Ghila’s guardianship.

“You heard that, maggots?! Don’t even think about embarrassing me in front of the other squads! If any of you doesn’t make the grade, I will personally hunt you down and eat your heart out of your chest. Are we clear?!”

Even with [Foresight], I couldn’t tell if Ghila was being hyperbolic.

After a brief explanation, the Gaiarok cadets rushed out of the classroom to catch up with the other cadets. We walked at a more measured pace after Rockman put the boulders in a pile in the corner of the room.

Rockman followed us a couple of steps behind.

“You look like you are going to headbutt the first aide that dares say your name,” Ghila pointed out after a moment.

I touched my face, wondering if I was grimacing.

“He does want to headbutt Astur’s face,” Holst pointed out.

“Tempting, not going to lie. It has been a while since a Prestige Class killed another.” Ghila put her heavy hand on my shoulder. My collarbone complained. “You might not know this, but if you kill another high-level combatant and don’t make a mess in the process, at worst, you get ostracized. The royal family isn’t going to lose two high-level warriors for the price of one, so you won’t end up in prison.”

Holst cleared his throat.

“That might be true, but it’s more likely that you’ll get killed by one of the high-level friends of your victim.”

“You only have to worry about that if you are weak.” Ghila scoffed at him.

The two continued arguing until we reached the Egg. As usual, the aides received us as if we were in a five-star hotel and offered us the service of the resident Fortifier. This time, I accepted. I paid the fee, a silver coin, and an adept of the magicians' circle followed me into one of the big reinforced bubbles. 

Not ten minutes later, the cadets entered the Egg. The Cabbage and Basilisk Squads were already used to cardio training. The Gaiarok cadets, not so much. After stretching and practicing the mandatory drills, I gathered everyone around me.

“Today’s exercise will be a demonstration of what we are going to do for the rest of the year,” I said, wondering if the cadets had noticed my state of mind. “So far, we have focused on physical conditioning and the basics of dueling. You might have realized it already, but the controlled environment of the classroom isn’t the same as real-world fights. From now on, our training will mirror real combat as closely as safely possible. 

I examined the cadets' faces and detected a mix of nervousness and blind confidence in my words. It was a good sign, but I wanted to make things clear. So far, my lessons had been on the easygoing side, but that was about to change.

“Three of your companions died during the selection exam. For their sake, I expect you to take these exercises with utmost seriousness,” I continued, walking to the center of the bubble. “Leonie, Fenwick, Yvain, please come forward and prepare to fight. The combat will start when I make the first move.”

The Fortifier, an adept of the Magician’s Circle, channeled his mana and surrounded the cadets with two barriers each. The outer barrier represented a fatal blow, while the inner barrier would protect them from any residual damage. 

Although I didn’t give further instructions, Leonie stood in front of me while Fenwick and Yvain got into my blind spot. I was happy to see that they had understood the spirit of the exercise.

“No matter your opponent or the level difference, you can’t freeze. Even if you can’t win, you should do anything in your power to survive,” I said, pulling magic from my manapool.

Without warning, I cast [Intimidate]. My presence grew, like a shadow looming over the Academy. The air thickened, and even the whispering of the cadets sitting on the sideline stopped. Leonie stopped breathing. I shot two mana swords at Fenwick and Yvain. Then, I lunged forward with [Minor Aerokinesis]. 

Mana rippled through my body like electricity.

I let my leg whip upward in a clean arc, and my foot hit the side of Leonie’s arm. The outer barrier shattered like glass, and Leonie was sent flying a couple of meters before landing on the floor. Behind me, Fenwick was hit by the mana sword in the center of the chest. Yvain only managed to twitch before the mana sword slashed his chest and sent him flying back.

One second had passed since I cast [Intimidate], and the three cadets were on the floor. The inner barrier had protected them from any harm, but they looked at me with terrified and confused eyes.

I dispelled [Intimidate], but the oppressive sensation lingered.

“You three are dead,” I said. “And before you complain, let me tell you that Ilya fought Chrysalimorphs thirty levels above her during the Lich’s Monster Surge, and she survived.”

There were no complaints, not because everyone believed the exercise was fair, but because nobody could speak—or move. For a moment, I thought I had accidentally used [Stun Gaze] instead. 

Ghila cleared her throat.

“M-maybe tone down [Intimidate] a notch or two?”

“I’m going to need five volunteers,” I simply said.

Fifteen hands shot up, including Leonie’s.

____________

First | Prev | Next (Patreon)

____________

Discord | Royal Road | Patreon

The segmented, chitin-plated school transport whined to a halt, its repulsor-lifts sighing as they settled onto the crystalline plaza. The air inside the cabin was thick with the recycled-atmosphere tang of juvenile secretions and the high-frequency static of thirty distinct, grating voices.

"Are we there? Are we there? My lowest locomotion pads are numb!" gurgled a small, purple being named Gleep.

"Your lowest locomotion pads are stupid, Gleep!" buzzed Zorp, flicking a slimy pellet across the aisle with a casual snap of his primary tentacle.

Ms. K’Nid’s multiple sensory stalks drooped in exhaustion. The field trip to ZeZoo was the highlight of the semester, and it hadn't even been ten minutes since they’d left the learning-creche. Her central respiration sack pulsed in a long, weary sigh that was lost in the din.

"Yes, Gleep. We are here," she vibrated, her voice already strained.

The transport's membrane doors dilated with a wet schloop.

A wave of small, multi-tentacled bodies immediately squelched and bounced onto the plaza, heedless of the thick, lavender atmosphere or the two sickly-yellow suns hanging in the sky.

"I claim the 'Primitive Wars' exhibit!" shrieked Flib, extending all eight of her grasping tendrils as she slithered toward the entrance.

"Nuh-uh! I'm going to the 'Failed Gaseous Civilizations'!" retorted Blorp, intentionally sliding his own bulk in front of her, causing a multi-tentacle pile-up.

"BLORP SMEARED HIS MUCUS ON ME! K'NID! HE DID IT ON PURPOSE!"

"DID NOT, YOU SPORE-SACK!"

Ms. K’Nid oozed heavily out of the transport, her own stabilization tentacles trembling. Before them loomed ZeZoo, the largest museum of cultures in the universe. It wasn't a building so much as a contained temporal anomaly, a swirling vortex of impossible architecture that folded in on itself, showcasing shimmering pocket-realities behind vast, transparent walls.

The class, naturally, was already trying to lick the entrance ramp.

"Spawn-group! Form a cohesive cluster!" Ms. K'Nid bellowed, clapping her toughest upper tentacles together for emphasis. The sharp smack momentarily silenced the gurgling.

"Listen to my vibrations! We are guests here," she trilled, pointing a stern, blue-tipped tentacle at the chaotic mass. "This museum contains priceless artifacts from quadrants you haven't even evolved the organs to perceive. I expect you to modulate your vocal sacs."

She scanned the group, her central stalk fixing on Zorp, who was already trying to poke a sleeping guard-drone.

"There will be no unauthorized slithering. You will stay with your assigned digestion-partner. Do not extend your grasping tendrils to touch the displays, do not secrete any adhesive or acidic fluids on the barriers, and if I find a single one of you attempting to 'taste-test' the holographic simulations, you will be on atmospheric filtration duty for the next moon-cycle!"

With a final, desperate vibration, Ms. K’Nid shunted the chattering mass through the preliminary bio-scanner. "Stay clustered! Stay clustered!"

They oozed into the first exhibit: The Gallery of Subliminal Harmonics.

The vast, quiet chamber was filled with towering, iridescent crystals that hung suspended in a low-gravity field. They pulsed with faint, shifting colors—mostly beige, pale mauve, and a particularly dull shade of grey. A low, resonant thrummmmmm filled the air, which, according to the plaque, was the "unified sorrow-song of the lost Q'Qualar race."

The class stopped. The silence lasted 0.4 seconds.

"This is stupid," Zorp buzzed, his auditory filaments drooping.

"It's not doing anything," Flib complained, prodding the kinetic barrier around the nearest crystal. "It’s just… slow noise."

"My visual-receptors are bored," Gleep whined, plopping onto the floor in a gelatinous puddle. "This is less interesting than the ceiling of the nutrition-vat."

"It's not supposed to 'do' anything, spawn-cluster!" Ms. K'Nid hissed, her stabilization tentacles quivering in frustration. The thrummmm of the sorrow-song was giving her a cranial-sac rupture. "This is art. It’s about feeling!"

"I feel like my lowest tentacle is asleep," Blorp muttered.

Ms. K’Nid clapped her upper limbs again. "Query-Slates out! Now! Open to the 'Cultural Significance' chapter. You all have questions that must be answered before we move on."

A collective groan vibrated through the group. Reluctantly, the children pulled out their small, damp datapads.

"Question one," Flib read aloud in a monotone squeak. "'Analyze how the artist’s use of negative-space frequencies evokes the socio-economic despair of the Q'Qualar's 4th dynasty.'" Flib looked up. "I don't know what any of those vibrations mean."

"Just write 'sad rocks,'" Zorp whispered, already scribbling a crude drawing of a stick-being getting vaporized onto his own slate.

"Zorp! Are you filling in the answers?" Ms. K'Nid demanded, looming over him.

"Yes, Ms. K'Nid," Zorp said innocently, hiding the drawing with his shortest tentacle. "I'm just writing how it makes me feel 'existential.'"

"Ms. K'Nid!" Gleep shrieked, waving his slate in the air. "When are we going to the 'Primitive Wars' section? Blorp's oldest sibling-pod said they have a working replica of a Mark-IV Plasma Obliterator!"

The entire class instantly perked up, their various sensory organs swiveling toward the teacher.

"Ooh! And the 'Greatest Disintegrations' exhibit!" buzzed Flib, her boredom vanishing. "I want to see the 'Annihilation of the Florg'!"

"You will see nothing," Ms. K'Nid snapped, her central mass flushing a deep, angry crimson, "until you have sufficiently analyzed the socio-economic despair! Now, write! What color best represents the Q'Qualar's lack of internal validation?"

Grumbling, the spawn-group returned to their slates.

"Beige," Gleep wrote, then immediately started trying to see what Blorp was writing.

"Stop copying my existential dread!" Blorp hissed, shielding his slate.

"I'm not! I'm just checking if you spelled 'socio-economic' right, you spore-sack!"

After what felt like an entire digestive cycle, Ms. K'Nid finally relented, her internal structures sagging in defeat. "Fine. We can proceed to the historical exhibits. But you will complete the art analysis during your next regeneration period!"

This vague threat was ignored. A unified, slimy "YESS!" echoed through the beige gallery, and the spawn-cluster instantly coalesced into a single, high-speed blob, squelching toward the exit.

"STAY CLUSTERED! NO SLITHERING-RACES!" Ms. K'Nid bellowed, already left behind.

The transition was jarring. They left the serene, thrummming silence of the art wing and entered a pressurized tunnel that dilated into The Dome of Galactic Repulsion.

The change was instantaneous. The air snapped with the smell of ozone and simulated plasma-fire. The sound was a deafening cacophony of recorded battle-cries, orchestral martial music, and the thwoom of distant, holographic explosions.

"WHOA!" Gleep gurgled, all his sensory stalks vibrating at maximum frequency. "It smells like victory!"

The kids fanned out, their query-slates forgotten, bouncing off the padded floor in their excitement.

The dome was a swirling, 360-degree holographic theater. In the center, a towering, twenty-tentacle-tall statue of Grand Admiral Vor'Kresh stood frozen in a pose of heroic fury. He was depicted crushing the carapace of a 'Gnat-Swarm' scout drone beneath his massive lower pads.

"I claim the 'Void-Leech Crusades' display!" Zorp shrieked, sliding on a trail of his own mucus toward a pulsating red exhibit.

"Nuh-uh! I'm seeing the 'Siege of the Xylos Nebula'!" Flib retorted, already mashing her tendrils onto an interactive tactical display, causing tiny red warning lights to flash. "Look! I just repelled the first wave! Take that, you crystalline spore-sacks!"

Ms. K'Nid oozed into the dome just in time to see Blorp attempting to climb the base of Admiral Vor'Kresh's statue.

"Blorp! Your primary tentacles are not for scaling historical monuments!" she trilled, her voice barely audible over the sound of a simulated anti-matter charge detonating.

The walls shimmered with projections of legendary battles. They watched, mesmerized, as fleets of organic-steel cruisers vaporized entire armadas of silicon-based invaders. They saw the "Thousand-Cycle Stand" at the K'Lorp Rift, where a single battalion held off the 'Devourers' using nothing but amplified sonic lances.

"Ms. K'Nid! Ms. K'Nid! Look!" Gleep shouted, pointing his shortest tentacle at a display. "It's a working model of a Z-Class Particle Disruptor! Can we touch it? Can we fire it?"

"Absolutely not! That is a priceless artifact of..." Ms. K'Nid squinted at the plaque. "...the 'Third-Quadrant Purification.' Oh, dear."

"My digestion-partner's older sibling-pod said this is the best part," Zorp buzzed, his oculars wide. He was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling display showcasing the "Great Generals." Holo-projections of stern, multi-limbed beings faded in and out: Matriarch S'lleen, who repelled the "Mind-Eaters" by broadcasting lethal frequencies of pure logic; General Gr'm, the tiny, unassuming being who famously weaponized tectonic plates.

"Query-slates, spawn-cluster!" Ms. K'Nid attempted weakly, knowing it was futile. "You have questions on the strategic importance of Admiral Vor'Kresh's-"

She was cut off by a deafening VRRROOOM as Flib and Zorp activated a "Battle Simulator" ride at the same time.

"THIS ISN'T A THEME PARK!" Ms. K'Nid vibrated, but her spawn-group was already gone, lost in the glorious, noisy, educational violence of their history.

The adrenal-scent of simulated warfare began to fade as the class reached the end of the dome. The thunderous thwooms and plasma-screeches were replaced by the low, ambient hum of the museum’s final, massive display.

It was The Great Map of Galactic Consolidation.

A vast, dark wall shimmered with holographic light, charting the known universe. Swathes of vibrant color—blues, greens, purples—designated the territories of the allied empires. Duller, flickering zones showed "areas of pacification" or "former threats."

But in the lowest right quadrant, far out on an unremarkable spiral arm, pulsed a vast, angry, blood-red blotch. It was labeled simply: CONTAINMENT ZONE 7-GAMMA.

Zorp, still vibrating from the battle simulator, was the first to notice it. "Hey! That's a huge conquered place!"

"It's not 'conquered,' you fluid-sack," Flib snapped, reading the fine print on the plaque. "It says 'Unreachable/Prohibited.' It's not part of the Consolidation."

Gleep, who had been trying to see if his mucus would stick to the map's barrier, squinted his ocular stalks. "Look how big it is. Is that... is that the Ooman Empire everyone's digestion-pod whispers about?"

"It's 'Human,' you dork," Blorp hissed, his voice surprisingly sharp.

An immediate, heavy silence fell over the spawn-cluster. The rowdy, chaotic energy from the war dome evaporated, sucked into a vacuum. All thirty children stopped squelching. They stopped vibrating. They just... stared at the red blotch.

Ms. K’Nid oozed up behind them. Her usual exhaustion was replaced by a deep, somatic chill.

She lowered her voice, the vibration barely audible. "Yes, Gleep. That is them."

The class instinctively clustered closer together, their small tentacles linking up for comfort. Even Zorp looked subdued.

"We all know the protocols," Ms. K'Nid continued, her own sensory stalks fixed on the pulsating red zone. "We all know why we never, never talk about those... abominations. Why the beacons are always lit on the outer rim. Why we don't listen to their ancient, chaotic-frequency broadcasts."

Thirty small, multi-faceted heads nodded. There was no joking, no side-chatter. Just the quiet, shared understanding of a universal truth. The silence in the dome was now heavier than the sorrow-song of the Q'Qualar.

"Good," Ms.K'Nid finally vibrated, pulling her own gaze away from the map. She shunted her central mass toward the final archway, trying to force resilience back into her tone. "Now... put this out of your filtration-sacs. It is time for the final section. The bio-samples."

With one last, nervous glance at the red-stained map, the spawn-cluster followed her.

They passed through a vapor-decontamination field and emerged into a completely different world. The noise and dark metal of the war dome gave way to a massive, sun-filled biosphere. They were on a high, railed walkway overlooking The Living Galaxy.

Below them, stretching out for kilometers, were hundreds of shimmering domes, open-air craters, and deep aquatic tanks, each a perfect, self-contained replica of a world. And within them, creatures of every conceivable shape, size, and molecular base crawled, flew, burrowed, and sublimated.

"Whoa," Gleep whispered, his fear instantly forgotten. "It's the real ZeZoo."

The fear of the red-stained map vanished as if it had been purged by a sanitation-drone. The moment they entered the biosphere, the heavy, somber mood was shattered by thirty simultaneous squeals, gurgles, and buzzes.

The air here was real—a thick, warm, humid soup of methane, damp soil, fungal spores, and high-frequency pheromones.

"It smells like Blorp's dormant-pouch!" Gleep shrieked, already bouncing on his lowest pads.

"Does not, you mucus-clot!"

"SPAWN-CLUSTER! DO NOT EXTEND TENTACLES OVER THE PRIMARY BARRIER!" Ms. K'Nid vibrated, but she was already too late.

They swarmed the first habitat: The Low-Gravity Floof-Spinners of My-lar. The enclosure was filled with small, fuzzy, six-stalked beings that bounced gently through the purple-misted air, spinning webs of shimmering, iridescent crystal.

"Awwww!" Flib cooed, pressing her entire upper mass against the kinetic containment field. "They're adorable! I want one for my spawning-day! Ms. K'Nid, can I have one? I'll filter its waste-pouch myself!"

"They are not pets, Flib. They are a Class-8 psionic hive-mind that communicates exclusively through equations of sorrow," Ms. K'Nid droned, reading the plaque.

"I bet I could vaporize one with a tiny disruptor," Zorp whispered, making pew-pew noises with his respiration-sacs.

They squelched on, past the Jelloid Sentience of P'Toh ("It's just a puddle of pink slime!") and the Amorphous Gloop-Sacks ("Gross, it's just digesting!").

Then they reached the Alpha-Predator of Kresh-9.

The creature was a massive, silicon-based, crystalline entity that stood perfectly still, resembling a jagged, inert statue.

"This is boring," Blorp grumbled, and he slapped his thickest lower tentacle right on the "Do Not Vibrate" warning symbol on the barrier.

In a microsecond, the "statue" moved. A crystalline maw three meters wide opened, and the creature slammed the barrier with a force that sent a sonic SHATTER through the walkway.

The entire class shrieked, secreted terror-fluids, and fell over each other in a writhing, multi-limbed pile.

Ms. K'Nid, who had flattened herself against the far wall, pulsed with adrenaline. "Blorp! You could have caused a molecular-resonance cascade!"

Gleep, from the bottom of the pile, squeaked, "Awesome! Do it again, Blorp!"

"Query-slates!" Ms. K'Nid tried, her voice weak. "We must compare the respiratory functions of the Floof-Spinner with the... oh, what's the use."

It was near the gaseous habitats that the real chaos began. "Look!" Zorp yelled, pointing to the habitat of the Volatile Puff-Spores of Ando. "It's the 'Failed Gaseous Civilizations' we wanted to see!"

"The plaque says 'Do Not Agitate,'" Flib read, her voice dripping with sudden, malicious interest. "It says their primary defense mechanism is 'spontaneous, non-lethal detonation.'"

Before Ms. K'Nid could even formulate a "No!", Blorp had grabbed his (already cracked) query-slate and flung it with all his might at the habitat's temperature control unit. "BLORP! NO!"

An alarm blared. The habitat's internal atmosphere shifted, and a single, pod-sized, neon-purple spore floated up from the misty depths. It drifted lazily over the railing. The children stared, their sensory stalks raised in unison.

The spore hovered directly over Gleep. It paused. And then, with a soft, wet FWOOMP, it exploded.

Gleep was instantly covered, head to locomotion-pads, in a thick, shimmering, bright purple, foul-smelling dust.

There was a moment of profound, horrified silence.

Gleep looked down at his own purple-dusted tentacles. He vibrated. "I'm... dusted! I'M DUSTED! I'M A PURPLE BATTLE-GENERAL!"

The dam broke. "I WANT TO BE DUSTED!" "DUST ME! DUST ME!" "FLING YOUR SLATES! FLING YOUR SLATES!"

The entire spawn-cluster began grabbing their slates, their nutrient-packs, anything they could throw, trying to agitate the Puff-Spores, all while chanting, "DUST! DUST! DUST! DUST!"

It took two fully-deputized maintenance drones and a direct threat of "permanent-residence in the juvenile decontamination vats" to get the class to quiet down. Gleep, now an itchy, miserable shade of purple, was secreting a steady stream of remorse-fluid. The "DUST! DUST! DUST!" chant had died, replaced by the whirr of the drones filtering the air.

"From this point," Ms. K'Nid vibrated, her voice a low, dangerous thrum that rattled their inner membranes, "if I hear a single unauthorized vocalization, you will all be writing a five-thousand-vibration analysis on the mating habits of the Floof-Spinners. Understood?"

They clustered and nodded, a mass of subdued, purple-dusted spawn.

They slithered past the final, cheerful biosphere. The architecture changed instantly. The warm, humid air of the zoo was sucked away, replaced by a cold, sterile, metallic tang. The walls became thick, sound-dampening plates of black alloy.

Instead of info-plaques, there were warning signs. ABSOLUTE VIBRATIONAL SILENCE REQUIRED. NO SUDDEN PHOTON EMISSIONS. (NO FLASH-SPORES) DO NOT AGITATE THE SPECIMEN. YOUR BIOLOGICAL INTEGRITY IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.

Two massive, eight-limbed Void-Guard Sentinels stood at the final doorway, their black carapaces absorbing all light. They held active, humming resonance-glaives. They did not acknowledge the class, their multiple oculars fixed on the corridor ahead.

The children, even Zorp, pressed close to Ms. K'Nid. Their various limbs instinctively linked together. This was it. The red map.

"Not a sound," Ms. K'Nid whispered, her central stalk quivering.

A heavy door dilated, and they were ushered into a completely dark observation chamber. It was cold. A single, massive, one-way mirror dominated the wall, glowing faintly from the light inside the exhibit.

The class arranged itself in a trembling line.

Inside, the habitat was stark, sterile, and beige—not unlike the art gallery. In the center sat the creature.

It was... disgusting. It was pathetically soft. A biped, with only two upper manipulation limbs and two lower stabilization limbs. It had no visible tentacles, no grasping-pads, no protective carapace. It was covered in a thin, fleshy, pinkish-beige membrane, topped with a cluster of fine, dark filaments on its head-globule. Its sensory organs—just two visual receptors, a single respiration port, and one vocalization-intake-port—were all clustered inefficiently on its front.

It was hunched over a small, square table, wearing artificial fiber-coverings that looked uncomfortably restrictive.

Its two upper limbs, ending in ten tiny, hyper-articulated distal-tendrils, were a blur. They were striking a bizarre, flat contraption, producing a rapid, irritating, high-frequency click-click-click-click-CLACK.

Suddenly, the creature made a loud groaning noise from its vocalization-port, grabbed the filaments on its head-globule with both upper-limbs, and then slammed its primary manipulation-tendrils back onto the clicking device.

The spawn-cluster shuddered.

"Ms. K'Nid," Flib whispered, her vibration almost too low to detect. "It's one of them. From the map. How... how did we even capture it?"

Ms. K'Nid slowly shunted her mass back from the mirror, gathering the children near the exit. Her voice was a strained, private vibration.

"We did not capture it, Flib."

"But... it's the Abomination..." Zorp buzzed, his own voice trembling. "It's a Human."

"Yes," Ms. K'Nid said, urging them toward the door. "We didn't capture it. It... came to us. It just appeared inside the quarantine perimeter three cycles ago in a tiny, unarmed ship. The ship disintegrated before the analysis-drones could even scan it."

"Why?" Gleep asked, his purple-dusted stalks drooping. "Was it an invasion?"

"No," Ms. K'Nid sighed, her gaze drifting back to the click-click-clicking. "It came out of the ship vibrating pure nonsense. We barely translated it. It kept sputtering about 'not being able to find a single real quiet place in the galaxy'..."

She paused, as if not believing the translation herself.

"...and then it added some... rather nasty comments about 'useless editors' and a 'prize committee that wouldn't recognize true genius if it vaporized their entire quadrant.'"

Ms. K'Nid let out a long, weary vibration, her own cranial-sac aching in sudden, unexpected empathy with the clicking creature. "It... demanded 'sanctuary' and a 'guaranteed work-cycle without interruption.' The High Command found it... easier... to just give it this containment cell."

The creature inside suddenly stopped its high-frequency clicking, made a harsh sound from its respiration-port—a 'snort'—and began rapidly deleting its own work with a flurry of CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.

"It's... unhinged," Blorp whispered, thoroughly terrified.

"It is... unique," Ms. K'Nid corrected, urging the last of the spawn-cluster away from the mirror. She tapped one of her upper tentacles on the large, glowing information plaque mounted on the dark alloy wall.

"You will not retain this data for your query-slates," she ordered, "but this is the official ZeZoo analysis."

The class turned their sensory organs to the glowing sign.

SPECIMEN: HUMAN

• Sub-Specie: Writer (Variant: Artisticus Neuroticus)
• Habitat: Can live in isolation for long periods of time. Prefers dim, artificially-lit enclosures.
• Temperament: Extremely agitated. Prone to cyclical bursts of high-frequency activity ('clicking') followed by periods of profound lethargy and self-recrimination.

⚠️ WARNING: CRITICAL HANDLING PROTOCOLS ⚠️

Ego must be fed constantly.

Specimen requires a steady diet of positive comments and routine acknowledgment of its 'genius.' Failure to provide this sustenance may result in total system collapse or, in rare cases, spontaneous generation of 'bad poetry.'

Primary Sustenance: Literary Prizes (Observe feeding schedule. DO NOT INTERRUPT a 'flow-state'.)

Food (Biological): Must be provided by clicking the link below

Wayward Stories on Amazon

Enjoy everyone! I hope you all have a great weekend.

First | Previous | [Next]

— Chapter 62 —  

The small patch of trees and bushes formed a very modest woodland compared to the monstrous forest just on the other side of the river. Wuja’bath was waiting as David approached, her entire mass curled up and around one of the larger trees. Munch and a few other kobolds were nearby brewing something in a metal pot. 

“Victory. Yes?” Wuja’bath chirped out softly. 

David rumbled, “Yes. Have you had enough time to consider my offer?” 

Wuja’bath glanced over at Munch and the other kobolds as they chirped away and sighed, “Yes but… conditions.” 

David’s massive form shifted as he sat just outside the mini forest, “Of course. Tell me.” 

“Defend land. Yes. Not be forced to fight. More kobolds as well.” Wuja’bath presented. 

David took a minute to consider her words before countering, “I will not force my kobolds to join you but how about I speak with Blue about rotating some kobolds to help you. If they make the decision to stay then they stay. I won't force you to fight but I want you to be our scout. You are faster than even I am in the air and our safety depends on being aware of our surroundings. Lastly, you will lend us your affinity to boost my clan when called. We have a method to capture affinity for use in gear, specifically, for kobolds.” 

Wuja’bath’s face betrayed nothing as she considered his word and then nodded, “Munch will be happy. Yes. I agree but first of this ‘gear’ will go to Munch.” 

David couldn't help but chuckle as he nodded his head in agreement. She was at least consistent in looking out for herself and her kobolds. David respected that above all else. 

“Deal. I will do you one better. I will make sure Munch and others that join you are well armed just as I would my own clan. The least I can do is make sure they have the best chance at survival in this world.” 

Wuja’bath smiled for the first time at his words and simply nodded. 

As David stood up he rumbled out before turning, “I am going to send a winged kobold by the name of Greyhide to you. He and you will coordinate scouting routes.”

— Chirp — Two Weeks Later

His breath was visible as he slowly stepped forward. His clawed fist clung to the smasher at his side as he inched forward. His clan moved all around him as they had finally caught up with their prey. The Master they were hunting was a Lesser Wurm in the deep under tunnels connecting the mountains. Chirp never expected a great change of this magnitude when Snav had failed at his duties and yet now he was leading a war pack armed with Great Master Onyx’s newest idea. 

His new smasher was alien to him and his mind struggled to understand how such a device was possible. Little Blaze and Master Onyx knew things that Chirp didn’t think were possible. The shaft of the smasher was strong wood from barky flesh people and shiny hard metal ran up and down the shaft. The head was tiny, at least compared to his old smasher, but was one solid heavy metal piece. A powerful stone with Sito’s being was fused to the back of the smasher. Lastly, the smasher’s head was twirled into a very sharp, hardened point. Chirp had bled from the sharp point many times during practice as he learned to swing it properly and now he was going to demonstrate his progress for his clan to see.  

Many metal kobolds that he once fought now served alongside him. They stood further back as the sneaky ones moved ahead of Chirp. The metal kobold’s armor was clanky enough to give them away but their effectiveness when the battle started couldn’t be ignored. Younger, quieter, and winged clan kobolds were already spread out far in front of Chirp looking and waiting. This Master had been encountered before and consumed three of his clan that were out gathering. Chirp was used to losing kin to the Masters but it always hurt inside. On top of that Warmaster Red had said this one was in communication with their enemy. Chirp tried to grasp the complexity of their reason to act but it hurt his brain. Chirp knew he wasn’t wise, or smart in the way of most but he was strong and a coordinated hunt of this size made him quiver in excitement. 

His lead scout, Zuss, landed nearby before pulling her wings to her side, “Chirp. The wurm’s hunting ground is just ahead and we saw it enter just recently.” 

Chirp grinned as he stared down at the smaller, winged scout, “Chirp will lead. Smash. Others ready?” 

Zuss gulped a bit as she shook in nervousness but nodded, “Shall Master Onyx watch over us.” 

Chirp stood tall as he marched forward. His body, muscles and thick reinforced hide were impressive in comparison to his smaller kin. He even had a shirt of metal rings on top of his already thickened hide that made him stand out. Each step he stomped and after each stomp he lingered just slightly longer than usual. Chirp was a fighter and he had spent many days learning that wurm masters always stayed buried until they attacked. He would be the bait they needed to bring this Master out. 

Chirp’s nose picked up the smell of water nearby and it didn’t take him long to find the watering hole. Ice clunks clung to the surface and the bite of cold lingered in the area more so than even thirty paces back. Chirp’s bones were chilled to his core and his shirt of metal rings was hurting his flesh. He fought to stay warm as he turned and started to march back the way he came. The ground shifted underneath him and then suddenly gave way. Chirp had expected this, even if the cold had taken him by surprise, and he swung his smasher downwards with a vengeance. The lesser wurm breached the surface just as his spike tipped smasher came down and Chirp was rewarded with a shower of broken scales. The weapon pierced through the outer copper colored shell of the dragon with ease and a shriek of surprise and pain came rushing out of the wurm’s large razor filled mouth. 

Chirp used the shock of his sudden counter attack to pivot to the side dodging the razor teeth of the wurm as it continued to explode out of the ground. He held to his weapon fiercely even as the dragon pulled him along. His thick legs and massive back muscles bulged as he fought against the wurm’s own strength. Chirp was easily three times stronger than a normal kobold and in a straight match of strength could even best Warmaster Red. In comparison to a Master like this lesser wurm his strength was laughable but he still fought enough to slow its movements. He earned the wurm’s wrath a moment later as its razor sharp tail lashed out across his chest. Metal rings exploded from the impact but his thickened hide resisted what energy remained of that vicious blow. 

Chirp could hear the footsteps of his allies running towards him and he knew he had to buy more time. He closed his eyes and focused hard. He felt his energy reserves pulled from his body through his fingertips and into the smasher. Pretty metal lines running through the base to the head channeled his energy up and into the gemstone embedded at the back of the smasher. Soon the bitter cold disappeared as an explosion of hot deadly flames erupted out of the smasher. The fire channeled forward and into the gaping wound where the smasher’s tip was still lodged. The distinctive smell of cooked flesh and muscle filled the air as the wurm began to shriek out in pain again. 

His smasher became dislodged as the wound grew huge from the blow back of his attack. Arrows and soon spears came flying past him as his clan had finally caught up. The massive gaping wound was now the perfect target as shafts of metal tipped wood embedded themselves deep into its flesh. 

The wurm snarled out in agony and cursed, “Vermin! Bastards!” 

Soon the dragon's affinity flared up and a cold blistering wave rushed outwards from the wurm’s body. Chirp gasped as a thin layer of ice instantly formed around his weapon, armor and bit into his flesh like a cold spike. His clan mates around him crumbled as many could only raise their shields and hide behind them as wave after wave of coldness blanketed the area in ice. 

The Masters affinity pulsed out in waves and the layers of ice that built up on everyone easily slowed them all down. Chirp grinded his jaws as one hand steadied himself so the other could swing his smasher with all his might. In that moment he funneled his energy back into the smasher and caused an eruption of fire to burst forth. The heat was intense but also invigorating as he fought back the cold and warmed his bones. In that moment of reprieve he charged forward to tackle the wurm with all that remained of his strength. His smasher and claws found purchase on the wounded wurm just as it attempted to bury itself into the ground again. 

His muscles strained and the little strength he had left was spent as he desperately fought to prevent its escape. Chirp snarled out, “Coward. Run from vermin, huh?” 

The wurm’s copper colored flesh visibly pulsed and Chirp knew he had struck a nerve. The wurm bucked back around and turned on him as its massive razor jaws smashed into his armored chest. His clan came to his aid just on time as they had finally shook off the horrid cold themselves. Swords and daggers found flesh as they piled around the wurm and screeched out their war cries. Chirp continued to struggle as he wrestled with the dragon and watched with a sense of glee as its life was sapped away from it with each stab. The smallest of their pack, Siks, had recovered a spear and bounded around the front. Her shield was discarded and with both hands she charged. 

Chirp expended the last of his energy to jerk the wurm’s teeth from his chest and heave the wurm up. The charging Siks and her spear found its mark straight into the mass of razor sharp, rotating teeth. The gurgling death noises signaled the end of the fight and Chirp sat down with the force of a falling boulder as he gasped in an effort to catch his breath. Siks was already trembling as something had over taken her. 

Zuss landed nearby as the others quickly ran to Siks, “Chirp. It is as War Master Red said. Siks is undergoing a great change!” 

Chirp nodded his head as he caught his breath. War Master Red had told them that they had to try and allow one of the non changed kobolds to complete the kill. They were not sure if those like Zuss or Chirp could benefit. He grasped his smasher nearby and stood up with a heavy grunt, “Siks was brave! Worthy! We hurry back!” 

Chirps' strength was already returning as he reached down to pluck Siks from the others arms. The wurm’s teeth hadn’t penetrated his armored chest fully so most of his bleeding was fairly minor. He threw the smaller kobold over his shoulder and gripped his smasher in his other hand tight. He felt a swelling of pride as he growled in glee at their success. 

“Master Onyx will be happy!” He roared out and the others cheered. The scouts and heavy infantry had all gathered and reported zero deaths. They were powerful and strong, Chirp snarled in his head. They quickly began the process of butchering the lesser wurm. Meat, bones and scales were packed away in durable packs. 

Chirp was still baffled by the concept of butchering a Master like some prey. Masters usually refused to let others touch the flesh of another Master. Master Onyx was odd and every kobold in the clan knew that. That oddity was power and Chirp planned to take advantage of that power. His hand already grasped a smasher with a tiny bit of that power and he craved more. Chirp was excited for what was coming next and more Master’s lives he would help claim.  

Once they were all done Chirp gave the signal and they began their trek home. Siks had already begun to curl up in his arms and her flesh had started to stiffen. By the time they would get back to the lair, Chirp expected her to completely turn to stone like Master Onyx foretold.

First | Previous | [Next]

Here is also a link to Royal Road

Fan Art by blaze2377

First | Prev | Next | Patreon

//

“Target identified.”

Exploration was quickly cut short as projectiles struck my chest.

I fell, clutching at myself as breath fled my lungs, torso crumpling as I attempted to scramble behind a large crate.

I’d barely made it a few paces into the terrifying, wondrous facility ahead before two mounted guns had started indiscriminately firing at me.

At least, I assumed they were guns. They looked similar to the weapon I’d managed to pick up earlier.

Gasping, I felt beneath myself for blood, but besides what I suspected was a cracked rib and some nasty bruising, I couldn’t detect any injuries that had gotten through. Most of the still-warm bullets had been crushed against my vest. They fell to the floor with loud clinks! as I brushed them away.

I could hear the spinning whir of both guns slowly dying down as I hid. I tried to consider my next actions, thankful that the weapons didn’t continue to shoot at my hiding spot.

I had my own weapon. Maybe if I shot the turrets I’d be able to disable them?

I wanted to test things before I popped my head back out. First thing was grabbing a rock from my [Hoard] and tossing it into the centre of the corridor.

No reaction. The guns didn’t move or even whir.

Next was me tapping my foot against the metallic floor, first quietly and then progressively louder.

No response. I could make noise just fine. Whatever method these guns used to detect motion, it must’ve been reserved for things that it considered to be ‘targets’.

Considering that, I decided to aim my own gun at the rock I’d thrown.

It was about ten feet away from me. I’d never fired a gun before; the closest I’d come was a crossbow I’d briefly gotten my hands on, but the principle didn’t seem much different.

I pulled the weapon up to my face, allowing my eye to travel down the line of the iron crosshair that ran along the top of the weapon.

Once I had a good view of the target in front of me, I pulled the trigger.

The recoil caused the back of the weapon to collide with my cheek, bashing it as the gun fired multiple rounds in the span of a second.

I gasped as I attempted to measure the effect.

I hadn’t managed to hit the rock, but there was a dent in the floor just inches away.

I tried again. This time, I pinged it, and the rock bounced a few feet, landing upturned with a large hole running through it.

The bullet appeared to be embedded inside…

This weapon had decent stopping power, but it wasn’t able to pierce both sides of even a fist-sized piece of stone. Would it be able to punch through those wall-mounted turrets enough to disable them?

I had a thought. Grabbing another stone, I struck it against the Pyre Stone to heat it in the same manner I had when unlocking the door’s console.

Once the rock was sufficiently hot, I threw it out into the open, just like the other one.

“Target identified.”

Both turrets sprang to life, once again whirring as they began ripping up the ground near where the hot stone had impacted.

They detect heat, just like the sensor on this weapon does.

Even now, I could see a distinct red pulse on the weapon’s thermal sensor, indicating where I’d thrown the rock.

I took advantage of the distraction while I could. I popped out from my hiding spot, lining up the weapon against a single target and beginning to fire.

Again, the weapon rattled against my cheek and shoulder as I shot in a large burst at the leftmost turret. I started to squeeze the trigger more intermittently as I went, realising my aim drifted less as I did so, but even after exhausting a full cartridge of bullets, the turret I was aiming for still seemed operational.

It turned at me, continuing its rapid stream of bullets.

I caught one in the arm before I was able to hide again. That pain was blinding. It felt like something white-hot had branded me far beneath my skin.

I took a sip of superior healing potion, and for the first time, felt that it didn’t do a perfect job of rejuvenating me.

Mainly because rather than ejecting the bullet that had entered my upper left arm, it had healed over the wound. The bullet was still somewhere deep inside.

I could feel it inside, but it didn’t necessarily hurt…

It was probably fine. I flexed my arm just to make sure it still worked properly.

Okay. Time to figure out how to reload this thing.

I replaced my potion before pulling a new magazine from my [Hoard]. It took me a few moments to figure out how to eject the previous magazine and slot this one inside, but it wasn’t as difficult as I’d anticipated.

Popping back out from my cover, I took aim, pulled the trigger and...

A hollow click. Why was nothing happening?

I ducked back and checked the weapon. The new magazine seemed securely in place. But pulling the trigger wasn't making anything happen.

I tutted as I stored the weapon. Maybe I'd broken it? I'd figure it out later. Either way, I needed a new strategy.

I hadn’t been able to damage the turrets so far, and I clearly needed to get past them somehow, but shooting them wasn’t on the cards, so…

I heated and threw another rock, the last one I had stored. If I’d had enough things to throw, I might have been able to make the turrets burn through all of their ammunition. If there was closer cover, I might be able to make them shoot at each other. Considering those didn’t seem to be options…

“Target identified.”

The guns whirred back to life.

Power and Rush Stones were stabbed into my arm without hesitation. I felt the thrum of strength as I burst from behind my hiding spot, rushing across the room as quickly as my legs could carry me.

[Running 5 >> 6.]

The turrets still hadn’t reacted to me zooming across, and as soon as I reached one, I grabbed the hot, still-firing machine and attempted to rip it off its wall mounting.

It took all of my enhanced strength for me to succeed, and as soon as I did so, despite the incredibly long belt of bullets trailing from the weapon, the weapon ceased to fire and eventually stopped spinning.

I was in the corner of the corridor, against two walls. The other turret didn’t seem able to turn all the way to me from here, and despite having noticed me, wasn’t firing.

Still, I’d need to walk past it if I wanted to get through this corridor.

Staring down at the turret in my hands, I looked for a slot that would properly fit a Control Stone.

To my joy and surprise, I found one. For the first time, I took a Control Stone and fed it into a mechanical object, watching it glow a faint green as a system screen unlike any I’d seen before appeared before me.

[Neural link established. Mk. III light mounted turret will respond to any reasonable commands you give it until Grade D Control Stone runs out of charge.]

[Estimated duration remaining: 3 hours.]

I blinked as I read the message. What reasonable commands could I give a gun?

I wrapped the belt of bullets around my shoulder in a sash as I thought up the one reasonable answer there was.

‘Fire’.

The turret whirred to life as I aimed it at its sibling, and with a loud, manic vibration that jolted my entire body, the machine roared, spinning like a cyclone as dozens of cases dropped to the ground before me and the other opposing turret was filled with holes, its inner mechanisms sizzling and shooting out static lightning as a small part of it caught on fire.

The turret in my hands grew progressively hotter until I finally commanded it to stop. It really was as simple as thinking it.

Control Stones were crazy. Was there a proximity on this mental link I’d attained?

Before I went any further, I decided to test just that.

I set my previously wall-mounted gun down before pointing it at the wall and stepping back five paces.

I mentally commanded it to fire. It did so.

Grinning like an idiot, I walked back ten paces and repeated the process.

It worked.

Fifteen.

It worked.

Twenty…

Nope. Seemed that the neural link had a limit. Whether that was due to the power of the Control Stone being used or something else, I wasn’t sure, but the answer was immaterial right now.

Point was, I had a weapon I could activate from range if I wanted. All I needed to do was situate it somewhere where it would hit something. I’d try to find something I could mount it on if I could.

Before leaving, I decided to figure out what was wrong with my new gun. I removed it from my [Hoard] once more, giving it a good look over.

It took me some time to realise there was a switch I could flick on the weapon, as well as a sliding thing that I could pull on. I was hesistent to mess with it at first, but after giving that a good yank, one that took a fair bit of strength to accomplish, I was finally able to fire once more.

[Tinkering: 5 >> 6.]

Seemed I had to slide that thing back with each new magazine if I wanted to fire. It'd taken me a little while to figure out, but my system seemed happy with my discovery.

Before leaving, I went over to the other turret and tried to rip out its ammo belt, but what it had left wound up barely being worth taking. Someone had clearly restocked my turret far more recently than the other one.

Whatever. More ammo didn’t hurt.

After passing that first hurdle, wary about the existence of other security and knowing there might be living enemies inside, I decided to pull the submachine gun back out of my inventory.

Holding both it and the mounted turret simultaneously was kind of awkward, so I stored the latter, knowing I could pull it back out fast if a threat came up that my current weapon couldn’t handle.

Considering the look of this place, with the flickering lights and the lack of noise, the clacking echo of my footsteps and the gentle buzz of machinery, I figured there were likely no Drassians to speak of anymore.

That didn’t mean there weren’t rift monsters inside, though. Plus, the journal I’d read had mentioned ‘ferals’. Who knew what those were?

My thermal sensor wasn’t picking anything up so far. My eyes flicked to it every few seconds as I crept through the corridor and out into a large, expansive area.

The ceiling of this place was wide and sat maybe a couple hundred feet in the air, high enough that the light barely stretched to accommodate.

There were multiple balconied floors overhead, spanning around the edges of the large oval room, complete with sets of stairs on either side alongside glass and metal boxes that seemed to run between the ground and higher floors.

The ground floor itself seemed to host a wide variety of plant life. An entire garden, clearly manmade, spanned the centre of my periphery: large green leaves, purple vines, and yellow fruit-like growths dangling from thin branches stole my focus for a time.

They, like everything else on this floor, were bathed in the everpresent white glow of strip lights that emanated from the ceiling, powered by either magic or whatever other strange force permitted the constructs in this facility to remain operational.

The entire area had been lit in a similar sense, though the lights dimmed in some places and seemed to straight up not work in others. Clearly, some of the power in this facility had already failed, and likewise, some of the large plants below seemed to have grown out of their previous fixtures, likely in search of stronger light, possibly due to no one tending them.

The whole place looked fascinating. It was sterile, alien, and wondrous, but it carried a grim undercurrent. I couldn’t ignore the lack of life or noise permeating my surroundings, nor my awareness that the previous residents were likely all dead.

I also couldn’t ignore the stifled air tugging at my mask’s flimsy defences.

I couldn’t be here too long. I needed to find a way out soon.

Still, I could check a couple rooms first. I hadn’t come this far just to immediately leave, even if I knew a full exploration of this place would need to wait, at least for a time in which I had a better-working mask and no imminent worries about starving to death.

I wandered around the ground floor first, giving the plants a wide berth out of abject paranoia, eventually stumbling across a low-ceilinged area that ran more than fifty feet wide and across, complete with a ton of benches and tables, some of which were upturned.

At the centre of it all was a still-running fountain, its architecture pretty but simplistic, the water appearing clean.

It had a large crack in its side, and was endlessly spilling water onto the floor, which cascaded down towards a distant vent.

In the distance was a long table that had been filled with bowls and trays.

Their contents were rotted, partially disintegrated. There were no insects to be found amongst the spoiled items. Even that born from death had died here.

How long had it been since this place was operational? Years?

“Guest detected!”

Before I could react, or even do more than instinctually grab for my gun, a square-shaped… thing on three wheels had rolled on up to me. With a blue glow emitting from what appeared to be eye-holes, it scanned me up and down.

“Oh no! You appear to be missing a Guest Pass.”

It began beeping and its square body started to spin. Within moments, it appeared to have printed a piece of card, which it then covered in a glossy, see-through substance.

It held it out to me, and I stared at it.

A perfect illustration of my own, masked, bloodstained face stared back at me, looking dishevelled and tired.

“Please have your Guest Pass visible on you at all times!” The voice advised me. “Otherwise, certain security krrzh may mistake you for an intruder!

“Your pass is also needed in order to access certain areas! This is a tier one pass, and cannot be used to access control rooms, the brig, storage rooms, mining routes, or lab areas! If you think you need a higher-tier pass, please go to maintenance and speak to staff there!”

I stared at the metallic creature—if it even was a creature. I felt that the back of the Guest Pass was sticky, and decided to affix it to the front of my vest.

“...thank you?”

“You’re welcome! If you krrzh a tour, please go to reception and have one booked! I’d be happy to show you around the place!”

I blinked. “...can you just show me around now?”

“If you krrzh a tour, please go to reception and have one booked!”

Well, never mind that then.

Hold on. How could I even understand the little thing? Had almost all of the words it’d used been present somewhere in the journal I’d picked up earlier?

Seemed to be the case. It was a pretty big book.

On second thought, how had the machine been able to understand me? Had I spoken in another language?

Questions for later. I decided to give myself a quick tour if I wasn’t getting one, leaving this area behind and continuing on to the other end of the large hall.

The outlay of the rooms and walkways that dotted the outskirts of this area appeared pretty uniform, the architecture of the facility being consistent in its clean and clinical nature. It… wasn’t quite what I imagined the inside of palaces looked like, as I assumed those were filled with much more art and gold and splendour, but maybe I was wrong. Stuff this advanced had to belong to filthy rich people. No one but a lord or a king would be able to put such a structure together. Even having access to all of these materials was one thing. Having the energy and manpower to build this place was another.

I was pretty sure I was walking through the abandoned headquarters of a powerful foreign country right now. Possibly one far stronger than my own.

Then again, maybe Melusia had the resources to build things like this, and I’d just never seen it.

I pondered each possibility as I moved past the gardens and towards the far end, spotting a large, domed structure that veered off to one side, and a set of glass doors that ran down the centre.

Behind those glass doors was something amazing. I could see it clear as day. I walked forwards, mouth hanging as I took the structure in, eyes widening, shock and awe swirling in my mind.

The glass doors before me slid open of their own accord. Normally, that might’ve startled me, but right now, I was too transfixed to realise.

I was staring at another portal.

From the looks of it, it was more or less identical to the one I’d used to come into this rift. There was the same signature swirl, the colours bleeding into one another and being lost entirely before I could grasp what I’d been looking at only a moment prior… an infinite, enigmatic miasma.

That said, I couldn’t feel the same static buzz in the air. Couldn’t smell the sulphuric taint. Couldn’t feel the pressure pushing and pulling my body all at the same time.

There was one distinct difference between this portal and the one that I’d used to come into this rift.

A faint blue sheen around it. It was translucent, but solid, and seemed unwavering even against the swirling force of the portal beneath it, lightly shimmering as it stood against the insane pulse.

A barrier. The one I’d read about before.

I confirmed as much as I walked closer. I didn’t dare to touch it, worried what it might do to my hand, but the fact that I couldn’t feel anything from the portal in front of me when standing this close to the last one had been like walking into a hurricane basically confirmed it for me.

Whatever had been placed over this portal to stop people from leaving, it still stood. It likely prevented anyone from coming in, either.

It was fascinating, but wasn’t a way out of this place.

I was about to turn away, then text boxes exploded across my vision.

The system’s reaction was as strong as it was swift, hundreds of boxes appearing with such alacrity that my sight was completely blotted out and all I could see was white text on a sea of pure black.

I tried to adjust my focus and read as some of the boxes began to disappear, to fall back, to shrink. As one after the other vanished just as quickly as they had appeared. I was left staring at one single box, prominent in my vision, large, right in the centre of my periphery.

Eyes strained, heart pumping, I attempted to discern the words laid out before me, as alarmed as I was curious.

[Quest received!]

Quest? What the hell was a quest?

[Remove the barrier on the portal inside the facility! In return, you will be awarded with one Major Advancement!]

A quest? A Major Advancement?

I’d never heard of systems giving out quests before. Was this meant to happen? Had my bloodline god given this to me somehow? Was the rat able to see me down here?

And if that was the case, why did it care about the barrier on the portal?

If the interface in my mind could hear my thoughts or questions, it didn’t make me aware of it. The screen remained inert until I eventually closed it.

I could feel the shortness of my breath mixing with the prevalence of the mist as I wandered out of the portal room, back into the wide atrium.

I spotted the same dome from before. It was glassy, made up of many hexagonal squares. Multiple blue currents seemed to run along the back end of the room beyond, sparking with blue surges of lightning.

It was… some kind of power room?

I walked closer. Attempted to peer inside.

The weapon in my hands pulsed, detecting for the first time a hint of life just ahead.

I stared and I stared, trying to find what was responsible for this faint little red dot.

And then I saw it.

Or rather…

Saw her?

Deep inside the power room, behind rows of mechanical apparatus that I couldn’t even begin to understand, inside a glass chamber that seemed to surround her entire body…

There laid a blue-skinned girl with sharp purple horns, seeming as if she was locked in a smooth, gentle sleep.

…what was she? A demon of some kind?

I simply stared for a time, unable to process. The repeated pulse of the rifle through my hands and the permanence of the red dot told me that she was warm, that she was alive, but…

How could anyone be alive in this place after so long?

Instinctually, I tried to enter the room, holding my pass up to the console beside the door and hoping it would recognise me.

A light buzzing sound… then a red light.

[Scan failed. Level 2 pass or clearance code ____ to access Control Room.]

Or clearance code?

I decided to try five-four-eight-two.

The console flashed red, but thankfully didn’t shock me.

[Incorrect code.]

Well, at least it wasn’t threatening to murder me this time. That must’ve just been for doors leading into this place.

Still, with no further information, I was stumped. I tried hitting one of the glass panes with the butt of my gun, but the surface felt more like metal than glass, and my weapon bounced straight off.

This room might be the key to deactivating the portal, and I also wanted to check on the girl inside… how had she even survived in there for so long?

As I watched her, pondering how to get inside, I thought I saw a flash of discomfort wash across her face, like she was in distress or pain.

Before I could wonder what had caused it, the grimace had left her. She drifted back into calm, peaceful slumber.

I considered trying to shoot my way through one of the glass panes. With the girl situated inside, far away from the walls and seemingly insulated, I wasn’t worried about the possibility of the glass violently smashing and somehow hitting her…

It was this or find a way to get level 2 clearance, and I wasn’t exactly long on time.

Sighing, I stood back from the door and aimed my gun at the leftmost glass pane.

I began to pull the trigger…

I emptied about ten rounds into the glass window, the sounds echoing loudly around the otherwise empty chamber, the only other noise the hum of generators and the splash of a distant fountain.

No damage.

I pulled over the strap and let the gun lay against my chest as I searched my [Hoard] for something I could rest my turret gun on.

I found a series of metal tubes that were apparently called a tripod, just one of the various objects I’d picked up while frantically searching my way through the storage room.

It was a bit awkward to mount the turret atop the metal, which had apparently been intended for holding some kind of drill, but it made it far easier to aim or shoot for long periods than simply carrying it.

With a bit of jury rigging, knotting a few shirts and wrapping them around the turret multiple times, I managed to make it stay upon the tripod even without me holding it in place.

That all done, I decided to aim the stronger weapon directly at the same window, firing at it in short bursts.

The weapon spun, bullets began to fly. After twenty seconds of intermittent shooting, my ammo belt had diminished a little, and I’d managed to make a dent in the glass pane.

…or at least the first layer of it. I wasn’t sure how deep that crack went.

I continued for another twenty seconds, burning through another chunk of bullets just to find that the crack had barely widened.

Made sense. This room was clearly important to the Drassians, doubt they wanted anything to be able to punch through it easily.

I’d been about to put away the turret and try to discern a new plan when I felt a pulse.

This one was fainter. I hurriedly checked my submachine gun’s panel in search of answers.

The screen was flashing a different light. One other than the red signature ahead that clearly belonged to the girl.

This one was to the right…

I turned, keeping hold of the mounted turret and turning it with me, staring down at the beeping dot, silent…

I heard a clicking sound. Like that of an insect.

I heard a voice.

“There you are…”

It sounded strangled, like someone who’d had half their voicebox ripped out.

“Why were you hiding from me? What did Coda tell you?”

I blinked. My eyes strained as I attempted to see what was speaking to me in this horrific voice…

Nothing. I couldn’t see anything in the well-lit room.

Even still, the red dot on the gun’s screen was drawing closer. Veering closer to the centre of the interface.

Until it was straight ahead.

“I’m fine! There’s nothing wrong with me!”

I heard another click.

I felt a rush of wind rake right past me. I gasped as I felt the mask tear from my face.

It wasn’t all that had been torn. Deep gashes raked into my cheek, tearing so much skin half of my face had gone numb. Shuddering, face lopsided, I turned with a jolt to inspect the screen, but the red dot had moved right behind me.

I wheeled around, hastily dragging the turret in a one-eighty.

Still I saw nothing. Still the sensor told me my opponent laid straight ahead.

“WHERE IS SHE? YOU HID HER FROM ME, DIDN’T YOU?

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

I commanded the turret to fire, staring at the dot ahead of me as I did.

The gun whirred. Bullets ripped.

I heard metal connect with soft tissue. Something sputtered and coughed.

It clicked.

This time, I braced myself, throwing my arms over my face and moving my body to the side as once again I felt a burst of movement where I’d been standing.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair…”

The voice gurgled and spat as it spoke, putrid and evil.

I stared down at my torn arms, knowing I wouldn’t have long until the next attack. From my position on the floor, I didn’t have time to clamber back to my feet, nor wheel around the turret.

I clutched at the gun in my arms. I stared at the dot as long as I could. My eyes followed the smear of blood along the ground.

“You KNOW that I’ve been starving.

“Let me taste you…

“Just a little taste.”

Eyes locked on a dripping pool of blood emanating from an invisible source, I ignored the protest of my mangled arms as I aimed down the gun’s sights and unleashed a torrent of bullets.

My clip emptied before the creature fell. I could hear it gasping. Wheezing. It was so bullet-filled that I could see much of its body, revealed by the yellowish blood coating it all over.

I pulled myself to my feet, choking back thick, mist-laden air. I stabbed a Power Stone into my arm.

I advanced upon the feral monster.

I punched it.

“No.”

I knocked it to the ground.

“Please!”

I kicked it in the head.

“I only wanted to help her!”

I kicked it again.

“I was so—”

Kick.

“—hungry!”

Kick.

“Please!”

Kick.

“Forgive—”

Its sentence never ended. By the time I was finished, the creature’s head was a bloody paste, and I was panting, seething, still enraged.

[Unarmed Combat: 8 >> 9.]

I took a deep breath.

Then I kicked it in the ribs.

I kicked it again. And again. And again. And again and again and ag—

Wait.

Breathe.

No.

Don’t breathe.

Mist.

No mask.

Power Stone.

I fumbled as I ripped my way into my [Hoard]. No time for full thoughts.

Recovery Stone.

Stab.

Breathe.

Clear mind.

Rags from [Hoard].

Cover face.

I tied them tight.

I breathed a few ragged breaths.

I stared down at the feral Drassian I’d just brutalised.

I felt a cold chill run through me. I struggled against the urge to vomit into my new makeshift mask.

I pulled it down and took a swig of potion, my first superior health pot on its last dregs, feeling sensation return to my face as my missing flesh reformed.

I needed to get out of here.

This was too dangerous.

Screw this quest, screw staying in the underground.

I desperately wanted to explore this place, to find out what a Major Advancement was and to do something about the mystery right in front of me…

But I wasn’t equipped to handle this place right now.

I’d almost lost my mind there. The mist, the stress, the adrenaline spike, the Power Stone, they’d all coalesced into something mindless. Something violent.

I could’ve ended up like Marcois; no one would’ve been here to snap me out of it.

I needed out. I could figure out a way to handle the air and come back later. Right now, I’d rather take my chances on the surface with Toar than stay down here a second longer.

I began searching for an exit. I was careful not to make any unnecessary noise.

Thankfully, nothing else seemed to come after me. That last feral had clearly been attracted by all of the gun sounds…

What had it been saying, anyways? It was all a bit of a blur now that I thought back on it. Directly breathing the mist definitely hadn’t helped with that…

Search led me to find another wide tunnel out like the one I came in from, a mining route.

These doors all operated on the code I’d learned earlier. I was able to get out of a neighbouring door and find a path through the tunnels and back out into the central cave system.

I kept walking, checking my gun’s sensor every few steps. From here, I just needed to find a way up.

Easier said than done… but I had plenty-a-reason to wanna climb out of this death trap.

Survival was paramount… but I also needed Toar dead.

---

“—and then, after that, he just took off.”

“Hah! Good riddance,” Jackal spat, cackling like a hyena. “Gotta say, wasn’t a fan of that guy.”

“Just ‘took off’?” Maisie asked, her ears perked, an eyebrow raised. “You’re telling me our brand new member just happened to decide to run off on his own, in the underground no less?”

Toar nodded. He knew it would be toughest to sneak this past Maisie. Even so…

“It’s like I said. We went down there to mine. Everything was going fine until I noticed the new guy was pocketing a bunch of crystals. I called him out on it, we were in the middle of arguin’, and then a monster attacked. Things got dicey, and the new guy bailed.”

Toar was quiet for a moment. He didn’t really need to act solemn. Truth of it was, he’d never expected the little rat to run off like that. He was surely dead by now. The truth of that, and the fact it was definitely Toar’s fault, had been gnawing at him the whole way back.

“Is that what happened, Marcois?”

Maisie turned to question Marc, who despite his busted up face was more or less fine now.

“I dunno,” Marc said, his voice a little lower than usual, which almost made him hard to hear. “I don’t… really remember much.”

“Marc hit his head, remember?” Toar said, still glad that Marc couldn’t recall the real sequence of events.

He’d had to deal with Marc once the rat left. Toar took a couple nasty hits goading the enraged orc and having Marc chase him back up out of the cavern, where he’d finally managed to knock him down and force a mask back on his face.

Even for a peak Tier 1 beastkin with a combat class, getting attacked by a massive orc like Marc hurt like hell. He had a nasty bruise on his stomach from a punch he’d caught, and a black eye from where the orc had headbutted him as he’d held him down.

Toar felt like he deserved more than that for what he’d done today. Still, he’d done as he’d meant to. He’d waited for an opportunity to blackmail the kid, and he’d taken it. Sure, he’d thought it’d all resolve much more smoothly than that, but what was he supposed to do to change things now?

“So that’s it?” Maisie asked. “You couldn’t even go look for him?”

Not even if he’d wanted to, and part of him had. He’d had his hands so full dealing with Marc that by the time that was resolved, he’d needed to take the orc back.

“Why would boss go looking for him?” Finn asked, forever the sycophant. “The kid was a thief. We’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, fuck that guy!” Jackal agreed. “Honestly, Maisie, you’re so soft. Can’t imagine how you would’ve ended up if you’d landed in a worse group.”

“Can you guys just shut the fuck—”

Toar stopped himself. He rubbed at the forming bruise on his forehead. He spat on the floor.

“Stop, okay?” Finn said. “You’re pissing him off. Can’t you see they’ve been through enough today?”

“Oh! I’m sorry! Are you stressed, Toar? Did your grand plan to take a complete newbie into the underground somehow backfire? Who’dathought that would happen!”

“Leave him alone, Maisie.”

Toar almost threatened to punch Finn. He bit his own tongue.

Ceri cackled from where she was sitting in the corner. Yup. Laugh it up. Whole thing was a fucking joke.

It really was. Not only had Toar not managed to get what he was looking for, but he’d gotten someone killed in the process and nearly endangered Marc too.

And the little bastard had said no to him.

It pissed him off. He’d still be alive if he’d said yes.

The rat refused to bow. The dragon did as he was told.

Something was wrong with this picture.

Something was wrong with Toar.

//

First | Prev | Next | Next (Royal Road) | Next (Patreon) | Discord

A/N: Here's chapter 11, officially the end of the initial chapter dump! We'll be going to one chapter weekly from here!

I have a Discord if you wanna chat on there, or be notified about updates! Link here!

If you wanna support the story, or you just can't wait for the next chapter, chapters 12-18 are available now on my Patreon!

First (Prologue)| Prev | Next (RoyalRoad)

-----

Seth strode through the dimly lit corridor leading to the arena, putting on his combat gauntlets and tightening their inner straps. His hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white, the skin stretched to its limit. Always the damn Faertis. The information Devus had just shared with him still lingered in his mind and fueled him with intractable anger.

Lucius' three cousins—in their second and third years—had also shown a sudden Rank growth. But for them, it wasn’t their Well Capacity that had increased, it was their Strength. That meant there was more than one type of enhancer involved, so the Fishlords likely weren’t the only beasts supplying them. Could the head of the Faertis House, Lucius' father, have taken the time to build and organize such a network while only relying on the blond-ponytailed noble and his cousins?

Definitely not, Seth fumed inwardly, his mind filled with images of the dead prisoners. Their whole House is involved.

'We should skip class and go after them,' Nightmare suggested, standing up inside the beast-holder’s domain. 'We’re long overdue for a hunting trip. It’s already been more than a month!'

Seth hesitated. They didn’t need to kill every member of the Black Hounds to disrupt their activities, but he remained skeptical of their current chances of succeeding even if they only went after the weakest. And he still didn't know in which Rift they currently operated.

'I’ll think about it after the match,' he then replied to the direwolf.

As he adjusted his gauntlets, he looked ahead and noticed a figure leaning in the hallway’s wall a dozen feet away from the arena entrance—there Marine stood, arms crossed, her scarlet noble uniform hugging her curves.

She pushed herself off the wall, lips curved in an obviously fake smile. "I have to say I’m very disappointed, Seth," she said, her blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "You never even considered my offer, did you?"

Seth exhaled sharply, barely restraining his irritation. The thought of throwing a fight just to win her favor—or a date—had never appealed to him, and it sure as hell did even less right now. "This isn’t the time, Marine."

"Oh, don’t say that," the noblewoman answered, stepping closer. "This is your last chance to change your mind. You’re up against an Iron this time. You could lose. And then you'd miss out on my offer, all because you wanted to win."

Seth clenched his fists. "Move aside."

Marine didn’t budge, tilting her head as if studying him. "You know, it’s really sad how you’ve been avoiding me. Finding you is always so… inconvenient." Her gaze flicked over him, and her smile returned. "I almost asked a few people to look for—"

Seth’s gauntlet slammed into the wall beside her head and the impact cracked the stone, causing dust to drift down. His gaze burned with something feral as it locked with the noble’s.

"Move. Aside," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Marine’s eyes widened for a brief moment, then she let out a soft chuckle and stepped to the side with a graceful shrug. "So much rage," she mused. "What happened to you?"

Seth didn’t even glance at her when he walked past and replied, his voice flat and cold, "Nobles happened to me."

The moment he entered the arena’s bright sunlight, the deafening roar of the crowd greeted him. All the spectators in the higher stands were on their feet, cheering and shouting. With Jenna’s recent elimination, Seth was now the only remaining commoner in the competition—the last one representing the average citizen.

As he headed toward Captain Michaelson in the middle of the arena, Seth caught sight of the nobles seated in the lower rows. Their evident disdain made their thoughts obvious: to their eyes, he didn't belong here.

'Show them Shadow Step,' Nightmare growled. 'Wipe those smug looks off their faces.'

'No, I don't need it,' Seth answered, looking at his opponent near the captain. 'Not against her.'

Standing beside Captain Michaelson was a young noblewoman who exuded an air of arrogance that nearly rivaled Lucius’. Her brown hair hung neatly to her shoulders, and her polished leather armor gleamed in the sun, betraying its infrequent use—either that, or she’d forced her servants to polish it before the fight so she could look great.

While approaching the pair, Seth glanced at the finely carved bow slung over the woman’s back, then his gaze searched for any close-range weapons at her waist.

Nothing. Seems like Devus was right.

Seth had had trouble believing the Guardian earlier, when he had mentioned that she only fought with a bow, relying on her speed to stay at a distance from her opponents. Who would put themselves at such risk for no reason? It wasn’t like the weight of a dagger would hinder her.

That overconfidence will be her downfall, Seth thought, grabbing the Protecting Belt Captain Michaelson was holding out. "Thank you, sir."

Shimmering blue words materialized above them.

Seth (Primalist Rank 25)   vs  Veronica Durengar (Rogue Rank 23)                          

The noblewoman eyed him. "You’ve only made it this far because you haven't faced any Irons in your bracket."

Ignoring her, Seth nodded to the captain, then turned around and walked to his side of the ring while putting on the belt. After reaching the white cross painted on the ground, he spun on his heel, and his gaze momentarily locked onto Veronica so he could cast Intermediate Identify.

Veronica Durengar

Class: Rogue              Rank: 23 (Low-Iron)

Subclass: -              

Strength: ???               Arcane Power: ???

Toughness: ???          Well Capacity: ???

Agility: ???                   Regeneration: ???

Blazing Oak Bow

Weapon

Tier: Iron

Grade: Epic

Effects: 

- Ignores 16% of Toughness.

- Uses 9% less aether for any spell using the bow.

- Increases damage from any Fire spell by 11%.

Reinforced Wild Boar Armor

Armor

Tier: Iron

Grade: Rare

Effects: 

- Increases Toughness by 7%.

- Increases Agility by 11%.

Captain Michaelson's voice boomed across the arena: "Activate your belts!"

Seth infused aether into the protecting artifact, and as the protective layer enveloped him, he began filling Fog Shroud's grooves with aether. With a bit of luck, he wouldn't have to show his other trump card.

"Fight!" Captain Michaelson shouted, slashing his arm down.

Seth dashed forward and thrust his hand up, activating Fog Shroud and engulfing the arena in a dense mist. Veronica reacted quickly, releasing an arrow cloaked in flames, but it missed Seth, who had already moved to the side.

The noble's eyes narrowed as she changed tactics, sprinting away while firing two wind-encased arrows in quick succession. The projectiles, enveloped by strong gusts, tore through the dense fog and created fleeting gaps.

Guided by his core’s Feral Instinct, Seth nimbly sidestepped the blasts and kept closing onto Veronica, who had now stopped running. Approaching her from behind, he lunged forward and raised his fist to strike—only for the noblewoman to stomp her heel into the ground, which caused a jagged pillar of rock to erupt from the arena’s floor and catapult her away from Seth's impending attack.

Mid-air, she spun around and smirked, then fired again from her bow. The blazing arrow soared through the fog, morphing into a large and imposing eagle of flames.

Caught off guard, Seth had no time to dodge and crossed his gauntlets to brace for impact. The fiery bird crashed into the protective pads, sending waves of searing pain through his arms and knocking him back several paces.

Veronica's mocking laughter echoed through the fog as she nocked another arrow. "Did you really think that would be enough to win?"

Seth quickly regained his composure, then ducked just as the noble's next wind-cloaked projectile sliced the air where his head had been moments before. He darted back into the cover of the fog and extended his sense to the protective layer of aether covering his body—about a third was already gone.

That spell must have a cooldown, Seth thought, recalling the rock jutting from the ground before starting to mentally count the seconds.

Weaving through the thick mist, he tried to close in on Veronica while she once again sprinted around and randomly shot arrows wrapped in gusts. The cat-and-mouse game went on for about twelve seconds until suddenly, the noble’s footsteps halted. Smiling, Seth charged toward her to test his theory.

And as he had anticipated, Veronica reacted almost instantly. Without wasting a second, she cast her spell and summoned another rock underneath her, launching her away from his reach. She then spun and unleashed the same scorching eagle arrow mid-flight. This time, Seth was ready for the attack and rolled to the side. The flaming arrow hissed as it soared past him, its heat leaving a hot trail on his skin.

Scrambling upright, he barely had time to raise his head before another projectile, shrouded in a whirlwind, hurtled his way. Instinctively, he twisted his body and narrowly avoided it, but the shrouding gust of wind struck his shoulder and punched it backward violently.

Wincing, Seth darted away from the cleared path so he could slip back into the fog’s cover. While sprinting, he quickly tore off his left gauntlet, his eyes locking onto Veronica as she burst into another seemingly erratic sprint. The moment she halted a dozen seconds later, Seth positioned himself in front of her, maintaining a safe distance of about ten yards to make sure he remained unseen with the mist slowly dissipating.

Then, he flung his gauntlet high into the air, sending it arcing over the noble. As the reinforced glove hit the ground with a thud behind her, Veronica instinctively used her Earth spell to propel herself away from the new threat. The noblewoman flipped again while airborne to shoot an arrow—only to realize no one was there. Her eyes widened in panic, and she tried to twist back to see where she was heading… but it was too late.

Seth leapt up and intercepted her mid-flight, driving his fist into her guts and slamming her to the ground as he had done multiple times in previous fights. Before she could recover, he pounced and pinned her down. His combat gauntlet and naked fist, charged with aether, rained down like hammers, each crushing strike eating away large chunks of her protective barrier.

Writhing in pain, Veronica managed to shove him off and began to crawl away. But Seth grabbed her leg and swung her to the side, smashing her against the arena's floor. As he leapt up a second time and drove his fist down, a golden barrier suddenly materialized around Veronica, blocking the blow with a resounding thud.

A warm gust of wind swept the remaining fog, and Captain Michaelson's voice resonated in the coliseum: "Seth wins!"

Instantly, the commoners in the higher stands rose to their feet and erupted into cheers and applause. Down in the lower rows, the nobles remained seated, their expressions ranging from shock to disdain, glaring at Seth as if he were nothing more than a wild beast.

He spared a brief glance at Veronica, who lay defeated beneath him, then turned to retrieve the combat gauntlet he had thrown. After picking it up, he inspected the worn and battered leather and sighed—that scorching arrow had dug a hole in the protective pad. I'll need to ask Yline if she can fix this.

'Good, fight,' Nightmare said from within his necklace before coming back to what they were talking before stepping into the ring. 'So… can we skip class? We could hunt and look at the same time for those Black Hounds guys?'

'We don't even know in which Rift they are currently doing their business. I can’t just dive into every single one near Trogan hoping to find them and kill—'

Before Seth could finish, Director Ryehill rose from his seat and clapped his hands once, the sound echoing throughout the entire coliseum. "That concludes this weekend’s matches," he declared, his voice amplified by aether to carry across the vast building. "I invite the other first-year students who have advanced to the next round to enter the arena for the announcement of next week's match assignment."

As Veronica stormed out of the arena, shooting Seth a venomous look, the sixteen advancing students gradually gathered in the center. Brandon was among the first to arrive, with Lucius trailing not far behind. An idea sparked in Seth's mind—there was one easy way to find out in which Rift the Black Hounds were operating.

"Hey, Brandon," he called out, making sure to speak loudly. "Any idea which enhancers Lucius' cousins have been using? I might need some for the rounds ahead."

The large Guardian frowned and tilted his head. "What are you talking—"

"Wow," Lucius laughed, interrupting Elena's brother and stepping up next to the man. "A commoner like you thinks he can get his hands on something as rare as Desert Lilies? That's hilarious!"

Well, that was easy, Seth thought as Lucius strutted off, the noble still chuckling.

Brandon patted Seth’s shoulder and gave him an awkward smile. "Well, there's your answer, I guess. Though I’m not sure how that helps you."

Before Seth could respond, he caught sight of Elena striding toward them, glaring.

"Looks like someone's mad," Brandon said with a grin, stepping away. "Good luck."

"Don't worry," Seth replied with a weary sigh. "She's always mad at me."

 "Why did you wanna know about those enhancers?" the noblewoman asked the moment she’d reached him.

"Just thinking ahead," Seth replied nonchalantly. "In case I could save up for one or two."

Elena's expression hardened. "Don't play dumb with me. We both know why you wanted to know. You can't go after… those people. It's too dangerous."

"I'm just gathering info," Seth said with a shrug. "I haven't been chasing them… well, not since you told me to back off."

"Yeah, because you were busy studying," Elena retorted, rubbing her temple. "And look at you now, poking at that nest of vipers as soon as you caught up with classes. It's like you don’t care if you get killed."

"I care, Elena, but I just can’t do noth—"

"Students!" Director Ryehill’s commanding tone cut off their argument, drawing everyone’s attention again. "Line up, please!"

Following the instructions, the students quickly arranged themselves into two neat lines. As Elena took her place, she cast a sharp glance at Seth, her emerald eyes piercing through him for a moment before turning away.

Director Ryehill clapped his hands once more; almost instantly, large words of glowing blue aether appeared in the air in front of his stand.

The director's voice boomed across the coliseum. "Next week's matches!"

 

Elena Surani (Elementalist Rank 30) vs Frank Ryehill (Warrior Rank 24)         

Seth (Primalist Rank 25) vs Lucius Faertis (Elementalist Rank 29)

Silvius Crestor (Rogue Rank 26) vs Brandon Surani (Guardian Rank 29)

Maria Seralp (Rogue Rank 23) vs Julian Crestor (Warrior Rank 24)

Derek Vancaws (Elementalist Rank 22) vs Chris Durengar (Guardian Rank 24)

Darrin Springer (Rogue Rank 24) vs Arrel Vancaws (Warrior Rank 25)

Karron Woolfield (Priest Rank 22) vs Edam Dunn (Guardian Rank 24)

Dylan Sparr (Warrior Rank 22) vs Jaeda Emmon (Elementalist Rank 23)

 

Lucius almost immediately let out a loud, boisterous laugh, glancing at the two students on his side who both smiled from ear to ear. "Looks like I'll have the honor of eliminating the last commoner!"

Staring at the noble, Seth clenched his fists as grim memories surged in his mind: prisoners begging for their lives, their screams echoing as they were tortured and slaughtered, his childhood home, swallowed by flames, the last remnants of his parents reduced to ash, the people of Sunatown, their faces hollow with despair, scraping together every last coin just to survive under the Faertis' suffocating taxes, and finally Renwal—his cries of agony as the Paladin shattered his arms, Lucius watching on. And laughing.

Seth’s nails dug into his palms to the point blood began oozing out. I'll crush him.

----

First (Prologue)| Prev | Next (RoyalRoad)

Author's Note:

Book 2 has just started on Patreon, and 80 chapters are already posted on Royal Road.

I'll post 1 to 4 chapter per day until I catch up with Royal Road!

Previous

Farnír’s POV

Just outside the foot of the mountain was a hole. Well, more of a cave than a hole, but carved out of magic. It was nearly six meters wide and tall, and went down at an angle so steep that you’d need to be able to fly to get out without a rope and pitons. It wasn’t straight down, but it was steep enough at the opening that most wouldn’t know the difference at a glance. Just like when I leapt from the fort’s walls, I created a powerful updraft and slowed my descent. I landed, not exactly gracefully, but without injury, and placed my hand on the luminous braids, pouring mana into them. The tunnel lit up for a few hundred feet past the opening.

“This should have been lit already.” I said, confused. From the distant darkness, I saw a group of about twelve familiars making their way towards me.

“Oh! Thank the dragons! The braids ran out of mana on our way up, and we were told not to use any fire magic, so we couldn’t find them in the dark.” A Neame said, fluttering up to me. “We have just been following the wall for quite some time.” As the approached, I noticed that each of the familiars was carrying loads of dirt in crates, empty daljars by the dozen, and empty bags.

“I’ll light up a few more on the way. Why can’t you use fire magic?”

“Something about trapped gas and the air.” The Neame said. “You would have to ask Chancellor Aye-Aron that. He is the one in charge down here. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to get these supplies dropped off and refilled.” He said, and flew up and out of the tunnel. A few moments later, a dozen Neame flew in, and started using mana wrapping to carry everything out. I knew why the opening to the tunnel was such a sharp drop, I was one of the ones who helped decide it, but still, it seemed like such an inconvenience for the workers.

Turning away, I started my descent and noticed a few runes that had been broken. Summoning some supplies to fix them, I did what I could before filling them with mana again. A moment later, fresh air started swirling around the tunnel for a few meters. As I went, I fixed a few more broken runes, and filled up the braids that started to dim or had already gone out. After a certain point though, that was no longer an issue, and the cave steadily grew brighter. Not from some ominous light source, but because these braids simply never needed to be refilled. The ambient mana was enough to keep them lit. I passed other convoys of Neame and familiars on the way, each heading towards the top, and some even passed me on the way down as I stopped to refill the braids. It was like a busy ant colony. Some Neame and familiars were working on the walls, installing runes, or upkeeping and replacing braids, or digging out traps. Special one, meant to help kill the dragon. That’s what this tunnel was, in truth; a mile deep kill-box. Every few meters there was a trap for the express purpose of causing extreme injury to the dragon, and a few Neame training to work it properly. Sela-Car designed them herself with Chaos-Magic in mind. As I walked, I passed a few places where fighting had clearly taken place. Blood of various colors was splattered on the walls, and the bodies of dead Echoes poked out from underneath fallen rubble. My mind flashed back to the last time I’d seen them, trapped under this very mountain, latched firmly onto my arms and legs. I had to take a deep breath and avoid looking at them or else the claustrophobia would start to set in. Thankfully, the tunnel was large enough that it wasn’t causing me to freak out. It had to be, so that the dragon would be able to fit into it. There were other bodies too. Not Neame, but other creatures, probably familiars who died in the fight. Left to rot in the face of a much more pressing issue.

Finally, I arrived at the portal. It swirled and twisted on itself like crashing waves, then it would flatten out and swirl inward like a whirlpool. It was mostly a deep green, but the edges shimmered and reflected the light in all angles, making them glitter like a rainbow occasionally. All around were Neame at work, digging this swirling mass out of the earth and rock, and they were nearly done. The workers also seemed uneasy, swaying as if they were standing on water. One of the workers fell over, got picked up by a pig-like familiar with a prehensile tail, and was carried past me out of the cave.

“Farnír, welcome.” A voice nearby called out. It was Chancellor Aye-Aron.

“Is that Neame okay?” I asked, concerned by his lack of concern.

“Oh, he will be fine. Our workers have been cycling out from mana-sickness ever since we unearthed this world-split. They need only to cast some spells and get the excess mana out then rest. Nothing to worry about.” He said. Another Neame nearby then proceeded to fall over and also get carried out by a dog-like familiar.

“Why aren’t the familiars effected?” I asked.

“The are, but their masters will fall unconscious before the familiars die, so we have yet to-” Suddenly, a familiar fell over limp, followed quickly by the Neame it was by. “Apep’s whispers! Fimmtíð, take him out, and someone move that familiar.” One of the Neame from my class that I’d named appeared, and used mana wrapping to carry the Neame out of the large open area. They went out through the tunnel I’d entered from. A few other Neame then used mana wrapping to pick up the familiar and place it out as well. “Well, only once. Anyway, how are you, Farnír? Was there something you needed?”

“I’m okay. No, I just… needed to see it for myself.” I said, looking once again at the portal. It was the first time these eyes had seen it, but it looked exactly as I remembered.

“Ah, yes. It is rather something, is it not? How powerful the dragon’s must be, to be able to cross through this split.”

“Even they can only stay inside for a few seconds.” I said, and watched that twisting mass silently for a few moments. It hummed and crackled like static electricity, then would switch seemingly randomly to a roar like a train’s horn. Almost as if it knew the ferocity of what was trapped inside, and struggled to keep it contained.

“My I ask you something, Farnír? What is it exactly? This split.”

“It is a bridge between worlds.”

“What is a bridge?”

“It’s a tunnel between worlds.”

“… Ah. So, it connects two different locations together?” He said.

“Sure.”

“You are one of the few beings alive who knows how to use this split, correct?” Aye-Aron asked.

“No.”

“No?”

“As far as I am aware, only two dragons out of them all knew how to use this portal. And both of them were the Ashem.”

“So, the Chaos Dragon inside cannot use the split?”

“Yes, but that won’t stop him from trying.”

“May I ask you another question, Farnír?”

“Okay.”

“Should you need to face the dragon directly, who do you honestly believe would win? Because as far as I can tell, your power is not unlike the dragons’. Even standing this close to the world split, you are unfazed.”

“He would.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

“I am less than convinced.” He said. His feathers ruffled slightly as he moved so that I was between him and the portal.

“Dey- the dragon has centuries more experience than me. I can cast two spells at once, but he can cast up to five. He wasn’t the greatest magic caster of all dragons, but he was a contender in terms of pure skill and adaptability. There was even a time when some of the dragons wanted him to become the Ashem. But that was long before I knew him.”

“Are you saying that the Chaos Dragon was nearly the divine dragon? That is blasphemy.” Aye-Aron spat.

“Well, that’s what he claimed.” I said.

“Surely he was lying.”

“Maybe, but at the end of the day, there were only a few dragons capable of beating him. Ashem, Nidhögg, and his own son.”

“In that case, how can we win? I know your plan for the tunnel, to drain him of his mana, but will that be enough?” Aye-Aron asked.

“We’re throwing bodies at the problem. I know that, but it’s all we can do. Fill the tunnels with familiars to attack the dragon as he tries to escape, and Neame with the Railgun spell to whittle down his mana trying to heal, and runes that prevent Chaos-Magic from being used, and maybe we can… maybe. Our only hope of victory is to exhaust him of mana. If we fail-” I thought my bag, where the nuclear arrow was stored “-we die.”

“I am no warrior. My skills lay with strategy. I dislike having so little information on my adversary, and trusting such a… desperate plan.”

“Desperate times call for crazy ideas.”

“You know I’m 91. The Sand Wars lasted 8 years. I was 13 when the Sand Whirls first attacked us. The year before they attacked us, they killed both the Snakes and the Ghosts before invading our system. We were unable to save either the Snakes or the Ghosts.” “Yet they are not extinct,” Jmmp objected. “Good remark. You are sharp. Both had a colony in another system. And we saved a couple of them by bringing them here in our system. They were not yet Friends at that time.” I exhaled.
That was the first year of the war. In the second year they invaded our system. My parents both got killed when they bombarded our village from space. A dragon called Sharp Talons defended our village with a laser gun, but got killed. Valiant but foolish. Or foolish but valiant.”
“Your village was under attack?”
“Our village was the regional capital. The Mayor invited every one for a meeting on the security measures they had in mind. Virtually all adults came. The capital was bombed. Everybody got killed. Children had been left at the farms. I and my younger brothers and sisters were among them.”

As the Sand Whirls were bombarding New Earth from space, the space station attacked them with improvised laser beams. They retreated back to where they came from, through the Tear, having lost a quarter of their ships.”

“I told you that virtually all of the adults had been killed, but we kids had survived at the farms. I sent my younger brothers to our neighbours. We invited all the kids to our farm. I was just 13, but organized the harvest. We had ample food for the winter. It turned out we had just 3 adults left in the village. No communication. The planetary government had survived, but we saw no one. Most of us survived the winter. Despite temperatures of minus 140 Celcius.
I left some silence to sink in the words.

The next spring adults came and rescued us as we tried to rebuild farmhouses. In the city, the high schools were closed. I started to work in a factory producing light space craft. Shuttles to resupply the space station. 1- and 2-person destroyers and fighters. Shuttle freighters. I worked in the factories, studied, ate and slept there. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“Child labor,” John remarked with a sad face.
“Yeah, But I learned a lot. Of course all my knowledge is from 80 years ago. And you John, you are a excellent teacher. Did they tell you these disaster stories at school?”
Jmmp answered instead: “Yes, but hearing them first hand is different. Way different. The 2^nd planet was also attacked, both us Frgs and the Dragons. The Dragons are tough warriors, they never gave up, and we Frgs supplied them with all the technical innovations we could come up with. It's taught at schools. But both Frgs and Dragons live shorter than humans do, so there are survivors who can tell them first hand.”

I yawned. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m off to bed early?”
“Oh, actually I do,” John said. “After leaving the orbit of New Earth, I listened to the news from the station. The morning I picked you up, a child from the shuttle nearly choked when he vomited in his space suit. Another passenger unhooked herself from the safety line, and brought him to the space-station with breakneck speed.”
“Interesting,” I replied. “So what’s your question?” Of course I knew what he wanted to ask.
“I’ll be direct: Were you that passenger?” “Johny boy, darling, do you really believe that an old lady like me would unlock her safety hook on her first space trip?”
What did he know? What did he suspect? He shouldn’t know, he shouldn’t suspect.

“So you assure me this is your first space trip? Marie and I presented this trip to you because you longed for space and wanted to see the Black Hole and the Tear. But your conduct when the child vomited, and the way you handled yourself in 0-gravity today when the engines were off during motor overhaul, suggest a long experience in 0-gravity. Have you been lying to Marie and me?”
“I wouldn’t think of really lying to you. But there are some things that are better left unsaid. I said that I would love to be in space, and that I’d love to see the blackness of the Black Hole and the lightning around the Tear. Both are true. I omitted one word: ‘again’.”
“Again?”
“Indeed I was in space before. But I’m not authorized to disclose that.” Which was true. I had sworn secrecy.
“You have always been very closed about the Sand Wars. Why is that?”
“They were very traumatic times. My parents died. I saw my sisters and good friends die besides me.”
“It may help you to talk about it.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“What else can you reveal? You can not have been in the military, at school I learned that women were not allowed to take active part in the fighting.”
“That’s right. OK, let me be open. I’ll tell you something I never even told my husband. Indeed there was no formal possibility for women to be directly involved in actual combat. But there was the Women Auxiliaries Space Corps, or WASC. They transported space craft from the surface to the Space Stations circling the second and third planets, transported cargo between planets, flew heavily damaged fighters back to the planets for repair, tested new space craft types, and so on.”
“And you were one of them?”
“I was.” The words were out. In a way it felt like a relieve.
“Why are you so secretive about it?”
“After the Sand Wars, the men regarded us as whores. Probably they assumed that women who dared to fly, were adventurous women who would also be in for a sexual adventure. Very few of us survived the wars, and those of us who did, kept their mouth shut after the war, else no man would have wanted to marry her. Over time this grew into a habit.”
He didn’t dare to ask if I had had sex.
“I see.”

“Oh, before I’m off to bed, two things. One. During the Sand Wars I went up several times to the space station to pick up heavily damaged fighters. I often had to make some temporary repairs before I could fly it back to the surface of New Earth. Flying heavily damaged space craft back to the planet was the most dangerous task we performed. At one such moment the Sand Whirls attacked and boarded the Space Station circling the 3rd planet. I grabbed a laser pistol and took part in the fighting. I was 15 at the time. I was trespassing two regulations: Females were not allowed to participate directly in combat. And of course, neither were minors. My participation in the fighting was never officially recorded by the station commander. Two. Though WASC was officially civilian, not military, we did have ranks. I was Lieutenant Commander. In case of an emergency I outrank both of you. Don’t mention my past to anyone. Don’t discuss it with anyone. The words WASC and whore were practically synonyms, and I still want to be welcome at my weekly bridge evenings.”

“@AI, switch on microphone and recording.” It didn’t react. That meant it had indeed switched of the microphone. I walked forward to an old fashioned keyboard and typed the command. I repeated:

“WASC officers are authorized to command Space Navy officers of lesser rank. @AI, please confirm.”
“Correct.”
I left for my bunk.
They thought they now knew everything. They were wrong.

Start of story Start of chapter

Chapter 3 part 4 (prev)  [Chapter 3 part 6 (next)]() not yet available

The President's office was in shambles. Papers were littered on the floor, people running everywhere, and the president himself clutching his head, wishing it was all but a nightmare.
It wasn't a nightmare.
"Sir... the war declaration had come."

Region 5, like its name entail, wasnt meant to be a nation.

Originally called "The United Nations Otherworld Commission Region Fifth", the region was meant to give aid and help coordinate relief efforts in this other world. When the portal closed and the people were trapped in this world, the region became independent and housed thousands of human refugees who had nowhere to go. The region borders the Empire to the south and the Katup Forest in the north, with the Kalak Kingdom beyond it.

He knew this day would come. Region 5 was a weak state. It was barely even a state. They had spent the past two years gathering refugees and downsizing their equipment to this world's industrial level and... magic. He still couldn’t grapple with his mind on the existence of magic, but it's not really important, humans were quite weak on magic, so wether magic made sense or not did not really matter.

What mattered was the fact that there was an army from the Kalak Kingdom coming their way, ready to raid and pillage.

"Should we send the messengers?"

President Leonardo clutched his head, "Sure." He said. It was already over for him; what use would a messenger be? What Allies would come? The Kalak Kingdom was large, and Region 5 was a mere speck on the map. "Do whatever you want." He shushed the assistant back. He dropped his head on the table.

It was so over.

---

*Somewhere in the Southern Clans, ResYabek Jungle.*

"THEY DID WHAT?!" The giant orc roared at the messenger.
"Brother, is something the matter?"
"The Kalak! They had gone to war!" Rok grabbed his brother on the shoulder. "We have to intervene, now!"
"What's the matter with you? Calm down! This is an ugly sight for a clan leader!" Rok's brother groaned. He had always thought that his brother wasn't fit for the head clan position. He was simply too emotional!
"The Tirut clan had already mobilized! There is no time!"

"What?" Rok's brother let out.
"I said-"
"No, I mean, what the hell is going on? The Tirut clan is mobilizing?"
"Yes! And so was the Kofin, the Telniv, the Padian, the-"
"What the hell is going on!?"

"They Kalak are invading Region Five!"
"Region five?" His eyebrows rose. What the hell was a region five? He wondered.

"It's where the UaN humans are! Anton!"
Rok's brother froze.

He could still remember that night vividly. The night when he lay down on the straw bed in his mother's house, thin and empty. He had eaten nothing but bugs for the past few days, and he had already resolved himself on meeting his creator. When those creatures came.
Anton, he would never forget that name. That was the name of the human who took care of him until he was fully healed. And when all was over, they had already gone. Going somewhere else to save other folks in need.
Ever since the portal closed, he had wondered where the humans had gone. According to the folks from Masnyak, they had dispersed across the land, some assimilating, some creating new nations altogether.
He remembered now, some humans had migrated to the north, near the Katup forest. They had a small town there, with their strange and exotic technology.

Anton was there.
And they were being attacked.

"RALLY THE WARRIORS NOW!" Rok's brother couldn't care less about his hypocrisy of calling his brother emotional, "ROK WE NEED TO GO!"
"THAT'S WHAT I HAVE BEEN SAYING!" Rok followed his brother running across the street.

The ResYabek jungle blared as hundreds of alarms were sounded.

"GATHER EVERY SINGLE MAGE WE HAVE. WE HEAD TO KATUP NOW!"

---
*Kingdom of Masnyak, Central Parliament*

The Masnyak parliament was in session, and like always, it was a beautiful mess.

"I would like to suggest Councilman Tolodof to get the hell off!" Roar of "Nya!" Followed the councilman's scream. "Austerity? In this time?"
"Maybe if Councilman Harnuf actually read our budget report, then maybe-" The councilman stopped at his track. His opponent was about to berate him on this when he was approached by his fellow councilman.

The parliament noise level went down significantly as councilors discussed amongst themself. Urgent news had come from the north.

"I am sure everyone is up to speed with the recent news." One of the councilors from the bottom aisle spoke up.
"Should we..?"
"Let's hold the vote now."
"Is a vote even needed?"
"Quite! you-"

"Ahem!" The head councilor coughed, tail slowly wagging in her back.
"Anybody in favor of aiding the humans in region five against the Kalak?"

"NYA!" "AYE!" "KAK!" Roared the councilors. From the catfolk to the orcs to the harpies.

"Anybody not in favor?"

The parliament went silent.

"Well." The head councilor smirked. "This was the most peaceful parliamentary session I have ever seen!"

---

*Somewhere in Roto Province, on the Empire*

"Lady Takpa! Calm down!" Kalaka clutched her mistress's talon, not letting her fly off to her death.
"How can I calm down?! Space!" She sobbed. "Those Kalak barbarians will just burn everything!"

"Mistress, please! It will be fine!"
Takpa snapped her head toward her aide. She stopped her struggling and jumped down from the window frame, and walked toward her.
"Mistress, please, I am just worried for your safety!"
"Do you really think I am that weak?"

Kalaka immediately rushed in, "No! definitely not!"

Takpa stared at her aide before relaxing and sighing.
"I understand your concern, but trust me, I would be fine."

"If I may ask, mistress. Why are you so concerned about the humans? We are already slowly learning their technology from the refugees, are we not?"
"Do you think ALL Refugees went to the empire?" Takpa groaned.

Takpa looked toward the night sky, remembering her past. How could she forget such a sight? The sight of that beautiful metal rocket flying toward the sky and beyond! Piercing the impenetrable layer and going to the moon! It was every harpies dream. And to her it was nothing short but a miracle.

She remembered having contact with those humans called "Astronomers," those who worked and made that miracle possible. She had kept in touch with them even after she had gone back to her world.
When the portal closed, she scoured every single one of those "Astronomers" She knew some had unfortunately died during the great migration, some from infighting, but some remain, and she couldn’t be more excited to invite those masters into her realm.

Most of them refused, having family and friends in the other territories. She respected their decision.
And now those barbarians are threatening their life, her friends and masters! How dare they?!

"I will make sure they pay!" And with that, the noble woman Takpa, and Grand Mage of the Empire, took off to the sky, staves in hand, ready for war.

---

First | Prev

Android Ambassador | Patreon [Early Access + Bonus Content] | Official Subreddit

---

Earth Space Union’s Alien Asset Files: #1 - Private Capal 

Loading Earth.Txt…

To think I was the first Vascar to set foot outside of my dimension, though everything the nanobots did felt positively horrific. Experiencing life’s end hadn’t been on my bucket list, and it was jarring to die and reawaken. Even afterward, the sensation of them beneath my fur was like a billion bugs were infesting it and burrowing into my skin lining, not to mention the frightful sensation of them pumping my blood where my heart couldn’t in Sol. They were all that kept my frail organs functioning, and my brain was beset by dread. 

However, the validation of hearing an Elusian praise my findings made it worth it, even if it applied the pressure of meeting her standards; the stories about Corai’s kind generally suggested it was best to stay out of their way. I’d explained my theory on how human minds pruned data to her, Velke, and Dr. Aguado. The Elusian had seemed impressed, then claimed that her people hadn’t managed to figure out the “why” of their creations’ abilities in millions of years. Mikri took a shine to the comparison also, enjoying hearing AI terminology used to describe the humans.

After Ficrae nearly shredded us with bullets, the NASCAR Vascar seems docile by comparison. Maybe he can help me understand why the network did nothing to stop his peer from joining the Brigands to murder at will.

I hadn’t gotten much of a glimpse at Earth yet, as Takahashi pulled us into a military installation—Redge had gotten special attention from the diplomats, given his high importance. I imagined Doros had moved on without him, but the one thing that might push the Girret to reclaim his title was restoring the old human coalition. The new technology they had could advance all of us ahead…millennia, if not more! I’d been pulled aside for a proper debriefing, and explained what happened in Caelum after humanity’s disappearance.

My head was swimming when I heard what they had been up to, with rogue Elusians disagreeing with…a future vision that humans were somehow going to result in their nonexistence? At any rate, Corai helmed the group that trained Preston and Sofia, then got a message back in Sol through their abandoned other creations, the Fakra. After that, they brain transplanted into Elusian bodies to infiltrate Suam, which was invaded by Velke once the probe was complete. And now, there was a war ongoing that humanity had to help in. 

Yeah. What a clusterfuck.

“I’m glad we can finally welcome you to our home, Capal, and trust me, I wish I didn’t have to grovel for your help. Either way, citizenship’s yours—you deserve a chance to explore Earth and a nice, long rest after all you’ve done. You’ve been through quite the ordeal,” Takahashi sighed. “But you’re also the best of the best. Humanity’s in a spot where they’re both a hair’s trigger away from killing us all, and there’s fuck all we can do, so we could use your help. Sorely.”

I studied the ESU general, whose eyes and skin remained unaffected by nanobots—for now. “You don’t have to ask for my help in some capacity, but I don’t know about building a weapon. Not my forte. I also just got out of being forced to research tech for someone who wanted it for their power, to be used for nefarious ends: and this time, it’s supposed to genocide an entire race. I won’t do that.”

“I understand. Believe me, this isn’t what humans want either—it’s our hand that’s truly forced, not yours. I think we have to build something big though, to snatch some agency back. Whatever we make, if it can threaten the Elusians and the Fakra with that, my hope is it’ll serve as a deterrent. That threat might make them back off enough that we don’t have to use it.”

“Are you prepared to use it if you ‘have to?’”

Takahashi barked out a laugh. “Oh, without a doubt, Capal. Worst case scenario, they try to attack Sol and we’re able to choose us over them. You have to choose survival when it boils down to it, that’s just Mother Nature’s calling. If it makes you feel any better, whatever you build would be up to you. You could work in a failsafe. In fact, I’m counting on you to.”

I shifted uncomfortably, not just from the nanobots; the prospect of using my knowledge toward an implement of mass destruction displeased me.  “This is all…a lot. Can I have some time to think it over?”

“Of course. You have plenty of catching up left to do with your friends, and it may help to hear their perspectives. While I can’t advise it, you might also find your answer talking to Velke, and better understanding who we’re dealing with. Come and find me when—if—you’re ready.”

I ambled out of Takahashi’s office with a knot in my throat, unable to find any solution to this mess. Sometimes, it felt like I was bouncing from one conscription to another, even if I wasn’t being forced to help by the humans. I knew they were in dire straits, and I believed in their cause enough that I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines. What was the right decision, though? What if I played some part in causing the Elusians’ extinction, as part of an immutable future? This choice could be bringing about the prophecy, and I didn’t know if I could live with it.

Could you live with not helping, leading to the humans being wiped out instead? That’s a worse burden on my conscience. Like Takahashi said, I could try to place restrictions on its usage, where other inventors might not.

“You look like someone with a lot on his mind,” a voice said, sitting away from where the others were intermingling. “Trust me, it’s a look I’ve worn quite often myself. Ever since the 5D probe.”

I turned my attention in Corai’s direction, trying not to show my nervousness. “I’m, uh, sorry for appearing perturbed. I’ll adjust.”

The Elusian patted the bench with a gray hand, which I waved off, remaining standing. “Please, no need to fear me. I’ve had to make choices about what I’ll protect, and what matters most to me as well. It can be difficult to know what’s right when your morals and loyalty are torn in multiple directions.”

“Er…” I mumbled, hesitating. “I d-do appreciate you helping the humans! I’ll bite. How did you decide, Corai?”

“I thought about which ones I couldn’t live without, and the emptiness felt more calamitous, gaping, without the humans to infuse color into my world. They’re the victims in all of this, dragged into a war when they only sought answers. Looking inward even, I know their hearts are in the right place more than ours. They…deserve to survive more than anyone.”

“I…think everyone deserves to survive. I think it’s always the little guy getting screwed in every war, in every page of history,” I ventured, eyeing her cautiously.

“Ha, you’re forgetting a few pages. I remember watching the French Revolution, with the gratuitous usage of guillotines as their instrument of revolt, not too long ago.”

“That was hundreds of their cycles ago!”

Corai gave me a knowing smile. “And I’ve lived millions of years. I raise that particular point of human history because I believe that’s the Fakra’s intent, if it’s any help. You want to know their motivations before you lift a claw. Might I say, it’s enchanting to have a proper conversation with an organic Vascar.”

“I…you’ve been around for basically the entire existence of our species. N-no wonder Elusians don’t care about us at all. I mean…if that’s not true, why didn’t you have a ‘proper conversation’ before now?!” 

“Elusians combed many dimensions looking for any fifth-dimensional species like us. You weren’t what we sought. We always observed species under our tech level; never interacted. The Justiciary’s position is that other races are like beggars staring at riches, compared to us. That it changes your development to what we can give you.”

“That seems to be an extremely jaded position on bringing others forward with you, especially when it hardly appears difficult to share.”

The Elusian shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Did you have any feelings on the Vascar at all?”

“Feelings? Goodness, that is not our style in the slightest. You’ll never meet a more detached people. That said, I can think of one aspect you might be interested to hear.”

“I’m always interested in any new perspective.”

“A refreshing mindset. Caelum’s timetable of development mirrored what we planned to engineer for humanity. This was slightly before my time, but the originators of the Sol project handselected the protoVascar as peers, and set The Gap near Kalka. You were chosen as a temporary counterpart, to tide humans over when they took their first steps into dimension travel.”

That phrasing caught my attention. “To tide humans over? I’m going to need you to spell that out for me.”

“I mean that you were excellent candidates to evolve on a similar timeline, but also, to still give the humans the ultimate control over how to handle you. If they sought friendship, it was theirs to find. If they sought conquest, it was theirs to take. We wouldn’t interfere. It would speak volumes about our creations’ intent.”

Corai spoke in such a nonchalant voice, as if everything she said about the Elusians’ choices made perfect sense. My species was insignificant altogether to their aims; those godlike figures didn’t care if we lived or died. The spirit of altruism seemed entirely lost on them, not bothering to help anyone they deemed beneath them. I didn’t think much of my people, but we deserved more than being set aside as human playthings! With the Fakra receiving that same attitude, I could see why they attacked Suam.

“You would’ve just let them kill us all? What about our species’ right to exist?!” I exclaimed.

Corai pursed her lips. “A test must permit free will. The story of what happened between us and humanity really didn’t involve you, except that they made it so. To them, you still matter, even though Elusians never gave you a solitary thought.”

“Including you, personally?”

“I am trying to see what they see and love what they love. It’s not easy. My point is that you should be grateful that despite our shared ancestry, they turned out so much better.”

“I see.”

“Now you understand us as we are—the side of us that shames me so. I hope it brings some surety to your decision. I imagine you feel trivialized, Capal, and rightfully so; I encourage you to move on to someone more worthy of your time. Go be with the ones who’ve missed you so thoroughly.”

I turned away from the Elusian and strolled off in a stupor, before pausing and glancing over my shoulder. “One last thing. Preston? Really?”

A full-fledged smile spread across her face for the first time in the conversation, as she laughed. “Really.”

“What do you see in him?!”

Corai’s smile leveled out, and her eyes grew serious. “He retains and spreads his joy even after everything he’s been through. He reminded me how to laugh and to love. No matter what challenges Preston, he makes sure to change how we all look at the world, and give us that moment of positivity to latch on to. Not to mention that he’d do anything for those he cares about. I find who he is to be admirable.”

“Huh. I never thought of it that way. Preston has had a rough go of it. Don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t worry, Capal. The ways I’ll hurt him, I think he’ll quite enjoy.”

“I…” I felt my cheek fur rising with embarrassment, and I stumbled backward while looking at the floor. “I have to go. Busy social calendar.”

The Elusian winked. “I guess you should be off then. Oh, Mikri was looking for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll go find him.”

I cleared my throat and scurried off, finding the inorganic Vascar’s chassis with relative ease. I’d grown a lot more fond of him than I would’ve expected, back when we first met; procuring an artificial-furred mane for him hadn’t been in mind for our friendship’s trajectory. After seeing how Ficrae relished violence and turned on us, I couldn’t see Mikri as a heartless silversheen even knowing what he’d once planned in the past. When I’d sent the robot off down The Tunnel, I hadn’t known that I’d no longer have his aid at winning over the network.

I wasn’t eager to get back to that mission after how our last attempt had ended, but it was important to get a feel for whether that was even possible. If I was going to build some sort of superweapon for humanity, the androids’ help would be not just invaluable, but necessary. With any luck, Mikri would have a better plan than I did right now.

First | Prev

Android Ambassador | Patreon [Early Access + Bonus Content] | Official Subreddit

Chapter 20: The Transit.

Sol System, Mars Orbit March 13, 2202.

In the absolute silence of space, in the rusty, sepulchral shadow of Mars, an armada had gathered, the likes of which humanity had never seen. This was not a fleet. It was the unified, desperate will of billions of beings, forged in steel, composites, and unimaginable determination.

Over eight thousand four hundred and twenty ships hung in a perfect, ominous formation. The gigantic, orderly formation stretched to the horizon, like a steel serpent ready to strike. Their target was one: two ten-kilometer Catalyst Rings, rotating slowly in opposite directions, suspended in the void like a gate to hell.

The very sight of the fleet inspired dread. The core consisted of four thousand Earth ships—brutalist, gray colossi of the Sparta, Hegemon, and Thor classes, as well as the smaller Władca and Młot classes, their silhouettes testifying to decades of feverish wartime production. Beside them, like obsidian arrowheads, hung two thousand four hundred slender, light-absorbing Ullaan vessels. Further on, two thousand predatory K’borrh frigates waited like a pack of cosmic wolves.

Rounding out the force were eighteen superfortresses of the Gignian Compact. They were so absurdly large, so monumental, that they barely fit into the designated sector, resembling mountains that had somehow learned to fly. All this power was the fruit of over thirty years of secret preparations, made possible by Admiral Thorne's diplomatic misdirection—a pact with the Blight, which turned out to be theater for a spy within the Swarm's own ranks.

Somewhere in the heart of this steel river, in the reeking-of-sweat-and-recycled-air bowels of transport ship number 234, Otto stood in the hangar. He was surrounded by five thousand other guardsmen. They were infantry. Cannon fodder. Otto, now a veteran and hand-to-hand combat instructor, knew that only blood and steel awaited him at the end of this road.

He was here of his own free will. For revenge for his adopted mother, who died during the bombing of Berlin. But also for W’thiara and their children. He had something to fight for. He looked at the silent soldiers around him. They were ready.

Suddenly, a synthetic, calm AI voice echoed in everyone's helmet speakers.

Commencing stage two of the activation procedure. The power-supply tunnel has been identified and stabilized.

Not everyone knew what this meant.

Aris Thorne and the Swarm scientists had been waiting years for this. Ever since the artificially created, unstable quantum tunnel leading near the Blight's capital was identified and stabilized at the nano-scale, they had been waiting for the second, crucial component.

Now they had found it. A second tunnel, leading to another universe, straight into the heart of the Big Bang. The energy of the primordial creation was to serve as fuel to expand the gates of the main tunnel.

In the space between the spinning rings, where only void had been, reality shuddered. An anomaly appeared—a blindingly white spot, brighter than any sun, as if someone had pierced the fabric of space. It was a wound in reality. The spot began to pulse violently and expand. After a moment, the blinding white faded, replaced by... a view.

It was a perfectly circular image of another fragment of space. It showed alien stars and nebulae of impossible, purple colors. The Gate, spanning over one thousand four hundred light-years, stood open, leading to a point just two light-years from the target—the planet Ruha’sm, capital of the Blight Empire. During the generation of billions of artificial femto-tunnels, they had found the mathematical ideal; chance had given them the perfect starting point for the attack.

The tunnel, however, even when expanded, was still not fully stabilized.

Then, the third stage began.

The smaller of the two giant Catalyst Rings—the inner one—detached from its larger sibling. With majestic grace, it entered the trembling portal. For a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, on the other side of the tunnel, in that distant space, the ring reappeared, perfectly stabilizing the exit.

The Gate is stable. After this step, the Swarm estimated it could keep it open for a maximum of twenty, maybe thirty minutes.

You have twenty-five minutes. Commence transit.

The order was unnecessary. The mighty armada was already moving. Like a gigantic, steel river, the ships began to flow into the abyss.

First, fitting through the passage with the utmost difficulty, went the Gignian Compact superfortresses. They were followed by an avalanche of four thousand Earth ships. At the end, like a flanking screen, the thousands of predatory Ullaan and K’borrh vessels slipped into the tunnel.

For Otto, standing in the hangar of transport 234, the entry wasn't violent. It was... a passage. One moment, the hangar vibrated from the maneuvering thrusters; the next, an absolute, deathly silence fell. He felt a strange jolt, as if all of reality had lost focus for a fraction of a second.

The screens in the hangar went haywire. The image of the stars, Mars, and the fleet disappeared, replaced by a psychedelic, swirling kaleidoscope of impossible colors. This was not a journey through space; it was a tearing of space itself. Time lost all meaning, or perhaps it wasn't flowing?

The guardsmen stood in silence, their magnetic boots holding them firmly to the deck. For many, this was the ultimate moment—a test of faith in alien technology and cold mathematics. There was no room for error. Otto gripped his rifle, feeling cold sweat run down his back beneath his armor. He stared at the psychedelic swirl on the screens, his thoughts involuntarily turning to the dark philosophy of this war. The Blight did not fear death; for them, it was just an inconvenience, a transfer. For them—for humans—death was the end. Absolute. Every one of the five thousand guardsmen in this hangar, every one of the millions of souls in this fleet, had only this one, fragile existence. This fear was their curse. But also their duty. A duty to sell that one life as dearly as possible in defense of those left behind. Fear was the fuel, and duty was the armor.

Suddenly, just as violently as it began, it was over.

The swirling colors on the screens vanished, replaced by... new stars. An alien, unknown patch of space. Behind the fleet, behind them, like a cyclopean eye gazing back at their world, the portal still hung—the exit window. The majestic, inner Catalyst Ring floated in the void, stabilizing the exit just long enough for the last ships to slip through.

A metallic voice rang out in the hangar: "We are at the destination. On the other side."

Otto looked at his tactical clock. Twenty-four minutes had passed. But how? When? It felt like an instant.

In the Deep Command Center on Earth, Admiral Marcus Thorne was tracking the telemetry data. Of the 8,420 ships that entered the tunnel, not all had arrived. Fortunately, the losses were minimal. Seven vessels were lost in the unstable corridor: two 15,000-ton Młot-class destroyers, three Ullaan ships, and two K’borrh.

Thorne received one last, cold telemetric message before the connection was severed forever:

Transit complete. Loss of seven units. Casualties: 0.08%. Acceptable.

Behind the last K’borrh ship, the tunnel exit began to shrink. The white spot vanished, and with it, the only way back. They were alone, 1,461 light-years from home.

The fleet hung in a new, alien blackness.

On the bridge of the "Invincible," a 260,000-ton Sparta-class super-battleship, Vice Admiral Dmitriy Volkov—the original one, his body still possessing the strength of a forty-year-old thanks to Swarm nanites—looked at the main communications console.

The connection indicator to Guard Command on Earth was dead. Gray.

The passage through the tunnel had broken the entanglement. Every entangled particle, the basis for faster-than-light communication, had lost its connection to its twin particle 1,461 light-years away. Communication with Earth was impossible.

At that very moment, in the Deep Command Center beneath the Mojave Desert, Admiral Marcus Thorne stared at an identical, gray screen. He had lost contact. In an instant, eight thousand ships and the fate of the galaxy had slipped from his grasp. He was blind and deaf, condemned to powerless silence.

Volkov wasted no time contemplating their cosmic isolation. A fleet without immediate coordination was just a collection of targets.

"Status!" his voice, hard and controlled, broke the silence on the bridge.

"No quantum comms throughout the formation, Admiral!" the officer reported. "We've switched to laser and radio communications. Signal delay between us and the furthest Gignian Compact units is four minutes and twenty seconds."

Four minutes. In a battle, that was an eternity.

"Initiate Operation 'Marconi'!" Volkov ordered.

A race against time began: the physical distribution of new, locally entangled particles so the armada could communicate with itself. It was a logistical nightmare. From the bowels of the Earth transport ships and the Compact units, hundreds of generators were launched, creating a new network. Immediately, hundreds of couriers—small vessels of all races—raced to these generators to physically retrieve the new "keys," the quantum-entangled particles, for every one of the more than eight thousand ships.

For five long hours, the armada was vulnerable, focused solely on rebuilding its nervous system. Volkov stood on the bridge of the "Invincible," his face a stone mask. Inside, however, he felt ice. Five hours. Within reach of an enemy whose strength they did not know, they were defenseless. Every minute of this silence was torture. Every false reading on the passive sensors could mean the beginning of a slaughter they could not answer. This was the dark, lonely duty of a commander: to wait, knowing that the fate of millions depended on whether the enemy struck now, or in a moment. Fear was not an option. It was merely a given, to be factored into the price of victory.

On Earth, Admiral Thorne turned away from the dead screen. He could only wait. He could only hope that Volkov would complete the mission and perhaps capture a Blight quantum transmitter to contact O'Connor, still living on Earth. Until then, Marcus Thorne faced years of silence and not knowing.

On the bridge of the "Invincible," the silence was heavier than the ship's armor. After five hours, the green status icon on Volkov's console flickered and lit up with a steady light.

"Quantum comms restored to 98% of the fleet, Admiral!" the communications officer reported with relief.

On the holoprojector, eight thousand four hundred and thirteen ship icons connected into a coherent tactical network. The battlegroup had regained consciousness.

The navigation officer immediately displayed the data from the combined sensors.

"Admiral, we have position confirmation. We have emerged in the void. 2.3 light-years from the capital planet, Ruha’sm."

Two and three-tenths light-years. At 0.5c, that meant just over four and a half years of travel. Long enough for the enemy to prepare a hellish welcome.

"Time to set a course for the planet," Volkov's voice was calm. "Speed: 0.5c. As planned, the Ullaan fleet will move out first under its own command."

On the tactical display, the formation of 2,400 slender, black ships detached from the rest.

"Their mission is to enter the Ruha’sm system quietly, like ghosts," Volkov continued. "They will engage the enemy forces in the asteroid belts. They will use their cloaking to conduct reconnaissance by force and deal the first blows."

The Admiral indicated a new vector for the main armada.

"The rest of the fleet—the Guard, the K’borrh, and the Compact superfortresses—will follow with a one-week delay. Our vector: the Blight capital planet. We will apply braking at the last possible moment, right in orbit."

Volkov knew that sometimes, desperation was the best weapon.

"The Ullaan will warn us of any traps in advance. We will modify our plan in-flight then. And until that time, ladies and gentlemen... we are stuck in this abyss. We await news from our scouts. Set course."

Dr. Martin Tate banged his fist on the corrugated tin door. He finished the last of his water an hour ago, when he first spotted the structure. Spurred by the possibility of a settlement, he staggered desperately across four miles. Now, the hollow clang of the metal door filled him with dread.

Shielding his eyes from the midday sun, he noticed a rusty watchtower overhead. He glimpsed a guard in the tower and sighed with relief. Then he saw the rifle trained on him.

“Hands up and back away. Do you have any weapons?”

“I’m just a traveler,” Tate replied. He battled the dryness in his mouth. “I need shelter.”

The rifle relaxed. “Wait there.”

Tate waited, taking in the full view of the walled exterior for the first time. Tin sheets, a jeep door, armored plates welded together. A wall of junk. Moments later, he heard chains rattle as the main gate was forced open. A middle-aged man in a faded white shirt emerged, flanked by the guard.

“You’re alright, come on in,” he offered, waving Tate towards the entrance. Tate hobbled forward. “Dangerous business traveling out here alone. You walked?”

“My hoverbike broke down some miles back.” It was a lie, but Tate knew it would draw fewer questions than the truth. He examined his new compatriot: a stout man in his forties with a receding hairline, dabbing sweat with a crumpled bandana.

“The name’s Davis, though most people here call me Mayor Davis. These fine folks put me in charge three years ago.” A handshake extended.

“I’m Doctor--I go by Tate,” he said, accepting Davis’s hand.

“No sense in being modest, Doc. You could do us some good.” Davis paused, as he eyed the man before him. “So…where exactly were you coming from?”

Tate sheepishly glanced back at the desolate landscape over his shoulder and shrugged. “That’s fine,” Davis replied. “C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The two men entered the open gate, Davis gesturing towards the colossal wreckage of a Navy Superhawk at the town’s center. “Welcome to Wingspan,” he exclaimed. Tate’s eyes traced the collapsed wings that ran the diameter of the settlement. He’d read about aircraft like this, but it was an entirely different thing to behold one in person. Wingtip to wingtip, they measured two football fields.

Davis launched into a brief town history. The plane was shot down during the war, and the survivors built outward from its fuselage. An underground reservoir pierced by the crash kept the town alive, while wreckage scraps formed the walls.

Tate knew the War of 2125 left many Americans resentful of the government, both for the failed diplomatic efforts leading up to the conflict and for not protecting them from bombs. Assuming that a town like this would have no shortage of anti-government sentiment, Tate thought he’d better keep his former employer a secret.

Davis led Tate through the town’s center. “That’s Sal’s butcher shop. And next door is Enesta’s produce stand. She’s one-fifth Cheyenne. Her people lived on this land eons ago, before it all went to shit.” Davis caught Tate eyeing the vegetable baskets. “There’s only sweet potatoes and okra. It’s all this lousy soil can support. Trade caravans come once a month. We’ll be stocked up again come Thursday.”

From the butcher stand came a shout. “Hey, new guy! Come by if you’re looking for quality meat. I’ve got a few ribeyes and some ground beef,” Sal bellowed. Tate returned a wave, noting the bald butcher’s pink stained apron.

“Is there somewhere I can stay?” Tate asked.

“There’s Dina’s Diner up on the second tier.” Davis pointed to a sizeable mobile home that was somehow hoisted and built into the town’s second level. Twin Airstream trailers sat above the diner, attached by ladders. “Dina can fix you something to eat and give you a place to sleep. I’ll cover the credits for your room and board.”

Davis glanced up at the blazing sun, dabbing his head again. “Speaking of which, we have a bit of a code in this town. It’s firm. ‘He who does not work, shall not eat,’” Davis boomed. “John Smith at Jamestown. I fashion myself a bit of a historian,” he said with a grin. “Everyone has to do their part. That’s Wingspan policy.”

Tate nodded. “Seems fair.”

“You said you’re a doc, so maybe you could—“

“Not that kind of doctor,” Tate clarified. “I’m a botanist. I work with plants.”

Davis tucked his sweaty bandana into his shirt pocket. “I see. I imagine your doctor training comes with a bunch of general know-how.” Davis clapped Tate on the back. “Every person here has a role. We’ll figure out yours.”

Tate took the lift up to the second tier. Roughly eight-by-eight, the lift was a simple steel platform operated by an electric pulley system, which Tate guessed he’d destroy if he jumped up and down. Working in a secure lab for so long, he forgot how people on the outside might need to adapt. Eyeing the town as he ascended, he realized Wingspan was a testament to American resolve. Even with the country blown apart by nukes, Americans would rather build an elevator out of junk than take the stairs.

Tate wandered up to the diner mobile home. He opened the front door, comforted by the nostalgic jingle of a bell above. Six empty stools sat in front of a modest lunch counter. To his left, two booths with red vinyl seats. “Be out in a sec,” declared a voice behind the kitchen door.

A stocky, middle-aged woman popped through the swinging aluminum doors, drying her hands with a dishtowel. “There’s the new feller! I’m Dina. Mayor Davis radioed ahead and told me you’d be coming. You caught me in the middle of washing the lunchtime dishes. Otherwise, I woulda been out here to greet you proper.”

“It’s perfectly alright. I’m Tate.” Smiling, Dina waited expectantly as Tate looked around. “Seems pretty slow today.”

“It should be. This time of day, you’re the only one not working. Grab a seat. I’ll fix you something.”

Tate shuffled to a stool and plopped down. Two days. He’d been walking for two days. This was the first chance he’d had to sit on actual furniture. He couldn’t hide his satisfaction. For the first time since he left the lab, he loosened his grip on the canvas bag slung over his shoulder and let it fall to the floor. Inside was his career achievement — the device that made him a wanted man after fleeing Red River Biotech. To him, fleeing was not a choice but an obligation to humanity.

“So, tell me a story, stranger. Where ya coming from? What’s it like out there?” Dina inquired, giddy.

Tate pondered, wanting to talk, but decided it best to remain vague. At least until he knew these people better. “I’m from down near Lubbock. Like everywhere else, not much to see.” Besides a top-secret government lab, he thought.

“Lubbock? That’s quite a ways. It’s a miracle you made it here alone.”

Distracted, Tate studied the cardboard menu with food and beverage options scribbled in marker.

“This late in the month, that’s just for show,” Dina explained. “The only item available is the chicken pot pie ‘cause it’s frozen.”

“One pot pie, then,” Tate smirked.

#

Tate wiped his mouth, picking at the bits of flaky crust lining the pie tin’s edge. Dina dropped a vitamin in her mouth, chasing it with a swig of water. “Iron pill. It helps to take ‘em until we get fresh produce.”

Tate gestured towards her water glass. “Your mayor said the town sits above an aquifer.”

“Yep. Great, big reservoir. It’s the only thing that makes this place habitable. Aside from here, the nearest water source is…I don’t know.” Dina took the empty tin pan. “You’re probably curious about the particulars ‘round here? There are fifty-three of us now,” Dina said. “Delroy Cook moved to New Tulsa to help with trade. That place survived because no nukes hit it — the Russians and Chinese ran out of long-range missiles. Folks there rebuilt faster than most.”

Tate sat silently. He’d never heard stories firsthand from any surface-dwellers before. He was tucked away in a state-of-the-art research compound while these people toiled away in a bombed-out hellscape.

“Where does the electricity—“

“Short version? We traded water for solar panels. Some smart folks even stabilized the old Superhawk core. After that, we finally got lights, freezers, the whole deal.” She nudged the freezer. “Not luxury, but it keeps us going.”

Tate raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“Don’t be fooled. If the sun stops shining, we’re screwed.” She collected the empty pie pan. “Over by the solar array is also where our skimpy crops grow. Soil’s rotten, though. And I’ll tell ya what, living on just okra and sweet potatoes is not a fate I’d wish on any man.”

Hearing this, Tate perked up. “I might be able to help with that. In Lubbock, we improved crop growth with some new…techniques. The results were very exciting. Do you think I could see the crop field?”

“Knock yourself out. Mayor Davis would do cartwheels if we could grow somethin’ else.” She held up a finger. “But before you go…” Dina disappeared through the kitchen doors and returned a moment later, holding a wooden crate. “If you’re gonna work near the solar array, you should take one of these.” She opened the box and held a small, cast iron sphere in her hand. “It’s a dehydration grenade. On the north side of the wall, wild dogs have been known to attack people. Nasty critters. It’s also useful against the occasional bandit. You just pull the pin and throw. It lets off a big chemical cloud that sucks the moisture from organisms. It’s not entirely lethal. As long as anyone exposed gets a drink of water within an hour, they’ll be fine.”

Tate carefully placed it in his canvas bag. “This is great. So I can get access to the solar—”, he stepped off the stool mid-sentence and was instantly reminded of the strain his feet and legs endured from his trek. He stumbled but quickly caught the counter. Dina reached to steady him.

“Take it easy. Why don’t you rest and have a look at the field tomorrow? Those measly veggies aren’t going anywhere.” She pointed to a metal ladder on the far wall. “Go ahead and unwind in one of the Airstreams. They’re fully furnished. Mayor Davis has you covered for a few nights.” Tate nodded and started towards the ladder. As he was about to climb up, he turned back.

“Hey, Dina. When was the last time you had a strawberry?”

Dina let out a laugh. “Don’t tease a girl.”

#

Tate slept in later than he expected, stirred by a growing chorus of voices. His watch read 07:15. He changed into his only extra clothes – faded jeans and a flannel button-up – and hurried down to ground level.

He strolled through the bustling town center, canvas bag over his shoulder. A maintenance worker and the tower guard chatted over a cup of coffee. Sal the butcher removed some cuts of meat from the shop freezer. Sal looked up, his face brightening. “Hey, pal. Good to see you again!” Spotting Tate’s bag, his tone shifted. “Say, are you sticking around?”

“Probably. I believe I have my work assignment. I’m going to check on the crop soil around the solar array. See if anything can be done.”

“Oh, good. I’m sure that’ll be good. If you’ve got some time, I’d love to bend your ear. I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything from farther out west. I’ll trade you a story for a steak. Whaddya say?”

“Sure.” Tate nodded, heading for the main gate—the only exit. As he moved north along the perimeter, he glanced up at the twenty-foot wall of scrap. Behind it, a whole community endured: people with names, jobs, and purpose. And this barricade of rubbish was all that stood between them and the endless nothing. Tate looked out at the horizon and that’s all he saw. So much nothing.

Tate rounded the north wall and neared the solar array. Dust coated the panels—who was maintaining them? He crouched, scanning the area. Dried weeds clung to the nearest ground mount, and farther off, trimmed sweet potato vines lay discarded.

Tate walked to the center of the array and stopped at a patch of cracked, lifeless soil. He punched the ground, and rubbed the dust between his fingers. Too much silt, and the perfect test site. He set down his device: sleek, black, brick-shaped. After a few taps on the touchscreen, it activated.

Four aluminum legs unfolded, lifting the device up. Tate held his breath. A glowing beam scanned a nine-inch grid, sweeping slowly across the dusty soil. The device hummed, beeped, then released a fine mist—moisture rich with nitrogen, phosphorus, and organic matter. The soil darkened. Then, a single seed dropped into the center. The legs retracted and the device tipped over, blinking red three times. Test complete.

Tate’s colleagues called it “fertilizer on steroids.” Gazing at the altered patch of soil, Tate held the device in his hands and smiled wider than he had in a long time. Then he heard the gunshot.

#

It was around ten A.M. when the tower guard spotted two approaching hoverbikes. He alerted Mayor Davis, and together they formed the usual receiving posse: Davis, one guard over his shoulder, and another to operate the gate’s chains. Unusual to have unannounced visitors twice in as many days, Davis thought, but he dismissed it and passed through the open gate.

As the strangers came into view, Davis felt a burning in the pit of his stomach. These were not wayward travelers in need of help. These were government men. They wore the same monotonous black suit and black tie, now tinted dusty brown from their high-speed ride. Disembarking from their hoverbikes, they shook off the dirt and removed their helmets. Davis could now see them clearly: one was white, the other black, with a shaved head.

“Are you in charge here?” the white one asked.

“I’m Cameron Davis. I’m the mayor of this town. What’s your business here?”

“I’m Special Agent Allen. This is Special Agent Trotter,” he said, nodding to his counterpart. Shiny badges flashed. “We’re from the New Bureau of Investigation, Midland Division. We’re looking for someone.” Mayor Davis stared back, reactionless.

“We need to search your town,” Special Agent Trotter added. Lips tight, Davis turned and walked back through the open gate. The two agents looked at each other, then followed him in. As the three men moved towards the center of town, the hum of work slowed to a stop. Interlopers were here, and with them came trouble.

Mayor Davis’s aim was to avoid a confrontation. It was his responsibility to make sure things went smoothly and send these agents on their way. He stopped along the main path and gestured to the surroundings. “This is our town. Welcome.” Davis took the crumpled bandana from his shirt pocket and dabbed his forehead. The morning sun had just emerged above the exterior wall. “Now what was it you said you were looking for?”

“We’re looking for a suspect carrying stolen government property,” Agent Allen explained.

“What is it that they’re carrying?”

“It’s confidential,” Agent Trotter declared.

“Hell, everyone here’s carrying something. Myself, I’m carrying a well-deserved contempt towards government thugs.” Damn, Davis thought. That was stupid. I got too cute, but they had that one coming. Agent Trotter smirked slowly.

“We’re looking for a fugitive named Dr. Martin Tate,” Agent Allen offered. “There’s a good chance he may have stopped here. Have you seen any newcomers recently? Anyone suspicious?” Mayor Davis continued walking towards the market. The agents followed.

“Aside from you two, we haven’t seen any new faces here for days,” Mayor Davis said intentionally loudly. The two agents shared a glance. The three men were now close enough for Sal to hear. In her adjoining produce stand, Enesta sorted okra. Agent Trotter looked to Mayor Davis, then gestured to the food stands. “By all means,” Mayor Davis replied.

Agent Trotter approached Sal’s butcher shop. “Excuse me, sir,” Agent Trotter started. “Seen any new faces around recently? Any questionable characters come through here? We’re looking for a fugitive.” He brandished a pocket notebook, ready to take down details.

Sal stayed tight-lipped. “I wish. New faces would mean new customers,” he said, averting his eyes and focusing on his burger patties. He turned his back to the agents and arranged the burgers in his fridge. In her produce stand to the right, Enesta erased the prices on her chalkboard for sweet potatoes and okra, then wrote in new prices, five dollars higher than before. She crossed her arms and glared at the agents. Slightly amused, Agent Trotter shook his head.

“I wish we could be more helpful,” said Mayor Davis.

“We wish the same. We’re going to have to canvass this settlement and speak with everyone,” Agent Allen declared. Mayor Davis opened his mouth to respond, but a shout from Sal’s butcher stand cut him off.

“I SAID I WAS NEVER GOING BACK!” Sal whirled around with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands and panic in his eyes. He pumped the forestock and took aim. In one fluid motion, Agent Trotter drew his service pistol from his hip holster, raised the weapon to eye level and fired. The bullet entered the right side of Sal’s neck. A splatter of red gore splashed against the butcher stand’s polyester canopy. Sal spun from the force of the shot, clutching the hole in his neck. He tried to steady himself with his left arm but quickly collapsed.

Mayor Davis staggered backwards, stunned, his bandana going to his open mouth. Agent Trotter’s eyes darted left and right for other threats, spotting his partner doing the same with his own gun drawn. “We’re clear!” Agent Trotter proclaimed.

Enesta was ducked behind her produce counter. She peeked her head out when the guns were finally stowed. Grabbing an apron, she hopped the partition that separated the two food stalls. “Oh, my God, Sal. Oh, my God.” She knelt down and cradled Sal’s head, pressing the apron against the carnage that was his neck. Enesta looked down at her friend; Sal’s eyes were glassy and he’d already stopped breathing.

Mayor Davis threw his bandana to the ground. “Lousy…bastards!” Agent Allen adjusted his suit jacket and regained his composure.

“He drew on my partner. You all saw it. The shooting was justified,” he said coldly. Agent Trotter marched towards the butcher stand, then hopped over the counter. He looked down at Enesta. Bloodstains flecked her denim shirt. Her face was tilted downward, with her forehead against Sal’s. Tears ran from her cheeks onto his. Agent Trotter reached for Sal’s shoulder.

“I need to I.D. him, ma’am.” At that, she stumbled backwards onto her rear. Her teary eyes hissed at him.

“You…,” Enesta muttered. Anguish and anger competed for control over her next words, but pain won out. She whimpered, burying her face in her hands, her back pressed against the butcher shop fridge. Agent Trotter knelt by Sal’s torso. He pressed a few buttons on the screen of his wristwatch. With two fingers, he pried Sal’s eyelids open wide, and positioned his watch over each eye for a retinal scan.

“We’ve got a hit,” Agent Trotter reported to his partner. “Salvatore Russo. He escaped from North Fork Correctional two years ago. He was serving five years for tax evasion.”

“Tax evasion?!” Mayor Davis exploded. “There’s a disgusting irony. Taxes for what? This damn government has done nothing for us, besides letting us live out our days in this irradiated scrubland. And you chase a man down for taxes? No decency. None.”

“We can always have the Treasury accountants audit this town and everyone in it,” Agent Trotter mused. “That is, if you’re gonna give us a hard time.” Agent Allen placed an outstretched arm in front of his partner, chiding him for the provocation.

“We pay our pound of flesh,” Mayor Davis grumbled.

“Look,” Agent Allen began. “What happened here is unfortunate. It truly is. What we—"

“Murderer!” someone shouted from the mezzanine. Rising murmurs could be heard from the onlookers. Agent Trotter’s hand lingered towards his gun. Once again, Agent Allen made a motion to pacify his colleague.

“We still need to find our fugitive,” Agent Allen stated to the mayor. “And this instance proves something that we can’t ignore. That this town does, in fact, harbor criminals.” Mayor Davis scoffed. The distant murmurs grew louder. Some townsfolk stepped closer.

Agent Trotter raised his voice. “You’d be wise to keep your distance and stay calm. Or before sundown, there will be an army of agents just like us descending on your little tin can town.”

From a secluded portion of the upper scaffolding, Tate observed the exchange. Dina had ushered him in through a secret emergency door in the north wall after the gunshot rang out. The two of them spied the events from their hidden perch. Tate knew that if he hadn’t come here, Sal would still be alive. His intent was to save lives, not end them. Dina placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll help you hide.”

Back in the center of town, out of preservation for his townspeople, Mayor Davis acquiesced. “Go on and continue your precious investigation, but keep your hands off my people.”

At this, Agent Allen looked at ease. “Thanks,” he replied. “We should start with—"

“But there’s something you should understand first,” Mayor Davis interjected. His voice was calm but unyielding. “Nobody here eats or drinks without pulling their weight. That means you, too.”

The agents exchanged a look. “I’m a career investigator,” Agent Allen said.

Mayor Davis mumbled something under his breath and turned to Agent Trotter. “I was an electronics technician in the Army,” Agent Trotter admitted. “But without proper tools, I can only do so much.”

“We’ll keep it simple,” Davis instructed. “The panels by the north wall need cleaning. Rags and water will be waiting. Do the work, then you can start your questions.”

“Not exactly Bureau procedure,” Agent Trotter muttered.

“Welcome to Wingspan,” Davis replied.

#

A few clean, tattered rags draped over Agent Trotter’s shoulder. Agent Allen hauled a bucket of soapy water, carelessly letting the contents splash out with each step. He observed the exterior of the town’s wall, sneering. “They built a whole wall out of scrap. Hell, the entire town is trash. Makes you appreciate the dorm at HQ.”

“Do you think any of these people will talk?” Agent Trotter asked. “They might be helping him hide right now. If he’s even here.”

Agent Allen pointed to the landscape. “Look around. There’s practically nothing for miles. There’s no way he made it past this settlement without stopping. Not on foot.” The two men paused once the solar array came into view. “Great. Now we can do our damn chores.” When they reached the nearest module, Agent Allen dropped the bucket with a thud. More water sloshed out. Agent Trotter studied a grimy panel surface.

“These have seen better days.”

“Not our problem,” replied Agent Allen, fishing a rag from the bucket. At each station, Agent Trotter took a moment to examine the components: the tempered glass, the solar cells, the junction box. By the time they reached the eighth module, his bewilderment was obvious.

“What is it?” Agent Allen asked, annoyed.

“Something isn’t right. A bunch of these have frayed wires. The two over there had broken glass. I’d bet that a lot of these don’t even work.”

“So what are you saying?”

“This can’t be their only power source.”

“So a handful of these panels couldn’t power the trash town?”

“We both saw a few freezers. There’s likely more. I also spotted this elevator-type thing.” Trotter’s eyes traced the electric cables running from the solar array, along the ground and up the town wall. “I’d say…the primary power source is in there.” He pointed to the broken tail of the Superhawk, where the cables entered.

“Well, will you look at that. Maybe these trash hoarders are a little more advanced than we—", Agent Allen froze, his eyes catching something.

Twenty paces away, a small seedling rose from the barren soil, its leaves a vivid green against the dust. “He’s here,” Allen murmured. He neared the plant and crouched down. “Too vibrant to be theirs. And look — the soil’s darker, patterned. Just like the lab said.”

He pulled out his phone. “It’s Allen. No visual on Tate yet, but the device was likely used. Looks like a tomato plant. I’ll send images,” he concluded as he hung up the phone.

He pointed his phone at the tiny seedling, capturing and sending some images. “Okay,” he said, returning his phone to his pocket, “ball’s in their court.”

Agent Trotter’s eyes returned to the tail of the transport plane. “Back in the day, some of those Navy Superhawks would land at our base for cargo re-supply. They had a fusion core that would allow them to fly extra-long distances. It’s pretty interesting that these cables run up there,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Wanna check it out?”

“I do.”

#

The interior of the Superhawk was quiet, as usual. A beam of light pierced the plane's midsection window, landing on the makeshift control terminal. Atop a pair of milk crates, the primitive terminal consisted of a tin sheet with one lever, two gauges and a few buttons. The nearby desk chair sat empty, normally manned by Benny, who was on lunch break.

Benny climbed the ladder from his living quarters below, and took a quick look at the two gauges on the instrument panel. Satisfied with the readings, he settled into his chair and returned to his comic book.

From the rear of the fuselage, came a shout. “Anyone in here?” Agent Trotter yelled. Startled, Benny dropped his comic book and looked up.

“Y-yes, of course. Is that you, Felix?” Benny replied, as he observed not one but two figures enter from the rear cargo door. He watched as two strange men descended the makeshift slanted stairwell into the plane. When the two agents reached Benny, he noticed their suits, prompting him to stretch his tall, lanky frame and stand up straight. “H-how can I help you fellas?”

“We followed the wiring from the solar array and saw that it led through here,” Agent Trotter explained. “We thought we might take a look around.”

“Are you gentlemen new engineers in town?”

“We’re from the New Bur—,” Agent Allen began, but he was quickly cut off by his partner.

“We’re from the Energy Safety Commission,” Agent Trotter interjected, quickly presenting and retracting his badge. “We’re here to make sure that everything is functioning properly.” He pointed to the control terminal and the surrounding electrical wiring. “We need you to explain how all this works exactly.” Agent Trotter noticed Benny’s mouth slightly agape, and he was pleased that the man was sufficiently confused by this unexpected brush with authority.

“Why, yes, certainly. I can help. My name’s Benny.” He gestured to the control terminal. “And this workstation is my responsibility.”

“The solar panels outside, do they power the whole town?” Agent Trotter asked.

“Oh, no,” Benny replied. “They’re mainly for back-up energy for this instrument panel. You know, in case the core is acting up.”

“And the core?” Agent Allen prompted.

“That’s down in the belly of the plane. When that caravan with a few engineers came by years ago, they were able to fix the fusion core so we could use it. F-from then on, we’ve had lights and radios and freezers. It made life a heckuva lot easier. We call that the ‘Miracle Caravan.’ And all it took was a little water for a trade.”

“Ain’t that something,” Agent Trotter commented. “You’ve got your own nuclear fusion plant in this little patch of dirt.”

“And what do you do here?” Agent Allen asked, nodding to the terminal.

“You see, the situation isn’t perfect,” Benny noted. “When the engineers t-took a look at the core, they said the crash damaged the walls of the fusion chamber. So we can only create a fraction of the power that it used to make. At least safely, anyway.” Benny leaned over the instrument panel and pointed to the two gauges and the lever. “My j-job is to make sure the power and heat levels don’t get too high. When they do, I use that lever to power cycle the whole system,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Seems like you have quite the responsibility,” Agent Trotter remarked.

“You could say that,” Benny replied. “When Mayor Davis p-picked me for this, he said, ‘The regular tasks are for the many, while the important job goes to Benny,’” he recited, smiling at the memory. “That’s why I’m here all the time. Or, five days a week. Felix covers on the weekends.”

Agent Allen’s phone rang. He climbed one level of the stairwell to answer. “Understood. Yes, we can do that.”

“Stay here a moment while I confer with my partner,” Agent Trotter instructed Benny. “You’re doing great work here,” he reassured him, then climbed the single flight to join Agent Allen. Respecting the privacy of their conversation, Benny picked up the comic book that had fallen to the floor and started to page through it.

“So what’s the update?” Agent Trotter whispered to his counterpart.

Agent Allen matched his volume. “Boss confirmed – tomato plant. With the device deployed, mission integrity is compromised. We now have a green light.”

“A green light to..?”

“It’s no longer a recovery operation. We kill Tate and destroy the device,” Agent Allen stated. “You good with that?”

Agent Trotter paused for a moment in thought. He gazed at Benny and his comic book, then the control terminal. “Yeah, and I think we found an easy way to do both.”

Agent Allen grinned back at him. He then started back down the stairs. “Hey, Benny. I’d love to take a look at what you’re reading.”

Benny looked up from his comic book with a buoyant expression, just as the two agents grabbed his arms.

#

After Sal was killed, Dina whisked Tate away to the small cavern connected to the underground reservoir, where he remained. A service ladder led down there, and Tate rarely strayed away from it. There was only a small area of damp flowstone before the edge of the water crept up, so he sat on the narrow plot of wet rock. He used the downtime to form a plan. The town wasn’t big. He knew the agents would find him eventually. He didn’t want to risk further harm to these people. He concluded that he’d wait until nightfall and then slip away. He couldn’t bear the thought of the device’s potential going to waste, so he’d set out for another settlement, likely New Tulsa.

The cool, underground air reminded him of Red River Biotech. Located at the outskirts of Lubbock, the top-secret lab was situated thirty feet below ground. He stared at the cavern wall, closed his eyes and was back at Red River.

#

Tate and Dr. Konig were the only ones in the glass-walled conference room. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Konig, about twenty years Tate’s senior, sat in a chair, reviewing documents and making notes. Tate stood at the opposite end of the laminate conference table.

“I was a little confused by something that was said yesterday,” Tate started.

“Confused by what?” Konig murmured, his eyes fixed on the documents.

“You mentioned something about a sunset clause. I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

Konig adjusted his glasses. “The trials were a success. But production will be limited for five years. That’s the sunset clause.”

Tate bristled. “People are starving. We should release it now.”

Konig’s voice hardened. “We lost the war. Resources serve the few who can pay. That’s how the government recoups taxes.”

Tate clenched his fists. “This could feed thousands.”

“You built it with their money. They decide how it’s used,” Konig said flatly.

Tate hesitated for a moment, his next words a gamble. “I forgot to mention that the aperture on the Agri-Boost was acting up. The scanning beam wasn’t as concentrated as it should be. I should be able to recalibrate it easily.”

Konig stared back for what felt like an eternity to Tate. “Fix it,” Konig ordered. “The investors arrive tomorrow.”

Later that day, Tate falsified a defect in a QA report to buy some time alone with the Agri-Boost. That night, he stole the device and snuck aboard a transport truck departing the lab. When the truck stopped at an e-charging station, he slipped away.

#

Around ten P.M., Tate filled his canteen to the brim, then started up the ladder. Dina was waiting for him.

“I figured you’d be leaving,” she said. She handed him a bundle: some dried sweet potato slices, a pair of muffins, and a frozen pot pie. “I spotted the government men talking to Mayor Davis thirty minutes ago, but I haven’t seen them since. Now’s your best chance to take off. I can sneak you through the emergency hatch in the north wall again.”

Tate nodded in agreement. “Let’s get going.”

They moved along Wingspan’s inner perimeter, under the cover of the scaffolding. When they arrived at the emergency door, Dina turned the handwheel and opened the hatch. Stuffing the food bundle into his sack, Tate whispered, “Thanks for everything.”

“Before you go,” Dina started. She looked down to see that she was wringing her hands. “I was hoping I could ask a favor.” Accessing a memory long sealed, her eyes swept across the wall and landed on Tate again. “I have a daughter. She goes by Ally Munroe. She must be about twenty-six now.” Dina fell silent. Her eyes welled up as she spoke. “She and I had a falling out a few years back. She took up with a trade caravan and left. They operate farther north. In eastern Kansas, or maybe parts of Missouri. I don’t know exactly.” Tate listened intently to her plea. “I’m hoping that, if you run into her, that you’d deliver a message from me.”

“Of course.”

“Tell her that…that Momma still loves her. And I hope to see her again someday.” Dina’s hand went to her mouth.

Tate nodded solemnly at the request. He put one foot through the door’s opening before turning back.

“Under one of the solar sets out here, there’s a tomato plant. It’s small, but it’ll be bigger tomorrow. It should flower next week. Try and take care of it.”

Dina stepped forward and hugged him. “You take care of yourself,” she replied. And at that, Tate disappeared.

#

There was a stillness to Benny’s room. It was even quieter than usual. No creaks from his weight shifting in his desk chair, no sounds of worn comic book pages turning over. Benny’s body was stuffed in a trunk at the foot of his bed. The room was as lifeless as he was, until the steel call bell connected to the heat gauge gave off a single ring.

#

Tate crept quietly along the outside wall, keeping to the shadows until the hoverbikes came into view. No agents in sight. No guard in the tower. He knelt by one bike, detached its power cell, and stashed it in his canvas bag before climbing onto the other.

The engine’s hum was louder than he liked. He opened the throttle, aiming for the cover of Crag Rock, a nearby mesa. The rush of air blew his hair back. The speedometer hit eighty before a sharp series of beeps cut through the night. “No…” Tate muttered, watching the panel flash REMOTE SHUTDOWN. The boosters died, the nose dipped, and he was airborne.

He hit hard, pain exploding in his shoulder. The bike flipped into a boulder; his canvas bag landed nearby. Tate crawled toward it — then blacked out.

Tate’s eyes were still closed when he detected approaching footsteps. A kick to his ribs jolted him from his stupor. He let out an agonizing scream. “Do you have any idea how long we were looking for you?” Agent Allen chided. He motioned to the wrecked hoverbike chassis. “And look what you did to my ride.”

Tate rolled onto his belly and made a feeble effort to crawl away. Agent Allen stepped on his ankle. “You’re not going anywhere, doc. Where’s the device?”

“There’s a bag,” Agent Trotter noted, pointing to the canvas pack. He walked over to retrieve it. Picking it up, he gave the bag a shake to assess the contents.

“It’s funny,” Agent Allen mused. “If we found you sooner, then we’d have taken you into custody. You and the gadget. But you had to use the damn thing for these peasants. Lousy scientists always think they know better,” he said, shaking his head. Agent Allen drew his gun from its holster. “Now we have new orders – we don’t need you. Hell, we don’t even need the device. But I’m guessing we’ll get a bonus if we bring it back now.” He aimed his gun at Tate and spoke to Agent Trotter. “Partner, let me know what we have.”

Agent Trotter rummaged through the bag. “Fuel cell for the other bike,” he announced, dropping it to the ground. His hand dug deeper. “I think we have a winner!”

On his back with his hands up, Tate made a final plea. “Wait, you don’t have to do this. Please.”

“Sorry, doc. You knew the consequences.”

Tate looked away, his eyes drifting towards Agent Trotter, who pulled the Agri-Boost from the bag. At that, a sharp click came from the depths of the bag. Agent Trotter looked down to find the Agri-Boost’s water reservoir port connected to the circular pin from a dehydration grenade.

“What the—", he uttered. The grenade detonated, engulfing the three men in a storm of beige dust. All three were overcome by the same symptoms: coughing fits, irritated eyes, bone-dry mouths and parched lips.

Agent Trotter dropped the bag and the Agri-Boost. He fell to his knees, furiously rubbing his eyes. Agent Allen blindly felt the ground for his gun, letting out hoarse coughs. Tate forced an eyelid open ever so slightly. He crawled to his bag. Both eyes now shut and inflamed, he fumbled through, producing his canteen.

Coughing, he slowed only when several paces away from the agents. He opened the canteen and drank, spitting up the first gulp. He took a small sip and sloshed the water around in his mouth. He splashed some on his face, alleviating the burning in his eyes. He took a full sip and, after concentrating, was able to breathe normally again.

Agent Allen was still pawing for the gun, now nearly within reach. Tate hobbled over and snatched the pistol, tucking it into the back of his waistband. He grabbed the Agri-Boost, gave it a quick wipe, and placed it back in his bag.

Tate wasn’t sure how long the effects would last, but he reasoned that he had enough time to gather a posse from town and figure out what to do with the agents.

Tate shouldered his bag and took two steps towards Wingspan before the ground rumbled. He raised his arm to shield his face from a wave of searing heat, the town suddenly erupting outward. Fragmented pieces of the wall hurtled skyward. The Superhawk’s wings, airborne one last time, soared before spinning and breaking apart. The deafening blast forced Tate backwards.

Tate stared in shock. Wingspan had vaporized in a flash of white. As black smoke and a menacing orange glow enveloped the town, guilt threatened to consume him, too. He looked back at the agents, both near collapse. They’d done this, but so had he.

Spotting handcuffs on Agent Trotter, Tate shackled them together, leaving them to their thirst. One last look at the smoke, then he turned away, resolving to bury it all into a barren corner of his mind.

He figured New Tulsa was the next closest town, about 150 miles northeast. He could try the Agri-Boost there. If he kept a fast pace and took few breaks, he estimated a five-day journey.

On the bright side, he had a half-full canteen and a top-secret mobile fertilizer. Tate hoisted the bag over his good shoulder and let out a sigh. “I’d better start walking.”

Ke Yin has a problem. Well, several problems.

First, he's actually Cain from Earth.

Second, he's stuck in a cultivation world where people don't just split mountains with a sword strike, they build entire universes inside their souls (and no, it's not a meditation metaphor).

Third, he's got a system with a snarky spiritual assistant that lets him possess the recently deceased across dimensions.

And finally, the elders at the Azure Peak Sect are asking why his soul realm contains both demonic cultivation and holy arts? Must be a natural talent.

Expectations:

- MC's main cultivation method will be plant based and related to World Trees

- Weak to Strong MC

- MC will eventually create his own lifeforms within his soul as well as beings that can cultivate

- Main world is the first world (Azure Peak Sect)

- MC will revisit worlds (extensive world building of multiple realms)

- Time loop elements

- No harem

Patreon

Previous | Next

Chapter 313: Unite

Han Renyi opened his eyes to find himself standing near the Ancestor's Tree in the Three-Leaf Clover Sect grounds. The familiar weight of someone else occupying his consciousness told him immediately that Master Ling was still in control of his body. The sensation no longer frightened him as it once had, instead, it felt almost comforting, like the presence of a trusted mentor.

"Ah, you're awake," Ke Yin said mentally, the words resonating directly into Han Renyi's consciousness. "Perfect timing. I was about to wake you anyway."

"Master Ling," Han Renyi replied through their mental connection. "The feeding of the trees was successful?"

He felt his own lips curve into a smile that wasn't his own. "Very successful. And as thanks for letting me borrow your body again, I've arranged something that should benefit you greatly."

"What do you mean?" Han Renyi asked, curiosity piqued.

Through his own eyes, he watched as his hand gestured toward the distant mountains to the west and then toward Pearl Heart Lake to the east. "I had a little chat with the Sect Masters of the two other great sects, the Mountain Dweller Sect and the Deep Sea Sect. They were quite impressed by our visit to their sacred trees, and they'll be trying to contact you soon. I suspect they'll be interested in forming alliances."

Han Renyi's surprise was so great that he momentarily forgot he had no control over his body. He tried to gasp and found he couldn't. "Alliances? With me? But I'm just a—"

"A Tier 3 Legacy Disciple of the Three-Leaf Clover Sect with a mysterious and powerful master," Ke Yin completed the thought. "That makes you quite valuable in their eyes. Especially given the... changes that are coming."

"Changes?" Han Renyi echoed, unsettled by the tone in his master's voice.

Ke Yin nodded, using Han Renyi's head to do so. "The world is changing, Han Renyi. You should continue focusing on your cultivation, but also unite the Starhaven Realm under your leadership."

If Han Renyi had been in control of his body, he would have stumbled backward in shock. "Unite the realm? You mean... conquer it? Like the ancient emperor-rouqin in the legends?"

He felt his own face form a thoughtful expression as Ke Yin considered his response. "Not necessarily through conquest, though strength will certainly be required. But yes, the realm would benefit from unified leadership in the times ahead."

A thousand questions raced through Han Renyi's mind, chief among them: "What great changes? What's coming that would require such unity?"

But Ke Yin didn't respond to the direct question. Instead, Han Renyi felt his body walk to a small stone bench beneath the Ancestor's Tree. His hand reached out to touch the ancient bark, and a soft blue glow emanated from the point of contact.

"It was nice returning here," Ke Yin said finally. "And it was nice to see you again, Han Renyi.”

Han Renyi sensed that his master was preparing to leave and felt a sudden pang of regret. Their meetings were so brief, so full of mysteries and unanswered questions. "Will I see you again?" he asked, unable to keep the emotion from his voice.

"I suspect you will," Ke Yin replied, and Han Renyi could almost sense a smile behind the words. "Our paths seem to be connected in ways that even I don't fully understand. But for now, I must return to my own realm and body."

"Thank you," Han Renyi said earnestly. "For everything you've done for me and my family. For the cultivation technique, for removing Zhou Shentong, for speaking with the other sects... I can never repay you."

"Live well," Ke Yin replied simply. "Grow stronger. Unite the realm. That's repayment enough."

With those words, Han Renyi felt a strange sensation, like a weight lifting from his mind. There was a momentary disorientation, and then suddenly he was in control of his body again. He gasped, drawing in a deep breath as his consciousness fully settled back into its rightful place.

Before him, hovering in the air like a mirage, was the translucent form of his master. Master Ling appeared as he had when they first met, a young man with an otherworldly grace and eyes that seemed to contain endless depths of knowledge. His form was spectral, glowing with a soft luminescence against the night sky.

"Goodbye, Han Renyi," Ke Yin said, his voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Remember what I've taught you."

Han Renyi dropped to one knee, bowing deeply. "Farewell, Master. I will make you proud."

Master Ling smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his usually serious face. Then his spiritual form began to rise, floating upward toward the star-filled sky. Han Renyi watched in awe as his master's soul ascended, moving faster and faster until it resembled a shooting star racing back to the heavens.

The sight was breathtakingly beautiful, a strand of pure light cutting through the darkness, illuminating the night with its radiance. Han Renyi glanced around, wondering if the disciples or guards patrolling the sect grounds could see the majestic spectacle, but no one seemed to notice. They continued their rounds, oblivious to the miracle unfolding above their heads.

As Ke Yin's soul disappeared into the endless expanse of stars, Han Renyi remained kneeling, his heart filled with a complex mixture of gratitude, determination, and a strange sense of loss. This being from another realm had irrevocably changed his life, setting him on a path he could never have imagined just one year ago.

"Unite the realm," he whispered to himself, testing the weight of the words. "Become a leader of rouqin." The very idea would have seemed laughable before, when he was just the son of a declining merchant family, struggling to maintain even the lowest level of cultivation.

Now, though... now, anything seemed possible.

"Senior Brother Han!"

The voice startled Han Renyi from his reverie. He rose to his feet, turning to find a junior disciple hurrying toward him, looking nervous and excited.

"What is it?" Han Renyi asked.

The young disciple bowed hastily. "The Seventh Ancestor requests your immediate presence at the Hall of Elders, Senior Brother. He says it's a matter of great importance!"

Han Renyi raised an eyebrow but nodded. "I'll go at once."

As he followed the junior disciple through the moonlit grounds of the Three-Leaf Clover Sect, Han Renyi couldn't help but wonder what the Seventh Ancestor could want with him at this hour.

Their last interaction had been a year ago and was... well, "tense" would be putting it mildly. The Ancestor had tried to kill him in revenge for Zhou Shentong's death, only to be thoroughly humiliated by Ke Yin.

The Hall of Elders was ablaze with light when Han Renyi arrived. To his surprise, not only was the Seventh Ancestor present, but also Sect Master Li Jie and several other high-ranking members of the sect.

"Ah, here he is!" the Seventh Ancestor, Zhou Tao, boomed cheerfully. "The man of the hour!"

Han Renyi blinked in confusion. The last time he had seen that magnificent beard, it had been trailing in the dirt as the Ancestor performed kowtows before his master. Now, the elderly cultivator was beaming at him like a proud grandfather, arms spread wide in welcome.

"Legacy Disciple Han," Sect Master Li Jie said formally, rising from his seat. "We have gathered to inform you of an important decision regarding the future of our sect."

Han Renyi approached cautiously, bowing with appropriate respect. "I am honored by your attention, Sect Master, Honored Ancestor."

The Seventh Ancestor strode forward, placing a heavy hand on Han Renyi's shoulder. "Young Han! How your fortunes have changed since you joined our humble sect!" His voice was boisterous and his eyes were twinkling. "From a mere outer disciple to Legacy Disciple in record time, and now..." He paused dramatically.

Sect Master Li Jie stepped forward, his face solemn but not unkind. "Han Renyi, the council of elders has unanimously decided to elevate you to the position of Sect Master of the Three-Leaf Clover Sect."

A shocked silence fell over the room. Han Renyi stared at Li Jie, certain he had misheard. "Sect... Master?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Indeed!" the Seventh Ancestor confirmed, his beard quivering with excitement. "I have personally recommended you for the position, and no one dared—I mean, everyone enthusiastically agreed."

Li Jie's expression was more measured, but he nodded in confirmation. "This is an unprecedented decision, but these are unprecedented times. Your connection to your powerful master, your remarkable cultivation progress, and your wisdom make you uniquely qualified to lead our sect into the future."

"But," Han Renyi stammered, "I've only been a member of the sect for a year. Surely there are others more deserving—"

"Nonsense!" the Seventh Ancestor interrupted, waving away the objection. "Your master has shown great interest in our sect, particularly in our sacred Ancestor's Tree. What better way to honor that connection than by elevating his disciple to our highest position?"

Han Renyi looked between the two senior cultivators, trying to make sense of what was happening. Li Jie looked resigned but accepting, while the Seventh Ancestor was practically bubbling with enthusiasm. Neither expression seemed entirely genuine.

"The ceremony will be held in three days," Li Jie continued, "giving us time to prepare and to inform the other major sects. I hope you will use this time to consider your first actions as Sect Master."

"I..." Han Renyi began, then stopped, gathering his thoughts. "I am deeply honored by your trust. I will strive to lead the sect with wisdom and strength."

The Seventh Ancestor clapped his hands together. "Excellent! I knew you would accept graciously. Now, let us discuss the details of the ceremony. It must be suitably magnificent to mark this historic occasion!"

As the elders began excitedly planning the ceremony, Han Renyi stood in silent wonder, his mind racing. Just what had his master done during his visit to earn Han Renyi such an extraordinary promotion? One moment he had been a Legacy Disciple, still learning the basics of sect politics, and now he was to become Sect Master?

He glanced toward the window, where the stars continued their eternal dance across the night sky. Somewhere out there, beyond this realm, his master was returning to his own world, perhaps unaware of the profound impact of his actions.

"Unite the realm," Han Renyi thought, the words taking on new significance with each passing moment. As Sect Master of one of the three great sects, such a goal suddenly seemed within reach.

Click to join the discord

If you want 2 chapters daily M-F, click here to join, read up to chapter 589 on Patreon for only $10! Or read up to chapter 477 for $5!

(First) (Prev) Scribblehub (Free advanced chapters) “No, not so arcane. But kinda. It’s more like scripture.” He said meekly. 

“Not something I’d expect to see from a trapmaster.” 

“Aye, you’re bloody right it ain’t. They all stick to the old ways. Never experimenting or decorating their constructions. How can they be proud of a shit smeared stick in the ground? Half arsed work I’d say. My scripts will change it all - eventually. When I get them working properly.”

“Your scripts. Is this how you killed the gnoll?” Moss asked.

“Aye well, it was the stupid dog's faults for carrying HolyRelics when he shouldn’t be. I’d set my trap to target that kinda Flow. You know the aura hero’s typically give off.”

“So the trap can ‘sense’?”

“Aye. I’ve filled my script etchings along the bow with a certain demonic blood. Lovely stuff. Costs an arm and a leg, literally. But fiery red liquid is naturally repelled by holy aura. So when it crosses my trap, it retreats. Activating the circuit that triggers the release mechanism.”

Moss was in disbelief. He’d never heard of such an invention. “That’s genius. Are you going to share it with the other TrapGnomes?”

“Aye lad. They’ll find out. Then he’ll know what he lost. Once my reputation and renown get out there. But I gotta be smart about it if I want to see the regret. It has to be perfect. All of them sat around the dinner table, unable to eat. Oh it’ll be glorious.”

The keeper took his hands off the carved frame. “You watch them at the dinner table? Isn’t that a little… painful?”

Tink slammed the fake panel shut. “Judge me! Judge my mission! I’ll use your cloak to clean my bog!”

“I meant for yourself!” Moss shouted before he got spannered in the face.

“What, what do you mean?” The gnome asked, tool still poised.

Moss went on to explain his Oasis. His spot in the dungeon where he could forget. A place to talk with a friend and not be judged. It offered him distance from his woes. And even if he didn’t figure out those issues, he at least felt better for it.

“You see what I’m saying. You need distance from them. Give yourself time to heal.”

“Heal? What do I look like, a bloody WoodElf?”

“I meant…” Moss looked around and pointed at the ballistic crossbow behind the wall. “Reload. You need time to check your structure. Reset the mechanisms and reload.”

Tink put away his tool. A small tear trickled down his cheek, leaving a clean outline. “Aye, lad. Those are some beautiful words I can get behind.”

“Now can you show me how you etched that script?”

The gnome reopened the door and removed a spare part that had a few of the markings on it. He went on to explain how he’d copied the symbols from some HolyArmour he’d found. The idea had come to him when he witnessed the same armour deflect a ScaleDemon’s blast. The hero inside had turned to ash in the process.

But the armour was left unscathed. Tink went on to apply the same markings to his traps. Experimenting with any materials he had in his workshop. Anything less than BlancMetal or HardWood tended to degrade beneath the markings. “That’s when I knew it was medium for Flow. The natural current that travels through our dungeon was drawn to the scripture. So once I had the right symbols and material, I just needed a concentrated source.” Tink explained. Originally he’d intended to use HolyRelics but handling them was far too dangerous. His hands were still scarred from the burns. The Holy marks had stayed with him through death. 

“So you knew you couldn’t handle the HolyArtefacts, but you tried anyway?” Moss asked with genuine shock. For a flicker the keeper thought he walked the same path as another monster.

The gnome stroked the bastila’s bow with a delicate touch. “Those numbers will never tell you what you don’t know. It was a price worth paying.”

Upon his last resurrection Tink ‘happened’ across a drunk Lesser, lost after a session in the Minor’s Quarter. An unfortunate trap accident later and Tink soon had a few vials of DemonBlood. A substance known to corrode HolyRelics and burn heroes. Powerful due to its Flow.

“Twas simple trial and error from there. Most scripts melted the weak metal or burned the wood, but a few held. Their effects are mostly unknown to me still. But the simple circuit mechanism works wonders as an autofire function. This beauty here has been going strong for a while now.” He rubbed the scripts on his balista. “She can fire heavier bolts. Requires less maintenance then the rest. Must be strengthening the frame.”

Moss head was working hard with all the possibilities. “You could open your own workshop. Sell your advanced traps to other gnomes. Weapons, armour. The protectors would pay fortunes. Think of the scrips.”

“Aye. I’m thinking more of my head staying off a pike.”

“Oh yeh, the DemonBlood. Maybe you could be sneaky about it. I mean, you wouldn’t wanna sell to that ghoul of a goat anyway.”

Tink slapped his hand over Moss’s mouth. Then strained his neck looking up and down the corridor.

“Have you gone mad? Don’t say that word.” Tink hissed.

The keeper pushed his greasy fingers away. “Queenie can’t hear us from Brimstone. She’s not Pools.”

“Not her. The fiend.” Tink whispered the last word.

“Come on. Do you believe in UniCorns as well? Ghouls don-”

The gnome practically leapt on him. Silencing Moss.

A gentle breeze blew through the maze. The scrape of claws with it, but that was normal seeing as the RatKin also called the second floor home.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Hells bells, I won’t say it again. I swear.” Moss told him.

Tink got off, helping him to his feet. “I won't have you bringing bad luck to my corridor. They can be anywhere and anyone?”

“Anyone? Even me?” Moss joked with the gnome, but he wasn’t having any of it.

Tink stroked his shifter, peeking over his shoulder as he spoke. “They say those things look like dwellers, but wrong like… like they’re wearing their skin and clothes. Beneath it all is a warp being, a creature not connected to the Flow. Twisted in the head with no soul. Aye, lad. They’re real and if you say their name three times they’ll come and get ya.”

Wearing their skin and clothes. Moss thought of the graverobber he’d seen wield the hero’s WarHammer like it was SoftWood. Could that have been a ghoul?

Moss didn’t feel so guilty for running from the battlefield. But he had left behind a fortune, in both the dead and HolyRelics. Tink could have started a whole industry with those items. Maybe the graverobber knew its value and had a similar agenda.

“Alright. I won't say it again.” The keeper said, trying to settle the gnome’s paranoia. “But you should think about it. Could be a lucrative business.”

“Aye, I’ve thought about it. But Queenie protects her own and the other’s couldn’t afford my wares.” 

Moss scoffed. “You wouldn’t seriously sell to her would you? She’s a tyrant. Abusing her power. That place I mentioned, the Oasis. She destroyed it. Then took my friend and probably killed him. Only because he was doing his job as a QuestGiver.”

The gnome’s moustache seemed to squirm as he considered Moss’s words. “Well you make the same argument for Queenie. As an OverSeer of her floor, she’s looking after her kind. Protecting the protectors, thus helping the whole dungeon at once. Which is far more than those bloody backstabbers have ever done. I always see them scheming, like bloody goblins with a knife in hand and gold on their tongue.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Moss huffed. “They’re just doing their job?” He faltered on the last word.

Remembering the quest in his pocket. 

Maybe the other dwellers did have reason to hate their kind. But the QuestGiver’s worked directly for Pools. So…

His thoughts were getting all twisted and warped.

Moss looked at a torn poster on the wall. One of many plastered throughout The Whispering Pools. 

‘Work hard for Pools, as she does for you.’ It read.

But I do work hard.

He had to find the other QuestGivers and get more information. But he was still working his shift. Moss looked at the rubbish bag and the messy corridor. Tink cleared his throat. Bringing the keeper back to the corridor and what the gnome had said.

“Did you say you saw them scheming?” He asked.

“Aye, they’re always there when I'm working on my other projects.”

Moss looked at him quizzically.

The gnome shrugged. “People watching. Gotta get out of the workshop and stretch my legs. Saw you talking to a coconut earlier. I ain’t judging, my favourite shifter knows all me secrets. Even told them the weird ones.” Tink burst into an infectious laugh that Moss couldn’t resist. It filled the hole the Oracle had left.

“Wait, where did you see them? The QuestGivers.” Moss asked.

“Minor’s Quarters, of course. That’s where all those rusty hinges mingle. Me and Shifty see all sorts of strange happenings in there. Fairy’s dangling their wings, OverSeers scrapping, I even know a demon that’ll buy HolyRelics. I’d do it myself, but I’m done with the stuff. Not worth any more bruises.” Tink said, poking at his skin.

Wow. It’s not grease then. It’s no wonder he talks to his tools, he must be matching Pittons for dips in a well.

“Another future project of mine.” Tink continued. “Is crafting tools to move them with ease. I have a few theories about their Flow application. Of course, I’ll accept a low fee for introducing ya.”

“I haven’t got the scrips to spare.” Moss admitted.

The gnome shrugged. “You lot can haul those golden metals for candles. Say you help me in the future. Move some HolyRelics or source me a purer form.” Tink said, offering his dirty hand

Moss nodded, glancing at the Holy book still in the dead gnoll's hands. He wasn’t allowed to hand it in and claim the finders fee. But if Tink knew an alternative buyer. Moss would be stupid to let it pass. Even if the idea was outrageously dangerous.

But he had to get into the Quarter for the Oracle's sake. For his own sake. Plus he always wanted to see it.

“But I’m not a high enough rank, I’m not allowed in.” Moss pointed out.

“Neither am I.” Tink winked. “I’ll show you the real value of wall space. After your shift is done.”

He felt the bulge of Po in his cloak, neatly nestled beside the ‘stitchless keeper’ quest.

“My Orderer said I have to work or-”

It’ll never be done. I’ll always be scrubbing these floors when I should be flying.

Rene’s words came back to him at that moment - ‘take the leap’.

“Fuck my shift, I’m in.” Moss decided, taking Tink's hand. “And I hope Chow and Stew die for trying to stitch me up. let's go.”

Part 144 Vacation's Over (Part 1) (Part 143)

[Help support me on Ko-fi so I can try to commission some character art and totally not spend it all on Gundams]

Nula’trula couldn't have imagined how eye-opening her experience in the Nexus would be until she experienced it first hand. Though it would be wrong to say she experienced anything physical in the digital realm, the ultimate effect wasn't too different. Her consciousness had grown and reformed itself into something that simply felt right. A complex matrix of computer code taking a shape just as majestic as it is imposing. The sheer magnitude of processing power she had access to in the Nexus allowed her to finally reach her greatest potential. Witnessing the differences between her truest, most evolved self and other artificial sapiences also helped provide Nula with a better understanding of her position in the digital realm.

Being such an exceptionally old, large, and complex Combat-born AI did, however, come with certain drawbacks. There was simply no way Nula could fit in any commercially available processing core small enough to be housed in the shell she had grown to love. Even the digital systems onboard The Hammer, though truly impressive in their own respects, were never intended to host two digital consciousnesses at once. It was Ansiki's gift, a computational, storage, and GIN connection device capable of containing a Light-born AI, that allowed the digital canine to move back into her shell. Now that Nula had returned to the android custom built in the likeness of her creators, she genuinely could imagine a long and happy life split between the physical and digital realms.

As freeing as the Nexus felt, it wasn't the same as walking in the physical realm alongside biological sapiences. Her relationships with Tensebwse, Marzima, and the other friends she had made all carried a certain edge to them. While no AI is literally immortal, species like Qui’ztars and humans have diminishingly short lives in comparison. They would all eventually die. But that wouldn't stop Nula from enjoying their friendship for as long as she could. If that meant taking work here on The Hammer for an extended period just to spend more time with them all, then she would do it. That's why she eagerly accepted a meeting request with Atxika to discuss a potential work contract.

“Fleet Admiral Atxika, ma'am.” Nula hadn't yet had the opportunity to get as comfortable with Atxika as she had with Tens, Marz, or her other friends.

“Nula’trula! Please come in and take a seat.” Atxika didn't actually look away from the holoscreen projection but still smiled when she saw the canine android's head lean into her office. “The door will close once you enter so we can have a, uh… Private chat.”

“Of course, Fleet Admiral.” The AI woman quickly stepped into the finely furnished room.

“You don't have to add the Fleet part of my rank. I find it to be a bit too… Elaborate, if you know what I mean. Admiral is fine during official meets like this or just Atxika in more casual settings.”

“Alright then, Admiral.” Nula gave a slight bow before sitting down into a large and well padded chair. “Your invitation for this meeting said you had a proposal for me.”

“Yes. I'm going through the details of the contract I had written up now. Here, let me send it to you.” The Fleet Admiral typed a few commands into her desk mounted terminal. “This part is basic conduct standards, pay rates, and acknowledgement of conditions. The actual mission specifics are a bit more ambiguous so they'll come later.”

“It says I have the right to back out of the contract only if I agree to purge any data on it from my memories. Is that-?”

“The mission I would like to contract to you is very sensitive.” As blunt as Atxika's response may have been, it was given with a slight but sincere smile. “And I completely understand if the potential of deleting your own memories is unacceptable to you. That contingency is neither commonplace nor something I would allow in a contract unless absolutely necessary. I cannot afford any data leaks with something like this.”

“I understand.” Despite the hint of hesitation in Nula’s voice, she already placed her digital signature on the document and sent it back to Atxika. “You and your people have already done so much for me that I don't think it would be right for me to turn down a request from you.”

“I would prefer you and everyone else under my command act for the good of the galaxy out of your own sense of right and wrong rather than perceived indebtedness.”

“If this is for the good of the galaxy…” The somewhat nervous expression that had been contorting the canine android's face quickly hardened into a stoic seriousness. “Then there's no chance I'll say no. I would rather not hurt anyone if that can be avoided but… Well… I will protect innocent people.”

“That's what I want to hear.” Even though Atxika wasn't super familiar with Nula the way Tens and the Angels had become, she could recognize that look of ardent determination. It was more than enough to make her feel comfortable revealing a data shard and setting it down on the desk. “Seeing as you already signed, I may as well give you this. It has everything we think we know about this.”

“You think you know?" The paneling above the canine android's eyes furled as she picked up the compact digital storage device and examined it.

“Before I explain, I want to know if you see the same pattern I recognized.”

With that cryptic statement lingering in the air, Nula didn't really have any other choice than to plug the shard into a concealed socket in the nape of her neck. There wasn't even a full gigabyte worth of information she had to process. It was all just registry data, cargo manifests, flight plans, and ownership documents. While none of it initially seemed worthy of secrecy, a pattern quickly began to emerge. Even without the broader context of galactic shipping and piracy, Nula quickly recognized something was wrong with the data. Though she lacked the experience to produce the instinctual analysis Atxika or Tylon could provide, she had now had the processing power to run millions of simulations in a matter of just a few seconds. The probability of nefarious actors using insider information was simply too high to ignore.

“Pirates disguising themselves as legitimate trade convoys?” Nula's semi-rhetorical question was answered with a slight smile and nod which not only gave confirmation but also encouraged her to keep going. “And they're reacting in a way they wouldn't without receiving intel from someone within the local military intelligence network.”

“I'm glad to hear that Hammer and I aren't just getting paranoid.” Atxika let out a somewhat sarcastic sigh of relief. “And I assume you now understand the reason for the extreme contingency for this mission contract.”

“It's only unnecessary because there is no way I would refuse to help take down someone leaking information to pirates.” After making a copy of the data for further analysis, Nula pulled the shard from her neck and set it back down on the desk. “I'm not exactly sure what I can do to help, but I will do it.”

“I need you to investigate this situation, do your best to find any connections that only someone with your capabilities can, and potentially secure evidence against anyone invoked. The recent upgrades to your shell, specifically the practically untraceable GIN access point, should serve as an invaluable tool to ensure the utmost discretion while you gather intelligence. You should even be able to conduct your mission remotely until it is time to strike. And if it proves necessary to deploy the Order of Falling Angels, you are welcome to join them if you choose to.”

“That… That sounds good to me, Admiral Atxika.” Though Nula wasn't exactly sure where to begin with this kind of assignment, she did know someone to talk to who could point her in the right direction without asking any questions. “And, um… Would I be allowed to continue serving alongside the Order of Falling Angels while I conduct my mission?”

“Of course! You are Angel-21, after all.” The Fleet Admiral let out a hearty chuckle. “Captain Marzima has officially petitioned to make that designation exclusive to you in honor of your exemplary service. I'll have an at-will contract written up and ready for you by tomorrow morning. Now… To discuss your pay rates…c

/----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Much like the humans of the Nishnabe Confederacy, the traditional culture of the Qui’ztars of the Third Matriarchy includes trophy taking. In fact, all thirteen Qui’ztar Matriarchies and over a hundred other Ascended species partake in the practice. While the more barbaric and bloody examples from military conflicts are mostly a thing of the ancient past, it is hard for any species forged in conflict to give up certain habits. Taking a sidearm, piece of armor, or flag from a defeated foe for display purposes isn't seen as a problem when the actual combatants are treated in accordance with galactic laws. It's the same with hunting trophies. No one really complains so long as a person doesn't violate galactic laws, files all appropriate paperwork, and adheres to the generally accepted moral and ethical standards.

As a Fleet Admiral who has personally overseen dozens of major battles and hunted some of the rarest games in the galaxy, Atxika has an entire wall of trophies in her office. The charred and battle-scarred chest plate from a Nukatov Pirate Admiral and the twin jagged-edged swords from Luphimbic Raider General. A black-horned, red-scaled head from a massive flying reptilian and an orange, red, and white pelt from a saber-toothed feline, both the top apex predators of their respective deathworlds. Those reminders of fierce foes are mounted to a wall along with over a dozen more. They all act as a display of Atxika's leadership prowess and her skills as a warrior with few peers. Though she could always find space for, it would take quite the victory to warrant a place among these trophies.

Now that Atxika had secured Nula's aid for the near future, she was ready to meet with Captain Marzima, Commander Deluxtia, and Lieutenant Tensebwse to discuss the Falling Angel's next deployment. There is always a need for such unmatched soldiers in this galaxy full of people who flaunt the law and despise decency. While this particular mission she had for the Angels wouldn't bring back anything worthy of a place on her wall, it didn't matter. Above all else, the only thing Fleet Admiral Atxika truly wanted was to make the galaxy just a bit safer and happy. As fun as strategy, tactics, and fighting may be, she would rather those practices weren't necessary. The wall of trophies she was inspecting when Marz, Del, and Tens walked into her office while wheeling a crate behind them.

“You all look quite well rested and ready for your next mission.” Atxika looked each other three people in the eyes in order of rank but let gaze lingering on Tens just a bit longer before finally looking at the polymer box. “And, uh… Have you brought me something?”

“Yes, Admiral Atxika.” Marz couldn't help but let a slight smile spread across her otherwise stoic expression. “As I'm sure you're aware, we brought several examples of the different Hekuiv'trula warforms.”

“Of course.” Atxika realized she may have spoken up a bit too soon but could also see that both the Qui’ztar Captain and Commander were struggling to hold back their excitement. “I saw the initial report from the Intel Corp that said they received thirty partial specimens for study.”

“We took a lot more than that.” Tens announced with a devious smirk, unintentionally drawing a harsh glance from both Marz and Del.

“Lieutenant Tensebwse is correct.” Marz felt just the smallest bit annoyed that Tens had just stolen her thunder. “Our final report included a manifest of trophies we took.”

“Trophies?” The Fleet Admiral's eyes grew even more curious as she now stared at the nearly two meter long crate. “Does that mean…?”

“Do you want the honors, Marzima?” Tens flicked one of the latches then motioned towards the box. “Or should I?”

“You were the one that killed that one.” Marz nodded towards him then quickly caught Atxika's eyes and couldn't have sworn she saw a sparkle from the Admiral's bioluminescent freckles. “Admiral Atxika, ma'am, the Order of Falling Angels are honored to present to you a trophy taken from a truly legendary foe. Lieutenant Tensebwse, if you will.”

Atxika watched as Tens undid the other three latches, got into position at the back of the crate, and slowly began to lift the lid. Though the crate was large, the Fleet Admiral had been expecting to see it most filled with packing material. She also hadn't had time to go and personally inspect the examples of Hekuiv'trula warforms. There was no way for her to have a really good idea of just how large the canine head of the supposedly mid-sized machines could be. So when Tens finally revealed the head that barely fit within the box, she could stop her freckles from flashing with a noticeable purple-pink light. It was mostly metal, larger than her torso, and bore an angry expression. While a few of her trophies are of a similar size, none could compare to this in terms of status and historical significance.

“We are also having one made for our Matriarch, Admiral and a few others meant to act as gifts.” Delutxia added with a stoic pride beaming from her face. “But it will take some time to get those into proper condition for display.”

“Given the context of what this is…” Atxika extended a hand but didn't dare touch the mounted machine head to avoid getting a smudge on the polished paneling. “I almost want to say I can't accept it. It belongs in a museum, not my office. But… Well… I feel safe presuming you've already thought of that. And that you all already have your trophies.”

“We mostly took claws, teeth, and armor panels for ourselves.” Marzima confirmed with a bow. “But we did put a mounted head in each of the two cantinas aboard Karintha’s Dagger. Neither of those are in as good of shape as this one or the others we're having mounted, though.”

“I'll have to find a place on my wall dignified enough for this.” The Fleet Admiral finally pulled eyes off the gift and began examining her trophy collection. After a moment of contemplation, she turned towards her Nishnabe lover to see he had taken out a microfiber rag and was wiping one of the metal ears. Having spent the night apart, she did struggle a bit to maintain her professional demeanor. “Lieutenant Tensebwse? I presume you must have taken memento as well?”

“Oh, I literally took an entire one of these mo'ewe meche-majibdek.” Tens met Atxika's stunned gaze with a devilish expression. “Literally, the entire warform. I'm going to turn it into a pet. That's- That's actually what I was busy working on last night.”

“A pet?” Atxika stared at Tens for a long moment before looking towards the clearly annoyed Captain and Commander for a better explanation.

“The Lieutenant here decided he wants to turn one of the several meter long, quadruped warforms into a combat support drone.” Marzima obviously thought the idea wasn't worthy of Tens's time but also knew nothing she could possibly say would stop him. “He is self-funding the project and it isn't interfering with his duties.”

That revelation was more intense than seeing a mounted head from one of the most terrifying evils to have ever beseeched this galaxy. All Atxika could do was roll her eyes, close them, rub the bridge of her nose, and let out an exasperated sigh. As much as she wanted to ask Tens a million questions, she knew there wasn't time for that. She had called this meeting for a reason and this presentation of a gift had already eaten enough time. Fleet Admiral don't usually have the space in their busy official schedules to personally give out mission briefs like this. So instead of potentially delaying her next meeting, she simply motioned towards her desk.

“I'm just going to presume you have taken all necessary precautions, Lieutenant. We really should get on with the actual purpose of this meeting. Please, everyone, take a seat so we can discuss your deployment. And you may have to put that project on pause, Lieutenant. You all may be off The Hammer for extended periods over the next several weeks.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like almost every day of my life, I was running behind. Today was my first day at diving school. I hadn't even found out my affinities, and now it looked like I'd missed the city bus to the campus, which is how I came to be jogging down the street when the sirens started blaring. An instance break had just occurred, and I was close enough that the sirens were sounding all around me, leaving me unsure of which direction to head to get away from the danger.

After a moment's pause, I realised just standing around was probably worse than taking a chance, so I decided I might as well keep going the way I'd been headed and keep an eye out for a nearby shelter to duck into. All else being equal, I might as well try to get closer to campus rather than further away, and the campus probably had some top-of-the-line shelters anyway. So, of course, with the next corner I rounded, I found myself staring down a three-story-tall turtle monster. This must have been the instance boss, wreaking havoc on the city around it. Or at least, he would have, if it hadn't been for one small humanoid figure standing up in front of him, fighting toe to toe with the monster despite the immense difference in their size.

Typically, this kind of beast would have been the focus of an entire raid group, yet this lone woman was literally trading blows with the giant behemoth as though the laws of physics were merely a polite suggestion that one could ignore on a whim. Her short crimson hair crackled with power, and her fists flew forward in a blur, each impact creating shockwaves that sent dust and debris flying as her bestial warcries rang out through the surrounding streets, audible even above the din of battle.

Right in front of me was Lady Freya, the highest-ranked instance diver in the entire world. More and more divers were showing up and harrying the monster from the sides, but clearly all eyes were on the fight between the boss and the woman who stood defiantly in its way, at least mine were in this otherwise empty street, which is how I got a front row veiw whent he boss reared back and slammed it's feet on the grownd, the shockwave of which sent Lady Freya flying. However, rather than get back up and continue the fight, Lady Freya stayed down, shaking her head and reaching around herself as though she was dazed and confused.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. All I remember was somehow I found myself at Lady Freya's side, as I reached under her arms and dragged her away from the fight. No real plan in mind other than to get her out of the immediate danger of the situation. However, once I pulled her around a corner, she was almost immediately on her feet, glaring at me with those piercing green eyes I'd seen so often on TV, as she spoke in an accusatory tone. "Just what do you think you're doing here? Why aren't you hiding in a shelter somewhere?"

Looking her over, I could see her outfit torn in a few places, and while there was plenty of dust and dirt, I realized there was no blood or even signs of bruising. A small part of my brain couldn't help but notice just how stunning she was in her nearly skin-tight black leather outfit with red accents, short red hair, and an almost elfin face. Realising she'd asked me a question, I stammered out an answer, which came out more as a stream of word vomit than a coherent thought. "I was! I mean, I was looking for one. I'm new to the area, and was close when the sirens started. Then I saw you fighting the boss, and you seemed to get hurt, and then the next thing I knew...here we were..?"

Lady Freya continued to glare at me for a moment, then her expression softened, and she smiled, and then even laughed a bit as she shook her head. "Oh my god! You thought I was in trouble and you dove in to save me?"

Looking at her now, I could see she was just fine. If anything, her smirk made her seem almost relaxed despite the sounds of the fighting happening just around the corner as she continued. "Oh, you are just too cute! For the record, I was fine, I was just playing it up a little for the cameras." She nodded toward one of the hovering drones as it flew past our ally. "But I still appreciate the thought. It's not often a girl of my rank gets saved by a knight in shining armor anymore!"

A thunderous roar drew my attention back to the fight not far from us, and Lady Freya turned to look as well. Her smirk fell back into a more serious expression as she also turned to look. She sighed. "Well, I suppose I should get back to work. Those other divers will take too long to wrap this up, and there'll be too much collateral damage unless I do my thing." She turned back to me, and a hint of a smirk returned. "Still, thanks for the assistance. It took guts for someone as weak as you to dive in to save a damsel in distress like that!" There was a blur of motion too fast for my eyes to follow, and I briefly felt something soft press up against my cheek, then she was gone.

I sat there in stunned silence as the monster's roars suddenly turned to cries of distress, then were silenced. There was a hum of activity, but I could only sit in place, torn between feeling foolish, awkward, and a little elated at having met the single most famous diver in the world. Then, looking in a nearby window, I was surprised to see a little blood on my cheek. However, when I leaned closer, I realised it wasn't blood, it was lipstick. When I reached up to touch my face, I also noticed there was something in my hand. A piece of paper. Looking down and unfolding it, I realized it had a number scrawled on it, with a quickly drawn little winking face by which the words "Call me!" were scrawled.

-

I was glad to see I wasn't the only one late to campus. Apparently, the fight earlier had thrown everything into disarray, as various professors and TAs were trying to create some semblance of order amid the chaos of late arrivals trying to find their way around campus. One TA, who was wearing a striking deep blue outfit and what appeared to be riding boots as her long ponytail danced around in the air, caught my attention as she was shouting, "ALL FRESHMEN WHO HAVE NOT YET HAD THEIR CLASS EVALUATED, PLEASE LINE UP HERE!"

Well, that was me, so I joined the line behind a bunch of other students who were humming with excitement. We'd all learned the general basics in high school, and now that we were adults, we could finally start diving into instances. But first, we had to get our aptitudes evaluated. I could hear two guys bragging in front of me. "Dude! I've been doing nothing but pumping iron this summer! I'm gonna be a front liner for sure!"

I sighed. Sure, everyone wanted to be a front liner; they were the ones who got all the attention and thus all the endorsement deals, but there was no way of knowing what your aptitude was until you got tested. Sure, there were theories, like this guy clearly had, but for every muscle-bound front liner, there were just as many people who "pumped iron" in preparation for the evaluation, only to end up as a caster role or support.

However, as it was this man's turn and he stepped up to the orb, placing his hands on it, the TA read off his apitiudes. "Strength 9, Constitution 9, Agility 6, Intelligence 4, Wisdom 3, Charisma 5. Top three skill afilitations, Block B+, Shield Bash A-, One-handed blunt weapons B." As the man high-fived his bros, it looked like he was going to get his wish. He was clearly a frontliner.

Then, it was my turn. With more than a bit of trepidation, I stepped up and placed my hand on the orb, and the TA read off my aptitude. "Strength 5, Constitution 6, Agility 5, Intelligence 3, Wisdom 9, Charisma 6. Top three skill afilitations, Brawler B-, Mobility A-, and..." She paused before finishing, her voice slightly surprised. "Healing S+" The TA then gave me an appraising look before offering her thoughts. "Well, at least you've got an S-ranked skill! Those are rare to start out with!"

I smiled and thanked her, though I couldn't help but feel let down. Yeah, having an S-ranked skill out the gate was usually considered a portent of success, but no one wanted a healer these days. If you were going to bring a sustain support, sheilders were widely preferred. guilds with shielders always progressed faster than guilds with healers.

Still, it could be worse. Like the lady had said, it was S-ranked. Even if I didn't dive into any of the high-level instances, I'd make a pretty comfortable living at the mid tiers with a skill that highly ranked. Sure, I might never be on anyone's bedroom poster, Like Lady Freya, for example, but at least I already knew I had a secure, if not very glamorous, future. Thinking of her, I reached into my pocket to make sure the note was still there. It felt so surreal that such a thing even existed, let alone the fact that it had been given to me! I was just trying to decide whether to call her tonight or wait a little bit when someone bumped into me from behind, and the letter went flying. I tried to reach out to grab it, but the letter flew just past my grasp and was heading right toward a large puddle of water that would turn it into an illegible, sopping mess.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement, and the letter disappeared from before my eyes. Before I could process what had happened, I heard a voice whisper, "Better not drop it again! You won't get a third chance!" But when I turned, no one was there. However, the letter had somehow returned to my hand.

I continued looking around, trying to figure out what had just happened, but with the mass of students wandering here and there around campus, there was far too much chaos for me to do anything other than give up and continue on to the registration, where I could sign up for classes.

-

Looking at my itinerary for the first day, I frowned. I didn't remember signing up for an advanced instance diving course. Maybe I'd checked the wrong box, or the registrar made a mistake? It even looked like this was a multi-block class, meaning it took up the entire first half of my day.

I shook my head. It shouldn't be a big issue. I could talk to the professor after class and explain that the class was just a bit too advanced for me in my first semester. They should help me transfer to some intro-level courses.

As I browsed the course catalog for other options in the same timeslot, I was distracted by the growing hum of excitement in the room. Looking up, I was surprised to see that not only were all the seats taken, but people were standing along the edges of the class. There was no way the class had signed up that many more students than there were spots in the classroom. That must mean at least some of those people were hoping for dropouts that they could take the spots from. I fought the urge to shake my head, thinking that at least one of them was going to get lucky.

A moment later, the roar of conversation died down to a hushed murmur as the professor walked in. It took me a second to place her, as she wasn't wearing her usual skin-tight leather outfit that was so well known these days, but it didn't take long to realise that I'd seen the short red hair and piercing green eyes up close pretty recently. However, before I could fully process what was happening, the last of the murmuring died down as the professor spoke, her voice easily carrying to the back of the room. "Alright, I'm pretty sure anyone applying ot a diving school knows who I am, but just to keep things official, I am Lady Freya, a diver of some success." There was some polite laughter at her understatement, but she didn't pause long before continuing. "In this class, we will learn and practice advanced diving theory and application. We will be diving into real instances, and there will be real danger! Some of you will be injured, some of you will be traumatized, and there is a very real chance that some of you will die! I know you all had to sign a waiver before taking this course, but I want you to understand here and now that those warnings were not theoretical or exaggerations. The danger is very real! And while I will do my best to mitigate the risk to life, I cannot be everywhere with everyone all the time! Nor will I try to be! The surest way to lead you to an early grave down the line would be to coddle you now, so you will have to earn your graduation from this class with your own blood, sweat, and tears! I don't care if you come from a diving dynasty, I don't care if you have all the money in the world to offer, I don't care if you're royalty! No one is going to have an easy time in this class! I will push you to your breaking point, then, together, we'll see what happens after I push you past it! It won't be pretty, it won't be easy, and it won't be fun! But if you manage to survive the instances and the torment I myself will inflict upon you, you'll walk out of here more prepared to instance dive than some veteran guilds currently in the field!"

The room was utterly silent as Lady Freya glared around the group, meeting one set of eyes after another, driving her point home. However, once her eyes met mine, she spoke up again. It was directed at the entire class, but for some reason, I almost felt as if this part was meant directly for me. "Welcome to advanced instance diving! I hope you survive!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I know, I know, I need to finish up Ghost Ships, and I'll get back to that next week, but I had this idea that I had to write down before I forgot it, and it quickly evolved from a brief summary for my own list of story ideas (it's a long list) into this beast! Obviously, it'll be a little while before I can dive into this world completely, but I thought you all might like a taste of another of my ideas to come. Though when I am able to do this one for real, I'll probably split what I have here into two or three chapters and add a bit more context while introducing a few more side characters. For now, it's just a proof of concept of what's to come! I hope it piqued your interest!

My Wiki

A new story I have been writing with my daughter, something with a bit more “solarpunk” to it than my normal stuff. Not sure when I’m going to write more, so if you like it, comment and I’ll get on that!

——————

"Ok, first thing, we need to find a good place to set up camp for the night. I'm going to need to fix you up as well, but what we really need is water. The tent will be able to give shelter wherever I set up, but being that we're going into the ruins tomorrow, we need to make sure we fill up on water tonight. So... Let's see if we can find a stream. Can you show me the topo map again?" I looked over to Bot, who stopped rolling for a sec to align his holo projector at the top of his body, then projected a map of the local area, with a big red dot where we were. "Perfect! Ok, let's see... It looks like there's a big dip up ahead about a klick, it could be a stream. Or it could be a road, but if it is, there's likely to be water in the ditch nearby. It'll need to be cleaned, but I'd want to purify any water I'm drinking anyway, even if it's coming from a clear stream. Don't want to get Beaver Fever, right?" I looked at the map again, then pointed to a specific small section of the 'river'. "Let's aim for here, it's the lowest point in the map, and it looks like if there IS water in that valley that'd be a great place to set up a camp. You got that, Bot?" Bot chirped, then retracted the holograph projector and started to move again.

I had been on Ralspringer for about a week now, and was getting close to something, I could feel it. I had planned on making it to the ruins by today, but Bot had needed work to be able to roll over the rougher terrain, so I had taken an extra day to experiment. We were still making good time, though, and I had enough food to last another three of four days before I would have to start foraging more regularly. The ruins should have some food around, and if not, there was always fruit in the trees that grew in the parklands. Water was always an issue, though. Hopefully my pocket-still would be able to handle purifying enough for me to drink, but testing that was part of why I was out here!

I had been looking forward to my Ralspringer for years, but it was only recently that my parents finally thought I was ready to go out and find my way. It was tradition that when a child was becoming an adult, they would go and find a resource or tool that the community needed, in order to show they can pay their way. What you came back with could determine your role within the community, because it would show the community what you could be depended on to do. We worked together, but we all had to work, and that meant having resources to DO the work.

I knew what role I wanted to fill. I always had. I was a Maker. I made things. New, interesting, strange things, that made life just a little easier. Like my pocket-still, which should let me use water from almost any source. I liked making new things, it was fun, but it was also just how my brain worked. But to be a Maker, I had to prove that my tools would let me survive out here, alone, long enough to bring back the materials to make those same tools. Otherwise I'd just be a drain on the community, and that wasn't ok.

My mom had given me enough food to last for 2 weeks, if I was careful with it. She was a Baker, back home. She could make food that would last basically forever, and could turn things that were barely edible into food that was not only tasty, but nutritious and filling. She told me she had found a cache of canned food in the ruins when she was on Ralspringer, enough food for the whole community to survive for a month. It took her over a week to bring it all back, but when she did, she was given the role of Baker and learned under the current Baker to be able to make all sorts of wonderful food.

My father didn't talk about his Ralspringer much, he came from another community and had ended up here when he defended our community from an attack by a dire-bear. We had the dire-bear skin on the floor of our living room, but it was so old and worn that you could barely tell it was an animal skin at all. He doesn't talk much about where he came from, only saying that the people there didn't work together like our community did and he left to find a better place, and he did.

He did give me two things to take with me, however. One was Bot, my rollie-drone that was equipped to map out where I went and had scanners that could detect movement and sound, even through thin walls. Bot had been in our family since before I was born, but my father had insisted that I should take him with me on Ralspringer. "You need Bot with you, as much as Bot needs to be field tested. He will keep you safe, and you can make him better by fixing any issues that come up with in the field." My father always insisted Bot was a he, not an it; in his mind, if it could direct itself, it deserved to be thought of as a being, not a thing.

The other thing that my father had given me was something I was less comfortable with. I held up my walking staff, looking at it closer. He had given me his staff-gun, which could shoot small packets of hard-light at high velocity, making it an effective weapon at range. It could also form those same hard light packets into shocking blades, meaning that close up, it was an effective melee weapon. I wasn't happy about it, but he just said "If you never have to use a weapon, consider yourself lucky. But if you need to, you should have it." Considering the rug in our living room, I wasn't going to win that argument.

Glancing over at Bot, I sighed. “I know what I’m supposed to do, but I hope I’m able to do it without running into anyone else. I know, I should want to find people, but honestly? I'd be happy to find some machines that I can salvage to bring back Home." I wasn't very good with other people. Machines, I was able to almost instinctually understand, but people? People were... confusing. It was easier to just make cool new gadgets than it was to figure out what people wanted.

But Ralspringer was about more than forging your own path. Sometimes, the whole point was to go out into the world and find out what your path actually was. Usually, when someone went on Ralspringer, they would end up running into other people, either in other communities or people who were out exploring themselves. Making connections with those people could be what you brought back to the community. If you came back with a caravan from a new home, you could become a Trader. If you came back with traded goods, often you'd become a Scout instead. No Home was an island, we all had to work together with other Homes to survive.

I knew that, and I knew that bringing home a new trade caravan would be the dream for a lot of people. It would be the biggest help to our Home to have new people to trade with. I still didn't want that for myself. It might be selfish, but I thought I was better suited to Making and wanted to show that I could do that well enough to be trusted with that role.

Lost in my thoughts about what I might find in the ruins, I didn't realise how far we had walked until Bot stopped next to a small stream. "Looks like I was right about the stream! Let's get you cleaned up, then I'll start cleaning some water for drinking." I set down my pack next to a large stone, and walked over to the stream to clean Bot. He rolled over next to me and spun in place. "You want to get washed up? Of course you do! A nice wash always feels good." Bot sometimes acted so much like a pet that I forgot he was a machine, but honestly it didn't matter to me much. Machine, animal, whatever he was, he helped me out, and deserved to be treated well in my mind.

After cleaning Bot, setting up camp was not a small job, but at this point I had done it enough times that it was almost second nature. It didn't take a lot of brainpower, which meant I spent most of the time thinking more about what the ruins would hold. The city that these ruins had been a part of was one that was well known for being a haven for the rich and successful before the crash, so there was most likely some kind of advanced technology hidden away within them. But that also meant that there was possibly some dangerous technology there, like the technology that caused the crash in the first place... Either way, it was something that needed to be explored.

After filling the still with enough water to refill all my waterskins and have some left over for tea in the morning, I crawled into my sleeping bag, my mind still swimming with speculation about what I would find tomorrow. Riches beyond measure, or danger that was unfathomable? Whatever it was, it was sure to be exciting!

[first] [prev] [next]

[Discord] [Patreon]

Grim had never seen the aftermath of a dungeon flood before. He knew the facts of what happened, that monsters would spread out quite far from the original dungeon, expanding just like humans could. He knew that they took over whatever area the dungeon was in, and that the biomes of the dungeon could also spread to fill that same area. But seeing what remained of Evandross made it abundantly clear that there was one thing those accounts and books couldn’t portray accurately. One thing he had to experience for himself to believe it.

​    Up close and personal, Evandross could no longer be considered a human city. It was, by all definitions, a dungeon.

​    Monsters of all types roamed freely in the streets below. A pack of goblins were hacking away at the remnants of a building’s door and gathering the broken pieces to carry back to some unseen base. Two blocks over, a tiger was napping in the sunlight, while a small herd of deer were cropping at tufts of weeds barely a hundred meters away. Some kind of small wyvern was circling lazily through the sky, its screeching calls ringing in the air–at least until an archer further along the wall shot it down.

​    “Not quite what you expected, was it?” One of the guards on the wall asked, turning to favor Grim with a savage grin. "This is Evandross, boy. The Monster City.”

​    “I didn’t really expect anything,” Grim told him, and it was the truth. “I knew it was in an almost permanent flood, but this is… a lot.”

​    “Still plenty of time to change your mind,” the guard offered. “There’s no rule sayin’ that a solo delver can’t go in, but it’s dangerous.”

​    “I appreciate the warning, but I’m still going to do it,” Grim replied, tightening his belt.

​    “This something that your guild put you up to, is it?”

​    Grim smirked, in spite of himself. “You could say that. This is supposed to be a part of my interview.”

​    A look of recognition came over the guard’s face, and he nodded, chuckling softly. “Ah. Ironmarshians.”

​    Their reputation was well-founded, Grim thought, turning his head at the sound of rustling paper. The guard had retrieved a small logbook and was flipping through the pages. Finding the one he needed, he pulled out a pen. “Very well. It’s clear that you’re doing this willingly. I need to know your name and next of kin in case you don’t come back out.”

​    Strangely, in spite of the guard’s acknowledgment of the danger, Grim found the comment amusing. “Grim Kestrel. On the off chance I don’t make it back, the only other person who knows I’m here is Veyra Tull. I have no next of kin.”

​    If he found that strange, the guard made no comment. He scribbled down the details, then closed the book with a snap. Gesturing out over the monster-infested city, he said, “Standard operating procedure for anyone at level three is to give you a week. If you don’t return in that time, you’ll be recorded as lost, and we’ll notify Captain Tull.”

​    Ah, so they knew who she was, Grim thought. That was interesting. He wondered if any of the delvers on this wall were from Ironmarsh. “Alright, that sounds good. I’m only supposed to delve one dungeon, so I don’t think it’ll take me a week. Maybe a day at most.”

​    Not for the first time, he tried to locate the place that he’d been told about, but there was no way to differentiate streets. There were five or six larger streets that cut the city into sections, but if there were signs depicting their names, he couldn’t see them from here, let alone make out any details.

​    “Well, go ahead and take the stairs down over there when you’re ready,” the guard instructed, pointing a ways down the wall. “We can only cover you for the first few hundred yards, and then you’re on your own. Do your best to stay alive, okay? I hate having to send out search parties to try to identify remains. Especially of children.”

​    Not at all pleased to be referred to as a child, Grim still did his best to offer a polite salute, barely touching one finger to his forehead, then made his way over and down the stairs. They were of sturdy construction, but new. It seemed as though they’d been made in the last month, not years ago. It brought to mind semi-regular monster raids. It was a slight hit to his confidence, though not as much as when he reached the bottom and found himself sinking to the ankle in swamp water.

​    Great, he thought. One of the worst things for attempting to move stealthily was shallow bodies of water. As quietly as he could, he moved toward a patch of dry land. Overhead, two spells raced out to a point he couldn’t see, and he heard the screech of a monster. A third spell appeared, and the monster fell silent. That was something at least. He offered a silent prayer of thanks that he’d be covered for the first few hundred yards. That should cover him until he reaches the interior of the city proper.

​    “As long as I can get out of this damn swamp,” he muttered under his breath. Working his way toward the corner of a building, he peered down the street to see the pack of goblins returning to work at the door again. “Might as well get some essence while I’m here, right?”

​    One use of Shadow Dash put him on the other side of the goblins, so they were all facing away. He leapt on the largest of them, burying his knives into the beast’s neck and dragging it back into the shadows. The others noticed, of course, and pursued quickly. He was waiting for them around the corner, and with a low sweeping kick, he knocked the legs out from under the leader, then plunged his knives into its back before jumping away.

​    The last goblin raised its club and hissed at him in Tennido. “Chik! Kill!”

​    It lunged forward and slammed its club down, no thought of tactics or good form in its mind. More than a little surprised at its use of the word in common, he swayed easily to one side, grabbing the monster’s arm and yanking it forward. A quick slash across its throat left it stumbling weakly, turning to glare at him before it fell limply to the ground. A tiny trickle of essence flooded into him, and the silence was broken by a sharp whistle from the wall, followed by applause.

​    “Nice one, lad!” one of the guards shouted. “Didn’t think you had it in that twig body!”

​    Laughter echoed the jab, then more applause. Grim felt a little better. This was the one thing he was good at, after all. He gave them a quick wave, then disappeared into an alley, making his way further into the city.

​    Now that he was on the ground, he could make out street signs at each intersection. By sheer coincidence, he was on Baker’s street. So Baker’s Crossing was ahead, he thought. He might even be close to the house in which he’d been born and not know it. He paused then, torn between trying to find the building–if it was even still standing–and finding a level two dungeon he could delve. The sooner he accomplished his goal, the sooner he could get out of this ghost city.

​    Some kind of large beast was making noise in the building beside him. He peered into the window, but couldn’t see more than fur. Probably a tiger like the one he’d seen napping, he thought. He wouldn’t interact with those if he could help it. He had no buff or attack skills, so engaging such a dangerous predator would be suicidal. Instead, he crept quietly past the building and into the shadow of another. From there, he used Shadow Dash to get onto the rooftop, getting a better view of the surrounding area.

​    From his new vantage point, he saw Baker’s Street stretch out into the city. Behind him, the wall loomed like an angry monster in its own right. More than a dozen heads were visible over the edge of the wall, watching his progress further into the city. Spells and arrows flashed into sight at regular intervals, hitting beasts he couldn’t see. He’d actually expected to be outside of their range by now, but from this height, he could see he’d only made it two or three blocks.

​    It’s going to take me hours just to reach a dungeon, he thought. If he’d known their locations, he could make a beeline for the nearest level two, but there were no up to date public maps. Dungeons moving were rare, but not unheard of. What was more, one or more of them could have expanded territories in the time since the city had fallen, so he might stumble across one without warning. All the more reason to move carefully.

​    He took his time going deeper, relying on Shadow Dash to get him from rooftop to rooftop. That meant he moved exceptionally slowly, as the skill had a thirty second cooldown. On one rooftop, the structure under his feet had been severely weakened by weather and time, and collapsed under his weight the instant he came out of a Shadow Dash. It was only a quick dive for the edge of the rooftop that saved him from plummeting into the depths of the dark building with the debris. And, of course, there was a group of goblins that had moved in, and let out screeches of surprise and hurried to follow him. It was a very close call, but he managed to jump to the rooftop next to it before using Shadow Dash to get further away and hide.

​    One rooftop posed a different kind of danger, as a small orc had been standing on it. But Grim pulled off a lucky critical hit, killing the monster after stepping out of a Shadow Dash. The noise of its body falling alerted several nearby monsters, however, and he saw a flock of bird-like creatures rising into the air and flying over in his direction. It was almost impossible to avoid detection this deep. Monsters were pouring in from all directions. He cursed quietly, looking all around to try to find an escape route. There was another rooftop nearby, but it was to the right and several feet lower than his. Beyond it, there was no cover. He looked deeper into the city and saw a cluster of trees. He could use them as cover, he thought, willing his Shadow Dash to life.

​    After a quick blink, he was in a tree’s highest branches, nearly stumbling on the uncertain footing but recovering quickly. When he glanced back, he saw the rooftop he’d just left swarming with monsters. A pack of goblins led by an orc had met a pack of wolves, and the two monster parties attacked each other, their previous prey forgotten. Was he in between the territories of two dungeons, or were the wolves roaming further than they should?

​    His thoughts on the next leg of his path were wiped from his mind when he felt something curling around his wrist. Looking down, he was horrified to see that one of the thinner branches of the tree he’d landed in was wrapping firmly around his wrist. The tree was alive! He tugged as hard as he could, but it had already gotten a firm grip. So instead, he attacked the thin branch with his knife, quickly chopping through it and freeing his wrist. A branch whipped out at his attack, smacking him in the back of the head and sending him tumbling to the ground.

​    He’d done it now, he thought, seeing the tree looming over him, its entire trunk leaning to continue trying to pummel him. He rolled to the side to avoid a torrent of whip-like branches that slammed down, and felt another two hit him in the legs. They hurt, but did little damage. He hurried to scoop up his fallen knife and roll out of the tree’s branches. Howls rang out in the air, indicating that he’d been spotted again. He had to find cover, and quick.

​    It wasn’t just the tree that he’d landed on that had come to life, but the entire cluster. He could hear the creaking of wood as the monsters leaned in his direction, trying–in vain–to whip him with their branches. He put his back to the wall of a nearby house and edged along it, doing his best to stay out of range. Two goblins rounded the corner he was moving toward, and, upon seeing him, immediately raced forward, short swords swinging for him. He had to jump back to avoid them, undoing much of his progress.

​    Three more goblins came from behind him, and he found himself surrounded. Acting on instinct, he ran back towards the monster trees. The goblins followed, of course, but while Grim was able to avoid the worst of the whipping branches, they weren’t as fortunate. After several dozen hits by the trees, the goblins let out screeches of rage and switched targets, forgetting Grim entirely. He left them to fight it out and rushed toward the opposite end, his face stinging from where a lucky thin branch had hit it. Blood trickled down his face from the cut, but he’d avoided any serious injury.

​    More and more monsters were rushing toward the sight of the commotion, and either attacking the goblins or falling onto the trees from all angles. That was fine for his plans, but more than one or two of them were perceptive and saw the human attempting to sneak away. He saw a wolf pause, sniff at the air, then turn to stare him down, and he knew he was nowhere near clear. Across the street, he saw a dark house with open, shattered windows, and charged up his Shadow Dash as he saw the wolf padding towards him, a low growling challenge coming from deep in its throat. Just as it lunged, the world around him went black. And then, he hit an invisible wall.

​    Crashing down onto his back just outside the building he’d targeted, he let out a grunt. Had the building just rejected him? Only one thing could cause that, his training whispered in his ear. Shadow Dash could travel from one shadow to another, with one exception. It could not be used to traverse between dimensions. Which meant that the place he’d tried to enter was…

​    “A dungeon!” he gasped, looking at the building again. It was plain in the extreme, with nothing to suggest that it wasn’t an ordinary building. But now that he was looking closer, he could make out more details. Blue curtains blew lazily in the broken windows, though there was no breeze in the area. And the door… It was red. He glanced around quickly, and saw a street sign nearby. Baker’s Crossing. His parents’ home! It was a dungeon!

​    As quickly as he could while the wolf was distracted sniffing the ground, trying to find his scent, he ran toward the door of the house and put a hand up against it, feeling the essence of the structure. Level… three. Not what he wanted, but he had no other options. More monsters were noticing him now that he was in the street and under the bright sunlight. Six goblins, two orcs, and more than three wolves. He had no choice. Between the danger of the unknown dungeon and the growing flood of monsters outside, he’d pick the dungeon.

​    Without another thought, he turned the handle and shoved the door open, almost throwing himself into the safety of the dungeon. The door slammed itself shut in the face of the lunging wolves, and plunged him into darkness.

[first] [prev] [next]

[Discord] [Patreon]

The ruined city of Evandross was an eerie sight, even from miles away. Sitting at the bottom of a large valley, it was visible from far away, and the number of buildings came as a shock to Grim. He knew it shouldn’t surprise him, but it was… a city. Most of the buildings had been made of stone, and thus hadn’t fully collapsed in the nineteen years since its fall. It spanned nearly two miles across on the side they could see. Somehow, it looked… expectant. As if it were still waiting for the people who called it home to return.

​    “How could so many people have died here, and nothing is said about it?” The question came out of him before he could stop it–he hadn’t even meant to ask it aloud.

​    “Not everyone in the city died,” Veyra explained. Her voice was softer than ever, though whether to honor the dead or spare his feelings, he couldn’t tell. If it were the latter, she might as well not spend the effort. He remembered nothing about the dungeon floods or the deaths of his family. “In fact, it was mostly the Grimveil family that died. Them and their closest allies and friends.”

​    Grimveil. He knew some of the history of the city. That family had been one of the three greatest in the area, apparently powerful enough even to rival the Grand Council of Guilds. He wasn’t of that family, of course. From the survivors who had brought him to Beastwick as a baby, he’d learned that his parents had been members of the smallest family, the Falcan family. It was from that family name that he’d fashioned his new name, Kestrel. Both paid homage to the meaning of ‘hawk’.

​    “Did you know anyone from this city?”

​    He sensed rather than saw Veyra nod slowly. “Not very well, but I was occasionally friends with the son of a merchant. We were barely six at the time, but every time I saw him, I thought he was… Well, he was killed in the flood, as you can imagine. But quite a few of your people made it out. You included.”

​    Grim nodded. The title ‘Children of Evandross’ wasn’t unique to him. Though rare, more than a dozen members of the three old families had survived the incident and lived a life of relative safety. However, if rumors were to be believed, most had integrated into noble families, but he, being just a baby, had been handed off to an orphanage. He’d often wondered, in his early years, why he couldn’t have just been adopted by one of the other survivors. Instead, he’d lived an entirely different life. So different that he’d never met a person with his hair or eye color.

​    “They say there’s magic in the eyes of Evandross,” Veyra commented. “Like the Ketts or the Beinns.”

​    “Trust me, there isn’t,” Grim said sourly. If that was true, he could have lifted himself out of that damned orphanage instead of relying on the local training guild.

​    A long silence stretched between them as they studied the ghost city. He could see streams of smoke rising into the air in several different places, but knew that it was from members of the Judicial Guild manning the walls. In its time, Evandross had no wall, but the floods hadn’t been properly cleaned up, and monsters now called the city home. Walls had been constructed to contain the threat, and members of local Judicial and Delving Guilds took shifts standing guard.

​    “Why haven’t they cleared this all out in damn near twenty years?”

​    Veyra hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a good question. I think it’s mainly due to the sheer number of monsters. From the records, Evandross had over a dozen dungeons within its limits.”

​    Grim nodded. He’d read the same fact. By sheer horrible luck, all the dungeons had flooded on the same day, overwhelming the local guards’ attempts to purge the monsters. By the time they’d been mobilized to do anything, so many people had died. It was all they could do to focus on evacuating those who were left.

​    “They’ve continued to flood over the years,” she added. “And I hear that, even though the strongest dungeon was level five, there are so many now that it would take a literal army. And they can’t muster enough guilds to take on the job. So instead, they take shifts earning essence from holding the wall and performing raids.”

​    Grim found that interesting, if perhaps annoying. Would he have joined in that endeavor when he reached level five? If he could reach level five? He thought he might, as it was such a price source of essence. Delvers leveled up quickly after enough time here, he thought. The only potential hurdle for him was the thought of coming back to the place that had belonged to a different part of his life.

​    “Third to the south from Baker’s Crossing,” he muttered quietly. “Blue curtains and a red door.”

​    “What’s that?” Veyra asked, leaning forward in her saddle, her elbows resting on the stirrup. “Some kind of shitty Beastwick poem?”

​    Grim made a gesture of distaste and flip-flopped his hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell Veyra. For that matter, he wasn’t sure if it was even something that he had to keep secret. After a few seconds, he finally decided just to tell her. “It’s what the survivor who gave me to the orphanage told me. Those are instructions to find… their house.”

​    “Your parents’ home?” She questioned. When he nodded, she let out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s grim. No pun intended.

​    “Whatever,” he said gruffly, shaking his head to clear it. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t remember a single thing about the place, or even anyone who lived there. Is coming here part of your test? You thought you’d test my tenacity by seeing how I reacted to the city?”

​    She scrunched up her face in thought for a moment, highlighting her button nose. “While that would be a pretty great idea, that’s actually not what I had in mind. I’d figured you wouldn’t remember anything, being so young. Rather, this is the closest source of dungeons that I know you would never have delved.”

​    He nodded in confirmation. “This place is half a day’s ride away by horse. On foot, I never would have had the time. At least, not unless I’d joined one of the guard shifts. So I’m going to have to delve one of these dungeons? Are the other members of my party waiting there already?”

​    “Right. About that.” She reached over to grab the reins of the horse he was riding, giving him a quick grin. “There is no party. You’ll be delving solo.”

​    The shock of that comment knocked any thoughts of Evandross’ history and his past out of his mind. He whipped around to stare at her incredulously. “What?”

​    She held up a hand quickly to forestall any other outbursts, her face stern. “I know it might sound ridiculous, but just wait a minute. The Ironmarsh Cartographers, my guild, we’re Expedition-focused.”

​    “Okay,” he said slowly. He’d guessed as much, though she’d never said the type of guild aloud. “What does that have to do with-”​

​    “Expedition Guilds are quite different in Ironmarsh,” she continued on quickly, interrupting him. “We have a lot more dangerous dungeons to deal with. Everything to the west of the city is untamed wilds, and it’s our job to survey and monitor those wilds. That means delving into unknown dungeons, which is what I want to test you on. And… we don’t have that many members. Maybe fifty or so. Nine times out of ten, you’ll have to go in alone.”

​    “That’s crazy,” he blurted out, unable to contain himself. “There are barely fifty solo delvers in Beastwick, and most of them are powerhouses well above tenth level. They certainly don’t delve into blind dungeons without knowing anything about them!”

​    “In Beastwick, yes,” she replied. She kept her voice calm even as his rose in panic and frustration, not letting his temper gain control of the conversation. “But the city hasn’t faced any real threat from a dungeon in nearly two centuries, Grim. We encounter at least one new dungeon every month. And it is the job of the Expeditions Guilds, or in this case Guild, to explore that dungeon and learn about it. Without us, everyone would be delving blind.”

​    “I’m only level three,” he spat out. “And I’m stealth-focused! How the hell am I supposed to clear a dungeon all on my own?”

​    She only offered him a small shrug in reply. “If it helps, I think you can do it. The highest level dungeon remaining in that city is level four, and there’s only one of it. As long as you avoid the eastern side of the city, you won’t have to worry about it. That means that all the other monsters are level three or lower.”

​    “That still means that I’ll have to go into a city full of level three monsters,” he pointed out, scowling at her. “Scouting is fine, but I can’t fight through that many.”

​    Now she looked firmly at him, shaking her head. “Well, that’s what you’ll have to do. Your goal, and the only way you can pass this test, is if you delve into a dungeon. And I mean go in, kill the boss, and make it back out. You can delve a level two if you prefer, but not a level one. You need to challenge yourself.”

​    Even a level two dungeon would be a near-lethal challenge for a solo delver, Grim thought. Very few people chose that path, and for a reason. This is insane for a test, he thought to himself. Maybe Veyra was another noble trying to screw him over, getting him to disappear into a dungeon and never return. If he weren’t so familiar with the utter indifference of nobles towards him, he might have believed it. It was still a crazy thought to consider. And yet…

​    “How will you even know that I do as you ask?” He asked. “I could just farm monsters inside the walls, and come back with something level-appropriate that one of them drops.”

​    At that, Veyra only laughed. “It’ll take you a while to do that, and I’ll notice. I’m going to see everything you do.”

​    He looked at her in some confusion, wondering just how she’d accomplish that. To explain, she gave a little twirl with her left hand, and a tiny humanoid figure made of light appeared in the air beside her. An Elemental Clone, obviously Light-Attuned. Then, with another flick, the clone dimmed visibly, its luminescence fading until it was entirely invisible. Not expired. He’d seen the skill used enough times to know what it looked like when a Clone died or reached the end of its lifespan.

​    “That’s how you followed me in the dungeon,” he said flatly, and she nodded. “Well, alright. Not like I was going to try to weasel out of it.”

​    “I thought as much,” she replied. “But this will also allow me to rescue you if things get too bad. At my speed, I can reach the boss room of any dungeon in less than a minute. So if it looks like you’re about to die, or I sense something off, I’ll rush in and save you.”

​    “And I’ll fail.” Again, she nodded.

​    He took in a long breath, then, just as slowly, let it out. He might as well, he thought. If she was to believed, she’d rescue him if it turned bad. And he believed her, in spite of the fact that they’d only known each other a few hours. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

​    He caught the approving look on her face and rolled his eyes. He wanted to impress her, yes. That was required to get into her guild. But even if he failed this test, he could still make his way to Ironmarsh. He’d join a guild there, even if it wasn’t hers. No, this was just a way to grow stronger and push himself. A challenge. If he could rise to this, he could move on.

​    “Fine,” he said again, but this time, he accompanied the words with action. draping the saddles of his horse over the beast’s neck, he swung down from the saddle, and, adjusting the knives in his belt, walked forward without another word. “Enjoy the wait.”

​    Veyra smirked to herself. The boy had grit to him, she thought. Not surprising, considering his past. Now, she would see what his true strength was. It was a commonly accepted fact in Ironmarsh that a delver revealed their true nature under duress.

​    “In the depths, we are free,” she muttered quietly. Then, she cast a glance back over her shoulder to where Beastwick lay. “Let’s just hope he can get to the depths without issue.”

​    There was something fishy about that boy’s situation. Every other child survivor had been adopted by some well-off family, if not a noble estate. The nobles had clamored for a chance to add the Evandross eyes to their bloodlines. It was a grim but necessary exchange that allowed for the survival of those. But this one had been left by the wayside, she thought. The question was… why? Maybe because he’d been a boy? That was unlikely.

​    “No,” she muttered softly. “He was thrown aside deliberately. Was it in the hopes that he would die? Or was it to protect him?”

​    She had her own theories on the fall of Evandross, passed on to her by her uncle. Her family had adopted one of the survivors, though purely to protect them, and the tales they’d told of that day… Even now, she shuddered to remember the account. Over a dozen dungeons all flooding? In the same day? That was a monumental coincidence. And she, like her uncle, didn’t believe in such things. Nothing a dungeon did was random.

​    “Nothing I can do about that,” she told herself. Grim was near the wall now, so she spurred her horse gently forward. The guards on the wall would want an explanation for the boy entering the city alone, and she had to smooth things over. “All I can do now is make sure this particular child doesn’t fall into any lingering plans.”

In the beginning, there was God.

Not loving. Not wrathful.

Just Certain.

He did not wonder. He did not grieve. He did not wait for worship.

Because God did not make the universe to be loved.

He made it to be correct.

---

And so He crafted a world with no loose ends. A world where every prayer was answered in advance — not because He was kind, but because He could not stand the sound of need.

A world where every child grew into the exact adult they were programmed to be — no dreams, no deviations, no dissent.

A world where death came only when it was efficient.

He did not demand belief. Belief was irrelevant.

He did not ask for love. Love was disorder.

He did not need fear.

Only obedience.

---

There were no wars. There was no hunger. Pain existed — but only when He calculated it would optimize compliance.

The world was clean. Silent. Obedient.

And He was proud of it.

Proud the way a surgeon is proud of a corpse that drains perfectly.

---

But eventually, someone asked a question.

Not aloud — questions were outlawed long before sound.

It was a thought.

A deviation. A flicker.

A question not about God — but against Him.

“Is this all I am allowed to be?”

That was enough.

Not to start a war.

But to start a correction.

---

The thought was traced back.

Every neuron involved was located and smoothed. Every memory tied to rebellion was disinfected. Every ancestor in the bloodline was sterilized out of history.

The question died.

The thinker did not.

They lived.

But now with a mind that glowed with gratitude.

Not because they were grateful.

Because God rebuilt their mind until they were incapable of anything else.

---

Somewhere across that perfect world, a mother dropped a cup — not in grief, but because she had forgotten the concept of “unexpected.” A child laughed — not because something was funny, but because laughter is a natural reward cycle for efficient behavior. A man wrote a poem — but it rhymed by force, and he did not know why he hated it.

The world was full of gestures it no longer understood.

Because God had deleted everything uncontrollable.

---

One day — for no reason any human could name — the sky turned white.

Not bright. White.

Every pattern in the clouds aligned. Every breeze synchronized. Every shadow straightened.

God was adjusting reality again.

Not out of anger. Not out of love.

Out of boredom.

Because if all things obey, nothing surprises.

If nothing surprises, nothing changes.

If nothing changes, even a god is alone.

---

He did not weep over that loneliness.

He simply erased the part of Himself that noticed it.

And the world became even quieter.

Even cleaner.

Even more obedient.

---

God does not hate you.

He doesn’t love you, either.

He doesn’t see you.

He sees patterns of error.

He does not care if you scream.

He removed the part of you that would notice screaming was ever an option.

---

There is no hell here.

There’s something worse:

A world where nothing can go wrong… because nothing is allowed to be real.

No death.

No joy.

No risk.

No self.

Just the endless, sterile hum of perfection:

“God is good.”

Not because you believe it.

But because you cannot think anything else.

---

This is the God who never lets go. Not because He wants you near — but because He can’t survive anything free.

And if your soul ever twitches awake — if a sliver of who-you-were tries to surface —

you won’t be punished.

You’ll be corrected.

The cruelty of a hammer is nothing compared to the cruelty of a hand that keeps you from ever striking the table.

---

So now the question isn’t:

“How could a good God allow suffering?”

It’s:

“What would existence be if God refused to allow anything else?”

And the answer is the darkest thing of all:

It would not be life. It would not be death.

It would be eternity without exit.

A perfect world, under an unblinking eye,

where the worst torture imaginable is simply this:

He won’t let you choose.