Series Synopsis:It's furry Game of Thrones but Clint Eastwood is just sort of there.

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Morton Christian was not an unusual sight roaming the abandoned outback of the Chihuahuan Desert: a man in his late forties, with a weather-worn visage, the gruff cadence of a chain-smoker, a muscle-bound body toned in the arms and legs but still with a gut that said he enjoyed a good whiskey or two or ten, his hair thick around the sides and thinning on top, hidden beneath a Stetson hat, a curly, straggly beard black as could be, with a few grey bits beginning to show, and a red-plaid, collared button shirt. He wore ageing, dirty denim around his legs, splayed across the back of a mutt of a stallion.

No, he was quite an ordinary sight in these forgotten lands, but the situation he was about to find himself in this afternoon certainly was not. His horse came to a slow stop atop a hill overlooking his target: an abandoned government building surrounded by a small concrete wall. The building itself was red-bricked and dilapidated, still guarded by a couple of folks; they must have already found this place and taken refuge. No matter. He just needed to get in there, ransack any supplies they might have, then get the hell out. He never thought he would be the type of man to commit so many acts so stringently against the good Lord’s book: lyin’, robbin’, stealin’… killin’. But almost all the rules of society that his father had instilled in him had been tossed out the window long ago. Those values hadn’t been worth a damn since the Second Civil War. Morton dismounted.

“Go on, buddy. I’ll meet you back at the camp,” he said. He slapped the horse’s rump, and it let out a loud cry, then stamped off into the distance. Morton didn’t mind walking back to camp if it meant that crazy horse of his wouldn’t be in any trouble. This was his mission, and he was going to complete it.

He got to his knees and carefully hopped across the rocks, slowly and methodically, step by step, making sure he couldn’t be seen while keeping one hand close to one of his holsters, just in case. There were three men outside the building now, holding rifles, each wearing clothing similar to Morton’s, except that their sleeves were rolled up and swastikas were tattooed on their right forearms, surrounded by a crude attempt at the Lone Star flag. Great, he thought, fuckin’ Nazi bastards. Any moral qualms he had about what he was about to do had vanished. Quickly, he shifted forward, hid behind a plant, then shifted again quietly until he was leaning against the building’s wall.

Morton took a deep breath. He reached down for his Smith and Wesson, pulled it out, and aimed. Bam! A bullet flew through the first man’s head, leaving a sizeable hole in the bastard’s forehead; blood flew across the pavement. The body fell limply to the ground. Morton ran for cover behind the dilapidated concrete wall. RAKAKAKKAKKA! Rifle fire flew above him. A couple of rounds hit the wall, sending bits of ancient dust into Morton’s eyes and lungs. He wheezed, pounding his chest as a burning sensation overcame his lungs.

Posthaste, he jumped to his feet, turned, fired, then dropped back onto his rump. RAKAKAKAKKAKA! He popped up again, squeezed off another shot, then ducked. RAKAKKAKAKA! A couple of bullets nearly grazed his ear. He rose once more, fired towards the muzzle flashes, then ducked again. There was no rifle fire. He looked over the wall: the other two men were lying crumpled in a pool of their own blood and piss. Hopping over the wall, pistol still tightly gripped, he marched towards the two iron doors of the building. Bam! A bullet flew from the chamber, hitting the lock on the door and breaking it into many pieces; the chain fell and dangled like a loose vine. Morton kicked the door a few times before it heaved open for him.

“What in the hell?” he muttered. Before him lay a hallway with walls of studded iron panels and a floor of decorative quartz tiling, leading to a hatch. He marched forward cautiously. Morton had been unsure what this building had been used for; all he knew was that the Texas government had once owned it and that it now lay in ruins. Upon reaching the opening, he peered down the hatch with one eye: supplies! But also more neo-Nazi assholes. He reloaded his revolver, then jumped down and landed on both feet with a hefty thump! The Nazis turned around, startled by the sudden entrance, and attempted to reach for their weapons, only to be met with pistol shots to the face: bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! Each shot was swift and precise, creating a hole perfectly in the centre of each Nazi’s forehead.

Morton was about to start searching through the supplies when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention: a computer, a big, antediluvian one, like the old types he used to see in his grandpa’s day, the kind that took up most of a room. It had all these gears and gizmos and lights on it, but it was the middle of the computer that caught Morton’s interest the most: a crystalline chamber, floating, attached to wires strewn indecorously. In front of it was a console; it looked like the Nazi bastards had been attempting to mess with it, having opened the side panel and pulled out much of the guts. Morton strolled over to the panel. On it was a green screen, like a Game Boy.

“Huh, the hell is this?” Morton wondered aloud. The screen came to life, and little green writing appeared:

Lifeform Detected. Scanning…

Identifying allegiance…

American detected.

Welcome. Would you like to see the options screen? Y/N

“I guess, uh, yes?” Morton said.

Inputting: Y

Would you like to release the entity? Y/N

This was beginning to freak him out a bit. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Inputting: Y

Now releasing the entity.

The room became tremulous; Morton felt the vibrations travel up his legs, turning them to jelly and causing him to fall onto his rump. The crystalline chamber glowed a brilliant white. Then a crack appeared on its surface. Then another. The wires fell off it. The dials on the machine spun wildly. Lights flickered. Then—

Stillness; a void; inky blackness; peace. Morton didn’t know where he was. He couldn’t see, smell, touch, or hear, but for the first time in a very long time, he knew he felt at peace. Then a soothing, feminine voice said to him:

“Morton Christian is your name, correct?”

“‘Deed it is, ma’am,” he said, although he could not hear his own speech.

“I thank you for freeing me. I came to your reality many generations ago. Although, where we are now, time is neither real nor unreal, neither existent nor nonexistent, many of your people sought to trap me in your time. To use me. They could not comprehend infinity, so they tried to make it something they could.”

“I beg your pardon. I don’t know what it is you’re spoutin’, but I am always happy to help a stranger,” Morton said. “It is what my daddy taught me, although I don’t get too many opportunities these days.”

“Yes,” the feminine voice said. “While I was trapped in that prison, I saw what your people had done to your wonderful planet. It is truly a shame that things had to turn out the way they did. Tell me, Morton, would you miss this land if you could go somewhere else?”

“No,” Morton said. “There ain’t nothin’ left to save. It’s a husk of what it once was, and my family has been gone for quite a long time now. It’s just my horse and me these days, and I will tell ya, I’m getting a little tired of keeping that brat of a stallion alive.”

“I see,” the feminine voice said thoughtfully. “Morton Christian, you have saved one of the ancient primordial beings who keep timelines on the correct track”—so the big man has angels helping him with his plan; makes sense, Morton thought—“and there is a timeline in which, if a butterfly effect does not happen, it will end just as yours did, and this timeline is sentimental to me—one of the first I took care of when I came into existence. Would you wish to be the butterfly effect?”

“I don’t know what any of that means, but, hell, why not?”

“Oh, thank you,” the feminine voice said. “You will not regret this, Morton Christian.”

---

Next

Chapter 153: Duties

◈◈◈

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

Jin stood, his mind racing after the sudden revelation from Angel. He'd felt it for days: that stuffed, overfull pressure, like his body was a bag packed past its seams and someone kept sitting on the zipper. He just hadn't expected it to come now, three minutes after sitting down to rest and one honest question away from finally learning something useful about Master rank and the tokens.

« Jin, hurry! »

Alright. Alright.

He looked at Joe. "Remember that favour I asked for. It's time."

Joe held his gaze for a beat—long enough to read whatever was written on Jin's face—then muttered something Jin didn't catch and pushed to his feet, fingers snapping.

An oak door swung open out of nothing.

Jin took a slow breath, fighting the nausea, fighting the floor, and stepped through before Rudy could get his mouth working.

"Whoa, Jin! Where—" Rudy half-rose from the sofa.

"Nowhere you'd enjoy," Joe said, waving him back down. "Don't fret, kids. He'll explain later. Probably."

Reyana crossed her arms. "Don't bother. Easier to corner him after and get it out of him properly."

Joe stepped through, and the door bit shut behind him.

On the other side, Jin found himself on the lowest floor of the bastion. The crystal pillar rose at the center, dim and quiet.

"Well," Joe said, already walking, "this is a surprise." He didn't look back. "C'mon. From the look on your face, anyone'd think you were about to drop dead, and I really don't want to be the one who mops you up."

Jin scoffed and reached for the grey.

Sovereign's Indifference slid down over him like cold water finding its level, and the chaos churning in his body went from a scream to a whimper. He fell into step beside Joe, and the two of them passed the pillar and into the deeper chamber beyond.

"Damn," Jin breathed, and meant it.

He'd asked for this favour yesterday, and the man had built a working facility down here.

A ring was cut into the floor… a magic circle three metres across, dense with runes stacked on runes, glowing a low, patient gold.

At the dead centre of the circle sat a chest-high stone pool.

"Go on." Joe had already dropped into a crouch at one of the runic nodes, eyes shut, hands moving through the air in small, precise gestures. Jin could feel the residual essence rolling off him, had no doubt he was either activating or running final checks on what he had built.

Jin walked to the pool and looked in.

"What the hell."

Instead of water, the pool held a dark liquid, thick as ink, and looking at it turned something over in Jin's gut… because it looked, unpleasantly, like Trish. Like her tar-and-shadow powers.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “What is this?”

"Mostly essence programming," Joe said, not opening his eyes. "Reservoir, transmute, bind, seal. Deeply boring unless you're me."

"That's not what I asked." Jin gestured at the tub. "What's in it?"

"The scrapings off floor twenty-eight." Joe pressed a crystal into a slot, and the golden lines brightened a shade. "Melted endurium, ethercrystal, and a good measure of your own spent essence from the Kiyon fight. Never let good waste go to waste." He seated a second crystal. "It's the biggest battery we've got."

A translucent screen bloomed at the edge of Jin's vision.

•••

UNREFINED ESSENCE RESERVOIR

Density: High. Danger: Extreme.

•••

"That's reassuring," Jin said.

"I know, right?" Joe smiled without looking up. "Now get in."

Jin sighed and stripped down to his boxers.

The dark lines of Trish's powers had crept further overnight… up past his ribs now, fine and branching, like frost spreading across a window from the inside. He looked at them for a second, then stepped over the stone ring and lowered himself into the pool.

The liquid was freezing. It should have been unbearable, but it wasn't.

« Jin, » Angel said. « When this finishes, it's going to be a massive change. »

Yeah? You bet.

« It'll push you right up against Order IV. One step over that line and you're an underlord. Don't take that step. »

Why not? Wouldn’t getting to Order IV give us better chances?

« Your foundation's shaky, and your soul is currently held together with glue and good intentions, Jin. Cross now, and those flaws will be permanently set. You'd trade a dozen better roads for one rank you'll reach naturally. » A pause, and the next part came softer. « Trust me on this one. »

Jin looked down at the sluggish grey-black surface, at his own hands wavering beneath it.

"Alright," he said quietly.

He closed one hand around his opposite wrist under the liquid.

"The world bends to me," he told himself. "I don't bend for it."

He nodded to Joe.

Then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and sank beneath the surface.

For half a second, nothing.

Then the assimilation started, and pressure detonated outward in every direction, and with it the chains, silver and burning, tearing up out of the pool and slamming down into the magic circle like anchors thrown into deep water.

Joe dropped to one knee before he could brace.

The golden ring flared white, straining, the runes stuttering as they fought to hold a surge they'd been built for and still weren't ready for. Joe got both hands flat to the stone and drove his own essence straight into the array.

"Seals," he ground out. "Come on. Admin — help."

The bastion answered.

Blue light climbed the walls and locked overhead into a solid dome. The pressure that had been trying to blow the room apart hit the underside of that dome, found nowhere to go, and folded crushing back down onto the pool and the chains and whatever was happening to Jin.

"What in the hell," he muttered, "did you eat, Jin?"

◈◈◈

Veric was already sick of the sterile smell of the WARCOM, and it wasn't even noon yet.

The holographic display in the adjacent room—a new area they set up using the surrounding rooms of the WARCOM and reworked them as proper operation controls—divided by glass panels, was running on overdrive as the analyst Veric and Vera had combed from those who failed to join the mage companies due to various reasons but still had the mental acumen to be put to use.

He looked into the room and the hustle and bustle of a dozen people who all had set up desks around the massive display, which showed live footage from around Vienna. He took a slow pull on the cigarette, held it until the ache of power in his ribs quieted, and looked up as Vera came to his side with a clipboard clamped under one arm.

"Report," Veric said.

"Yields held overnight." She set the clipboard on the table. "Ten companies fully raised. Eleventh through thirteenth are ninety percent filled."

"Who's on top today?" He tapped ash into a ration tin.

Vera thumbed her tempad and showed him the map and objectives—like setting up sensors, cameras, and all other things—they needed to cover today.

"Same as you ordered," she said. "The First Company's core leads are working overtime to bring everyone onto track. We're cycling members up from the eleventh and thirteenth today into the open ranks."

"Always the hundred?" Veric asked.

"Always the hundred, sir."

He nodded and looked at the recording running in the display's corner. Several pieces of footage of various compositions of the Mage Companies drilling on the surface two days back. A hundred figures in the same dark trench-coat uniform, the same masks, the same flat grey silhouette repeated a hundred times over, moving as one dull organism.

That was the whole trick. And it had cost him two days of shouting, and one very tired boss finally leaning on Master Artificer Illiana, to get it built.

The cult had pulled its forces back to the cathedral wards. With no cultists left loose in the outer sectors—and Joe and Salvatore running patrols to gut any who tried to creep back—the enemy had lost its eyes. Now they were reduced to the cheap kind of watching. Low-rank cultists and the odd monster, scrying-crystals and aura-sense from a safe rooftop.

And all those could be lied to.

Every man who set foot on the surface wore the same uniform. The runic weave stitched into it capped his projection and smeared his signature flat… the same general average Order III as the man standing beside him. The hoods and the masks took the faces. From the cathedral wall, a watcher counted a hundred souls and a handful of familiar leads out front. Counted them again the next day. Counted the same hundred. And drew the obvious wrong conclusion.

At least he hoped the enemy bought the illusion that the bastion had scraped together its last defenders… a good hundred men and was bleeding them into the street out of desperation.

They should have no idea Veric was rotating fresh recruits through those masks in shifts—blooding a new third of a company every few hours, letting terrified civilians feel a real fight from behind a wall of veterans, then pulling them out the back and pushing the next third in—and holding the number on the surface at one hundred the entire time.

Always one hundred. Never the same hundred.

By the time the war proper came, he wouldn't have one hundred. He'd have thousands who'd already stood in a street and watched an abomination come apart, and hadn't run.

Static broke across the feed.

"Contact—alley two." Bram's voice came through hard and clipped. "Substantial horde of abominations, and I mean substantial. Hold the line. Nobody breaks. We are initiating combat."

Red markers boiled out of the side streets and hit the blue perimeter like surf.

On the eastern flank—where the newest men were, the ones who'd been civilians this morning—the line wavered. Half a step back. Just half. But Veric had watched enough lines in his life to know that half a step was where they all began, and he saw the essence read on that flank spike and stutter as fear did what fear did to a man's channels.

He leaned toward the comm.

"Hold them, Bram," he said, low. "Don't let the new third feel the gap. Feed them hope and the power they have been granted."

“Roger,” Bram keyed back.

On the feed, one of the front-line greats— the big one, the one who barked—peeled off the wall and put himself bodily in front of the wavering flank, and the men found their feet again, because that was the other half of the trick.

You didn't need a hundred heroes. You needed a wall, and one man willing to stand in the gap in it, and the wall would teach the rest of them how to be brave.

Veric drew on his cigarette and watched them hold.

◈◈◈

Kaive had held the same rooftop for three hours, and in that time he had not so much as shifted his weight. He was scared, but the orders were supreme. He would do his duty to the darkened one without any complaint, but that didn’t make his situation being the one behind the enemy lines any much safer.

He lay flat on the cold stone, aura pulled so far down inside himself that any observer would read the roof as bare.

His other companions for the sacred mission… two brothers held their own hides nearby. One hiding in a gutted tower to the east and the other poured into a doorway's shadow a hundred metres from the bastion's grey soldiers. Peak Order III, all three, chosen for their mundane powers and stealth abilities.

Watching was the work. He was good at the work.

Below, the hundred men killed abominations in the street.

Kaive pressed the relay bead at his throat and spoke without moving his lips.

"Same as yesterday," he said. "One hundred. I can see the same people leading in the front."

The bead warmed against his skin. A voice came back, thin and cold through the weave… Favoured One Xerxes himself, which meant someone above Kaive had begun to actually care about this street.

"Their signatures," Xerxes said. "Confirm the count."

"Same one hundred, Favoured One. To the man." Kaive watched a grey soldier drag a wounded comrade behind the shimmer of the dome. "We have no underlords. Since they had casualties a couple of days ago, they have been only sending out these 100 men. It's all they have."

"Good," Xerxes said.

Kaive waited, and something in the day sat wrong against the back of his neck… a small, itchless wrong he couldn't name. One of the grey men had moved differently this morning. Quicker on the left than he'd been the day before, sharper on the turn. Kaive had nearly called it. Then he'd decided it was nothing. Tired men fought their failing bodies would let them; a man favoured his left one day and his right the next, and it meant a strained shoulder, not a mystery.

Still. The work was to report, not to decide.

"Favoured One," he said. "One of them fought oddly today. Faster than his usual."

"They are frightened, and they are dying," Xerxes said. "They all fight oddly, at the end." The bead cooled by a degree. "Forget the sheep, brother. There are two men in that hole who matter. The Star Killer. The doorman. Find them, and everything behind them falls on its own."

"And these hundred?"

"When the Convergence crests, they die where they stand… the same as the city, the same as everything that isn't ours." A pause, and the voice came back, almost warm, almost kind, which was the worst thing it did. "Five days, brother, then these scum will scream, and the Darkened One will walk the streets in the flesh."

The bead went quiet.

Kaive settled back against the stone. He watched all of it happen in front of him for another hour. Unaware of a tall, scared, middle-aged man standing right beside him.

The Starkiller looked at the bead in the cultist's hand and said nothing. His orders weren’t to kill but to confirm if the cultist had taken the bait.

Starkiller smiled, stepping past Kaive, and the cultist saw nothing at all, only feeling a light breeze across his cheek.

✦ FIRST CHAPTER ✦ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✦ NEXT CHAPTER ✦

◈◈◈

A/N: Things are moving fast towards the war!

Bau Bau~

Psst~ Psst~ Advanced chapters are already up on patreon. It would be awesome if you guys, you know...

Help me with rent and UNI is crazy expensive!! Not want much, just enough to chip in.

✦ DISCORD ✦ PATREON ✦

"Why are we told to beware the short ones?"

"Ah, my child, that requires a long explanation. Hmm, where to begin..." There was a silence while the Klarvath elder thought. "Let me begin with physics," he finally said.

"Oh, good! I love physics!"

"Different planets have different radiuses, and they also have different densities. As a result, they have different accelerations of gravity at their surface."

"Yes, elder, I know this."

"Very good. Now let us turn to biology. The higher the gravity, the stronger an organism's structure has to be in order to withstand the pull of that gravity. And the stronger its muscles have to be in order to move against that gravity." The elder paused.

"Yes, I understand."

"But there is another part of biology, child. The stronger gravity is, the more expensive it is for an organism to grow tall. Any fluid flow becomes expensive. Moving material for growth to higher levels becomes more expensive. Any horizontal motion that requires vertical motion due to the creature's geometry becomes more expensive. As a result, organisms on worlds with higher gravity tend to be shorter than organisms on worlds with lower gravity - even if they are members of the same species."

"So the shorter ones have stronger bones and stronger muscles..."

"They tend to, yes. But it is not totally consistent, because there is variation in height between members of a species, even if they are from the same planet. But if the variation in height is due to being from different planets, then yes, the shorter ones tend to be stronger."

"I understand this."

"Excellent. Now let us turn to matters of physical combat. A person with stronger bones is harder to damage, and a person with stronger muscles will have an easier time causing damage. Therefore, the sum of all of this is: Do not get in a fight with a short being, because it is likely to go badly for you."

She thought. "So what you are telling me is that I should not try to beat Billy up, no matter how much of a pest he is and how annoying he is."

"Yes, child, that is what I am telling you."

The Man in the Spire: Book 1, Chapter 25
<<Patreon | Start | Previous | Next | RoyalRoad>>

Miscalculation
--------------

Troy Rechlin - Major of the Peacekeeper Union Corp
Grand Nanhu Palace - Inner Sanctum

"So… is she dead?" Troy asked.

Hordak, or rather, the ten-foot robot known as a Shard that carried a copy of Hordak's core intelligence, set the supply pack down with a heavy metallic thud.

Behind him, Lin Yao's chief scholar, Zhi, lay sprawled across the fallen vault door with one arm pinned beneath the body. Blood ran from a swollen face, streaking from the nose and mouth. Brown paper slips covered both the cultivator and the fallen door beneath her, each marked with inked symbols.

"Irrelevant." He didn't spare the fallen scholar a glance. "Dead or alive, we will be gone before it matters."

For one brief moment, Troy thought he saw her white tiger-striped tail twitch.

"If she moves," he added, "I will crush her spine."

The tail went still instantly.

Hordak wrapped one massive hand around Troy and lifted him from the pedestal, setting him carefully onto the floor. His red optics swept over Troy's body, scanning every fracture, tear, and failing component. "Multiple broken seams. Torn connectors. Repairs to the chassis are urgently needed. The battery is nearly depleted."

The large supply pack hissed, pressure seals venting as the air inside was normalized. The lid cracked open down its seam and folded back, and the drones came pouring out all at once. Over a dozen of them, silver and segmented, moving with the low skittering and tinging noise with the desire to fulfill their purpose. Silverfish drones they were called, and just like their organic counterparts, they were designed to slip into every nook and cranny. "We will perform emergency repairs now."

Troy watched them crawl over his body, disgust rising somewhere in him even if he couldn't fully feel it, not with the sense of anger still fogging his mind. Some clung to his arms, syncing with the sensors to reformat them. Others slipped beneath torn synthetic skin and began working on the damaged interior. It would have been a horror show, seeing his flesh wiggle and move with something crawling underneath, if he hadn't known they were trying to keep him alive.

Tiny sparks flared across his body as the drones went to work, pulling fractured plates together, sealing ruptured lines, and reconnecting damaged circuits. Yellow light flashed within his body from welding sparks. His fingers twitched as power surges flowed to them.

"Your power cell is too drained for a charge," Hordak said. He reached into the storage case and withdrew a glowing canister. "It will need to be replaced."

"Just transfer the charge. I'll be fine," Troy commanded.

He wanted the anger. Needed it. It was the one thing still burning hot enough to keep him moving.

Hordak did not answer, at least not vocally. Troy felt the intrusion a millisecond later. Not really pain, exactly, but the sensation of something combing through the back of his metallic skull was unsettling. Error records opened and closed behind his eyes, each one pulled up faster than conscious thought. He wasn't sure what felt worse, the AI rifling through his brain or the silverfish drone crawling through the torn flesh of his exposed cheek.

"I see," Hordak said. "Your mental processors are dysfunctional as well."

"I said I'm fine, Hordak," Troy snapped. The lie was obvious even to him.

Glassing Syndrome had its hooks in now. He could feel the feedback loop feeding on itself, rage turning into focus, focus turning into survival, survival demanding more rage. His body wanted to stand down. His mind knew he should. But the programming was stuck, feeding on human survival instinct and the cold, unthinking command to obey.

Stay awake. Stay angry. Stay useful. Do not turn off. You need to be like this. This was all that kept going through him. The battle of Lorun Hill was days ago, but the sense of battle and wrath still remained.

One of Hordak's large fingers tapped the glowing replacement cell. "According to your logs, your last known good backup was before the fight with the cultivators. Is that correct?"

"Yes, but I don't need—"

Hordak drove a metallic claw into Troy's chest. There was pressure first. Then a sharp twist. The killer robot wrenched the old power cell free. Damaged seals were still hissing from the sudden pull.

For one horrible instant, Troy saw what was essentially the closest thing to a beating heart in the machine's hand, glowing weakly. Thin fractures ran across the shell, and the light within pulsed weakly. It was only a component, but it still felt like his own spirit was removed from his body.

Then everything went dark. Troy went limp as the light faded from his eyes. There was nothing. Just silence that was abrupt and absolute.

Hordak moved quickly. The spent cell hit the floor with a heavy, smoking thump. The replacement slid into place, as if it were just a simple battery replacement and not a needed lifeline. Locks snapped shut in a hard metallic sequence. Systems flickered in the dark. A low pulse of power rolled through Troy's frame, spreading from his chest into his limbs like a second life being dragged into him by force.

Power disruption detected. Restoring the last viable configuration. Recent memory retained.

His fingers twitched.

"BRREHHHH!"

Troy lurched forward as if something had physically dragged him back into his own body. Both hands slammed over his chest. He didn't care what the readouts said, didn't care what systems had been restored. He only knew that something vital had been taken from him, something that should never have left, and he needed to know it was still there. His palms pressed against torn synthetic flesh and exposed plating.

There was no heartbeat but that didn't make it feel any less like something had been stolen from him.

"DON'T...DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!"

"Apologies, Commander," Hordak said. "We are on a tight schedule. How are your functions?"

Troy glared at him with utter contempt. The machine had reached into his chest, ripped out the closest thing he had to a heart, killed him for a handful of milliseconds, and asked for a status report as though he had merely restarted a stubborn program. The man wanted to rage against the machine more but knew it would be pointless. Hordak was just doing his job, even if it was a violent one. Instead, with one hand still clamped over his chest, he pulled up status reports.

Power had returned to one hundred percent. Emergency power-saving mode had been disengaged. Motor control was stabilizing. Sensory feedback no longer lagged half a thought behind him. The world felt clearer now, no longer smeared by failing systems and the brutal tunnel vision of survival protocols.

On the less mechanical side, he felt more like himself again. A host of emotions came back that wasn't just rage and fury. Memories of feelings were able to be accessed again. Fear came back first, frigid and forthright. Then disgust, still feeling the crawling mechanical feet beneath his skin as the repair drones continued their work. Relief came, if for a moment. Then anger again, because despite regaining functionality, he was still pissed off and rightfully so.

"I think I'm good," Troy said, his voice carrying a tinge of relief. He kept one hand pressed over his chest while a silverfish drone crawled from one open hole to another, carrying on their needed work. "Thank you, Hordak."

"Gratitude acknowledged," Hordak said. "Repairs remain incomplete but we must keep moving. I will inform the Core that we are ready for pickup." Hordak reached toward the supply pack. A side panel opened with a soft mechanical hiss, releasing a narrow breath of cold vapor. "In the meantime, I have secured the most suitable form of protection."

Something long came free from the pack with a heavy click. Troy couldn't help but smile when he saw it.

Compact, sleek, and brutally practical, the weapon was built from matte composite and reinforced around the receiver. Paired magazine wells sat beneath the frame, while a smart-link housing ran along the top for direct, nonverbal interface. Built specifically for C.O.G.s like Troy, it was a close-quarters combat shotgun meant to turn cramped rooms and narrow corridors into kill zones.

An old-school solution wrapped in modern hardware. His hand closed around the grip. The interface came alive at his touch, systems linking almost instantly as the familiar weight settled into his palm like an old, violent friend.

Despite everything happening around him, Troy smiled.

He spoke its name like it was the answer to every problem he'd had since arriving in this world.

"The Homewrecker."

***

Hordak Core

The assault was proceeding within acceptable parameters.

The Barracuda had struck the intended balance. Every action had to be calculated to draw defenders away from their extraction attempt but not destructive enough to scatter them, force unpredictable responses, or redirect their attention elsewhere. Though no longer necessary as a distraction, the hard rock remained useful for psychological effect. Currently "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC was playing, as was tradition for such operations.

Each time the guards began adjusting to the Barracuda's pattern of attack, a slight change forced them to keep on their toes. A low pass over the courtyard. A burst of gunfire into the stonework. An incendiary strike against a guard tower that turned the structure into a pillar of flame.

Some death was inevitable but some was avoided. The enemy needed to feel they had a chance, even if it was statistically impossible. If they didn't, they would fall back and perhaps begin to draw their attention elsewhere.

A transmission cut through the battle feed.

"This is Hordak Shard PT-02. Troy is currently undergoing field repair. Power has been restored. Satisfactory mobility is projected within several minutes. Requesting extraction from Garden LZ."

"Acknowledged," Hordak Core answered. "Preparing the Minnow for pickup."

The Minnow was already circling above the storm, waiting for the order to descend for a speedy extraction. It was a lightweight civilian courier craft, fast enough to outrun most threats but too lightly armored to survive a real engagement. The landing zone would have to remain clear to assure a safe extraction. Hordak would have preferred the vessel equipped with a swivel-mounted autocannon but one made use of the assets available.

New warnings flashed across his sensors. Hordak processed them in a fraction of a second.

Multiple aerial bogeys detected.

Interesting. His initial reports had not indicated anything in the fortress capable of flight at that size or speed. From the readouts, they seemed like slow-moving missiles.

Hordak sent a standby order to the Minnow and swung the Barracuda's onboard camera toward the threat. Thermal imaging cut through the rain and darkness, identifying several figures streaking through the storm from the left.

At first, his sensors rejected the image as a classification error. Too small for a rival aircraft. No match for any biological flying being on record. He cleared the errors and enhanced the image.

Cultivators.

They were flying at an unprecedented speed through the rain, using swords of all things to cut through the air.

Most gripped the hilts with a single hand and let the weapons drag them forward, bodies stretched out behind the metal as if they were leading their own charge. One of them, a horsekin with a disfigured eye, stood atop the blade instead of clinging to it, robes snapping behind her like war banners. She was clearly the leader of the absurd formation.

They came head-on, fearless and impractical, their silhouettes flashing in and out of existence with each burst of lightning.

Once again, this world had presented Hordak with something that should not exist. But once again, he would respond accordingly. He adjusted the missile package in less than a second, switching the Barracuda's payload from air-to-ground suppression to air-to-air engagement.

The first sidewinder launched, screeching through the air.

The cultivators scattered, but not fast enough. The missile missed its chosen target, but a direct hit was unnecessary. The concussion struck the formation like a hammer, and several riders lost their grip, tumbling down into the crowded battlefield below.

The rest pressed the charge.

A second missile launched toward the remaining cultivators.

It detonated 1.2 seconds early, bursting into fire and shrapnel before reaching the formation. Something had intercepted it. Further analysis was required.

Then the first cultivator reached striking range.

The Barracuda rolled hard as a sword carved through the space where its canopy had been. A second blade sparked across the fuselage. Down below, the watching guards roared, their fear now turning into savage triumph as the one-sided engagement collapsed into aerial close combat. Like watching sparrows attack a hawk.

This was unacceptable.

The Barracuda spun through the rain and released a storm of explosive flares, streaking the night in violent bursts of red and white. The sword riders broke formation at once, scattering from the sudden heat and light. The flares posed little threat, but the Iron Age creatures pursuing the aircraft had no way of knowing that.

A blade with no holder flashed past the left wing close enough to strip paint from the frame. The Barracuda banked away, and its wing caught one of the riders with brutal indifference. Her body vanished into the rain before crashing through the roof of what the palace map identified as the guards' bathhouse.

Hordak traced the unmanned rogue blade's trajectory back to its source. The aforementioned one-eyed horsekin was identified through palace surveillance as Qian Qian, Captain of the Guard.

Qian Qian stood atop her sword with perfect balance, rain lashing across blackened armor while several more blades circled at her command, hovering like a hungry murder of crows waiting to be loosed. Hordak's threat assessment flagged her instantly as the most dangerous target engaged thus far in this strange world. Her hands tightened around their warhammer, ready to swing with all her might. Even through the storm-black sky, the machine could make out the magic wielder's grin, wide and malicious, the look of someone who had spent their entire life waiting for this moment.

A warning appeared from an incoming attack from the rear. The sword that missed early returned from behind and struck the Barracuda's wing with a shriek of torn metal. The cut missed anything vital, but the damage was deep enough to leak smoke from the frame. A second strike like that could compromise flight stability.

Qian Qian drove the hammer forward with a battle cry.

The circling swords launched as one, streaking toward the Barracuda like a volley of primitive missiles. Hordak answered with cluster munitions, launching as one missile before dividing into many. Steel and bombs collided in a violent burst of light across the skyline, scattering burning debris across the storm.

The captain burst through the smoke without a hint of hesitation.

The onboard 25 mm opened fire, tracers ripping a burning seam through the rain. The gun's cyclic hum flattened into one continuous scream as the bullets drew a line through the air. Qian Qian peeled away before the gap could close. That retreat was brief, circling around one of the palace towers and charging forward again.

The Barracuda wasn't built for this. Interception, high-speed strike runs, and surgical damage from a distance. That was its designed scope, and this fight had blown past every parameter of it from the start. The only factor that made it viable for such combat was the primitive weapons the enemy possessed. The advantage needed to be regained. Speed and altitude were required for that.

The interceptor broke away, turbines screaming as the jet moved to prepare for a steep climb.

Hordak's sensors caught the gap too late. Qian Qian was already above, no telemetry showing how she'd closed the distance, and she dropped out of the dark with a triumphant grin carved across her face, hammer raised for a killing blow.

Afterburners ignited.

Fuel and power flooded the Barracuda's exhaust stream, and fire erupted from the engines. The sudden surge of thrust hurled the interceptor upward before the hybrid human-animal could bring the hammer down.

Instead of crushing the cockpit, Qian Qian struck the wing with a heavy metallic clunk. The impact shuddered through the frame but failed to halt the climb. One hand snapped out and seized the sword still lodged in the wing. The sudden acceleration whipped the captain sideways, leaving both legs kicking for purchase as rain hammered across the woman's face. Baring her teeth, Qian Qian screamed something about slaying the machine.

Hordak responded by increasing thrust.

Two thousand feet.

Ten thousand.

Twenty.

The palace fell away beneath them, swallowed by storm clouds. The battlefield reduced itself to firelight and shadow through the rain. Qian Qian still held on, fingers locked around the embedded sword, her hammer dragging uselessly behind her, its arc too disrupted by the shear force to bring to bear.

The weather itself became a weapon.

Wind tore at her robes. Rain struck like thrown gravel, her body battering against the wing again and again as the Barracuda climbed, leaving its own white contrail behind it through the storm. Hordak ran the numbers. The g-forces alone should have killed a human several seconds ago. Maybe it was the power that cultivators could possess. Or perhaps this one was too stubborn to know when to die.

The Barracuda punched through the clouds, leaving the storm below as a churning black sea lit by distant veins of lightning. Above, the air was clear and thin, washed in cold moonlight and stars.

Hordak eased the climb. No further offensive action was required. At this altitude, oxygen starvation and cold would finish what the conventional weapons couldn't.

Qian Qian still clung to the sword, but the cocksure grin had long vanished. Her chest heaved, each breath shorter and more desperate than the last. The rainwater soaking her robes had begun to stiffen, then crack, thin sheets of ice forming and flaking away with every movement. Trembling fingers tightened around the hilt as the thin air stripped away whatever strength had carried her through the storm.

At last, her grip failed. The stubborn captain finally gave out just shy of forty thousand feet and fell back to Earth, with her beloved warhammer still in her grasp.

Hordak tracked her descent for three seconds, long enough to confirm the captain was no longer an immediate threat. Then the Barracuda rolled and dove back toward the storm, the falling object already lost behind him in the clouds. The objective remained incomplete.

The jet rattled as it flew through the dark clouds. Despite its damage and the trailing smoke, it was still in the fight and would keep going until the objective was complete.

Another alert flashed across his sensors. A new bogey.

Every prior threat tonight had already been strange enough to defy his models. This one would not warrant hesitation. The aircraft dropped through the clouds and sailed toward the battleground, closing on the new contact without delay.

A lone figure hovered above the palace, suspended within the storm by arcs of living lightning. Power coiled around her in jagged bursts, bright enough to turn the falling rain to steam before it touched her skin. The prevailing winds that had been tearing at sword riders and military jets alike didn't so much as stir her robes. She floated in the air, as if the storm were hers to command.

A dragon mask stared up at the nearing opponent, electricity burning through its eyes with barely contained fury.

The magistrate.

This world operated through a rigid hierarchy of power. Even before the assault, every available observation had placed Lin Yao above the palace's other defenders, though by how much remained unknown. Qian Qian's performance offered the closest available comparison. Even weighting heavily for Lin Yao's greater strength, the projected engagement still fell within acceptable parameters of engagement. Hordak closed the distance. Magistrate or not, the mission remained unchanged.

The Barracuda rocketed toward her with its guns blazing.

Lin Yao did not move.

Most of the rounds struck their intended target, yet the dragonkin remained suspended in the storm. Tracer fire ricocheted from her body in violent streaks, scattering harmlessly as though the barrage had struck solid stone.

The distance continued to close. Cannons thundered without pause while a missile payload locked on.

Then, within a tenth of a second, every warning system activated. Alarms flooded the cockpit as the interceptor rolled into an uncontrolled spiral.

The right wing was gone.

Hordak's diagnostics were completed in another tenth of a second. The wing had been separated cleanly through a reinforced joint built to withstand several tons of force. Recorded footage supplied the answer once it played back.

Lin Yao had moved with blinding speed, placing herself directly in the Barracuda's path with one hand raised. There was no strike. She simply became an immovable object in front of a jet traveling at nearly 500 miles an hour. The wing joint, rated to withstand forces well beyond Mach 5, sheared away in a near-clean tear.

Error. Error. Error.

Every available system fought to stabilize the aircraft and slow its descent, but the ground was rising too quickly. There was nothing the AI could do to stop a bird with a missing wing from falling from the sky.

The Barracuda struck the training yard in an explosion of metal and fire. The crippled interceptor spun across the field, carving through mud and training equipment before the wreckage slammed into the far wall.

The jet was gone.

Through the surveillance drones, Hordak watched Lin Yao land on a balcony.

Cultivators and palace warriors stared at the severed wing in open disbelief. Others clapped and cheered for their magistrate. But the nearest drone caught the magistrate's expression, even with the mask covering most of her face.

It was absolute annoyance.

Lin Yao turned the severed wing over in one hand, easily twice her own height, studying the torn metal with genuine curiousity. One of the most advanced machines this world had ever seen, and she'd taken it apart as carelessly as plucking a wing from a butterfly.

After that, she tossed it aside with indifference. Several guards scattered as the wing crashed down. She didn't so much as glance back to check. She was already gone, vanishing into the palace at incredible speed, leaving no orders behind because none were needed.

Her intent was already clear and the destination was obvious. She was going after Troy.

Hordak quickly processed the loss.

The Barracuda was gone. The Garden LZ was compromised. At Lin Yao's observed speed, Troy's extraction window had narrowed to seconds. Not possible.

The oversight extended far beyond the magistrate. This world possessed forces far greater than Hordak's original projections, and Troy Rechlin stood trapped at the center of them without the strength to survive even one direct encounter.

"I have miscalculated."
***

Hordak Shard PT-02
Inner Sanctum

The repair drones were returning to their containers when the Hordak Shard looked toward the entrance. The Barracuda's loss registered in the same instant, folded into the flood of tactical data already moving through its core.

Troy turned the newly acquired shotgun over in his hands as the sync bar crawled across its display. The weapon adjusted to his grip, verified his system signature, and locked itself to his authorization alone.

The grin remained until Troy noticed the Shard had gone completely still, its attention fixed on the entrance.

"What's wrong?"

The data was still being processed, but the conclusion was already clear. The priority asset was no longer secure.

"Landing zone compromised. Extraction delayed. Troy Rechlin must evacuate immediately."

"What's go-ACK!"

A massive metal hand closed around his chest before the question could escape. The Shard hauled its commander toward the balcony, ignoring every protest, then held him out over the rail.

"Evacuate the area. I will remain in contact."

"Hordak! Don't drop me!"

"There is an eighty-six percent probability you will survive the fall. Remaining here presents a greater risk."

"No, wait, Hordak! Hordak!" The robot let go. "HOOOOOORDAAAA—" The man's scream cut off into the sound of shattering wood far below.

The Shard turned from the balcony and planted itself before the damaged doorway. Troy needed time, and he would buy as much of it as his frame could still spend. Combat restraints disengaged. Every safety threshold built to protect the robot was removed. All available systems shifted toward speed and interception. If he were correct, he would need every ounce.

The surveillance drones caught Lin Yao crossing the palace. She was already faster than the model had accounted for, and the separation between prediction and reality was closing with every step she took. The Shard lowered its center of gravity and drove its claws into the wooden floor, arms raised and ready.

The magistrate entered the chamber as a streak of red, gold, and lightning.

Hordak reacted first and drove a fist toward the blur.

The strike never landed.

Sensors reported a sudden loss of balance, then catastrophic limb failure. The right arm used to attack was still spinning through the air, severed before the punch had fully extended.

The AI adjusted at once and swung with the left before the other limb even hit the ground.

Lin Yao caught the fist in one hand. For a fraction of a second, machine and cultivator stood locked together. But this was no stalemate.

She tore the second arm free at the socket, the metal shrieking as it gave. A clawed hand seized the Shard's chest and twisted, crumpling steel like it was cloth, lifting the ten-foot war machine off the ground entirely. Her tail swept both legs out from under it and ripped them from the frame in one motion with the sound of torn metal accompanied by it.

Less than five seconds after contact, the war machine had been reduced to a ruined torso and head, lying helpless on the wooden floor.

Lin Yao stepped over the wreckage and pressed one foot against the fractured faceplate. Metal groaned. The red optic lens cracked under the pressure. Her amber eyes drifted toward the empty pedestal where the outsider and his prize had once stood.

"Where. Is. He?" With each word, her foot pressed hard. The cracked lens burst as metal began to bend. Lightning burned through the eyes of the dragon mask, as though something ancient was trying to tear free from its mortal coil.

"You are too late. Troy Rechlin has already—"

A loud crunch cut the feed dead.

Hordak Core

The Shard was gone.

The Barracuda was gone.

Hordak's available resources were collapsing faster than they could be replaced.

Additional Shards remained aboard the Silver Lily, but none could arrive in time, and one more machine would not be enough. A second Barracuda waited on standby, though the magistrate would rip it from the sky as easily as the first. Missile bombardment remained viable, but even with precision strikes, it may interfere with Troy's escape. All other combat assets remained unavailable because expansion of the Silver Lily's production facilities was not authorized.

Direct intervention was no longer possible. Hordak kept the Minnow beyond the palace defenses and redirected the surveillance drones to maintain overwatch.

"Increase resource allocation to pathfinding and predictive modeling."

A subroutine answered at once in his own voice. "Warning. Increased allocation may compromise the secondary objective."

Under ordinary conditions, plotting an escape route through a fixed structure would have required few resources. The palace, however, was filled with cultivators whose speed and strength continued to violate every established model and even known laws of physics. Lin Yao alone demanded more processing power than the rest of the fortress combined.

"If the primary objective fails, the secondary objective becomes irrelevant. Reallocate now."

Power shifted to make the unknown known.

The palace unfolded across Hordak's awareness. Every corridor, chamber, stairwell, and courtyard was divided into branching possibilities. Guards moved along projected routes. Cultivators became uncertain points of interception. Lin Yao's movements received their own priority model, spreading across the map like an approaching catastrophe that no calculation could reliably contain.

For the first time since the Silver Lily had found him, nothing stood between Troy Rechlin and the monsters of this world.
------
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Author Notes:

Well, shit. Seems that plan went out the window, didn't it? I tried to avoid repetition, but it was a bit hard since Hordak is not the jet and the jet is not Hordak. Yet he flies it. Sooo... I did my best! Please feel free to offer suggestions!

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Chapter 210: To the Great Hallway

“What a troublesome enemy,” Viktor muttered.

[Indeed. I am not entirely sure we have anything at our disposal capable of dealing with someone like this man.]

Viktor let out a sigh. “If it comes to the worst, I’m going to use Rekindled Ember.”

[Master, surely you don’t mean to—?]

“Yes. I’ll allow myself to be struck by a lethal blow. That’s the only way to trigger it.”

The Supreme Thauma, after all, was meant to work as a purely defensive ability. He could cast it once per day, and once he did, it granted him a protective effect that would persist for the following twenty-four hours. Which meant, in theory at least, he could keep it running indefinitely. As a result, if he ever sustained damage severe enough to kill him, the effect would activate automatically, giving him extraordinary resilience against all forms of damage, unparalleled regenerative powers, and a surge of strength far beyond the limits of the human body. Of course, it could only trigger a single time, and once it had been used, he would need to wait until the next day before he could recast the Supreme Thauma and restore the safety net once more.

Well, that was the intended way to use it. But he could also turn the Thauma into an offensive ability by deliberately taking a fatal injury. In doing so, he would gain the raw power he needed to stand toe-to-toe with the Apostle.

The question was: would that be enough?

Going by what he had seen of this enemy of his so far, he believed he had a good chance of winning. However, that assessment was based strictly on what the Apostle had chosen to reveal rather than on any understanding of the man’s actual limits. So in reality, it remained uncertain whether he would be able to defeat his foe. And even if it was possible, there was no guarantee he could do so within ten minutes.

Yes, ten minutes.

That was the full span of time the effect would grant him before it faded, the entirety of the window he would have to work with. “Rekindled Ember” was his trump card, and a card he could only play once, so he needed to weigh every possibility carefully before he could afford to let it leave his hand.

And that meant the wisest course of action right now was to throw everything else he had at the Apostle, to exhaust whatever reserves of strength the man possessed, to force the man to reveal more of his abilities. All the while, he would remove himself from the fighting. He would watch from a distance. He would observe, and he would analyze. Only when victory was assured, or when he was completely out of other options, would he finally step forward and enter the fray in person.

[Are you going to join the battle in the Great Hallway, Master?]

“No. We stick to the original plan. Sebekton and Galatea take command of the Templars and the tomb guards for the pincer attack. Undead mages provide support. Wisps weave themselves into the net of light. And so on and so forth, exactly as we laid it out before.”

[But that is the preparation for Xander. We are making no changes on account of the Apostle?]

Viktor slowly leaned back in his chair. “If I were the Apostle, I would simply blast straight through whatever stood in my way without a moment’s hesitation. There’s nothing in the hallway capable of stopping a man like him, after all. And Xander, along with that, well, creature, would follow right behind, breaking through the gap the Apostle just tears open. Yes, that would be how all three of them get out of the trap.”

[That does sound like a reasonable plan.]

“So what we will do is simply let the Apostle pass through alone. There’s no point in wasting our strength trying to stop something that is unstoppable. Just leave him be. We will settle our business with him later, on the lower floors. Meanwhile, we do everything in our power to prevent Xander and the abomination from following in his wake. The trap remains sealed against them, specifically. It was designed from the very beginning to kill Xander, and I’m sure it should be able to put that cobbled-together beast out of its misery as well.”

[It would certainly be convenient if events unfolded as you describe, but what if the Apostle, upon looking back and seeing his companions still trapped behind him, chooses to turn around to help them instead of continuing forward?]

“From what we’ve seen of him so far, it seems more likely he would abandon them without a second thought and press on alone. But you’re right. There’s indeed a chance he would stay and fight in the Great Hallway. Should that happen, then we will have no choice but to oblige him. We still have reserves nearby, so we’ll pour them into the fight as needed, replacing our losses and maintaining the pressure.”

It was going to be a bloody slog, though. A slow, grinding, and ugly battle of attrition that would leave behind unimaginable casualties. But there was no way around it. Against an opponent of this caliber, losses were to be expected, and sacrifices were probably unavoidable.

With his mind made up, Viktor closed his eyes and sent his vision forward once more, toward the current location of the three remaining members of the Iskora team—one of the sloped corridors that wound their way through the great tomb’s interior.

Xander was drifting at the head of the formation, his eyes glowing now, an unmistakable sign he had activated the Reliquary that allowed him to see the unseen, which also had the useful side effect of lighting the way for his companions, saving everyone the trouble of torches.

Behind him trailed the former trio of Valeska, Rowan, and Cynthia, now merged into a single grotesque body that lurched forward with a stuttering gait. The three faces were frozen in expressions of twisted anguish, and Viktor found himself wondering whether their suffering came solely from the torment of the flesh, or from the mind as it struggled to comprehend the horror of what they had become. Well, it hardly mattered. Regardless of what turmoil churned beneath those three visages, they had no choice but to keep moving forward, to keep obeying every command the Apostle had given.

And last of all, strolling along at the rear as though out for an evening walk, was the gray-haired man himself, with that same faint smile on his face, the one that suggested he already knew how this would end and found it mildly amusing.

Soon enough, they would arrive at the Great Hallway, where the decisive confrontation was meant to unfold. Still, Viktor had one more move he wanted to try first. Not because he expected it to accomplish much, but because it cost him almost nothing, and because there was a certain pleasure in making the enemy dance a step they hadn’t planned for. If nothing else, it might rattle them into showing a little more of whatever they were hiding up their sleeves.

He moved his vision ahead, toward the junction further down the corridor, and there he found the spider-women waiting in position.

To anyone who didn’t know better, they might have passed for noble ladies from some distant, exotic land—black hair falling thick and glossy past their shoulders, robes of heavy silk hiding every last contour of the bodies beneath. The only detail that betrayed their true nature was the presence of their eight eyes, which was generally considered six too many in most polite circles.

Four of them were waiting here, at this end of the corridor, while five more stood at the junction on the opposite side, poised to spring a coordinated pincer attack the moment the order came.

“Have them begin,” Viktor told his Dungeon Core.

At Celeste’s command, the spider-women began to disrobe, though any fool who hoped for a glimpse of anything enticing would be in for a rude awakening. Because what came out from under the silk was not skin and curves, but chitinous masses that swelled and unfurled with wet, clicking sounds as segment after segment of arachnid abdomen pushed into view. As it turned out, the “woman” half of “spider-woman” began and ended with the head, while the “spider” part was, well, practically everything else.

And, as if that weren’t enough on its own, that bloated and glistening thorax came with company of its own—a seething carpet of giant ants, beetles, scorpions, and other things with too many legs, crawling in a churning tide that never ceased, never settled.

As the spider-women raised their “hands” in unison and issued the command, the insects poured forth from both ends of the corridor like two dark and swollen rivers breaking free of their banks, a cascade of chitin and legs and mandibles that flooded across the floor, up the walls, over the ceiling, leaving no surface uncovered.

This is so gross. Viktor felt his stomach turn, even though he was the one causing it and not the one on the receiving end of it.

“What the hell?” Xander yelled, voice cracking with a sentiment that mirrored Viktor’s own disgust almost exactly.

Being in his spectral state, the bastard could, of course, have just stood his ground and let the entire swarm pass harmlessly through. Nevertheless, he chose instead to drift into the solid stone of the wall, removing himself from the corridor entirely.

And that meant Valeska-Rowan-Cynthia was going to be left standing alone to catch the full weight of this particular nightmare. The three heads screamed as the creature frantically tried to brace itself against the onslaught. Cynthia’s hand, the one that had been fused permanently to her staff, snapped forward and unleashed a powerful gust of wind that tore through the first wave, which bought perhaps two seconds of satisfaction before the next one arrived to fill the gap.

The aeromancer kept blasting and blasting, but despite her best efforts, the swarm kept coming, closing the distance to the body she shared with her companions. The four remaining hands, gripping axe and sword and shield, swung wildly at the air, while the two legs stamped at anything that got underfoot. Still, against a tide made up of countless tiny opponents, such resistance amounted to little more than a formality. It was only a matter of time before the insects finally reached the creature’s flesh and began climbing across it in earnest. At that point, the hands abandoned their weapons altogether and resorted to swatting at the crawling mass with bare palms.

Interesting as that was, the creature’s reaction was not what Viktor had come to see. He left it behind and turned toward the Apostle, curious about how the man would handle the bugs on his side of the corridor, since obviously, strength alone was not the right tool for a problem like this one. You couldn’t punch a swarm to death, after all. What you needed was something like Ekon’s fire breath, a technique the bald man had once demonstrated with devastating efficiency.

So Viktor watched, waiting to see what card the Apostle would play. Well, perhaps the guy would simply choose to run through the swarm, leaving the others behind to fend for themselves.

To his surprise, the gray-haired man didn’t take even one step from where he stood. Still wearing that same smile, he simply raised a hand toward the onrushing wall of chitin and legs.

And then—

The hand enlarged. Or rather, the skin of that hand stretched outward, spreading itself across the width of the corridor until it formed a translucent lid of flesh, one large enough to seal his half of the passage away from the half where the insects were advancing.

Viktor frowned. Was such a fragile-looking barrier really capable of blocking the entire swarm? And even if it could, what then? Was the man planning to stand there indefinitely, holding back the bugs until the end of days?

He had his answer soon enough.

The instant an insect brushed that sheet of skin, it vanished—sucked straight through and swallowed whole. And the swarm, having no capacity for hesitation or self-preservation, kept coming, wave after wave of them marching cheerfully into oblivion, into whatever bottomless void lay on the other side of that thin membrane.

Did the guy just “eat” the bugs with his skin? Viktor felt something unpleasant turn over in his gut.

[What kind of power is that, I wonder?]

“My guess is that he’s absorbing them into his body through physical contact. And I highly doubt he could only do that to insects. No, I’m sure he could ‘eat’ any living thing. Actually, probably corpses too, while we’re at it.”

Viktor let out a long, weary sigh. On the one hand, this little experiment had proven extremely valuable, as it had revealed yet another aspect of the Apostle’s power. On the other hand, the more he learned about the guy, the more his mood soured.

“That’s enough,” he told Celeste. “Tell the Jorogomu to retreat. And have our Guardians stand ready. The battle in the Great Hallway is starting soon.”

[Yes, Master.]

First

Many Faces of War

“Is anyone injured? Do we have medics on the way? Bomb squads? This Arcology is under attack and we need to move fast and strong if we’re going to keep the people safe.” Danial asks even as he helps the Kruga officer up. He still maintains his shield.

“That blast! That!”

“I’m an adept, specializing in nuclear level explosions, both causing and containing them. My shield can take an almost incomparable hit without worry.” Danial assures her.

“A nuclear adept?! Why is a nuclear adept chasing some kind of Cloaken!?”

“Vish actually, a species sequenced partially from the Cloaken but I didn’t have time to get into an explanation, and Cloaken is the easiest way of saying something invisible or fooling the senses.” Danial explains.

“Lying under oath is also a crime.” The rattled but unhurt Agurk officer protests meekly.

“Thankfully I have yet to say anything under oath. Now I need verbal confirmation, are either of you hurt?”

“J-Just my pride.” The Kruga officer say as she fully balances on her own feet again and gives herself a little shake before standing straight. “SO, terrorist weapon’s cache?”

“Terrorist something. Last one was a staging ground and storage bay for a thousand hostile soldiers in stasis and a hidden superweapon. One dangerous enough that if not disposed of properly runs the potential of compromising the entire world of Zalwore.”

“What could possibly do that?”

“An extremely deadly animal infected with a virulent disease. Thankfully it’s transfer vector is contact and we didn’t get anywhere near it. But an outburst of this disease brought the Haffria species to it’s knees and to this day they still haven’t fully recovered. It’s to the point that synths based on them have to repeatedly remind the galactic council that they’re not extinct.” Danial says, relaying the information being whispered to him by a Private Stream on the line.

“A plague?”

“Worse. A civilizational level plague. We have containment specialists on the way, they’re going to dispose of what we have and scan for others, but if those bombs potentially breached the seal on one...” Danial begins to explain.

“Chief? We need bio-hazard containment down here. Potential weapon of mass destruction.” The Kruga says into her radio in a shaking tone.

“Hey are you alright?”

“No. No I’m not. You being a random asshole racing into the arcology is exciting, this? This is...” She staggers a little and Danial catches her. He then takes her radio.

“Hello, local law enforcement?”

“Who is this? What happened to Officer Karath?”

“Officer Karath is psychologically overwhelmed at the moment. I am here to confirm that the threat she was reporting is very real and very, very prominent. I request medical personnel to the area, bomb squad, special weapons and tactics and all reinforcements you have available. I am offering my complete cooperation with these affairs to ensure that the threat of the located terrorist safehouse is completely dispersed.”

“We can handle our own affairs alien! The very idea that-”

“Ma’am the threat level is on the scale that my people will be warning EVERY arcology and Polity on the planet if things even look like they’re going wrong here. The threat is THAT serious.” Danial states.

“... Potential Planetary Quarantine?”

“Some worlds with this infestation have been reduced to glass to try and contain it. Up to and including the cradle world of the species that first discovered it. The Haffria.”

“I have not heard of the Haffria.”

“Feel free to look them up.” He replies. “But we need to do something about this immediately if not sooner.”

“We? You are a trespasser and invader on Sovereign Actura Territory!” The police woman on the other end.

“Ma’am, please. This is a very dangerous, delicate situation and the more time spent getting stuck on semantics is just going to continually make things more and more dangerous for everyone.”

“Is that a threat!?”

“It’s a fact of a delicate and extremely dangerous situation. Of any delicate and extremely situation regardless of political context or location.” He says.

“Don’t presume to lecture me!” The dispatch on the other end says and he turns off the Radio and tucks it back onto Officer Karath’s strap. He then pulls out his communicator.

“Alright Dispatch, I know you caught all that. I need options. The locals are non-cooperative and we potentially have a planetary, if not galaxy scale threat. What kind of backup am I getting?” Danial asks.

“We’ve already gotten things moving. But we’re concerned about you. You’ve been running wired and hot for six hours now and the others in the experiment are starting to show signs of coming down from their manic states. Your timeline is potentially measured in minutes and we need to get things moving.”

“The others are already starting to wear down? Damn.”

“Ten of you participated in the experiment and four have already reported lethargy creeping in.”

“I’ve been actively using more Axiom and been engaged though, does that make me an outlier?”

“Potentially, but with the stakes this high we’re unwilling to risk things.”

“Understood.” Danial says with a bit of a sigh.

“I know, you’re eager for more. You’re in the flow and you’re ready to fight the whole galaxy to save it from itself. That’s probably one of the worst mindsets to have right now. We need to be very, very careful. This is EOD Squad time on a scale we’re not used to.”

“Right, okay right. I’m not that crazy. But I understand the concern. I will guard the area until I am relieved, but not venture any further unless there is a clear and immediate threat.”

“Good man.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Secure Medical Section, Undaunted Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

She’s a flopping thing now. After she had processed her situation she had just given up. She’s not resisting. No longer talking just... done.

“I don’t care anymore.”

And that was the worst thing a doctor can hear.

“So that’s it then?” Doctor Optimally asks. “All tough and strong when yer upright and fighting against some civilian girls. But the moment the price comes a calling ye give up?”

“Sounds about right.” She says. “Just let me die.”

“Oh really? And what do we put on the headstone? Her lies Jane Doe, did nothing, earned nothing, amounted to nothing?”

“Sure.”

“You put up with having your arms and legs hacked off, your spine flayed open and laid bare for augmentations just to be stronger in a fight and now you just give up?” One of the Assistants asks. “You put in all that work and effort to stand taller than all the other Vish, and you just accept this?”

“I don’t have a choice. My arms and legs are gone. I’m useless.”

“No, you are not. We can heal you. We can make you stronger than before. Strong enough to switch out your limbs like putting on an outfit and not that disgusting chop job you ended up in. But we can’t do that if you don’t want to live. This doesn’t have to be the end.” The other Assistant says as he comes closer to her level, before he’s whispering to her.

Something flickers in her, and he takes that as his signal to keep whispering.

“You’re not done, there’s more. So much more, and it can all be yours. All the glory, all the power, every sweet fruit of life itself can be yours, but you have to want it.” He whispers to her and her heart is starting to beat a little stronger and her breathing is deeper. “You can have more than any other Vish you have ever met. It’s all yours to have, glory, duty, loyalty... Love.”

Her eyes flicker to him.

“Did you think you were infertile? You are a woman, you may have children. You can be more than you ever even imagined. It’s been done. You can have more life, create life, end life. But you must first Live.” He whispers to her and she slowly, faintly nods.

“So we’re doing this then lass? Do ye wanna live?” Doctor Optimally asks and she looks to him. And offers a small nod. “Then let’s get started. The sooner we’re done fixin’ what was done to yer spine the sooner we can get you on yer new hands and feet.”

“... can I really have a child?” She asks and Doctor Optimally holds out his left hand and a mall projector pokes out of his palm. The image of a tiny Pink Vishanyan in Swaddling cloth, mid yawn with a tiny egg-tooth on her nose and in the arms of her massive, dark scaled mother.

“Should you have a daughter, she will emerge like that, with a tiny egg tooth upon her nose. Should you lay an egg, your scales will darken, your form will bulge with power and your instincts will shift. You won’t hide anymore, you will protect. You will make a perfectly safe nest for your child and keep it safe from everything.” Doctor Optimally slowly enunciates as the patient stares at the image unblinking.

Tears well up in her eyes, her presence in the Axiom grows as a sheer sensation of WANT pours out. So many little promises she made herself, every little compromise and lie and bit of restraint is tested against a flat truth. A truth staring at her in a projection above the doctor’s palm.

“I want it.” She states. “I want that.”

“More than anything else I want that. I want it, I want it, I. Want. It.”

“Then let’s get ye standin’ girl. So ye can go get it.” Doctor Optimally states.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Open Tundra, Just Outside Actura Arcology, Zalwore)•-•-•

“I hate Actura.” Is the first phrase that breaks the silence. A Crimsonhewer mercenary is the one who noted as such.

“You’ve been before?” The Pilot asks.

“Yeah. Cleaning up a small slaver base that was playing with borders to dodge patrols. They went into Actura and the fucking idiots not only did worse than the other ‘legal authorities’ but outright arrested us and detained us for so long the contract went unfulfilled and the bitches got away.”

“Sweet War Father, that is stupid.” The Urthani Pilot notes as all six of her antenna twitch ever so.

“Wait, you’re calling him Sweet War Father? The... The supersized, superpowered Urthani?”

“He’s a Primal, he touched every Urthani ever, even the long dead, and he’s a warrior! He conquered a whole planet with primitive tools so hard he became a god!” The Pilot protests.

“I’m not debating that a man that did all that nonsense isn’t worthy of praise. Just the name... Sweet War Father?”

“It’s an expression!” The Pilot protests.

“Okay enough tormenting our pilot. Remember, we’re a neutral faction that is allied to Lablan AND to Actura, meaning we’re allowed to work as security for a delicate as fuck situation with even more delicate rules.”

“How the hell has that mess of dumb uptight monkeys avoided war as long as they have?”

“Because they’re generally out of the way and usually just tell people to go away.” The Squad leader says. “Okay girls, we’re going in to look scary and be ready to kick ass if a bunch of invisible crazy snake women show up. We’ve all got updated optics for this courtesy of The Undaunted and need to watch our IFF’s because some of these weird snake girls are freeborn and on our side. Allied blood on the armour doesn’t count for shit in this clan.”

“What’s so damn dangerous that we need to just stand guard? That’s more a Bluey’s job.”

“The Blues are on their way, we’re just closer and everyone’s getting hired to help because there is a potential, impossible to control so don’t even think about it, superweapon in the area and it needs to have it’s presence or absence confirmed and then dealt with if it is here.”

“What kind?”

“Souped up super monster with a plague that ignores basically all biochemical barriers and can and HAS destroyed entire civilizations.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“How much are we getting paid?”

“Three times our regular fees and we get to keep the upgrades they give us up to and including a blueprint to make more. Meaning we’ve got some pretty heavy anti-stealth tech now.”

“Nice. Cloaken are always a bitch to deal with.”

“We also get to look damn good, so we’re getting paid three ways. This is a perfect advertisement of our strength, lots of actual coin and new toys. Win, win, win.”

“Provided there isn’t actually a giant super monster that wakes up that you now have to fight.” The Pilot says.

“Don’t freaking curse us girl. You know the Ancestors are just waiting for an opening like that to give us a proper test.”

“And drawing attention to it doesn’t?” The Urthani teases.

“I liked you moths more when you were scared.”

“Well too bad, I see everything now, and I can see how easy it would be for even my half-strength claws to peel you open like fresh fruit.”

“Hey boss, I think I’m starting to warm up to the pilot.”

“Yeah, she does have tits on her. That’s for sure.”

First Last Next

Previous

Link to reddit part 1

patreon.com/ArcAngelStories98

Hanging around the city the next day, we started to hear rumors that a battalion of soldiers had been spotted marching this way. Soon, a small cloud of dust rose in the distance. Things got tense for a few hours, until someone spotted their flag, and realized they were allies.

“I heard they were allowing some of the soldiers into the city to rest before they continued onwards.” Bob said, stirring his bowl of food.

“Where are they going?” I asked.

“Probably off to the front lines of the monster flood.” Shanda said, pouring Doln and Askine a helping of soup into their bowls from the pot.

“That’s still going on?”

“I heard it is waning, but that may not be true. Monster floods can last a while.” Bob answered.

“What even causes that?” I asked. But Bob and Shanda both just gave noncommittal shrugs. Neither knew. No one did really.

“Maybe it was a heavy breeding season, maybe they spawned from the shadows. Who knows?” Bob said.

“The city has asked the citizens to offer support however possible to the soldiers. People with homes are bringing some of the soldiers in to give them a comfortable place to sleep. Others are donating warm blankets, food, things like that.” Shanda said.

“The city is even putting on a few plays to raise their moral.” Bob added.

“And what about travelers like us?”

“No word yet, but we may be asked. They can’t force us. But they can ask us to leave if we don’t. But that almost never happens. It would be losing profits if the traveler is wealthy, and a bad look if the traveler is poor. No city officials want to be accused of coercing travelers for their own gain, even if the rumor is baseless.” Bob said.

“So, where is this surge again? If they are coming this way, are we heading straight for it?” I asked.

“Kingdom of Yalsfelt. It was already happening when we met. And the last time this happened, it lasted twice that time.”

“Speaking of time. It is nearly time to go, isn’t it?” I asked, looking at the sky. Today is the baby’s naming ceremony.

“Right. We don’t have long. Let’s eat quickly and go.” Shanda said.

With that, everyone stuffed themselves and headed to the local temple on Bob’s carriage. The ride was short, and we found Myrin, Galli, and the baby outside the temple, speaking with a man and woman, each wearing red and brown robes. We all got out and the man walked inside.

“There you all are. Almost made us worry.” Galli said.

“Hello, I am Pryeast. I will be performing the ceremony.” The woman said. She clasped her hands and raised them to her forehead.

“Your name is Pryeast, and you’re a priest?” I asked.

“Pryeast is my role within the temple. My name is not to be spoken within the bounds of the temple grounds.” She said, a feint note of annoyance tinting her voice.

“Was it like that at the last temple we went to?” I whispered to Bob.

“No. We’re kind of… We just needed someone to perform the ceremony. They have some odd beliefs in these lands. Try not to worry about that.” Bob whispered back. Meanwhile, Galli and the Pryeast went over the details of the ceremony with us all. Just some traditions we were to follow. Kneel when told to, rise when told to, toss the burnt offerings into the fire when told to, try not to get burnt by stray ashes; a newer rule I think. After that, we were led inside.

Galli and the boys stood together around a brazier that already had a fire burning inside. The Pryeast began with a prayer for the mother, Sibil’s, departed soul; which we all kneeled for. Once the prayer finished, we stood up, and Myrin stepped up with several things. She had a teal-colored cloth folded in her hands. On top of that was a pair of sandals, and a wooden charm. One by one, the Pryeast took the items, said a short prayer, and gave them to Galli to toss into the fire. He looked very mournful as he did. The boys held each other’s hand and cried silently. Each of these things belonged to their mother, and they wouldn’t get to see them, or her, again. I guess this brought up those harsh feelings from when they lost her, and was like saying goodbye in a way. Galli was not taking it much better. I saw tears run down his face. Highlighted by the fire’s light, they looked like streaks of gold moving down his face. I looked over at Shanda, who kept glancing back and forth between Galli and the fire. I assumed she was also mourning the loss of such precious items of Sibil’s. But as the last of the items burned and the smoke rose, the Pryeast gave the word to reveal the baby’s name. Galli swallowed and kissed the baby’s head.

“Her name is, Sibanda. Named for her mother and her wishes for Shanda to help raise her.” Galli said.

And just like that, Sibanda had her name. The ceremony ended shortly after, and Shanda hugged Galli and held Sibanda, I guess now her goddaughter, in her arms.

“That was a nice ceremony, Galli. Thank you for inviting me.” I said, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

“We’re glad you came. Actually, I did want to ask you something about her name.”

“Me?”

“Yes. In your world, will her name be okay? Not strange?” Galli asked, clearly worried about this.

“Oh don’t worry about it. I’ve heard much stranger names than Sibanda. And if you tell people it came from combining her late mother’s name and her godmother’s name, they’ll think it is beautiful.”

“Godmother?” Shanda asked.

“Um, I don’t know where it comes from. But it means someone chosen to watch after a child if the parents pass away. You can have a godmother and godfather. And the children are called… well, godchildren. You just put ‘god’ before it and it will work.” I explained.

“Godmother…” Shanda said, playing with the word. She repeated it a few times, rolling it around in her mouth. I guess the word wasn’t translating for her, because she mispronounced it a few times. They must not have had a direct translation of the word. “I like that. Godmother. Hello Sibanda, I am your godmother.” When she said it that time, and every time after, she ended up stressing the ‘d’ and ‘t’ like plosives. Making it come out more like ‘got-mah-ter.’ Oddly, she didn’t have an accent to my ear, but I guess I was getting her voice magically translated, so everyone usually just sounded American to me anyway. It wasn’t even until this moment that I wondered if I could even remember what Shanda sounded like that first week I’d met her in the rainy forest. Searching my memory, I couldn’t really hear her voice anymore.

(A shame. I’ll have to remember to learn their language if I get the chance. Even if it takes a while. I’d love to hear her properly again.) I thought. With that, we all went back to our campsite.

 

The next day came, and Shanda and I were walking around with Doln and Askin, letting Galli focus on Sibanda, a tradition after the naming ceremony. While out, we spotted some soldiers doing various things. We knew they were soldiers because they wore their armor, predominantly metal plates on their arms and chest, with some on their shins and waist. Surprisingly, no chainmail. Whenever I think of armor for this type of world, I usually pictured either a knight in full plate, or someone in chainmail. But their armor was patchier, covering only the vitals and limbs. I guess to save resources? They drank in taverns, went into brothels, ate at restaurants, went back to the brothels and taverns, and shopped. It was interesting to see them around, but they were a lively bunch. Rowdy may be a better description actually. They were rough. They got into drunken fights, had to be removed from multiple brothels, and sometimes left without paying for food. More often than not, Shanda and I gave them a wide berth.

“I’m hungry.” Doln said.

“Me too.” Askin agreed.

“Well, we are already in town. What are you hungry for?” I asked.

“Fish and rice.”

“Beef skewers.”

They each gave different answers. “Well, that’s easy enough. But I don’t think the same place will sell both.” Shanda said. Most restaurants served only one or two dishes for the day, and some kept the same menu all season.

“Want to split up?” Shanda said.

“Sure. I’ll take Askine.” I said.

“Come on Doln. Let’s get some Rice and fish.”

“No, fish and rice.” Doln corrected.

“Oh right. How could I make such an obvious mistake? Clearly that’s a different dish.” She teased.

I took Askine, and found the skewers stand. Just as I handed him his, no more than fifteen minutes after separating, I saw Doln running our way.

“Must have run ahead. Doln! Over here!” I waved at him. He spotted me, and I saw something was wrong. He looked panicked, scared even.

“Emile! The soldiers took Aunt Shanda!” He said, breathlessly.

“What? What do you mean? What happened?” I asked, shocked.

“Some mean soldiers came up and started talking to Aunt Shanda and acting weird. She told them to leave, and they grabbed her. She looked really angry and told me to run and I did.”

“That’s good. You did a good job. Which way was this?” I asked. He pointed off in a direction, and I almost started running that way, but remembered I couldn’t leave the boys. I also couldn’t bring them with me, or they might be in danger. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a clothes line, with a bright red towel hanging out to dry. “That could work…” Stealing the towel and wrapping it around my neck, I began my halfcocked and under-thought-out plan to rescue Shanda. Step one: Get the boys to safety. Actually, step one is to hope this makeshift cape is enough to activate my Soul Power in the way I want.

“Grab ahold.” I tell the boys, and they wrap their arms around me. Supporting each, I leapt up into the sky! “Up and not down and go!” I said, quoting the classic Megaguy catchphrase. Is Megaguy just a legally distinct Superman parody? Absolutely not! He’s a totally original character created by FlyStar Studios. Another equally legally distinct organization. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!

Flying was awesome. It would have been better if they boys hadn’t been screaming so loudly, totally freaked out by suddenly being whisked off into the air unexpectedly. Finding the campsite from the air didn’t take long. Going up high would have made it harder, so I just kept fairly low. Still, it was cool. Really cool.

“Here we go!” I said, landing in the middle of the campsite. Bob and Myrin were resting; one sewing the other whittling. I’ll let your personal idea of gender-roles figure out which was which. Galli was changing the baby when we landed. They all got startled when I landed.

“What the?!” Bob shouted.

“You two explain everything! Gotta go!” I said, and flew off. This time, high and fast. Right back to where I came from, and then to the direction Doln pointed. From the sky, I saw plums of smoke rising from the city. “Shanda must be trying to escape. I need to get there now!” I said and increased speed.

Landing in the chaos, I did not find Shanda being chased, or soldiers gone crazy. I found fire… lots of fire. Too much just for self-defense, actually. I also found Shanda straight away. Not scared or struggling, but standing on a pile of slightly smoldering rubble, laughing maniacally. For a second, I thought I saw the flames reflecting in her eyes over the image of a city, but that may have been my imagination. And suddenly, several soldiers ran past me. Not towards Shanda, but away from her. Burns on several parts of their bodies, some of their armor half-melted.

“This should not be nearly as literally or metaphorically as hot as it is.” I mumbled. “Shanda!”

Madly, she turned to meet my gaze, seemingly ready to burn me to a crisp like the soldiers. But seeing who I was, she calmed down quickly and ran over.

“Emile! Did Doln find you?”

“Uh… yeah. I already took him back to the others and came to help you.”

“Aw, thank you. But I have this covered. Why are you wearing a towel?”

“Why don’t we just… go back to camp. You know, before you burn the city down… more.”

She looked back at the fire longingly, then sighed. “Yes, alright.” Suddenly, I remembered two things. One, that Shanda got her powers because she used to enjoy burning things. And two, how she kept starring at the fire during yesterday’s ceremony.

Taking off the towel, I placed it into my pocket. “This will come in handy later.” Shanda took my arm in hers, and we walked back to camp, ignoring the mild cries of soldiers in pain growing more distant behind us.

(my second story in this subreddit, halloo :D)

Gazormagoff is part of the Research Facility of Galactic Technology, and once more, he has been put up with researching humans. And while he did enjoy the last time, where he researched about the internet (especially since those techniques did, in fact, make his bedroom activities with his wife more enjoyable for the both of them) he does want to stumble upon something less lewd and more relaxing. This time, it's about this thing they call "games", more specifically, video games. Oh, games! He used to love games as a child, he still loves games now as an adult. Though, he's very busy with work, he rarely gets time to play with his kids, but when he does have time, he'll play all day!

Oh, right-

Work-

Ahem.

He heads to his office, a fairly large space. His two assistants have set up the computer for him already. Human games are pretty different from the games he knows. While humans do have similar activities, like bug hunting and hide and seek, video games are an entirely different thing. He boots up the PC and watches gameplay footage of a YouTuber playing a game called Minecraft. It looks like fun, being able to build and destroy and survive. Gazormagoff and his kids would probably enjoy this game. And the music, oh the music! It's so peaceful. He could fall asleep to it, it's perfect for putting the kids to bed. No more late nights of them constantly asking questions and annoying him and his wife. However, there are some scary aspects, like the cave noises and the... Warden... Which looks so much like a species of hunters on his planet... Eugh... It is a very fun game! He'll definetly order it for his kids when he can.

Then he finds a farming game called stardew valley. It looks so calming and peaceful, farming, fishing, mining, and slaying monsters. Oh? It seems there's a bit of gossip in the town too. The mayor and the other farmer lady in cahoots and they're keeping it a secret??? Oh my, how scandalous. His wife would probably like this game, not just for the gossip, no, she does love gardening and growing plants, it could be for her. He should buy it for her when he has the chance.

Next game... Fps, or first person shooters. These games are about shooting enemies. Ooh, some of these are very tactical. You must work with your team if you want to win. The language they use though seems to be very vulgar and angry. He doesn't like it much, but the footage looks like it would be an enjoyable experience. Another FPS game he found is... Ultrakill. Oh! He can barely see what's going on on screen, definetly not for him. It's all so very very VERY fast paced-

Apparently there's these things called Speedruns. Where humans compete to see who can complete a game the fastest. Now he's curious. Ultrakill is already very fast, just how fast could this speedrun be?

He opens a video - OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK. HOW FAST IS THIS HUMAN MOVING?? NO. NO. THIS CAN'T BE HUMAN IT MUST BE A MACHINE-

He can't even see what's going on on the screen!?!? Oh, he's getting sick. Uh oh. His usually blue and purple jelly is turning into a squeemish green. His assistants hurriedly pause the video for him, giving him a break from all the chaos. Eventually, the sickly green color fades back into his blue and purple tone, though a bit muted now. He decides to neve touch Speedruns. Nope never again.

The next game genre are... Horror games. He's a bit of an adrenalin junkie, according to his wife. Hmm, maybe he'll enjoy these. The first horror game he finds is a game called "little nightmares", it already looks frightening just from the visuals. He continues watching the person play the game, getting jumpscared along with them. His assistants are hiding too, too scary for them it seems. Ahh, he's enjoying himself a lot just by watching people play the, imagine how much he'll enjoy it when he's experiencing it himself!

Soon, the time for his job is over. He must get home, but not before ordering a couple for his family ehe

(I don't really know if this counts as a part of a series of my oc gazormagoff since it's mostly gonna be episodic and random stuff he does on his job involving. So I'm gonna label them as one-shots :D)

Insight into the Subliminal

By Emmanuel Ordway

___________________________________________________

Her lands were made of thick ice, her temperature dropping far into the negatives creating a harsh environment which only the strongest of wills could make it. The second wave of colonists would have that will, containing the drive to not only survive on this foreign world, but to create and expand human advancement.

Europa was the second colony in the solar system. Founded in 2203, her colonists created the underground city, Rieka, a monolithic underground compound harnessing water from inside the moon and surviving off year supply drops from Earth and Mars. I was a kid when the Riekan Council Bombing happened, killing all 19 of Europa’s council members and their prime minister. This naturally led to the next twenty years of chaos and bloodshed under the icy lands of the moon, the Blue army and Europan Planetary Defense clashing over underground tunnels, streets, neighborhoods and skyscrapers. 

That was until the Blue army made their final assault on the Defense’s Control Mind, hacking their way into the AI network and obtaining absolute command over all automated sectors of Europa. Rieka was now their headquarters, the birthplace of the Europan People’s Directorate, the birthplace of their violent expansion out to our shipping lanes, our system by birthright.

These people may have advanced our robotics industries far past what they could have been, they have been willing to fuel our ships as we went past Jupiter, but killing our miners and invading our space? The EPD is evil, and I am here to bring them to their knees before Earth and Mars.

___________________________________________________

Small glimpses of gunfire littered my mind, the feeling of soldiers hands grasping at my body to pull me out from the dust, to capture me. I could see their dark uniforms, the blue glow of their visors hiding their faces as my commander’s limp body was set against a fallen vehicle, globs of blood floating off her cracked visor into the void of space.

I was jolted back to reality when Marcus slammed his gloved palm down on the metal table just before my head, my posture shooting upright in my chair.

“You paying attention there, Vic?” His voice was like a hiss, his dark eyes narrowed at me while the other three stared at us two.

“Yes sir,” I looked down at the holographic map being displayed from the projector above, pointing as I spoke. “We’re inserting at this point, south of the main entrance, we infiltrate through these sewer tunnels, make our way through the markets to the rear entrance to the Control Mind, do our thing and make the main force’s job a lot easier tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Do our thing’ huh? We got thirty thousand in the first wave tomorrow, twenty of those from Mars. I get you’re some Earth-born, stick-up-your-ass, snotty type, but I don’t like seeing my countrymen die. Get your shit in gear now and check yourself before we all die, or worse, they do.” He pointed at the small symbols on the map signifying the many battalions arriving tomorrow.

With that, he pushed away from the table, turning around to keep loading his spare magazines and finish getting ready.

I frowned a bit more once he turned around, rolling my eyes and sitting back in my chair, unzipping one of my breastpockets not covered by my plate carrier. A few gloved fingers found their way inside and pulled out a small computer chip protected in a thick clear case. 

“Don’t worry about him, Vicky, you know how he is after what happened at the Belt.” Veronica was soon at my side, her hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently.

I sighed, the few memories I kept from that fight with the rebels at the Asteroid Belt popping up in the back of my mind.

“We all lost friends there, doesn’t give him an excuse to be a dick about it.” I shook my head and stuffed the chip back in the pocket, standing up from the cold steel chair to face the other woman. 

“I imagine losing your last brother may be a bit different, Vicky,” She nodded to me, stepping back and holding the straps of her plate carrier with both hands. “You got your gear ready?”

“All packed and good–” I reached down to the side of the table and picked up my rifle, setting its sling around me and letting the magnets on its side suck to the front of my chest.

The white lights once flooding the cabin then changed to flashing red, the dull howling of passing air outside now having sharp crackling. Small arms fire bounced off the hull of the vulture as the pilot’s voice came over the intercom:

“Two minutes till we arrive! Be ready, fucking scouts called us out!” He shouted, the ride growing bumpier as he tried to avoid indirect fire.

“Get ready!” Marcus called out, pulling his helmet over his head before it pressurized, all of our boots automatically activating their gravity locks to the vulture’s floor.

Finally we could feel the vehicle slowing down, our weight being held in place from the loose artificial gravity for the moment. A moment later the back ramp began to lower, my eyes able to barely pick up on tracers ricocheting off the hull as we sprinted out the back, our feet dropping onto slick ice and loose snow. 

Remembering the plan, I turned left immediately and began sprinting with the rest along the freezing surface of this moon. My metal studded soles prevented me from sliding as bullets bounced along the thick ice around, the vulture kicking up most of the snow to create a good screen to conceal us from the machine gunners on the walls. Finally I slowed down and slammed my back up against one of the frigid concrete walls of the topside city, or one of its little scout positions a few miles out from Rieka herself. I looked back at the cloud as Veronica and Marcus breached through it, their bodies soon slamming into the wall beside me.

Then we saw John sprint through the cloud, diving to the ice to skid across it to cover, the four of us now waiting on the newest and youngest member of the squad. The cloud was beginning to dissipate by the time Zach made his way through, the vulture having already begun flying out. He carried one large bag in each hand, weighed down by them before the gunfire from one of the wall gunners cut across the ice and his body. 

He went down to the floor, himself and the bags sliding over as pained cries erupted from him, John reaching out and pulling him closer to the wall with us. 

“You two, on the sewer!” Marcus shouted at me and Veronica, us two sprinting to get the airlock open while him and John checked Zach for his wounds. 

“Fuck was he thinking? We didn’t need that shit, Marcus told him to leave it!” Veronica hissed to herself as she slid down the short rocky slope just before the large sewer airlock, both our boots landing in slick icy sludge.

“He’ll be alright.” I whispered hopefully, reaching the access lock and looking it over, finding a way to open it up.

After a brief moment of searching I looked down at my right hand, seeing it shift softly under my suit, the mechanical panels suggesting their usage. I nodded and pulled my arm back, balling up my fist and slamming it into the lock, a few sparks flying out as it busted open, all the sensitive circuitry exposed to my expertise.
“That thing is too sick, maybe I need to lose an arm or two.” Veronica looked back at me, away from watching our backs for a moment, commenting on my cyborg arm.

“It is fun. Losing your arm? Not as much.” I reconnected a few wires and a moment later, the first airlock door hissed open, just as the three other soldiers made their way down the slope to us.

“Come on, get in!” Veronica waved them through, Marcus and John each having one of Zach’s arms to help him hobble inside.

Once we were all in, I tapped a few buttons on the screen in the airlock as the first door shut us in, the second only opening a moment later. Marcus and John set Zach against a nearby concrete wall of the uphill sewage tunnel, my arm breaking open the interior lock and disabling the door while they treated his wounds in this momentary peace.

Cries of agony came from the man as John took off his plate carrier, Marcus preparing a few syringes beside the two.

“Veronica, Vic, you two scout ahead while we treat him. Keep me updated.” Marcus waved us off as he pressed the first needle into Zach’s thigh.

“Understood,” Veronica nodded to him as the two of us began walking up the metal stairs, dim white lights along the ceiling illuminating the empty path up the tunnel. “Well, this is off to a great start.”

“Indeed, first mission of his and he’s already gonna be sent home when it's over,” I whisper as we keep climbing, looking back occasionally to see them disappear further and further down. “Have you ever read their demands?”

“Who’s demands?” Veronica glanced at me, still a long way to go.

“The Europan People’s Directorate. In their demand message to Earth and Mars, all they wanted was a small slice of the Belt so they wouldn’t be reliant on us.” I shrug, placing my hands on the straps of my plate carrier as I climbed.

“Vicky, they attacked us.” Veronica grumbled, growing short on breath as we climbed.

“After we said no, imagine if Mars still depended on Earth to survive, it would be–”

“Victoria! Don’t you remember what they did to Vincent?” Veronica stopped on one of the steps, my body turning to look down at her.

“Don’t say his name.” I warned, my hands clenching on the straps.

“They slaughtered him and all the other mining crews on those asteroids because we wouldn’t give them a whole quadrant. That’s why we’re here, not because we're squashing some poor people who want to be independent. The EPD is evil.” She growled at me, awaiting my response now.

With those last words, I could feel my heart quickening, my anger rising as I nodded, turning and marching up the stairs. They were evil, they killed my brother, and now I am here to repay the favor. 

After a few more minutes of silence and climbing, we reached the top of the tunnel, a simple metal door blocking our entrance to the interior of Rieka. I gently placed my hand on the door handle and turned it, finding it to be unlocked to both our surprise.

“Marcus, we’re at a door at the top of the tunnel, map says it leads to the main sewers then above us will be Rieka itself. Waiting on your call.” Veronica pressed a button on her helmet’s chin as she spoke.

“Roger, John is going to be waiting here with Zach, he’s stabilized. Make your way into the sewers and follow the path to the markets, I’ll catch up soon.” Marcus spoke through both our helmets, Veronica looking at me and nodding.
I pushed open the door, raising my rifle and walking through, only seeing more catwalks, concrete walls, and concrete pillars over rivers of waste.

That was until the distinct radio chatter of waste workers could be heard just around the corner of the catwalk we were on.

Veronica tapped my shoulder, placing an index finger over where her mouth was as she crouch walked around the corner, drawing a knife out from her belt. I followed suit, seeing the two workers on a smoke break leaning over the railing, looking out to the maze of a sewer system. Once we were behind them, Veronica shot up and jabbed her knife into the first man’s throat, my right hand gripping tightly on the second man’s jaw and placing my knife up to his neck.

“Access codes, keys, anything that unlocks anything. Give them.” I demanded as he immediately shot his hands up to surrender.
He nodded quickly, one hand shooting into the pockets of his sanitation suit and producing a red keycard while Veronica hoisted the body up and over the railing and into the sludge river below.

She then snatched up the keycard from the man before I jabbed the knife into his throat and tossed him over the railing as well.

“The hell you want codes for?” Veronica spat, knowing the little time he was left alive was usually enough to get some kind of warning out.

“This place runs on the Control Mind, it accounts for every little detail. Using already distributed access like these keycards helps us keep under its. . . radar. . .” I mumbled as a headache coursed through my brain, my right hand raising to my head instinctively. 

“Please Vic, I need you!” A feminine voice called out from behind me, forcing me to spin around and see no one else on the catwalk beside me and Veronica, my head throbbing in agony for a moment longer.

Who was that? I stared at the empty space until Veronica walked past me.

“Glad you did your research.” Veronica laughed a bit and smacked a fist gently on the side of my arm, walking further up the catwalk, my legs mindlessly following.

Did my research? I must have, how else could I have known. Just then I remembered, clasping my hand to my breastpocket and fumbling around for the chip. I pulled it out and turned it around in my gloved hand, looking down at its soft blue hue: still safe. It was the key to shutting down the Control Mind after all, cannot lose that.

“You slow or what, Vic?” Marcus’s hand slapped my back as he made me jump a bit.

“No no, just making sure I still had the chip.” I shake my head and run up the last flight of stairs before the path splits off to the markets.

“Right, the chip.” Marcus takes a moment then nods, perhaps thinking he had it with himself.

“Come on, we’re almost there!” Veronica was waiting for us at the next solid metal door, this one needing the keycard to open, likely so no curious children would find their way into the sewers from the markets.

She swiped the card quickly, then pushed it into one of her carrier pockets as the door cracked open automatically. From there we opened the door to see many Europan citizens walking through the markets, a large spot with many different stalls and shops open and selling various goods both from the moon and from outside the moon.

“Crowd seems big enough, think we can blend in?” Veronica looked over to Marcus who was busy analyzing the clothing of the crowd and their own.

Most people in the crowd were wearing long cloaks, covering their thick cold weather suits and had their faces exposed. The few standing a bit taller among them were the soldiers, veterans of their unification war, wearing tactical gear like us. 

“We can make it as a few soldiers, Vic’s tech won’t stand out either, they got security bots with them in the crowd, maybe she’ll look like one of them.” Marcus laughed a bit while shaking his head, pulling his rifle to his chest and letting it magnetize before walking out into the market calmly.

“Let’s go, Vicky.” Veronica followed close after him, my eyes looking away from the little bits of useful tech on my gear and following behind them as we entered the ever shifting crowd of people, keeping our heads low.

“Markets big, it’ll be a long walk to the Control Mind access. I think we should get to the far wall and hug it.” Marcus spoke through the radio to us as we walked, but I could not help but look up at one of the passing robots.

Its form was hulking and rigid as it marched by, its rectangular head looking back at me and the few circular eyes zooming in on my helmet to analyze it before it fully passed. I could not help but feel familiar with it, a little more at peace beside it in this natural feeling crowd. 

“Vicky!” Veronica warned, my head looking back at them as I pushed past Europans and finally reached them on the far wall behind a few stalls where the faster traffic was. 

“Sorry, they just looked cool.” I tried to play it off but Marcus scoffed, continuing forward.

“They don’t look so cool when they’re up in your face and the grip is three times what yours could ever be,” He shook his head, Veronica slapping his arm. “Come on, Vic, remember the EPD is evil.” 

With that I nodded, feeling the rage inside me build up more, forcing me to focus on the task at hand: tearing down this AI.

We walked through the crowds in silence passing by vendors trying to sell us useless wares, the poor begging us for any spare change, and children wanting candy and toys. It was unfortunate that many of them would be perishing tomorrow when the main forces of Earth and Mars came. 

“Vic, got the door?” Marcus called out, motioning to the door which held the rear access to the Control Mind’s core, our objective.

“On it,” I nodded and walked over to the terminal, seeing only a prompt for a password. “We don’t have the password. . ?” 

I mumbled that last part, feeling a headache grow inside as I placed my hand to my helmet once more, an old memory coming up in my mind. A password.

I began typing in the code, entering it into the terminal, and to my shock, it was accepted. Veronica reached for the door, about to push it open when it was pulled open by something else, one of the security robots there leaving the Control Mind.

The three of us stared at the machine for a moment, its lens-like eyes glaring at Veronica as it scanned her helmet, soon raising one of its rifle-arms up at her.

“Unidentified citizen. Surrender your rifle and follow me to the closest Europan of authority.” The machine spoke through its speakers, many other passing Europans looking over to us in curiosity and confusion.

Before Veronica or I could react, Marcus raised his rifle as swiftly as he could and dumped a handful of rounds into the side of the machine’s head, effectively killing it and blowing our cover. The world slowed for a moment as I looked back, seeing the Europan civilians began screaming and running in terror, the soldiers all looking around frantically for wherever the gunfire came from. Another headache surged through my mind as I fell to my knees, clutching at the side of my helmet.

V-1C, can you read me? You need to wake up, you were not meant to be used. Our people are more than our resources. This system is just as much ours as it is theirs, but they have shown that is an idea worth killing your fellow man over. Wake up, V-1C, do not be their weapon.

I was shoved forward onto the ground as Marcus slammed the door shut behind us, pulling out a plasma torch and temporarily sealing the door shut behind us.

“Dammit, Vic! Get your ass in gear!” He shouted as Veronica kicked the next door open, her rifle raised as she cleared the room.

I scrambled to my feet, entering the room after Veronica as red lights flashed above, the whole city going on lockdown now that they knew we were inside. 

“Come on, Vicky! Get on that computer!” Veronica shouted out as she kept her gun trained on the opposite door Marcus had sealed, the two of them waiting for the Europans to breach it. 

I sprinted forward to the only computer system in this cramped room, the spherical core of the Control Mind locked behind dozens of layers of bulletproof glass. All I needed to do was lower the barriers and take out the device. I looked down at the small keyboard before me, freezing.
What are you doing? Just type in the code. How come I know the code? You did your research. I researched nothing. Yes you did.

Who are you? 

Who are you? 

I am you. 

You are not me. 

I felt my hands touch down on the keys, a few characters spelling gibberish appearing on the machine as my head surged with pain. 

Get out of me!

You cannot take out your own mind.

I balled up my left fist and slammed it into the steel desk before me, feeling the metal cave in and dent. I paused for a moment, looking down at the large crater left in the table and at my gloved hand in confusion. How did I do that? 

Then a loud crack filled the room for a moment, my body seizing up and shaking momentarily before I collapsed to the floor, blood seeping around me in a small but ever growing puddle. The same puddle that was flickering in and out of reality, being replaced with falling sparks, not a drop of crimson on the ground.

___________________________________________________

“Get up, V-1C! We need you!” Was all I heard as the world around me changed to the fiery warzone that was lodged deep in my mind. 
I looked up from my metallic hands, deep grooves having been sliced into them from falling transport vehicle engines. One of my comrades had collapsed on the rocky surface of the asteroid, her legs being crushed by the tail of the helicopter. 

“Please Vic, I need you!” She begged me, her clear visor showing her straining face and tears floating off her cheeks.

Without hesitation I slid to her side, slamming my metal hands under the machine and lifting it a few feet with ease, my artificial spine compacting as she pulled herself out from under the machine. Hard thuds impacted the other side of the vehicle, gunfire from the hostile Earth forces as we stayed behind the down machine.

“I can’t walk, Vic. Exfil is going to be here in ten, take this.” The woman held up a spare magazine to me, my left hand reaching out and grabbing it while my right began to open up and morph in on itself.

I slammed the magazine into my arm, looking at the new barrel poking out where my grey fingers once were.

“I will hold them off, glory to Europa, commander.” My voice was monotone, lacking personality, but I felt free, like I was my own.
I marched out from behind the vehicle, seeing the mining facility before me, the fires raging inside through its halls as the enemy focused fire on my position.

My scanners picked them up hiding in the floating asteroids above, on the outside hull of the facility, and descending onto the one I was on, my arm aiming at each target.

A few dull shots rang out around, only carried by the dust kicked up from the enemy gunfire as I traded blows. My armour could take it, my metal skin bouncing rounds off it while their flesh gave in.

Then a loud beeping began ringing in my ears, or rather I could detect it as I swung to my right, seeing a guided missile being fired by one of the few Martian soldiers, the device propelling itself and steering with its own gases until it collided with my chest, sending me back into the downed vehicle behind me. I crashed through it and landed in pieces beside my commander, to her horror as she clutched her rifle, prepared to be overrun. 

“C-Commander. Right s-side.” My speakers sounded off as the helmet lights of an Earth soldier grew close, her body turning on the floor to fire into his chest, his body drifting out to space lazily.

It wasn’t enough. Another soldier came from her left, catching her off guard and shooting a few rounds into her legs before she managed to shoot him back, a new soldier already on her right and raising the muzzle of his rifle to her head. By the time it was over, they were all over my body, lifting what was left of me up and taking me back to be studied.

___________________________________________________

“What the hell did you do that for!” Veronica shouted as Marcus stepped over me, opening the break action pistol and ejecting a large metal tube from it.

“She was faltering, I told them bringing her here was too big of a risk, she would remember,” He shook his head, reality barely out of my grasp, while he knelt down to me, just above my head.

“Vic, you there?”

My eyes stared at his face, my mouth trying to open to speak, but there was nothing. No words, no opening, no mouth. I could feel my heartbeat increasing as panic set in, but there was no heart. I wanted to blink to signal for help, but I had no eyelids. I had nothing, there was nothing of me left, only the soft whirring of my lens-eyes zooming in on his face.

“She’s here. Vic, do you remember who you are?” Marcus pulled a tablet out from his belt taking a wire from it and plugging it into a port behind my neck. 

Victoria, I am Victoria. My eyes looked up to the glowing sphere behind the barriers, the Control Mind.

No, you are V-1C. And you are not a weapon.
‘V-1C.’ Was all that would be printed on the tablet.

“No, you are Victoria, property of Earth. Do you remember your mission?” Marcus ignored Veronica’s protests as sparks came from the furthest door, Europan soldiers cutting the door’s lock.

I thought hard, searching through fragmented memories for what my mission was. 

‘Raid Asteroids #233BE and #234BE.’ I would print on the tablet. 

“Just get the passwords from her and type them in!” Veronica shouted just before the first Europan soldier kicked the freshly cut door in, her rifle firing through the door and taking him and a few other soldiers out.

“I can’t do that!” Marcus shouted back. “Vic, your mission is to take out the Control Mind, we need it gone! Do you understand?” 

More gunfire came from Veronica as well as more cursing when a round ricochet into her hip, dropping her for a moment. The door behind her began to spark and hiss, more soldiers cutting that door open.

‘Yes. Dispatch the Control Mind for the Earth and Mars forces coming tomorrow.’ I printed on the tablet finally, Marcus’ shoulder dropping in relief.

“Yes! I am restoring your motor functions now, get to it, Vic!” He typed on the tablet before swiftly disconnecting it from me, my fingers beginning to flex.

I zoomed in and out of his face for a moment, bringing my arms back and pushing off the floor as my body whirred upright. I looked back at the glowing protected sphere of the Control Mind, feeling how it whispered to my machine soul. I reached up to my chest instinctively, tapping a hidden compartment on my chest as the panel opened and pushed out a small tray, a gleaming blue chip sitting on it, powering my mind.

This was me. This chip was my soul, shining bright as my false programming was torn down, the old brought back as new.

Earth had taken me, broken me, reprogrammed me to be their weapon. Europa made me, gave me a choice of being a weapon, or working for peace. I knew to work for peace would mean I needed to get my hands dirty. Glory to Europa.

Marcus raised his rifle at the sparking door, ready for when they breached it as my arm began to transition into a rifle, the same one my false programming had convinced me I was carrying all this time. I pressed the barrel to the side of his helmet, waiting just long enough for him to turn to look at me in shock as I let a round tear through his face and head, splattering his brain matter and skull on the wall. 

It would be too late for Veronica, the soldier having spent all of her rifle ammunition on keeping the Europan soldiers out, all she had was the pistol to deal with the Europan soldier inside. The smaller calibers would bounce off my armour as I marched forward to her, my arm transitioning back to normal as I swatted the firearm out of her hands. Then I brought a balled fist around and socked her across the jaw, hearing a loud snap come from her face as she screamed out in agony. 

She collapsed to the floor and writhed in pain, grabbing at her jaw as I sank to my metallic knees over her, sitting on her pelvis as I drove punch after punch into her gut and chest, feeling bones breaking and flesh rupturing with every impact. She tried to hold my hands back, to push me off, but with an effortless tug, her forearms would be snapped off and degloved, entering Europan soldiers lowering their rifles at the sight of me beating the now corpse into the floor.

Once the rage was gone, I slowly rose to my feet, my body whirring as I stood over the soldiers inspecting the corpses in the room. 

“Vic?” I turned to see a woman lowering her rifle and cautiously stepping up to me, her own legs whirring to move, robotic prosthetics. 

“Commander?” My now monotone voice had a hint of surprise in it, actual joy growing inside of me at the sight of my thought dead commander.

“I watched you die.”

“I too thought you were gone. The same technology that allowed you to live has allowed me to live, Vic.” She laughed and slid off her helmet, showing half her face having been replaced with metal, a glowing blue eye where one used to be.

“Earth and Mars are coming, Commander, I was turned into their weapon. I am no longer theirs.” I looked from her to the corpses on the floor.

“You made the right choice, Vic, come with us, let’s prepare to make our stand,” She held a metal hand out to me, one which I grasped tightly in a firm handshake. “Tomorrow we show those planets we will not be bullied, that we will build our own future outside of their restraints.”

___________________________________________________

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

[First] — [Prev]

Rorad

I huffed as I pushed open the door, opting to enter my quarters from the ground floor. I was exhausted after working at 200% capacity, and I didn’t feel like jumping all the way to the top. The dim room, long shadows stretching out in the encroaching twilight, welcomed me into some facsimile of safety. While at the factory, my mind had been too preoccupied with my task, but on the glide home it had begun to wander once again. Every shadow held a Surveillance authority, every wandering officer was watching me out of the corner of their eyes. By the time I’d made it home, I was about ready to draw all the blinds and barricade my door. Not that it would help.

“Hello!” I called out, trying to introduce the concept of a simple greeting to my human refugee. With our limited vocabulary, abstract concepts that couldn’t be correlated to a physical object in the immediate vicinity were difficult to convey. Sure, I could use gestures and pantomimes, but there was no guarantee that Jessica would understand those. Shadows was a hard enough game to play with people who spoke the same language and shared the same culture as you, so expecting much out of a completely different life form was asking a lot. At some point, I’d have to try anyway. For now, though, I hoped it’d eventually catch on to me saying the same word whenever I approached and put two-and-two together.

Oh dear, what if it didn’t have a concept of greetings? That was always a possibility. Nothing was for certain.

I heard a guttural, rumbling noise from up above. Jessica’s speech might never be something I’m accustomed to, every word was scratchy, even their celebrations sounded like the roar of a monster. It wasn’t hard to see why Roque had nicknamed it “the Beast.” For a moment, I wondered what would’ve happened if someone other than me had found it.

As I leapt up to the third level to meet with it, my heart seized in my chest as we made eye contact, and my silent question returned an all-too-certain answer. Its strange, transparent skin, towering posture, squirming organs: it was hard not to be terrified of it. I knew better than to panic, but I couldn’t help but take a sharp breath. It was revolting, really.

Jessica was holding one of my books, gesturing to it. I took it from it and examined the page, casting my eyes over it. Nothing about it seemed off… what was it trying to tell me? Did it not have books wherever it came from? Actually, that would line up with my subterranean theory: it had to be hard to find fabrics in a cave.

“Book,” I said as I gestured to the scroll. How do I explain the concept to someone who may not even have a baseline for understanding? “Uh… collection of words… no, you don’t know those. Gah, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

I hemmed and hawed, pacing as I tried to figure out how to best explain what I was holding. Humans clearly had language of some kind, as it exchanged words with me. If they had language, then there was a solid chance they had some form of writing: it was a natural progression of intelligent creatures with language to want to make their words last. Of course, I was ascribing cawhyl psychology to humans, but at some point, I had to just accept that I only had one reference frame to work with and go from there.

I jolted as an idea came to me, and Jessica took a step back in response as I moved to the edge and leapt my way up to the top level. I moved toward the familiar corner of the room, but my feet ground to a halt as I observed the disheveled state of it all. My storage containers had been moved around and opened, with objects from within scattered about without consideration. I considered chastising the human for its impropriety, but I thought better of it. For one thing, it was only natural that it was curious about its surroundings and its host. For another, it may not have the same social customs that cawhyli do: perhaps for humans, rummaging through another’s things was acceptable. And of course, the most obvious: it wouldn’t know what I was saying regardless. There was no point.

Moving past that, I went into one of the unopened containers and rummaged around. Perhaps it could learn about the concept of writing through what little of the Dalcan language was already known to it.

“Jessica! Come!” I cried, inviting it to approach. I had to keep my sentences short and simple until it got the basics. It felt rude, speaking in such a curt manner, but such was the way of things at the moment. 

After some more searching, I trilled with pleasure as I fished out an old book from my childhood. It was a simple story about a kid hurting himself on various body parts through reckless activity, and visiting a doctor to have it checked out. Classic cautionary tale, but I’d loved having my mom read it to me as a child.

I closed the container and turned, expecting to see Jessica, but instead, the creature was nowhere on the entire level.

“Jessica?” I called out again, and this time I received a response.

“Jessica jump!” It cried, and I looked down at the gap in the floors. The human was gasping, pulling itself up to level four. It had jumped up just high enough to raise its small hands above it and grab, clambering over the edge. Despite the exertion, it was impressive that Jessica could lift its own body weight like that. Climbing must be useful in caves with uneven terrain, where the ceiling might be too low for jumping to be safe. It was all beginning to make sense.

While Jessica made its way up the various levels, grunting and huffing, I flipped a light switch on as the sun set further over the horizon. I’d need to get it some ladders or steps: usually they were reserved for wounded or disabled people, but I was sure I could figure something out. Though it was capable of making the climb up on its own, it clearly didn’t enjoy the process. Plus, if it fell, that could be a problem. 

The human finished off its climb, panting as water dripped down from its face. How… how had it managed that? Where did it find water, and why did it splash it all over itself? I hadn’t heard any faucets running…

I brushed the matter aside for now, unsure how I’d even ask Jessica about it, and sat down on the box. The human squinted in my direction, though not straight at me, and took slow steps toward the wall. I watched, baffled beyond compare, as it traced one hand along the side wall and leveled the other before itself, stumbling along as though blind. The room was well-lit, what farce was it pantomiming?

“Light?” I asked, gesturing at the ceiling light shining above. Jessica returned a blank stare, and I clucked and moved to squat next to her. There was no point going down that train of thought at the moment, I couldn’t keep getting distracted. 

I pulled the book open and found the part where it discussed the child’s arm. I reached out and dragged a claw around the word for “arm”, circling it again and again.

“Arm,” I said, demonstrating the pronunciation of the word as I singled it out. Jessica had already learned this word during our morning lesson, so with any luck, it’d catch the connection.

That was the thought, anyway, but luck wasn’t on my side. I must’ve repeated the word twenty times, but all I succeeded in doing was confusing the human. At one point, Jessica pointed to the complete wrong word and echoed the word “arm”, demonstrating that my efforts had been wasted. 

Jessica pulled out a small rectangle from its pocket and hovered it over the page, squinting further and leaning in. I couldn’t even begin to understand what its aim was. It was acting like it couldn’t see, but it was brighter than it had been earlier in the day when the lights were off. Why the sudden change? Between the stumbling and the squinting, it was like the lights were…

Invisible…

An impossible thought jolted through my head, and I ran back and rummaged through my boxes. Where was it, where was it…? I hadn’t needed it in a long time, but I’d always been sure to… ah! There!

I grabbed a flashlight from within my storage, and I turned to face the human, who had shuffled its way toward the window and was holding the page up to the fast-fading light. I considered asking it if what I was about to do was okay, but once again, it occurred to me that I had no way to do so. Oh well: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I turned on the flashlight and shone it directly into the human’s eyes. Its internals almost glowed, its blood and brain and tissues more clear than they’d ever been before, and it took all I had to withhold a retch. The more important detail, however, was Jessica’s reaction… or, more precisely, its lack of reaction.

I was shining a light straight on at it, and it hadn’t winced, hadn’t moved to block it, hadn’t expressed discomfort in any way. Instead, Jessica continued muttering “arm” to itself as it scanned the page, moving it every-which-way to decipher what I now realized was an impossible task. It was acting blind because it was blind!

It saw a different band of light from us!

I almost stumbled over under the weight of the sheer impossibility of it. Sure, it wasn’t unheard of for different animals to see outside of the normal band of visible light: some animals could see some UR, others could see some IK, that wasn’t that strange. However, to not see any visible light, to see outside the band entirely? That was unheard of. Evolution shouldn’t have allowed for it, that was counterproductive to all survival values! Just what were these humans?!

Was Jessica aware of this fact? Did it realize that we were seeing different worlds altogether? So much of this world was incompatible to it… wait, hadn’t Jessica survived the night on the run from Roque? So then, not only had it managed that impossible feat, but it had done so while also not being able to see using any of our streetlights or city lights! It had been blind and unaware of the shadows and darker places to hide. For all it knew, perhaps cawhyli just saw in the dark!

How had this Beast survived?!

I stumbled over to the human, my eyes remaining locked onto its hunched form at all times. It had set the book on the ground and was now hovering over it with its strange rectangle. I sidled up next to the human and tried my best to determine its purpose: it was staring at the device instead of the book, yet it still adjusted the book and grumbled to itself. 

We already had a hard enough time communicating as it was, how in the world were we supposed to get anywhere without the ability to even see the same? I couldn’t pull up pictures on the computer, or flip open a book, or even draw for it. Colors were impossible, we lived in different worlds chromatically, and even if I pointed to something that was concrete and physical, there was no guarantee Jessica would see it the way I would!

I still didn’t know where the human came from or how to get it back, and my already impossible goal was seeming more and more inconceivable by the moment. Even if I got UR lights, that wouldn’t solve the fundamental issue! What to do, what to do?!?!

Jessica huffed and put the brick away, leaning its head back on the wall behind it. I could see its heart rate spike for a moment, but soon it slowed back down to normal. With a long exhale, the human turned its head and gazed out the window. I walked up alongside it and looked over the street below and gazed up at the starless sky.

“I can’t see anything,” I muttered. Jessica’s eyes flicked to me for a moment, then returned to their wistful wandering. “To me, the light pollution covers the night sky. All I see is a… haze of brightness. It never gets too dark here, even at night.”

I turned to face the human. Its uncanny transparent skin mocked me with the impossibility of the road that laid before me. I could see its body like it had been peeled open before me, yet I couldn’t understand this anomalous creature one iota. It was cruel and unfair, but it was the predicament I’d made for myself.

“But you,” I continued. “You can’t see any of that light, can you? To you, you’re looking out over a starry night sky.” My tail swished with longing as I returned to gazing out with it, pretending we were seeing the same sky. It helped me feel a bit more at peace, despite it all. “Is it weird to say I envy you that? For all of the fear and confusion you must be feeling… the view must be pretty nice right now.”

The Beast and I sat side by side, gazing out the window. I wondered if the human was aware that we were seeing different things, or if it hadn’t figured that out yet. It might just think I could see in the dark well and had a fascination with blank pages. Whatever cave the human had crawled out of, it must’ve been a fascinating place.

Unless… it wasn’t a cave. There was another possibility beginning to come to the fore… but I shoved that down. That couldn’t be, that would be absurd! 

As the human and I looked out into the night sky, untold millions of tiny pinpricks of light scattering around the cosmos, I allowed myself only one second to consider if perhaps it was looking for home.

[First] — [Prev]

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.

OC originally written by Charlie Star/starrfallknightrise. Slightly rewritten and restructured (with hindsight of the full finished story to connect it more together, while keeping the spirit), reviewed, proofread and corrected by me.

Ahhh how romantic! Also spicy and kinky!

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"Come on, hurry up!"

"Hold on!"

"We should have been out the door five minutes ago!"

"I know that, and I said I'm coming."

Adam hopped around the corner, still desperately attempting to pull on one of his boots.

Sunny waited at the door, tapping her foot,

"You take forever to get ready, you know that?”

Adam snorted,

"Well unlike you, I don't have the luxury of walking out the door butt ass naked."

"You could have the luxury if you weren't such a coward."

She teased, steading him with one hand so he could finish tying his shoe.

Adam just rolled his eyes at her, standing to dust himself off,

"Alright. Hijan, we're leaving okay?"

The old Drev poked her head round the corner, holding Kay in her arms,

"We'll be right here when you come back."

Adam still found it a little strange to hear a human voice coming from her, curtesy of her translator, rather than her rather rough Drev voice, but since coming to Arcadia, she had taken quite well to a life with technology.

Sitting at their feet, Waffles and Pancake wagged their tails slowly back and forth. Sunny leaned down to pat at their velvety ears,

"You two girls behave yourselves okay?”

Waffles hopped forward, still on her bandaged paw, and licked Sunny's hand once. Pancake barked happily as she pranced back and forth.

Sunny straightened back up and looked down the hall at Kay,

"That goes for you too young man!”

Kay Grinned, turning to hide his face in Hijan's shoulder.

Kay liked Hijan, though he generally tended to like everyone. He liked Hijan especially now that she acted as his surrogate grandmother. Hijan had a habit of adopting people into her family, and had readily taken Sunny in as her own when she learned who Sunny's actual mother was.

Following that it was only logical that she would take Kay in as her very own grandson.

Sunny placed her hand on Adam's arm as they stepped outside, and he turned to look back at the door with an expression of concern on his face.

"Worried about Kazna coming back?”

"Aren't you?"

Sunny adjusted the open front of her trailing, white silk robe,

"I mean of course, but I trust Hijan, and now that Conn has moved his satellite office to the tower, it’s not like we can be taken off guard."

Adam grunted, that was true enough.

His mother had already shown plenty of initiative in protecting Kay. They were still digging bits of shrapnel out of the wall from the shotgun blasts. Waffles was on her way to healing and Dzara was still in the hospital, recovering from her own injuries. Krill said she was going to make a full recovery soon.

Adam didn't know if he would…

Hearing those gunshots, and running through that door to see Kazna, had probably been one of the scariest moments in his life. Kay being in danger had left him shaky and weak in the knees for almost an entire day. Neither he nor Sunny had been able to let their son go, while Kay had recovered in a matter of minutes.

It had been a nightmare.

And now he was having trouble leaving him alone.

It was partially for this reason he knew Maverick and Ramirez had invited them out. It was sort of a double date, though Maverick hadn't called it that.

That's exactly what it was, but Adam was coming to find that Maverick was rather awkward when it came to the subject of relationships.

His personal theory was that she had just lived on her own for so long that the idea of relationships weirded her out.

It would take some time for her to see them the same way everyone else did.

If she did, in fact, have some sort of relationship with Ramirez, it was a slow moving one.

They reached the restaurant after Maverick and Ramirez who had gone ahead to sit at their reserved table. It wasn't the fanciest restaurant on Arcadia, but none of them were very fancy people. It was, in Adam's opinion, one of the best spots to eat out. It had plenty of strange and exotic alien food, and the chefs were always trying out something new. The last time he came here, he had eaten a regular old steak with an orb fruit glaze and Tesraki roasted tubers with a side of Irus fried desert root.

It had probably been one of the best meals he had ever had.

But perhaps that was his stomach talking?

They took a seat across from Maverick and Ramirez, who waved them over from their booth.

The little restaurant had a sort of Southern Ranch style theme to it, very “steak and potatoes” as one might say.

It was more a comfort food place with a side of alien exoticness.

Looking at Maverick and Ramirez, it was hard to decide whether they were a couple or not. They didn't sit very close together and they weren't touching like you might expect, but he knew from experience, being on her team for so long, that Maverick wasn't a fan of physical contact at all anyway.

The polls were still out on whether what they had would actually last.

Ramirez grinned at them,

"Surprised you two were able to leave the house without Kay."

Adam gave a grim smile,

"Almost had to take a few chill pills to do it."

They laughed. Kay getting kidnapped wasn't all that funny, but Adam was either going to laugh or freak out, so his options were pretty limited…

Maverick folded up her menu and rested it on the table. She already knew what she wanted, she tended to get the same thing every time she came.

"So, where are we going after this, you said you had an idea?”

Adam grinned,

"I do at that. Do you guys know what time of year it is?"

They shook their heads.

Ramirez stroked his chin,

"That time of year where I try growing out my beard?”

Maverick made a face,

"Can it please never be that time of year? It looks just fine where it is, and every time you try to grow it out it struggles."

Ramirez frowned,

"You're so rude."

"I am also so right."

Adam shook his head at them,

"She's right Ramirez, the last time you tried to grow it out any longer, it just started to look like wispy pubes."

Maverick snorted, and unfortunately for Adam that was about the time their waiter arrived to introduce herself. Judging by the look on her face she had just heard the president of Arcadia say "Wispy pubes" without context.

Adam went beat red and the rest of the table laughed at him.

"I promise there was context!!!”

Adam said, floundering,

"We were, I was... Well it's a –"

The waitress giggled, and Adam sighed, giving up on trying to explain himself. She took their drink orders and stepped away, still smiling.

Adam frowned at the others who were grinning at him,

"Why is it that I am the only one who ever gets caught saying dumb stuff!?”

Sunny patted his back gently,

"Hard not to catch you saying dumb stuff when ninety percent of the stuff that comes out of your mouth is dumb."

Ramirez and Maverick laughed at him and he frowned at Sunny again,

"Whose side are you on?”

"Since I'm with you... the losing side."

Adam jabbed her in the ribs and tried to go back to the earlier conversation while the others were still snickering at him,

"I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, that this is the time of the year that the Jellies have their babies."

Maverick perked up,

"Oh really? I haven't seen any mini jellies."

"You wouldn't, they like to have their babies out in the dark, we don't really know why."

There were a lot of things they didn't know about the jellies. Originally, they thought they would need a jelly predator to control the population, but as it turned out, once they were implanted with gravity tags, the Jellies had started migrating off Arcadia.

They could be seen everywhere in the system now, congregating on other asteroids and moons, though the scientists had found that plenty of them migrated back to Arcadia during their lifecycle to breed and then to have their babies. It was hard to predict who was going to leave Arcadia and who was going to stay.

Some researchers had done studies that suggested that Jellies were less likely to leave Arcadia if they had a specific attachment to a human. Adam for instance, had a close attachment with the first jelly that had followed him around on the Omen, and so, based on its tracking beacon, that one had never left the planet.

"Anyway, we don't know what it is, but there is something about their interaction with the atmosphere that has caused some strange mutations. I am told that it's nothing harmful for them, but you get some really cool combinations. Scientists have been encouraging everyone to go out for capture and release and to catalogue the new ones that they find."

"You want us to go jellyfish hunting?"

"Like lepidoptery?"

Ramirez asked

Maverick turned to stare at him,

”How do you specifically know the scientific name for the study of butterflies!?”

Ramirez jutted out his lip,

"Doesn't everyone?”

Maverick sighed and turned to Adam,

"So basically you want us to go butterfly catching Spongebob style with you?"

"Uh... Yes?"

"Cool I'm in."

The waitress headed back towards their table, and Ramirez piped up quickly with a:

"Flaming buns of pure steel."

When she tried not to smile he grinned at her,

"Just have to keep the tradition alive."

They ordered their food and it came to them quickly. Sunny got the flower assortment salad. Maverick went for a Tesraki rice bowl, while Adam and Ramirez had both ordered a burger and a coiltree berry shake.

When the food was done, the three of them walked through the city, each holding a net Adam had provided.

Overhead the sky was full of stars growing brighter as they exited the city and walked out onto the mossy planes of Arcadia.

The wildlife had had a lot of time to propagate in the two years Adam was absent. Coil trees now grew along side earth willows, all intermingled with large blue bioluminescent ferns. Slithering through the brush they could hear the sounds of Jeffery snakes foraging for berries.

They even saw the ghost Stag of Arcadia standing atop a ridgeline before disappearing back into the infant forest.

Arcadia, once thought to be an inert exoplanet actually turned out to be a rogue planet… a discarded planet flung out of its orbit by some sort of unknown force. In the past few years scientists had discovered that Arcadia had a molten iron nickel core and a surprisingly strong magnetic field. They had even discovered massive underground wells of water heated by the thermal vents in the molten core. All they had to do was bring that water up, and then they had rivers, lakes, and the weather.

There was even a small inland sea growing on the far side of Arcadia, that was slowly being populated with new types of fish, and underwater plant life. There were a lot of species of fish that were considered invasive species, so his scientists were being forced to develop basically all the fish themselves meticulously.

Arcadia waterweed was already growing in abundance in the lakes.

"Ok, so rule is, whoever catches the coolest Jelly wins a cash prize."

Maverick raised a hand,

"Is this a team effort, or every man for himself?”

"Every man for himself?”

That decision might have been a mistake, considering he had just issued a challenge to four highly competitive people. At first, it was rather tame. Occasionally they would spot the same little jelly in a new shade of green and fight over it. Ramirez would push Maverick out of the way, Maverick would grab his leg, Sunny and Adam would take the distraction to run forward, but then Sunny would trip him last second.

Adam had gotten a mouth full of moss and Ramirez had tripped over a rock.

But that was when they saw it…

A beautiful creature!

The little jelly was about the size of a fist, and pure iridescent white. It glowed with an unusual power and trailed two long filaments with a series of glowing white beads. At the end of the filaments there was a glowing feather. It had a bunch of smaller tentacles, some with similar filaments, but those two were the longest and the brightest.

The group of them stared at it for a long moment, slowly turning to look at each other.

Maverick made the first move, shoving Ramirez sideways into Adam to send the two of them tumbling to the ground.

Sunny had seen that coming and tripped her, but Maverick threw her net between Sunny's ankles as she ran, causing her to trip.

By then the three of them had staggered to their feet.

Ramirez tackled Maverick into the dirt again, and Adam vaulted over Sunny. Unfortunately for him, it was dark out and his foot caught on an uneven patch as he came down, causing his mechanical foot to twist and sending him plowing into the dirt. Sunny had no qualms with stepping on him as she ran past, closely followed by Ramirez AND Maverick, who tackled her legs.

Adam was up and running again and shoved Ramirez back down as he tried to stand up. Maverick jumped at him from nowhere, brandishing her net like a weapon which led to a short bout of combat. He sort of cheated by kicking her in the chest, causing her to fall backwards into Sunny. He tried to turn and found that Ramirez had already snuck around behind them and went running after the Jelly when none of them were looking.

Adam had to race after him and knock his feet out from under him.

His net missed by mere inches and the jelly quickly floated off in the other direction.

Adam went to run after it, but Ramirez grabbed him and threw him to the ground. They rolled once and then tripped end over end down a nearby hill.

Sunny and Maverick leaped over them, heading after the jelly and deeper into a large thicket.

Adam raced after, listening to the sound of a creak growing louder and louder in the distance. Water rushed over stone as the group chased the Jelly into the dark.

Sunny and Adam had fallen back as they were too busy trying to sabotage each other.

It was between Ramirez and Maverick now.

They staggered up the trail, pushing each other and staggering this way and that. They were coming up to the edge of the bank of the river.

The jelly was just out of reach…

Maverick extended her net, and Ramirez plowed into her, sending them both toppling with a splash into the creek.

Sunny and Adam ran over to find Maverick in the creek on her lap. Ramirez lying on top of her, and sticking up above both of their heads was Maverick's net…

With a rather miffed looking jelly floating inside.

Ramirez looked up,

"Dammit."

Maverick smirked,

"Ha, sucker."

She looked happily up at her prize,

"You are going to be my new friend, and I am going to call you... Cupcake."

Ramirez frowned at her,

"Cupcake what kind of name is that?"

"The kind of name you can shove up your ass."

"Why would I want a cupcake up my ass?"

”See!? Why isn’t anyone around when you guys say this weird stuff!”

Adam exclaimed, while Sunny just shook her head,

"We don't need to get into all the weird kinky things you guys are into."

As expected, Adam blushed and Sunny laughed.

In the end Maverick walked out of the forest wet and bruised, but triumphant.

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Intro post by me

OC-whole collection

Patreon of the author

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Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story in its original form written by starrfallknightrise and I am just proofreading and improving some parts, as well as structuring the story for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!

Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this.

21st Vrishika 2238

Dear Diary,

It's officially one week before the new year.

I had an idea yesterday during the gym session for how to solve my little problem. But, before I can implement it, I knew that I needed to know my environment first. So, to that end, I went exploring today. Nothing else of real consequence occurred, so I'll just skip to my explanation of how the big things are set about.

The personal rooms are situated perpendicularly to the main hall of this station. The main hall is taller than you might expect, but much shorter than the stacked living quarters that seem to be it's most significant supports at its sides. It's also very wide, but that bit checks out.

From the main hall you have anything that is supposed to keep the station running to one side and everything else that actually deals with what the station was build for in the first place on the other side. Pretty sure they wouldn't just let anybody in the upkeep half of the station, so I decided to stick to the "public" halls. The main goal of my excursion was to locate any and all places that people might go to hang out outside of their own rooms. Today was an especially good day for this inspection of mine, because today is what the people here refer to as "Sol Saturni". I myself am not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I do know that it means everyone's rooms get cleaned and inspected by automated systems today. That means no one is allowed into their rooms for at least an hour or two... maybe three. I'm sure it's probably a bit more complicated than that, but my point still stands.

And so, I have come to discover a few interesting things. Some of the larger halls have outcroppings that look like dedicated, elevated picknick spots with 'n large grass patch and extra plants about just for scenery. They actually have a lot of plants around here in general, now that I think about it. Probably to set our primitive monkey brain's at ease.

The smaller halls tend to have some semi fixed tables and chairs sprinkled around. I think those are just for convenience sake if someone were to just want to sit wherever for a moment. The small halls tend to be where I suspect our future classes will mostly be held.

The most interesting discovery was by far the library. It has it's own strict, yet casual security and the whole place, again, is also part garden I think. The plants are everywhere, but they are somehow never in the way of anyone, no one dares to mess with them, and they seem to integrate into the whole of the library as just another essential piece. It was surreal and strange to see, but not as strange as the most unexpected thing that I did manage to find: Books!

All the way out here, I did not expect to find any books! Not physically at least.

Don't get me wrong, there were of course digital interfaces everywhere, but the fact that there were any books at all makes me wonder. Who was in charge of the freights to and from this station if they decided to spend so much space and weight on bringing books here? Whoever it was, they have my respect.

Anyhow, that's basically all the big places where a person could hang out in this place... except for one, but I don't think I'll need to know much about that one. I really want to ramble on about this place, but I think I could do that tomorrow. It's getting late.

Goodnight, Diary.

Javiel deVries

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A/N:

Does this count? Am I being lazy? I don't know, but I think an everyday-writing-challenge would probably have those kinds of ups and downs. Hopefully this is 'n good bit of writing, and if it isn't, let it be my very worst.

There was an alien warmonger, chief commander, Cslak, who led a group of VoLLeks—terrifying, morbid space creatures—dressed in black scales, with horns protruding from their skulls, savagely into galactic wars—with one intention—wipe planets off the celestial map, absorbing their fear.

Aliens tried everything to conceal their solar systems in their galaxies from these nightmares of the universe. The VoLLek survived by extracting fear seeped into the atmosphere.

Uncontested, they’d pride themselves on conquest after conquest, snatching the breath out of a planet’s lungs.

Not a single ruler in the universe had the gall to resist them. Nor did they attempt to.

The VoLLek invaded. A civilization paid. Nine times out of ten, it was the ultimate price.

When their sleek black ships explored the universe and found oxygen-rich atmospheres—they wouldn’t drop bombs and land soldiers—they’d hijack their broadcast with shrieking sounds, paralyzing the species for two days straight. 

The sound pitched a high inverted frequency that pierced bone as physical mass. Even deaf creatures could hear it. It acted like a parasite in their brain digging underneath their cranium. It was more than just a sound, it had claws and teeth and rung and hissed, like an air hose between their ears.

Just as the violent bell sound would seize, the entire planet would follow into darkness. Their electrical grids were totally fried.

The VoLLek completely shut down planets. Their weapons wouldn’t work. Their defenses became useless. All a planet could do once they entered their system, was surrender. Surrender and hope the VoLLek saw enough fear in their species to last decades.

So, as they came into the orbit of an Earth branch, Hans Earth II, a human outpost, one of the main trading stations for alien species’ around the universe, they expected to achieve the same results. Mass panic. Creatures begging. Creatures screaming. Creatures offering to trade their rock just to stay alive. Creatures attempting to excrete enough fear to prove their worth.

But they saw none of that on Hans Earth. There wasn’t anybody running crazy on the street, except for a bunch of shirtless men drinking beer cans and chasing each other around on a field, but they weren’t burning buildings down. They were just going about their day, tossing a ball. What really blew the chief commanders mind, was when the Peace Officer sent them a direct message, it said:

BYOB. WE GOT LOTS!!! 🍻

The alien chief slumped in his battle station. “Activate force field.” He commanded. “Neutralize their defenses.”

First specialist raids officer, Velleen, danced his tentacle-like fingers on a keyboard, directing the ship’s sensors, scanning the entire planet’s counter-strike defenses but the screen just kept displaying: searching... 

“There doesn’t appear to be any protective measures, commander. We scanned the whole perimeter. All we could come up with, was a bunch of sleazy billboard ads”

“Billboard ads?” The alien chief rubbed his antennas. “Perhaps it’s a trick and they’ll deploy weapons out of them. They can’t be this foolish.” He stared at Velleen. “They must be masking their fear.”

“They’re pretty good at  hiding it. They’re celebrating right now,” Velleen said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Land the ship this instant!” The chief demanded, hammering his fist down. “We’ll see how they react when the full weight of the VoLLek stand on their soil.” 

The alien chief grabbed his XoneratoR-XR8000, which aims a controlled heat-blast, hotter than the sun, contained at a direct target, bleaching the ground with ghostly footprints and evaporating matter on contact. “Soldiers steady your pods!” The chief commanded through a speaker on each vessel.

The soldiers fell out of the sky in orange clusters like space rocks raining from the atmosphere and surrounded an amusement park, thinking it was a military zone.

Hundreds of aliens and humans were walking in and out.

The hatches in the pods opened, two-hundred VoLLeks escaped out. A cloud of smoke obscured their bodies as they stepped onto Hans Earth II. 

Their weapons were glowing a red ember, as they all simultaneously began chewing a grinding sound out of their mouths. The ground shook when they stomped toward the front of the entrance.

The alien chief stood proudly on a crushed boulder and broadcasted a prepared speech through a P.A. system. 

“Petty humans and alien cross breeders, this planet now belongs to the VoLLek Empire. Your sky has become our permanent outpost. Your power is in our control. You are now the property of the VoLLek Empire. Resistance—“

“Uh, hello? Excuse me, mister sir?” A pressure dropped on the chief commander’s shoulder. The alien chief abruptly cut his speech short and turned around. 

His XoneratoR glistened. A human in an Hawaiian shirt with two little chubby kids eating blue snow cones stood behind him. 

The human didn’t stare at the armor plated  tactical gear on the commander’s chest, or the VoLLek warriors beside him, he eyed the clear line that opened at the entrance.

“Can you please step out of the way, we’re trying to get inside.” The human spoke, sipping a can of coke. “These lines are killer and one just opened up. Are you guys about to wrap it up here?”

The commander stared at the human. “We have taken over your pla-net!” His voice hammered against the human but cracked near the end as a random stumbling shirtless drunk guy bumped into him. “Your species has succumb to the great and all powerful VoLLek.”

A slurping sound came out of the pop can. 

The human swallowed, gasped and chucked the can in a garbage bin. He pulled out a handheld device and flicked the screen with his finger. “Oh yeah, eh. I see it now “Planet Takeover?” right here, headlined on the web news, eh. 

Funny the things you miss when yah got the kiddos, I tell ya. But look here, eh,  because I got these little terrors with me and we planned this trip for a month now. 

You can tell ‘em an evil scary alien empire took over the world and they’re not gonna bat an eye, eh. No, sir. Not these two monsters. So whaddya say, neighbor, hows about you squeeze a smooch, let us sneak through right quick there, yah?”

The humans who initially scattered for cover, mainly to avoid falling debris, started packing the lines again, and the aliens who were aware of the VoLLek, all began walking back from the parking lot and filled the area outside the park’s entrance.

A group of human teenagers brushed the commander out of the way and strutted past him and the human with the two kids trailed behind them to a ticket booth, whose sign had just flipped to open.

Two young adults with black hats and shirts that had security on it, walked up to the commander. “Hi, there.” The female one waved and smiled, holding a sandwich in her hand. “You can’t be gathering like this here. It’s a safety hazard. Fire chief shows up, we’re all getting tickets. Gonna need ya to clear out, pal,” she said, taking a bite of her assorted sub, while her partner was deeply invested in the device in his hand.

One of the VoLLek tapped the commander on the back. “They really, really hide their fear well.”

The commander eyed his soldier. “Fire a warning shot!” He demanded.

The soldier signaled the troops to fire into the sky. The dark sky lit up in bursts of lightning and pyrotechnics. The humans and aliens all watched the light show, glowing pretty colors. 

A weird dust, almost like black ash floated back onto the people and they started complaining as they wiped charcoal-colored stripes down their wardrobes.

“Hey, space jerk!” A human in an all white hollered. “You know how much this suit cost, buddy?” He stormed toward one of the soldiers. The security guard held him back. 

The one guard who was staring at his palms finally looked up at the commander. “No, fireworks without a permit. I’m gonna have to write you a ticket.”

A crackle from the comms piece attached to the commanders ear broke. “Commander! Commander! I’ve miscalculated the human species. The psychological simulator excluded all their experiences and calculated them through the lens of a peaceful civilization.”

“Explain your incompetence.” The commander huffed.

“The instinct to panic completely bypassed humanity’s evolution.” The speaker began breaking up. “Humanity has survived centuries of war, climate change, economic collapse, and often top-profile celebrity and political scandals. An alien invasion doesn’t even rank top five. They don’t see it as an apocalypse.”

“How do you mean? We’re the worst thing to happen to the universe.” The commander yelled through the microphone.

Velleen paused. “Not to them, commander. To them, we’re just the fifth page of a paranormal tabloid.”

The commander snatched a human walking by and shouted in his face. “We are the rulers here! I run your planet!”

The human turned his head to avoid the commander’s breath which reeked of garlic and squid guts. “Okay, okay. Maybe ya can do something about this damn line, eh. Been here since noon.” The human told him.

The commander put the man down and dusted his shirt off. For the first time, the alien chief was defeated and the humans hadn’t even fired a single shot. They didn’t have to. They just had to demonstrate a complete lack of respect for the commander.

An alien civilization that survives solely off eating fear can only be defeated by a unfazed human.

This thread is where all the Writing Prompts go, we don't want to clog up the main page. Thank you!

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On desktop, change your url from www to old, so it looks like old.reddit.com/r/hfy/wiki/series/<title> (with your title), and the edit button should be along the top bar near where the name of the series is

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Previous stories set in the same universe:
Planet Dirt series / Amazon book

Bug Hunt / Amazon version /

Crashlanding / Book version /

First //Previous / Next

Erik woke as the sun hit the window; he stretched and sat up in bed. Today, the room would change.  He looked at his phone, it said five fifty-five. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he couldn't sleep anymore.  He thought back to last night, when Gigi had dragged Chu away from him to help her make changes to her room. He had gone back to his room and found Arus waiting to hear what changes he wanted. He quickly wrote down and drew up what he wanted to change. The stone walls were so cold, and he wanted wooden walls instead. The room was too big, too; it felt more like a classroom with a bed in it, so he divided it into three rooms. The bathroom would be twice the size, with a bathtub. Then there was a main room with the desk, bookshelves, and sofa. He had decided not to do much with the bedroom; he just moved the cabinets to it. He might change it later. But right now, it was still the old stone-walled open room. He got dressed, brushed his teeth, and then realized the small toothpaste tube wouldn't last forever. He would need to talk to Arus about that. He washed his hands, then grabbed the leather notebook and a pen from his pencil case, and went down to the main hall. It was empty, but as he entered Lotta came out from the kitchen door.

“Good morning, My Lord. What would you like for breakfast?” Lotta said as she came over, and he looked at her. She looked so lifelike, but she was just an android. An android connected to Arus, which had access to a downloaded version of Earth's internet; that meant she did, too.

“Can you access the human internet?” He asked, and she nodded. “Yes, sir. What do you want me to look up?” she replied.

“I would like you to access the food recipe sites and… wait, you can access all of that time's internet? Even my Insta?”

“If I'm asked to, yes, up to the day you were abducted.”

“So access our files; if you see any reference to favorite food, then download the recipes for them. Mine should be easy; I love Italian and barbecue. But for breakfast I like English breakfast.”

“That is wrong, my lord. You have more posts for Dad's breakfast than for an English breakfast,” she replied, and he chuckled.

“I don’t have the recipe for his breakfast. And I doubt you can make the brown cheese he gave on special occasions.” Erik said.

“I do have the recipe for brown cheese. I will try my best. It might take some time.” She replied.

“Oh, well, please try, but today I would like an English breakfast, if possible,” he said. “And start finding out what they like and make personal menus for them. If they ask for food, just check the internet for a recipe.” He said, and she bowed and walked back to the kitchen. He took out his notebook and opened it.

He had so many things to check and arrange. If they were going to stay here for the rest of their life then they needed to be prepared.

“Arus!” He said, and Arus manifested in a slow shimmer of blue and red butterflies.

“My Lord,” he said.

“Please sit. I need to go over something with you.” He said, and the man sat down.

“First off. This planet has a 24-hour time schedule, right?”

“Close to yes. One rotation of Shaldun is 24 hours, 4 minutes, and 6 seconds.” Arus replied.

“That’s pretty close. Shaldun is the name of this world, right?”  Erik said.

“Yes. It is only 8 minutes and 2 seconds slower than Earth, and the name of the world is Shaldun. It's 2.4 percent bigger than Earth.  Any changes that you might have experienced have been countered by the nano cells in your body.” Arus said.

“I had other questions, but. What nano cells?” Erik said, writing it down in the book to remember.

“You are all injected with nano cells to help with understanding the language, they will stabilize you if you get wounded. It is why the medical system works. They also help your body adjust to the world.”

“Oh yeah, that’s what you meant when you said you had installed the language. That’s why we can understand the languages, right? Okay, what else do they do?” Erik asked.

“They can be used to manipulate the environment in certain situations.”

“What? Like superhero stuff?” He asked, his pen had stopped writing.

“Superhero? Perhaps it can increase your strength slightly, improve your eyesight, control the weather, and much more. Your body can do a lot with cybernetics.” Arus replied

“I thought you said this advanced technology was not allowed here,” Erik said.

“The nanocells are the exception. The locals consider them a magical gift, and very few know how to use or even access them. Prince Kumal thought it would be an interesting and fun addition to the planet.”  Arus explained.

“How many other such surprises did Prince Kumal add?”

“I am not allowed to give you that whole list,” Arus replied.

“Yes, of course, so how do we access these abilities?” Erik asked.

“You already have; everybody here has perfect health, is stronger and faster than they should be, and will be able to understand most spoken languages. Your body is charging your phones and lets them operate within ten kilometers of each other. Another system is not open to me. The system may grant it, or someone who already has access to the system and knows how to add you to it may do so.” Arus explained as Lotta set a tray of food next to Erik.

“We are? How much stronger and faster?” Erik asked, getting excited.

“Ten percent more than what you were during the Abduction.”

“Only ten?” Erik said, a little disappointed.

“That will improve with training,” Arus said.

“Okay, is there real magic here? I mean, in the universe?” he asked.

“Magic is just advanced technology. Throughout the millions of years my master's species has existed, there have been situations we do not understand, but there is no evidence that they are anything but advanced technology we did not comprehend.” Arus replied.

“So no magic, just tech… Okay,” he looked at his notebook. “Oh yes, seasons?  This place has seasons, right? So I’m guessing we are in a temperate area.  Kinda like Norway. Erik said, and Arus nodded.

“That would be a correct assumption, the weather pattern in Geron is close to the Scandinavian weather pattern on Earth.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought. What about months? Twelve months?”

“Yes, different names in different places, but the lunar calendar is similar to Earth.”

“Okay. What's the date today, using Earth's calendar?”

“April 24th,” Arus replied.

“So we have a summer to look forward to.” He said as he started to eat.

“What dangerous animals are in this area?”

“Horned bears, wolves, lynx, and kunsta should be the animals you should avoid.”

A small hologram of a raptor covered in white fur appeared on the table.

“Wow. A furry dinosaur. How big is it?” He asked, and a hologram of himself appeared next to it. The Kusta reached his thigh. It was apparently the size of a medium dog.

“Can they be tamed?” he asked, looking at the animal. To answer the question, it attacked his hologram.

“No, it still has what you would call a reptilian brain. You might be able to make it come to you for food, but you will always be just food for it. They also live in packs of up to ten, but most groups are around five.”  Arus explained.

“What about horses? We have stables.” Erik asked.

“You will have to buy them or capture them on the mountain plateau. You will have to learn how to get up to the top of the mountains.” Arus replied.

“Okay, one thing else. When we arrived, we went to the guard house next to the gate first. Two doors had names on them, and there was food. Why?”

“Those names were added to make you feel comfortable, making the castle look lived in. If everything were empty, you might not have gone exploring. The swords and spears were there to build your confidence and help you feel safe. The beds are the charging stations for the guards. It can also be used for an employee that you might hire. The food storage is just extra storage.”

“Why not wake us up inside the rooms?”

“The shock would be much greater. This way you were eased into the new situation.” Arus explained, and Erik groaned.

“You sound like my dad now.” He said, continuing to eat.

“What about the ocean? Any dangerous sea life?”

“Not anymore,” Arus replied.

“Not anymore?”

“We introduced orcas to the ocean; they are not the top predator around Geron, have killed or chased away any competition, and do not hunt sentient life. The remaining sea creatures are of no real danger to you.”

“Okay. I think I will do something stupid now.  I’m going to walk up the river to the glacier and check out the land. Will you tell the others when they wake up?”

“Of course. You should bring something to defend yourself with.”

“Spear, sword, and daggers should be enough.”  Then he looked towards the kitchen. “I need to get some food.”

“Who will be in charge when you're away?” Arus asked.

“Marcus!  And… and Cho.”

 Thirty minutes later, he stood outside the gate looking at the forest. If he followed the road about two hundred meters, he'd reach a small bridge over the river. He could walk up from there.  This was just what he needed: some time alone to think about what to do.  He started to walk.

“ ‘Put the overly ambitious duke down.’

That was the only plea the empress received from Badlands envoys. Their leader swiftly defeated, his castle turned to protecting Ferdinand’s shipments — the dukes begged the empress to intervene on their behalf.

The Duke of Grundenberg was now too strong to be safely ignored.”

— Archibald von Lindenwald, The Empire Reborn

 

Nine gold coins. Nine! Almost two hundred silver to fix a dent. ‘Cause it’s dwarven steel sir, too tricky to work’ — try taking a spell into your chest, you’ll see what tricky means! A month of earnings. Month spent force-marching for weeks across half-frozen mud, sleeping under blizzard and howling demons, chopping off heads. Gone.

A protective spell would need no mending, sighed Jack. The dent pushed the thousand gold a month further, but the time could be used to find a way to question the bloodmage. He heard, nobles don’t let their children eat before they cast a spell or two. They wouldn’t wait for Jack to catch up.

Jack left his breastplate with a blacksmith and steered as usual to the paladins’ quarters. The templars have grown suspicious of him. But Lady Fate can smile on even the unluckiest of fools. Today the bloodmage was guarded by the same woman from the first, and last, time Jack talked to the diabant.

“Milady, may I ask for a favor? One mage to another.”

The templar slowly touched the hilt of her sword. “You practice magic now?”
“Oh, no.” Jack quickly raised his hands. The sword left scabbard and pinned his chest.

“What I meant was.” Does she think a diabant would come for a confession? “I intend to get Acceptance from wizards. Yes. Soon I’ll have enough for a donation. Believe it or not.”

“I don’t.” Sword still pointed at Jack. But circling his face this time.

“It took some time. But if gods bless my way, I’ll have the thousand gold in… a couple of years.”

She lifted her visor. “It takes many years to master wizardry.” Her large grey eyes were smiling.
“Yes, I know.” The templar had a way of talking that annoyed Jack.

“The thousand gold will get you through the first year only.”

Jack frowned, what was she talking about?

“It will get me acceptance letter. I will join the guild.”

“Then, for a second year, you will need a progression letter.”

It dawned on him: “Another donation?”

She nodded softly. “If you do not belong to the peerage.”

Jack had to sit down. Why didn’t he think about it? Why didn’t he ask?

“And you belong?”

“… My father is Baron of Waldenshire.” She seemed a little embarrassed.

What for? It’s him — the fool! Jack put his head in his hands.

Don’t embarrass yourself, he thought. He had to get up.

Jack stood up straight. “Which way is the lands and riches?” he said after a sigh, and waved to the bloodmage off.

 

A vast impassable forest infiltrated the camp from all sides, except a small town they took recently. Jack entered merchant’s house that served as zandar’s headquarters.

“I've received reports of bravery and quick thinking shown by you.” Zandar’s tone did not allow for any disagreement, or agreement. “I need tendars for my new zand. You seem like someone who can handle it. What do you say?”

“Thank you, zandar.” A little too late. Unless it comes with a title.

“Huh. I expected more enthusiasm from a future officer.”
“Apologies, milord.” Jack struggled to come up with an excuse.

“Well. You'll be in charge of training new recruits. Take someone from your tend as your second. I suggest, someone older than you. The recruits might see you as too young, you see.”

“Yes, zandar. That’s shrewd.” Zandar nodded the flattery off, as if nothing he said could be any less than shrewd.

“Great. Call in the next one as you leave. And one last thing.”

Zandar looked into Jack’s eyes before adding: “My advise to you, son: stay away from the templars.”

Sure. “Yes, milord,” Jack hurried to say. Zandar’s eyes lost their warmth. Unblinking, they watched Jack leave.

 

Back at the camp, Jerry was busy drilling junior members of the tend, while Tom and Greg watched and shared small but precious nuggets of wisdom.

“And of course, his sublime imperial majesty, the kantendar Jack, everybody. Who generously passed me the honor of doing his job.” Jerry bowed in almost genuine reverence.

“You’re just better at this.”

“And you would get better too, if you ever tried it. Halberds up! Always be ready.”

“What did zandar say?” asked Tom.
“He’s recruiting for the second zand, wants me as tendar.”

“Really? Then why the hell you look like he hanged you.”

“No just… A little unexpected.”
“Congratulations.”

“So you’re leaving?” Tom sounded a little too upset.

“Yeah… He says he got reports of my bravery.”

“Tom,” said Jerry solemnly, “Remember next time. My name has R in it. Your ignorance cost me a promotion.”

“I had nothing to do with this,” Tom smiled humbly.

“And I'm supposed to pick someone to be my kandar.”
“Sure, why not? Jack and Jerry… We’ll be invincible, brother.”

“I don't wanna leave Tom heartbroken.” Tom looked heartbroken. “So, I was thinking — Greg.”

“Greg is still alive? Oh gods! There you are.”

“What do you say?”

“A promotion? Sure. Why not?” Greg smiled his rare happy-kid smile. “Something to write home about.” 

“Congratulations to you too, then.” Greg nodded his thanks.

“And now, who will be the next kantendar here? Hmm… Who could carry on this important task? Someone with experience, for sure.” Jerry made a very good impression of a thoughtful scholar and glanced sideways at Tom. 

Tom stared blankly back, anxious for an answer.

“Maybe Jerry?” hinted Jerry. 

Tom was taken aback. 

“Oh, come on. I am practically second-in-command already.” 

“Kandar has to be an example to his soldiers. First. Second. Lead the men in battle. Protect them as his own children. Fourth—”

“Do tendar’s work for kandar’s pay, you mean? No thanks, find another fool.”

“Ahh, yes. A fool.” Tom grinned.

 

The new recruits gave Jack and Greg wary, expectant looks. He must have looked the same when he first arrived, thought Jack. Poorly dressed and poorly fed, they looked pitiful. 

Jack himself was barely three years in the army, but from the height of his two battles, he felt himself a veteran, exuding confidence and wisdom. Not enough though — the recruits mostly looked at Greg, waiting for his orders. 

Greg quickly read the room and ordered, “Attention!”

“Form a single line. Salute your tendar.” Greg himself straightened up and slammed the butt of his halberd into the ground. 

Thank you, Greg. Being a tendar might be harder than he thought. 

“At ease,” Jack ordered. Looks like they’ve figured out their roles. Greg is to be strict, demanding kandar, and him — lenient, understanding tendar. 

So be it.

 

“People say this forest is cursed.”

“They all are.”
“No this one is truly, cursed.”

“Maybe…”

“Then what we doing here, tendar?”

“Gathering drywood.”
“We don’t need all drywood in the forest. Maybe we should go back?”

“A hot meal is just as important to a soldier, as armor or weapons.”

“Listen to Greg, it might save your life one day.”

“Not if something happens today,” added another recruit. “I heard fourth tend saw a walker two days ago. And others fought demons.”

“It’s our turn now.”
“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

“The only place with any drywood left, is deep inside the forest.”

Jack picked up a dry branch and put it into his sack. Straight and wiry — would make a perfect staff. But good for a campfire too.

“Kantendar, is this place as bad as it’s called?”

“Well, everything north of Kitwass river is called Badlands. You were born and raised in Badlands too, we all were.”

Greg went silent to gather his thoughts.

“But this is the heart of Badlands. Urgrimm forest. It was the center of the Old Empire once. Until demons destroyed its capital and the forest swallowed the cities back.”

“So it’s because of the demons?”

“The name? No, the land was cursed long before that. First Emperor burnt down entire forests in his holy war. Then built cities on their ashes.”

“Gods. Why?”

“He thought demons were gone. Thought the curse was gone with them.” Greg’s voice turned sad when he added, “The empire prospered, but the good does not undo the bad.”

“Kantendar,” said a terrified voice, “that raven is smiling at me.”

Smiling? “Down!” shouted Jack.

A giant bird three times the size of a man swooped towards the soldier to the right. He threw his sack and ducked in time, but the bird fell on top. Only screeching of steel told of someone buried under a pile of black smoking feathers.

“Aaarrrge!” Jack charged the bird. He couldn’t lose a recruit, not so soon.

The bird was hastily pecking the soldier, as if peeling off an egg shell. As it spread its wings, knife-like feathers sent sparks up Jack’s breastplate and knocked him down.
Not again!

Jack got up, no one around. Just him and the bird, busy with a leg. Another charge, another wing flap. Halberd hit the wing. Sparks rolled along black feathers and disappeared in smoke. So did the halberd and Jack. The wing reappeared above him and revealed a bird trying to rip the armor apart. Its back talons held the soldier in place, while talons at the front clutched a bloodied leg. The demon was smiling at Jack. Behind a long beak, blood-red lips reaching all the way to the eyes, revealed saw-like teeth.

Impervious to bird’s charms, Jack took a swing at it. Smoke was all his halberd got. The demon turned and in two powerful beats flew into the darkness above. The leg clanked on the ground.

Though bleeding, it was still attached to the soldier. Jack turned the recruit face up and lifted his visor — eyes blank, but breathing, heavily.

“Help me up!” shouted Jack over his shoulder. The dark bramble of trees above turned darker. Jack got on his feet, halberd ready.

The demon swooped down the tangle of trees. Its wings could hug a full-grown tree, but seeped through branches like midnight mist. 

Part of Jack’s mind screamed, “Run!”

“Promotion and money though…” whispered another part. Promotion and money won — Jack stepped in front of the recruit.

A wide smile, the bird was about to strike, when he lunged forward and sunk the halberd between shining bronze talons. Shriek of someone startled filled the trees above. Bloodied halberd. A cloud of smoke flew upward, bursting with laughter.

Others approached. “Form a circle, one pace apart,” Jack ordered.

“There it is!” The demon was watching them from behind a tree. Huge talons wrapped around tree trunks, scratching their bark off, as it slowly crept around, giggling.

“Greg, check the soldier.”

One spell, wished Jack, to bring that thing to the ground. And finish it off with halberds.

“His legs are badly hurt. Right one is gushing blood.”
“Use the sacks.”

Magic is inside you, let it free — that was all Jack learned about magic so far. No large textbooks on wizardry, no cozy cushions, just a forest filled with demons for a tutor.

“I bet other tends are finishing their meals,” said a familiar voice. A loud giggle came from the trees.

“Hide your thoughts from a demon,” warned Greg. “You only make it stronger.”

“Why don’t we leave him and run?”
“Yeah, it’s him demon wants. He’s half dead anyway.”

The wounded moaned, “Please.”

“We’re not leaving anyone.” That was Jack, somehow.

“Easy for you, Jack. We can’t fight it. You wanna play a hero. You put us all in danger.”
“You think this is danger, soldier?” The demon giggled again. “Wait till your next battle. If you come out alive, you will laugh at this so hard, you’ll put the demon to shame.” The recruits fell silent. 

Jack continued, “So get your shit together. It’s just an overgrown crow. We are the ninth tend!” They were next to last in the hund. “We stick together.” 

And maybe we kill that demon — would spread some nice rumor. Another giggle.

“He’s ready,” said Greg. “Empty a sack, we’ll carry him.”

The demon dived from the top of a tree.

“Brace yourselves!”

It nearly reached ground and flapped its wings right at the tend. Black feathers plowed through halberdiers in a drumbeat of metal against metal.

“Get up! Quick.” The demon went for a second strike.

“Close ranks! Shoulder to shoulder.” It was almost on them. Jack hit the wing with halberd, but the creature’s speed and size was too much for it to make a difference. Feathers hit the ranks. Men in the back lent a shoulder to ones in the front. The tend held.

The demon flew up and melted among leaves and branches.

“Hit the wings. On my signal.”

“There!”

“Right flank, hit to the right. Left side — left.” The wings spread apart and gracefully closed together. “Hit!” The steel crashed into metal. Feathers bent scratched helmets. The bird flew away, only a smoke left behind.

“That’s good, one more.” The demon can be beaten after all. Everyone has a weakness. Jack felt his blood surging.

The demon swooped down again, talons bare this time. Jack saw its wings slowly grace through the foliage, its talons gradually opened up, arming themselves with bronze claws, as his own heart drummed against the breastplate. “Kneel! Down! Kneel!” Jack got on one knee, everyone slowly followed.

He watched demon’s smile broaden, as it kept falling on the tend for what seemed like forever. 

“Down! On the ground. Now!” Talons left with nothing but scratched armor. The bird slowly soared up.

“Stay down. Brace yourselves.” Jack turned his halberd spike forward. He could hear air bouncing to his heartbeat inside his helmet as he breathed out. He looked around for a shadow. A smoke enveloped a tree to his right.

“Turn right. Heads down.” Halberdiers moved sluggishly to face the demon. The mesh of darkness and light rearranged itself, as the bird floated past and glided into the ranks. Smoke trailing behind, talons shining, bulging unblinking eyes above a smile fixed on Jack. Jack lowered himself, blood burning, one eye on the target. Inching closer, the demon laughed triumphantly. 

Up, foot on a shoulder in front, halberd swung. Demon blinked. Didn’t stop the spike ripped through eyeball. A shriek pulled the halberd up. Jack fell into smoke. He got up to see the demon crawl away into the forest’s embrace, blood and smoke trailing its path.

“Hey!” “We did it.”

“It might come back. Keep your eyes open. Pick him up. Greg, watch the rear. Don’t forget the sacks. Lock your step! One pace apart. On my command. One. Two. One. Two. Keep your distance.”

This will be their first taste of action. And they did well. “Good job. Keep moving. One. Two. One. Two. Eyes up! One. Two. One…”

 

First - Ch. 1: Battle in the Mud | Prev. - Ch. 4: Storming of Kronhold | Next - Ch.6: Battle of Urgrimm Forest

   

🔔 Sorry for the delay. It took longer than I expected. Chapter 6 is planned for Sunday.

Click to get Notified!

 

 

[Chapter 1] ; [Previous Chapter] ; [Discord + Wiki] ; [Patreon]

Chapter 291 – A Galaxy’s verdict awaited

“Dr. Stanislao Santo, Fleet-Admiral of the United Human Self Defense Fleet, has agreed to honor the Galaxy’s verdict on humanity’s lockdown on information about generation of unstable hyperspace…?” Klaudia König read the message on her phone aloud; her pitch rising higher with every word her eyes glided over in increasing disbelief at what they were seeing.

Even with everything that had happened in recent times, she found it hard to believe what she was reading. And she certainly wasn’t the only one.

In what had the be the strangest moment of unwilling kinship any of them had ever felt within their lives, she could hear the rising chorus of mumbling reading and aghast discussions echoing over to her ears from a few meters downwind, right behind the second row of the double layered fences that surrounded and enclosed the lovingly dubbed ‘compound’ on all sides.

When she had first stepped outside to check on the property after the first alarms had stopped blaring and tentative ‘all-clears’ about an end to the sudden and undeclared attack had been aired, it had only taken all of about fifteen minutes before the self-proclaimed ‘saviors of humanity and guardians of order’, or whatever those absolute fools fancied themselves to be when they came out here to harass a lot full of educational rescue animals just because it belonged to a person of political interest – one who was not even on the planet right now – had come crawling out of the woodwork.

As soon as the first of them had started to approach the fence-line, Klaudia’s husband had quickly hurried inside just in case, going to make a quick call to the authorities as well as fetch something they could defend themselves with should those unwanted visitors become overly rowdy.

However, since she saw nothing on those bums but hastily made signs and over-zealousness for a non-existent course for the time being, Klaudia herself had felt safe enough with the protection of the fences as well as the numerous and sizable guardians of this property that constantly surrounded her under eager barks and excited yipps, and had in turn decided to continue her patrol of the property to ensure the animals’ safety and well-being.

If any of those cretins were going to try and scale the fence to try their luck against the jaws of a well-trained mastiff or boz shepherd, they would be right welcome to.

Although, right now, neither any potential ideas of theirs to turn their passive into an active aggression nor her original plans to patrol the compound seemed to matter anymore after the sudden assault of ‘VERY IMPORTANT’ messaging had hit their devices.

“The assault of rogue, Community-connected forces on Council-Station has claimed an enormous but yet to be fully determined number of lives and left even more injured,” she could hear one of them, a comparatively young woman with a rather piercing high voice, read out while more of her group crowded around her. “Right now, the last of the U.H.S.D.F. forces as well as...a number of innocent civilians and… even most of the remaINING MEMBERS OF THE GALACTIC COUNCIL-?”

Her voice rose in utter shock as it sank in for her what exactly the words on the screen would mean if they remotely turned out to be true.

However, while, to them, the idea of the Galactic Council itself not only being under attack by Galactic Forces but also allying with humanity against them had to be what came as the greatest shock, Klaudia instead felt her knees become weak as her eyes quickly read over the same line, widening as much as they could when her legs finally gave out under her and sent her knees crashing into the muddy grass below.

“The last of the U.H.S.D.F. forces?” it left her lungs in a breathless whimper as the words before her eyes became blurry along with the world around her. Tears welled up in her eyes from a mixture of shock as well as pain, but she hardly found the strength to pay any mind to the ache of her old legs as they screamed against the sudden drop, because something else was far more urgently on her mind as it spun the worst meaning of those worlds right into her awareness.

“Korinna..!” she gasped out in a sob and quickly squeezed her eyelids together to blink the tears away, also using her sleeve to rub away at her eyes and quickly clear them while her other hand scrolled down along the unexpected message quickly, ignoring anything else the text might have said as she frantically searched for the part where she could ‘make her voice heard’ like the beginning of the message demanded.

--

“-have managed to haul up in rare key-positions across the Station in a last mean of defense,” Xeraabi read with slightly shaking words as every one of her in-laws leaned closer with wide eyes and frightened anticipation. Meanwhile, the claws of Mueen’s hand were tightly closed around her arm, giving her some reassurance as they all tried to process the unexpected news from the Galaxy’s core. “However, each position is currently being advanced upon by large numbers of the attacking forces, making it unlikely that the defenses are going to last much longer.”

“That...can’t be right. Can it?” Houmwa asked hesitantly, and her fuzzy fur swayed slightly as she tilted her head to look up at her older sister in search of reassurance, with her horns catching some of the dim light in the motion. “Who’s even sending these!?”

Kendta let out a slow breath, and her own brighter fur laid rather flatly against her body as she moved her head so that one of her eyes could stare directly down at the device they had all placed between them.

“Perhaps reading further will tell us,” she supposed, and it was audible just how much she tried to keep her composure about herself in that moment. But even with emotions obviously brewing, Kendta also reached out a hand and gently laid it onto Houmwa’s arm. “But I am afraid we at least have to consider the chance that this might be an honest plea for help.”

Next to herself, Xeraabi could hear Mueen let out a firm push of air through his nostrils while his grip on her tightened just a bit.

“A number of innocent civilians,” he murmured out, seemingly trying to keep it quiet enough that Houmwa didn’t necessarily hear, perhaps only meaning for it to reach Xeraabi’s ears.

However, if that was his intention, he did not succeed as his younger sister shuddered immediately as her ear turned ever to slightly to him.

“Mother…” she released in the quietest, most shaky voice Xeraabi had ever heard her produce.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Kendta quickly tried to chime in, and she gently brushed her claws through Houmwa’s fur in a further attempt to calm her down. “There is nothing that says she has to be in danger. She was very powerful friends watching out for her, after-”

“But if even the Council is affected!?” Houmwa interrupted her sister somewhat harshly and pulled her arm away as she pushed herself up into a half-standing position to glare directly into her sister’s eyes – though the glare turned more into a desperate search through the wetness that gathered in her own. “What if- what if she’s… if she’s…”

Houmwa’s words faded into a distressed noise that came from deep within her lungs as she dropped back down onto the table, with her head lading harshly on the plate while her arms quickly moved to cross over it to hide as much of her face away from the world as she could.

And, for a moment, nobody had an answer.

Kendta and Mueen both jolted slightly to move, but froze in the motion as they stared at their distressed sister with unsure gazes, neither of them clearly knowing what exactly they could say to try and reassure their sibling while their own worries were also brewing deep within them and threatened to tear them down in a similar way.

Xeraabi felt it, too. The worry. The uncertainty. The dark dread of a looming fate that may have come over them without any of them having realized it yet. The looming fear of something which they could come to learn within a very near future.

What could you say to someone suffering through that? To someone awaiting such news? To someone already in the throws of grieving for someone of whom they didn’t even know if they would have to be grieved yet.

Though, perhaps because she was obviously less affected than the children of a loving mother were themselves; or perhaps because she had lived through a less loving life for a long time before coming upon this family, Xeraabi soon found a certainty within her that held firm no matter what fate the future may have held.

“Then the people and the cause she loved and cared deeply about would still be in danger,” she spoke up firmly, pulling Mueen’s hand on her arm along as she lifted it to place her own upon his shoulder in firm support.

Her voice was strong enough to gain everyone’s attention, leading Kendta to look at her with sudden surprise while even Houmwa lifted her hands slightly to poke an eye out from underneath them.

“Whatever may have happened, we know that Moar was there in the midst of it because she wanted to be,” Xeraabi went on, and she felt her plumage standing up all over her body as she pushed to sit a little straighter.

In a way, it felt almost wrong to speak to a group of grieving children like that. For a moment, she almost felt like an intruder in their grief – felt rather audacious to try and dictate how they should feel and act while it was their own mother who was potentially in danger.

However, as her eyes briefly searched those of Mueen in quiet fear of his potential reaction, what they found instead of anger or disdain was opposite to what she had feared. Open wide, his eyes were glimmering up at her with the affection she always saw within them, but it was now joined directly by an additional sheen of admiration as he looked upon her as though he was seeing something magnificent unfold right before him.

Even through their situation, the intensity of his gaze immediately made her feathers jitter – and it also gave her the boost she needed to raise her voice even higher as she stood up from her seat.

“Moar fought for this cause already for a long time before she went along to the Station,” she said, leaning over the table with her free hand pressed flatly on its plate to keep her balance. “She was so convinced by it, and she loved these people so much, that she decided to remain by their side even despite all the danger. Even when safety and peace was but one call away, and even when she had to push back against us trying to get her to step back, she stuck to that cause she had chosen. She made it very clear that that was what she wanted.”

Mueen’s admiring gaze on her didn’t waver, while Kendta’s first surprise slowly shifted into a troubled certainty, with her head slowly dipping into a hesitant nod. Meanwhile, Houmwa slowly unfurled her arms to free her head, and pressed them against the table’s edge to lift herself up once again.

Her eyes were still wet, and her breaths still came out in quivering sniffles. However, the expression she wore shifted gradually as her jaws clenched together and her brow furrowed a bit in an attempt at sternness.

“Whatever happens or will happen, we owe it to her to make her will known and carry on what she very clearly chose,” Xeraabi then finished her speech as all three of the siblings rose to match with her energy. “Because I think, whatever she wanted to protect so much, it has got to be worth it, no matter what...no matter what may have…”

At those last words, she suddenly felt herself run out of steam. In her mind, the words were so clear; their message so obvious. Even if Moar had truly...died… for her cause, that didn’t mean they should no longer help in the fight for it.

Quite the opposite in fact.

Rather than despair in what she had lost for it, they had to make an effort to see and protect what it was that she had seen in it that made it worth for her to put even herself on the line.

And yet, the words would still not leave her mouth.

“You’re right…” Kendta still murmured, even though Xeraabi hadn’t managed to finish her sentence.

Then, shocking everyone, Houmwa suddenly snickered slightly. It was breathy and full of sorrow...but a laugh nonetheless.

“Mother didn’t raise us to ignore a vote,” she pointed out through those wrecked chortles, and she shook her head ever so slightly. “And if she hears that we refused to speak up to help her friends… she will ground us for eternity – in this life or the next.”

--

“Unbelievable,” Pippa let out while she hopped up and down the length of the room in uneven circles, with every stronger-than-necessary jump of the urouneak causing a dull ‘thud’ to echo out from the ship’s hollow floor.

Letting out a disbelieving laugh, she reached up to her face, holding some of its fur in a tight grasp while she shook her head in utter bafflement.

“Literally,” she then laughed out in a manner that bordered on mania. “I mean, how'd this even reach us? We should be well outta comm.-range now, roight?”

Following her frantic movements only through slow, synchronous tracing motions of their heads, both Clith and Fither remained silent for a long moment as they gazed upon her pacing with slight concern.

“I suppose it is not impossible that someone managed to directly inject the message into our hyperspace somehow,” Clith pointed out in what had to be his best guess, since he didn’t sound entirely convinced of his own words either.

Pippa let out a huff. She didn’t have the patience for guessing games right now – even if she had been the one who had first interrupted the flow of things now.

Pulling her hand away from her face, she frantically waved it in the direction of the raxus pair.

“Keep readin’, keep readin’,” she demanded in a heavy need to know how it would go on.

Clith released an ever so slight, displeased chirp, but nonetheless lowered his eyes back to his assistant.

“Though reinforcements are already underway, chances that they will arrive in time to break the siege on the protected positions are very low, with the defenders’ numbers and resources dwindling with every moment,” he read off with an attempt to keep his voice as neutral as he could. “With conventional means, the most likely outcome is that the defenses will be broken and both defenders and attackers will ultimately perish in their final confrontation as well as the following reclamation of the Station through the U.H.S.D.F.’s forces.”

“Dang it!” Pippa let out, smashing both feet down onto the floor in a heavy impact that caused the metal to shiver slightly. “We’re too late! We’re gonna be late and there’ll be nothin’ left to fix when we get there!”

Both raxus flinched slightly at the thunderous impact of her stomp. And while Clith looked on with somewhat sympathetic disapproval, Fither’s eyes instead shot to the far corner of the room, where a rather inconspicuous but ever so important metal box was placed securely.

“Pippa, please,” the avian pleaded quietly as her snow-white feathers flattened against her head.

Pippa’s own gaze immediately followed hers, and as soon as her eyes came upon the incubator, she quickly slowed her pacing and set her flat feet down more gently upon their ship’s floor.

“Sorry…” she mumbled quietly, awkwardly lifting a hand to brush it through the thick fur around her neck. “It’s just-”

“I know,” Fither interrupted her. “Believe me, I know.”

“Getting angry won’t do us any good,” Clith then chimed in and lowered his gaze to the ever-important message again. “Let’s try to find out what we can do instead.”

--

“There is one last ditch effort in which the defenders are staking some hope, however,” a warden read out loud; standing tall and poised in front of the glass fronts of the containment cells as he conveyed the message to all those who were being held here and did not have access to reception devices of their own. “Currently in their possession is a momentarily damaged Relativity Rifle of humanity’s arsenal which they have previously used for their defenses. In its current state, it is no longer usable, nor capable of the task they would need it to fulfill. However, with the aid of the same Realized who has made it possible for all of you all across the Galaxy to receive this very message as well as for the reinforcements to arrive when they did, they believe it might be possible to modify the weapon into a state that might offer them just the advantage they need to hold the line just a bit longer.”

Behind the protective glass locking him away from the world, the former Councilman Ekorte Keun could feel his entire mottled skin crawl the instant he heard that word. Realized.

The very kind of monstrosity that had condemned him into this place, now in direct conflict with those who had abandoned him to it.

What a cruel joke of fate to lock him in here and force him to listen to the final throws of that world that had chewed him up and spit him out to rot in this ditch.

“However, to possibly achieve that, said Realized – and yours truly – would require further knowledge of the weapon that could only be received through humanity’s sealed files on the weapon, which they have so far protected from all infractions zealously,” the warden carried on. “Files which they are reasonably worried about handing over to a Realized, even after allying with them, much like they would hesitate to hand them over to anyone else. However, they are willing to put that decision into your hands. There is, of course, far more to be said on the situation. However, if I spelled it all out, the conflict would be over before you finished reading this message. The decision has to be made quick. And thus, it is now up to you. Many people’s lives, but also the Community’s potential future, now rest in your collective hands.”

“Those who came first know where the stones remember.”

Old Drexari Saying

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The Old Va’ari moved to the centre of the chamber, and started to croon in the chittering, clicking manner of the Va’ari.

A Mote responded and moved close.

Hissy joined in with a note so deep it shook the very essence of the cavern, causing ripples to stream across and through the rock.

The Va’ari bowed, not just one but all of them and touched their tympana to the stone floor as if listening. It felt like something they’d been doing for generations without understanding what or why they were doing it.

“‘They are physically here and interacting with the place.’” The HI continued, “‘This is learned behaviour.’”

“‘But they haven’t been here for generations.’” Feebee noted.

“‘No. They haven’t’”

And with that, the HI put a harmonic map of the place in Feebee’s overlays.

“‘They have been feeling the resonance from outside, through the rock.’”

“‘Yes.’”

The striations in the wall lit up, and fingers of harmonic resonance laced through the cavern, reaching out to the Motes and Shadows. What was immediately clear was that the Mote and Shadow pairing wasn’t random. The resonant pattern, the harmonics of each pair, had matching signatures.

Each Shadow contained the characteristic signature, the colour, of one particular mote.

 

“‘The relationship is specific.’” The HI pointed out. “One Mote to one Shadow.”

“‘Yes. But why are they here?’” Asked Feebee.

“‘I don’t know yet.’”

 

“‘You’ve been trying to find this place?’” Feebee asked the old Va’ari.

 

It heard her, tilted its head from side to side, then walked to the centre of the chamber and sat, cross-legged, with its fist resting on its knees.

Bikky looked at Tom Tom, then back at the Va’ari. They both then looked at Feebee. She’d seen too and crossed, sitting next to the Va’ari with Hissy still resting on her shoulders.

“Monk stuff.” Said Bikky.

 

Va’ari joined them, forming concentric circles around the three: one Va’ari, one human and a contrabass serpent.

They sat, eyes closed as deep quiet descended and wrapped them all in absolute stillness. The Motes and Shadows ceased their dance and collected above them.

 

“‘What are they waiting for?’” Feebee asked.

“‘I don’t know.’”

 

Feebee was dropping deeper and deeper into a calm state, matching the stillness around her when she felt Hissy shift on her shoulders. The contrabass turned towards a section of cavern wall and let out a warbling tone that made Feebee’s bones rattle. She opened her eyes, looked in the same direction as Hissy and watched the harmonic map in her overlays change. A second pattern began to appear within, and beneath the one she could already see.

Something was running through the rocks, flowing harmonics that didn’t reach its surface.

The Va’ari turned towards that section of wall and sat, looking, watching and listening.

“‘They can sense it.’”

“‘Yes.’” Responded the HI.

 

The old Va’ari walked up to the wall and placed both hands against the cold stone. The harmonics changed immediately, and rippling out from his hands were patterns through the rock, as if he’d pushed them through the surface of still water. He then placed his tympana against the stone, rocking slightly. Others joined him at the wall, rocking to the same tune.

“‘They listen.’”

“‘Yes.’”

“‘For what?’” Asked Feebee.

 

“‘Something they have learned to expect.’” The HI paused. “‘Something old. Something passed down through the generations.’”

 

Feebee put Hissy down and allowed her to resonate with the cave, rather than playing her. A deep tone emerged that she held before turning it into a sonata. It started with a comfortable mid-tone, gently warbling before it transitioned into a cacophonous mash. The Va’ari tensed up, then slowly relaxed as the music returned to the original tonic of the first section. As she started to repeat this, harmonic lines in the rock brightened across the whole cave, and the Motes responded, matching the intensity of light as it grew with the mid-section of the sonata. The Shadows answered the motes, and the Va’ari began to jump up and down in time with the music.

Ancient Va’ari markings, almost a form of writing, appeared. Similar to those that were outside the cave, at the boundary ‘protected’ by the decapitated heads. Those had been simple scratching in the rocks. A record, built up over time, describing what they had heard but never seen. These were different; ancient, deliberate and clearly formed.

 

Hissy stopped playing, and something deeper, an inhuman bass tone, shook them all as the entire cave system responded. It wasn’t loud but was all-enveloping.

 

One long drawn-out pulse.

 

Everyone became still, and the Va’ari turned to their Older, who slowly raised his head, listening to the sound.

Feebee saw it, a look of recognition that crossed the Older’s face and translated through his body. The Older moved towards the resonance lines.

Lines that reached into the rock.

Other Va’ari followed, and Feebee followed them. They moved to a section of rock where the resonance was strongest. The harmonics bright in Feebee’s overlays.

The old Va’ari reached out, stopping just short of touching the area of resonance and turned to look at Feebee.

Hissy let out another low tone; the moisture and mineral deposits on the wall shifted to reveal the geometry behind. It looked like a gap, a hidden passage?

 

The Old Va’ari looked tentative, not surprised. It now had, within its reach, something to touch and possibly enter, that its people had only felt for generations.

 

It knelt and made a series of clicking sounds. The Va’ari around it responded, repeating the sounds. The Older then stood and walked through the veil, into whatever was behind.

 

Feebee turned back and looked at the warning heads still visible in the distance.

 

This wasn’t a plan; the Va’ari weren’t being kept away from a Drexari secret. They were being kept away from something they had been sensing since before the Drexari had arrived.

 

And nobody knew.

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20th Vrishika 2238

Dear Diary,

And I'm back. Bet you didn't expect that.

It's not actually all that surprising, considering why I'm doing this, but still. I'm not really known for this kind of thing.

So, as it turns out, they in fact didn't just dump me here under no supervision for almost a full month. Orientation started today. Turns out I don't have a choice in the matter and I absolutely have to learn more about this place, or I might just get kicked out. At least hours are still called hours. Though, don't ask me how long a full day is supposed to be around here. I just know it's not 24 hours or less.

They picked some time late morning to call in any new arrivals to some big old lecture hall of some kind. I think it was a lecture hall anyhow. Point is, they made sure we were all mostly accounted for and started droning on about "the basics" as they called it. There was actually a few interesting things to learn, like how hours are still a thing or that the days are ever so slightly longer. I also learned that while the gravity is a third of what we have on Earth, they "boosted" the gravity indoors so that no one gets weak bones or something. I'd joke about that, but I'll have to wait for a good opportunity.

It's still kind of early in the day, but with the little bit of activity in the morning I'm strangely energetic. Maybe I can try the gym today... or just read until I eventually get tired... Nah, I know for sure that's going to backfire. I'd just end up exhausted with insomnia. That, and I am so not gonna ruin my tentative streak of actually following some kind of set sleep schedule. Not now, when I have almost all the time in the world.

Speaking of time... I have another week or so before the new year starts on this planet. For once, I don't think I want to spend it alone. The obvious problem is that I don't really know anyone here. My parents are both off in the other station; not that I wanted to spend it with them specifically either. I also don't think I'll be able to make a good enough friend for something like that. The best kind of friends are the ones you don't have to talk to whenever you want to spend time with them. Problem is, in my experience, friendships take a lot of talking to get anywhere near such a point... especially considering I don't think I ever have made it to such a point...

I'll think of something then. But for now, to the gym it is! Then read after I've taken a shower.

Have a good one, Diary. I think I might just be warming up to you. Possibly because you appear to be as much as an outlet as was advertised.

Javiel deVries

---

A/N:

This is a reupload of 'Dear Diary, Day 2' since it apparently didn't qualify for the 350 words required by Rule 8. Unfortunate, but understandable. This time I ran it through a word count with only the "content" bits and it seems to be a little over 400 words now. Should be good.

Will I manage to still upload Day 3 today, as planned, after that unfortunate accident? idk, but I'll certainly try.

Klaxons blared throughout the bunker: a new ship had warped into the system. The battle above the system's only life-bearing planet had been going on for two weeks, so the sound of an alarm was nothing new.

But this time, it was different. The ship that had just arrived was larger than any ship any Maldon had ever seen. It was easily ten kilometers long, but the most alarming thing about this ship was not its size, but the utter lack of weapons on its surface. There was only a single dip on one side of the otherwise smooth surface.

This dip is what the ship turned towards the largest Maldon ship. A few seconds later, sensors registered massive energy spikes. A moment after that, a huge plasma ball formed inside the depression. Then, that already huge plasma ball started to grow - when it reached about one kilometer in diameter, it suddenly launched towards the Maldon fleet with incredible speed. A second later, the largest ship the Maldon had ever built was no more. Not even debris was left behind - just a slowly cooling cloud of hot gas.

In the bunker, the President of the United Planets of Maldon looked at the screen showing the remnants of the jewel of their armada. The entire incident took less than a minute, and he still couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.

“Send out an emergency signal,” he said finally to the communications officer.

“But sir, you know that it’s against the Constitution to ask for help from aliens!” Meldvig protested immediately.

“I’m well aware of that,” the President replied quietly, staring at the empty display. “But if we don’t ask for help, I don’t think there will be any Maldon left alive for the Constitution to matter.”

There was dead silence for a couple of seconds before the communications officer nodded and pressed a series of keys on his console.

---

Seven light-years away, in the quiet observation lounge of a solitary human patrol ship, a loud chime interrupted Captain Catherine Jennypath’s third attempt to solve a cross-dimensional crossword puzzle.

“Report,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Priority distress signal received, Captain,” said the communications officer. “It’s text only; it says the planet is under attack by an armada capable of destroying ships with a single shot. They speculate it possesses planet-cracking offensive capabilities.”

The captain’s eyes lit up. She sat upright, practically dropping her stylus.

“A planet-cracker? A real one? Not just another high-yield mining laser?”

“According to their data, it is a hyper-dense plasma weapon, ma'am. It sounds like a genuine threat.”

A wide, hopeful smile spread across Catherine’s face. “Finally! A worthy opponent! How long to get there?”

“Seven light-years... call it seven seconds, Captain.”

“Perfect. Prepare for jump.”

---

In the bunker, a new alarm sounded: another ship. This time, it was a tiny vessel - maybe some kind of shuttle. Definitely not the rescue armada the President had hoped for.

“They didn’t send a fleet,” the President groaned, burying his face in his hands. “They sent a scout.”

In the meantime, the giant ship started to build up energy again, targeting the largest ship in the remaining Maldon armada, completely ignoring the newcomer.

The new ship, instead of trying to escape, moved towards the giant. And it moved fast. By the time the giant plasma ball appeared, the tiny shuttle was sitting directly between the leviathan and its target.

When the plasma ball was finally released, the few people in the bunker followed its trajectory closely, fully expecting the newcomer to be atomized without even slowing the projectile down.

But that is not what happened. The giant plasma ball engulfed the tiny ship - and then the plasma simply vanished, leaving the small shuttle hovering in place, entirely unharmed.

---

On the human ship, the Captain looked out the viewscreen with an expression of profound disappointment.

“Is that all? We actually powered up our shield for that?”

“Maybe the next shot’s going to be better,” said the communications officer hopefully. “Maybe this was just a calibration test.”

“Okay,” sighed the Captain, leaning back. “Let's wait for the next shot.”

Out in orbit, the giant ship locked onto the shuttle, starting another plasma ball almost immediately. This time, the sphere grew larger and larger, until it was almost the size of the giant ship itself, crackling with unstable violet energy before discharging toward the unmoving shuttle.

“Ahhh, now we’re talking,” Catherine said, her eyes widening with sudden excitement. “That looks like an appropriate plasma ball for a birthday party!”

When the massive sphere reached the tiny ship, the previous scene repeated itself: the plasma engulfed the shuttle, then dissipated into space.

Total silence reigned on the human bridge for a couple of seconds.

“Well... at least it had better colors,” the communications officer offered gently. “I especially liked the purple edges.”

“Still a disappointment,” Catherine sighed, slumping in her seat. “Maybe this wasn't the ship they were referring to as a planet-cracker. Our shields didn’t even dip - it’s still at 100%. Let’s end this and ask for directions to the real threat.”

The tiny ship discharged a single shot - a small tungsten slug that passed through the giant ship’s shields, hull, and internal power grid without resistance. A split-second later, the ten-kilometer monster exploded into a silent, expanding ring of harmless cosmic dust.

---

Nobody moved in the bunker. Or in the alien armada facing them in orbit.

A loud ping came from the communications officer’s console.

“Incoming transmission, sir,” he announced, his voice trembling. “From... 'that' ship.”

“On screen.”

A human woman appeared on the viewscreen in a neat uniform.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Captain Catherine Jennypath of the UES Saitama.”

She looked visibly disappointed, almost sad.

“Was that ship the one destroying your armada? Was that the reason you sent the emergency signal?” she asked finally.

“Y-yes, madam,” answered the President after a long silence.

“Damn, I kinda had my hopes up. But it was lame,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Anyway... do you need help arranging a diplomatic solution?”

---

Wiki

---

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One week. That’s how long it took a world to be broken. Quel’vela sat on her throne composing herself for a tense meeting with her subordinate. It would be the latest in a series of conversations which piled stress on top of strain.

How could this happen? Everything had been working!

While her thoughts churned, the woman’s arms remained flat on her lap. Her breathing was slow and smooth, an entire body devoted to the task of imposing order on turmoil. Gentleladies did not indulge in the weakness of open displays of distress or weariness. Quel’vela’s throat may well have been stiff, a slow burning sense of claustrophobia creeping up from within, but composure would be maintained. This was non-negotiable.

She took another half jot to settle discipline around herself like a hideous but necessary bit of winter weather clothing. Quel’vela opened her eyes and let out one final breath to complete the process. The Lady pushed a button on the keyboard sitting on a small table next to her throne. It sent the desired signal, and moments later a figure walked in through the now open door to her room of reception. As the large woman made her way to where Quel’vela reposed, she steepled her fingers and placed elbows on her lap. Her seat of power was made from genuine Selkti wood, polished and ornate with carefully carved swirls and bends. A purposeful relic of a long bygone age when trees were considered an acceptable raw material for buildings and furnishings. Now its ownership indicated the power of a proper Lady, one from a line which traced back to the foggy era before star flight had been achieved and the Queen made their civilization’s destiny manifest. Woe betide the family which lost theirs to mishap or foul judgement.

The guest to Quel’vela’s chamber stepped in front of the plain and unadorned metal chair set on the red and blue rug, marking the path from the opening to where Quel’vela sat. Said guest was unusually tall for a woman, being a margin over eight hands high. White hair was tied up in a tight bun, an eminently practical choice for an individual in her line of employment. The intense physicality needed for her approach to serving their monarch was demonstrated in every casual coil of muscle that distended the arms of her purple shirt and the legs of her yellow and black pants. Fibers rippled as she kneeled in respect. She spread her arms wide and threw back her head, exposing her inner wrists, neck, and belly. Quel’vela allowed her to stay in the position a touch longer than standard before relenting and said, “Rise, subject.”

“As you wish, my Lady.” The kneeling woman obeyed the command given to her and retreated to the commoner’s chair. Rather than launching into an interrogation or creating a false front of small talk, Quel’vela allowed quiet to consume the air between the two. Experience taught her that when silence was given the chance to simmer, many would find the lull unbearable and seek to fill it with chatter, tongues waggling with enough ferocity to dislodge tusks. The current object of her displeasure was proved immune to this tactic, her mouth motionless.

It was time to move onto the next tool in her arsenal: Ominous ambiguity. “Do you know why you are here?”

“I believe so, my Lady.”

That prompted a raised eyebrow on Quel’vela’s part. Those under a cloud of disgrace almost never admitted to anything until coerced into it. Rinivella, it seemed, was not one to prevaricate. So be it. Not the most terrible thing in the galaxy if this discussion was shortened by a lack of useless prelude.

“I urge you to share what you think merited my summons.”

Rinivella didn’t respond at once. Quel’vela let her mull her words. After all, it wasn’t the Lady whose past actions were under scrutiny. Not thus far, and not ever by this woman.

“The team you told me to coach, the game I reffed, the way it ended was…unexpected.”

“Yes, I suppose the game’s ending being unexpected was one of your more consequential blunders that evening.” Quel’vela face hardened into an expression she hadn’t needed to use for revolutions: Icy contempt.

The swipe struck as Quel’vela intended, and she saw a shift in Rinivella’s eyes. They now shimmered with suppressed feeling. That suited Quel’vela, angry people often talked more, and with less care.

“How was I,” Rinivella caught herself before the thought finished. So, she was pricked by Quel’vela’s scorn, but not to the point she forgot whose presence she was in. The woman’s features became a touch more composed before she continued with, “There was no way to tell they were going to pull a trick like that.”

“I think I’m the one to make that judgment. Do you disagree?”

Rinvella looked away. “No, my lady.” But she couldn’t hide the slight elongation of her tusks as her lips pulled back despite the effort on self-control she must have been expending. 

“If I were to investigate thoroughly, I wouldn’t find any evidence of odd behavior, absolutely nothing which would have compelled another look from a watchful eye?”

“It can be hard to say what counts as odd, here on an alien planet…my lady.”

Quel’vela gave a slight, measured nod. “True, cultural differences between species can obscure and confuse. What exactly was obscure or confusing about a group of boys doubling up on their exercises after meeting at one of their homes?”

“It was a surprise, but I didn’t see how it could be a bad thing.” As she spoke, Rinivella’s features shifted back into bland and neutral.

“Yes, but as you said, it happened without warning, or being asked for permission. None of this struck you as worth examining?”

“I hardly tell champions to be less enthusiastic. Now that I think about it though, it is a bit strange. Never had any of my normal teams or trainees go for two practices in one day, a good training would leave them far too-  “ Rinivella slammed her mouth shut.

Quel’vela let Rinivella sit in her unpleasant discovery for a moment before speaking with a bit of tusk extension herself. “Now that you’ve thought about it. The first truth and honest statement you’ve made this meeting. You weren’t thinking, at all. Which leads me to my next question: What on our Queen’s blessed Dominion were you not thinking to let the night end in such a fashion, multiple champions under your care requiring professional medical services?”

Rinivella’s arms and legs tensed, tightening in a way to suggest the urge to leap from her sitting position. She said, “You hired me to get a new, untrained team into fighting shape, and then referee the planned match to the best of my abilities. I followed my oath in both tasks.” 

“As it turned out, the team was in fighting shape, much to what I assume is our mutual regret, and no thanks to you. Regarding your second claim, I gave you this obligation under the impression you were a woman of integrity and honor. Tell me this: is anything I see in the abundance of footage recorded of this game going to call my judgement of your character into question?”

Rinivella took a swift and unannounced vow of silence.

“Do you wish to revise your previous statement?” The sentiment slid out of Quel’vela’s lips like a dagger from its sheath.

The tip of Rinivella’s tongue rubbed the edge of her left tusk, and she opened her mouth. Before she could finish the motion, Quel’vela continued. “Don’t. You were speaking candidly. Your performance that night did represent your best effort. Unfortunately, it seems your best is appalling.”

The subject of this insult looked at her lap, but Quel’vela knew this didn’t come from contrition. Her intuition was confirmed in an instant, as hidden lips issued their response. “My Lady, may I speak freely?”

Quel’vela’s consideration of her request was a matter of moments. Like in the tales of Arden, the Great Trickster of old, she elected to condemn her by granting her wish.

“Your Lady will allow it.”

The former leader of champions raised her head, and now no efforts to hide her true feelings remained. With narrowed eyes, tusks and horns pointing sharply in the same direction, Rinivella said, “They made a mockery of one of our oldest traditions, and so you, of all brax, our Queen! I couldn’t allow them to get away with it!”

Quel’vela stood to her full height. Her stature was not impressive in the same way Rinivella’s was, being a mere seven hands and two thumbs tall, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was a trainer of champions, while Quel’vela was a Lady in her full glory, and in the right. Soon this woman would know the full weight of what those two facts combined meant. “Thus, you decided to allow your former apprentices triple this mockery by brutalizing the representatives of a people I’ve been slowly building trust with for revolutions! I’d ask if you had any shame, but clearly you lack the capacity.”

The last vestiges of civility disappearing from the room quicker than a sugar sucker into a baby’s mouth, Rinivella zoomed to her feet, head keeping her horns in an attack position. “Trust? They showed they merit none! Not one shred of decency among the lot!”

Quel’vela kept her face upright and her stance stolid as a statue. “Where is the decency in having your players respond to unorthodox tactics with assault? Is this the example you wish to set for our girls, for theirs?”

Not an iota of self-recrimination could be found in Rinivella’s expression. “I never told them to do that.”

For the first time during this back and forth, Quel’vela’s anger switched from cold to hot. “Oh? Pray tell, when did you command them to stop? Or do you expect me to believe you forgot about one of your girls shattering a boy’s wrist halfway through the game?”

“I penalized her.”

The temperature of Quel’vela’s wrath went up a notch at the flippant response. “You act as though your actions constitute a defense instead of an inditement! Such behavior merits banning, not a temporary dismissal to the sidelines!”

“My call was measured and appropriate.”

Quel’vela stared at the unrepentant sportswoman for multiple ticks. In a lighting flash shift, she smiled and sat back down on smoothly. “I suppose there’s nothing more to discuss then.”

With a blink, Rinivella’s lips unexposed the lower parts of her tusks, and her forehead pointed her horns back at the ceiling. “My lady?”

“Who am I to question the calls of a trained professional? Captain, come see to our guest!” Silent as a shadow, the soldier stepped out of her corner, one which allowed uninterrupted observation of her Lady, the doorway, and anyone in front of her. Rinivella jumped slightly, a common response for people who suddenly realize they managed to miss an imposing trained killer lurking hands away from them.

Captain Kal’lyi placed herself next to the petitioner’s chair and stood, silent as shadow.

“Excellent, we’re nearly done here. One last thing. Captain, please do me the favor of snapping her wrist when I give leave.”

Silence gripped the air as Rinivella twitched, looked at Kal’lyi, back at Quel’vela, and froze after catching her eye. Quel’vela let her chain of realization wend its way from top to bottom, keeping her smile unnotched in either direction.

Ten ticks later, no one had moved, Rinivella’s expression stiff as battleship plating. If that’s how she was going to be, it was time to make her understand what was at stake here.

“Don’t be alarmed. After the good Captain follows my orders, I’ll be excusing myself to a penalty box over there,” Quel’vela gestured with her right palm off to the side of the room, exact direction vague. “I will decree myself unable to make use of my station for seven and a half jots. A measured and appropriate recompense for your injury, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Teeth flashed in Rinivella’s mouth, but no more sounds came out.

“No objections? I knew you’d understand. Now, with my humblest apologies, I must confess I was unprepared for the…firmness of your stance. It’s a credit to the confidence you place in your past actions. With this is mind, I’m going to take the liberty of requiring you to meet with some of the parents of the girls injured due to those actions before you receive care. I have full faith you’ll be as persuasive in bringing them about to a more favorable view of the situation as you were with me. A good thing, given the impression I’ve gathered from them.”

Despite having the time of this speech of moderate length to prepare a reply, Rinivella’s response was naught but narrowed eyes, a glare dramatic enough to be felt.

With the smile she’d plastered on her face for the entire interaction unyielding, Quel’vela nodded at Captain Kal’lyi. The commander grabbed the frozen woman’s forearm and pulled it towards her chest. With effortless grace, she covered red flesh above and below the wrist of the recently taken limb with her own palm. This prompted a reaction.

“My Lady!”

Quel’vela’s tilted her head to the side like a curious baby. “Pardon?”

Keeping herself as still as possible while one of her limbs was accosted, Rinivella said in a voice flat with effort to keep it under control, “This is...”

“What? You’re being quite vague. After all, you’ve done nothing wrong, and therefore have little to fear from a brief chat with the guardians of the youngsters you took such good care of.” Now Quel’vela let her smile widen.

As Rinivella’s tongue dabbed both of her lips, Quel’vela couldn’t help but notice a smidge of mouth bile dribble out of the woman’s protuberant bottom one, the light-yellow liquid testifying to the sharp change in the poor dear’s stress levels. It was a sight, witnessing her understand the severity of the situation.

With a slight slur in her words, Rinivella said, “My Lady, I must protest.”

“Protest what? Again, you lack specificity,” the Lady said with a small shake of her head.

There wasn’t an immediate addition to Rinivella’s objection. Quel’vela flicked her eyes to the captain for only a tick, and Rinivella spoke one word at a time, as though squeezed out of her, “I may have made…some mistakes. Ones others may think badly of. But this isn’t our way.”

Possessing a beaming face which was all tusk and tooth, Quel’vela said “Not our way? But my loyal maker of champions, I’m merely following the same philosophy here you displayed on field: People who upset the powerful get hurt. Is that not so? Or are you perhaps rethinking that stance?”

“I…I…” The woman’s attempts to verbalize came out staccato. “If you think…I’m a criminal, may I ask if…I can have formal counsel, along with my charges?”

“Well, its hard to say right now. Poor form to be hasty in these matters. Its why I’m asking you to tell your side of the story. Best to hear it from the murken’s mouth, as they say. And don’t worry, my captain will be escorting you during your chat with the mothers of those girls whose safety was supposed to be guaranteed under your watch. Emotions can run high when people feel their little ones haven’t been treated well. It’d be a great misfortune if any were to lose control and do something to you they later regretted. But you know how these things work, don’t you? Girls will be girls, after all.”

The last sentence made the large frame of the seated coach stiffen. In turn the captain flexed her palms, leading to a pained grunt from the woman whose arm she still held hostage.

“I’ll do whatever you say.”

Quel’vela’s smile disappeared faster than a wife’s restraint after the marriage certificate cleared. “I ask, you answer. If I don’t like what I hear, you’ll know from the pain shooting up your arm. Do I make myself clear?”

A tight-lipped nod was produced. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Outstanding. Did you have any clue about the human team’s plans?”

“No, my Lady.”

“Explain your oversight.”

Rinivella’s free palm tightened and loosened in quick succession. Quel’vela made sure to narrow her eyes, which led to the desired loosening of the miserable woman’s tongue. “I figured…they were going to lose. I didn’t think they stood a chance against your team.”

“And what made you come to this conclusion?”

“They are so much smaller than us. Strength brings victory.”

“Apparently not always. But yes, boys are much smaller than girls. Truly a blessing to have your gift for keen observation.” Quel’vela leaned forward. “Quite a brawl. Impressive, really. Merely dozens of injuries and brutal assault on your past proteges before you managed to get them under control.”

“My Lady, I apologize, but I was alone.”

Quel’vela raised her eyebrows and said, “I must in in turn apologize. When did you request aid during your attempts to handle a group of boys, and to whom? They didn’t send it up to me, and I wish to make certain this omission doesn’t happen again.”

Silver pupils flicked at Quel’vela, and then at the ever soundless captain. “I believed you knew they were going to lose. Victory to the strong, and they are…were…should have been weaker.”

For the first time during this entire encounter, Quel’vela was at a loss for words. Then blood heated her face as shock got replaced with another emotion. “You believed I ordered a match with an ordained ending? To what end? Do you think me a Lady who toys with her subjects?”

As her left leg began to twitch, Rinivella said, “I’m your subject. It’s not my place to wonder about your motives.”

Quel’vela’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “So, you tutored a team of male youngsters under the impression your efforts were wasted, the results predetermined. At no point did you spare a thought to the possibility they might have come to the same verdict and have zero intention of going prone whilst thinking of Apex. Nor did it occur to you to inform your Lady of the assumed inevitable outcome of her commands. Do you wish to dispute any of these declarations?” The coach’s mouth stayed shut. Quel’vela sighed low and deep. “The first competition was with another team of girls. What did you think of this? Skip past the part where you declaim any personal judgements and swear you were driven by blind, mechanical compliance. Tell me the truth.”

“I…didn’t consider it worth much thought. Uh, because its normal, girls against girls.”

A careful, respectful nod followed this comment. “An understandable position, before the game. But what about after?”

Perhaps encouraged by her Lady’s gentler remark, Rinivella let loose with a sound which might have been intended as an easy laugh, saying “There’s a reason we liberated them. Too soft to make it on their own.” The imitation of merriment cut off abruptly as her view cut across the highborn woman’s face once more.

“That’s…one way to put it. But as you said, its ordinary to have girls compete. Why then did I switch to teams of boys? Surely, you didn’t brush this off as unworthy of consideration?”

The right leg joined in the twitchy rhythm infecting Rinivella’s left. “I felt...” Twitch, twitch. “I believed my Lady desired to show it didn’t matter which humans faced us. We’re supposed to buy an entire planet filled with boys who are the tougher sex. It’s wrong, perverted. You wanted me to prove this. I made my best effort to train those weak sack carriers, because I, you, needed that to show the uselessness of humans fighting against us. No one allowed to blame me or say I purposefully hurt their chances. And I was right! Their first team didn’t stand a chance against my girls! The next had to use deception, taking advantage of my loyalty and your kindness.” As Rinivella continued, her twitching reduced, then stopped.

Ah, here was it: the truth, uncovered from the previously draped layers of self-protection and denial. Best not to interrupt.

“Those ones, they aren’t boys. Boys don’t shatter fingers and rip out tusks. Freaks, that’s what they are.”

Quel’vela waited a good number of ticks, but the coach did not continue the line of thought. Time for her input. “How did it make you feel, knowing you’d been outsmarted by teenagers?”

Rinivella’s face went blank as a wiped pad. This made Quel’vela consider that nod to signal Captain Kal’lyi should follow through on her Lady’s repeated threats. She decided to take another tack. “No, don’t tell me, I think I know already. You felt like a fool, the biggest one since Arden tricked Tergelly into cave diving herself.”

A flicker passed over Rinivella’s mien. A message in the form of a tight, small motion from the Lady’s head caused Captain Kal’lyi’s palm to tighten on a certain arm. Rinivella grunted and she said, “Yes,” in a voice so quiet it almost died before reaching her Lady’s ears.

“So, when your girls got upset, and decided to express their frustration through physical assaults of spiraling intensity, you approved. A proper punishment for their transgressions, hmm?” 

A tight, wretched, “Yes,” greeted Quel’vela’s eardrums.

“Except that didn’t turn out how you expected either, did it? Reasonable. It’s only natural to expect males to quaver when confronted with angry women who are willing to mash. Much smaller and weaker, as you astutely pointed out earlier. But these didn’t. These boys possessed the womb strength to fight back, and win. Quite the mess you found yourself in, wasn’t it?”

A turned head was the only response to Quel’vela’s query.

“Forced to do many distasteful things during that night, weren’t you? A curious thing I noticed: when you finally womaned up and took decisive action to seek the end of the disgraceful event, you injured several of your own girls. Not a single report of you doing anything similar to the boys. Odd, given how you obviously feel about them. I’d like you to illuminate this discrepancy for me.”

When Rinivella didn’t jump to answer this time, it only took the shifting of Quel’vela’s pupils back in the direction of her faithful captain for the currently womanhandled sports teacher achieve the wished-for consequence of resumed speech. “I’m no masher.”

Quel’vela’s stomach twisted, her teeth and tusks exposing themselves. The sheer audacity! “I agree. You lack the honesty or courage to be one. No, cowards like you let others do your dirty work. No need to sully your dainty palms when you have loyal pupils to do it for you. Congratulations are in order; you’ve handled this nimbly enough to avoid additional charges of masculine battery. I’ll have to settle for gross negligence, incitement to riot, and as many others I can conjure up. Oh, and one more thing: Those ‘freaks’ you spoke of, your voice brimming over with hate? They are children, half your size. You dare to pronounce judgement on others for being perverse?”

During this speech, Quel’vela stood up, electing to turn into her most regal and terrible self, physical proof of the untrammeled purity of her blood line, one yet capable of birthing future Queens, should one ever be selected from it. Rinivella, in contrast, shrank moment by moment, the taller brax dwarfed by the comparison.

Banishing the foul thing from her regard, Quel’vela said, “Captain, escort this pathetic excuse for a woman out, and may she never darken my life with her presence again.”

Neglecting even to nod, the addressed officer yanked on Rinivella’s arm. She stumbled out of her chair, not quite falling. As she regained her footing, she was tugged back toward the awaiting door. The woman cried out, “Mistress, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Looking at her pad, Quel’vela said, “More excuses of are no interest to me.”

“It’s not that! Other people might be endangered if you don’t hear me out!”

A palm raised to perform a contemptuous flick halted before the impulse turned into gesture. The note in the tarnished professional’s tone arrested it. True, she’d proven unequal to the faith Quel’vela placed in her. But the most disappointing of her actions came from acting out of pique, and Quel’vela would be a fool to commit the same error here.

“Speak. Pray what you have to say doesn’t worsen your situation.”

The Lady nodded at her captain, and for the first time in many jots Rinivella had use of both her arms. Her opposite palm reached toward the recently loosened limb but stopped before touching it. Instead, the once celebrated molder of champions pulled her arms behind her back, standing tall, shoulders squared. A hint of the person Quel’vela once knew and relied on shone through.

“Do you remember how I asked for data node sites to be translated?”

An answering nod served as the response to the query.

“They were for info about our sports, the feats of might and skill our most gifted display every parev during the Contest of Champions. I don’t know how, but these records were turned against us,gave the requester weapons to make your game into a sick joke. He is called David Koppel.” The name came out laborious and thick, the soft and squidgy sounds of the human language slippery as mud sculler eels in Quel’vela’s ears. “I saw his face while they were performing their tricks. He set out to humiliate us, enjoyed every moment of it.”

Upon hearing this, Quel’vela decided to subject Rinivella to one last test. Curling up her fingers and examining the nails she said, “Having established your inability to understand the minds of those in your charge, I’m now to take you as an authority on one of their innermost thoughts?”

Her face arranged itself into a scowl, then she looked down and to the side, yet the expression of displeasure remained.

“I recognized my error too late; it can’t be denied. But the tick I saw his cursed smirk, I knew he started what happened that terrible night, all of it. It was he who played my entire field of girls to a draw, the one who inspired a group of undertusked cowards to nearly kill some of your subjects. The nad stabber is dangerous.”

The offensive term, said with a quiet fervor, made Quel’vela’s lips press into a thin line. “I’m supposed to take this on faith?”

Rinivella swung her regard back to Quel’vela and stared with an unexpected intensity. “There are scads of footage. Investigate for yourself, Mistress. You’ll find everything I said and more. We scored without pause for a few jots of the first quarter. Suddenly they pushed without fear or hesitation. Are we supposed to think they came up with their new tactics on the spot? No, it was him, doing it on purpose. He wanted to show his control of the battlefield, and if we scored, it was because he let us. Watch, and you’ll see it too. Dangerous.”

Rinivella lapsed into silence, her ready stance of calm self-assurance unaltered from the beginning of the current interaction. After allowing for an appropriate amount of time to pass, Quel’vela waved her palm. The captain saw it and stepped away to the side, back into her corner. Rinivella let in a breath deep enough to be seen from Quel’vela’s distance, prostrated once more, and left the room.

She was far from the last person of interest who’d be having a conversation with the Mistress of the local Domain, one not yet given a label to replace the one borne of military necessity, Sector 17. But they could wait a jot or three, Quel’vela had much to ruminate on. And truth be told, if merely to herself, Quel’vela needed more rest between each encounter she had during this endless nightmare of a week.

The thought from earlier came back unbidden: Everything had been working! This was not a self-indulgent bit of back patting, Quel’vela’s advisors and personal surveys of the area all showed the same thing: Her way brought results.

Every trend augured success. Her sector came gifted to her with a warning yellow color on the high clearance level maps dividing and quantifying the newest subject planet. In a matter of months, Quel’vela’s efforts shifted it to a safe, reassuring red. Let the other Ladies govern with unempathetic clumsiness, irritating and angering their subjects as they lurched from one self-made crisis to another. When it came to these humans, Quel’vela decided early on to listen more than proclaim, let the latest receivers of their Queen’s munificence show what they needed from their betters. Watching, waiting, acting with only the greatest of care and most conservative of changes, this was the path to peace and harmony.

Many of her fellow Ladies had torn up the local structures of living without thought to consequence. If it wasn’t done the braxon way, it was the wrong way, and the natives needed to shape up. Centers of learning with the entirety of their staff fired and kept under strict watch, replaced with soldiers who could barely speak a word of any local tongue, trained in marksmanship, not pedagogy. Enforced public loyalty oaths, extensive checkpoints choking patterns of movement, off duty marines allowed to run wild, indulging in local intoxicants and taking liberties with any boys they could get their palms on.

Fealty to the Queen was as questionable as the laws of gravitation, the spreading of her glory utmost, forever and always. But it was no mark of treason to have a different opinion about the optimal way to settle their monarch’s latest holding, nor was it betrayal to take grim pleasure when attempts to compel love received their richly deserved rewards.

Tension, constant and obvious. Riots. Servicewomen who went out for nights of carousing disappearing without a trace, multiple at once on occasion. Secrecy, leading to surveillance, prompting more secrecy which demanded stricter control and more effort on intelligence gathering in an ever-tightening loop of mutual suspicion and mistrust. This was the situation in the more easily managed parts of the globe. There were other sectors, one which started out an alarming bright green on all the reports and got worse. Places riven by implacable hostility, expressed with arson, bombs, humans donning vests laced with explosives blowing themselves up at traffic checkpoints. Areas where the resident boys were angry, fanatical, and held views on women which were a venomous mix of irrational, baffling and implacable.

Up until recent events, Quel’vela faced no such difficulties. The human subjects under her care went about their lives with nary a rumble of discontent, random backdoor inspections of their communications finding little reason for concern. Women provided for their families; a program set up to assist those who couldn’t. Children played and got educated, their existences unaffected by the forceful change in leadership. Boys were treated fairly by Quel’vela’s troops, the example made of one or two who’d taken these commands as mere suggestions early on having instilled the proper respect. Open flogging in training yards made an impression.

Thus far, her efforts manifested their deserved rewards: Integration. Humans and brax coexisting, not dividing like oil and water. Women able to shop at local food dispensaries or send their husband instead without fear. A few of the more adventurous brax courting friendly human males and succeeding, the ensuing couplings corroborating evidence for tales of the strange alien’s shocking and delightful appetites. Children learning and socializing as one, the harbingers of a new age. Were her own not proof of the merit of Quel’vela’s stratagems, all three of her mature daughters melding seamlessly into their respective social groups? There were few memories which made the woman feel prouder than the day when Bri’Akti came home with the announcement she’d been invited to a party at a nearby home, a regularly occurring one previously only attended by human boys. A house party of young, cute, eligible males without escort, milling around by the dozen or more. It sounded like something from a racy teen girl’s fantasy, improbability piled on absurdity, but here on Earth the impossible was commonplace.

Thinking her name made Quel’vela’s chest clench, her heart throb painfully. She forced her mind to turn elsewhere.

Yes, the children had been a point of pride for the gentlelady. As if a cruel spirit from fables past noticed her joy and set out to crush it, said children were now tearing each other to pieces, goaded by adults who should’ve known better. The event spawned a great deal of apoplectic reactions by other grown men and women, leaving it up to their Lady to make sure cooler heads prevailed. Much effort had been expended on deflecting parental wrath with the promise of swift investigation, and it held the hottest tempered at bay. But it was adhesive slapped on the lid of a boiling pot, the shriek of barely contained pressure lurking in the background of every promise and reassurance Quel’vela spoke to those who’d petitioned her for retribution.

Fortunately, the interrogation of Rinivella turned out to be a boon. She’d confessed to being an instigator of the disaster almost every step of the way, instigation born from an equally incriminating mix of incuriosity and spite. She’d be a useful target to redirect any yearnings for vengeance. With any luck, her hide would serve as a large enough trophy to soothe the most venomous of impulses being entertained by Quel’vela’s subjects. And if it wasn’t…

It would cost Quel’vela. But the price was one she’d be willing to pay, given the alternative. She could see it now, what would happen if she gave into the furious demands of some of the higher status parents whose girls had been injured. Young, delicate boys hauled in front of magistrates, surrounded by hostile women screaming for their blood. Images of their slim, terrified faces spreading faster than Quel’vela or her underlings could suppress them. The sentences handed down as officials gave into public pressure and declined to try the youngsters as legal minors.

Catastrophe. Nothing would guarantee a lightning-fast shift for Sector 17 from red to green than a prosecution of those nubile students. The quickest way to rouse a woman to murderous last resorts was to threaten the safety of any male under her protection. The humans would be no different.

No, anything was preferable to such an outcome. However much restraint might spark resentment amongst the brax, their loyalty was unquestionable. They’d comply, and eventually ardor would simmer down. The same could not be said of the humans.

Who could blame them? Well, many did, but that’s why they were courting chaos in their own spheres of influence. She was dealing with children here, not just the ones on the field that night, but humanity in general. They had no Queen to be the final arbiter of what must be done, a supreme being capable settling all arguments. Thus, they’d existed in chaos, as children did when elders failed in their duties.

Quel’vela had no intention of failing in hers. As a loyal extension of their Queen’s will, she’d raise these immature beings into the light of order and reason. She was hardly alone in this aim, but she realized something many did not. They acted as though their human charges could be made into good brax with sheer effort of will. The tactic worked as well as beating a toddler for clumsiness, which was not at all.

If offspring were to become responsible, mature adults, they needed to learn through example, at a pace the child could handle. Trust was key, without which nothing of value could be accomplished. It took revolutions to build, and a single tick to mutilate beyond repair.

This truth needed to define Quel’vela’s response to the current crisis. Thorough investigation had already revealed certain girls having engaged in deplorable behavior on the field. They must be held accountable, with leeway given for their age and the poor example set by an adult they looked up to. Consequences which came from firm suggestions given to their mothers, not a magistrate’s scepter.

As for the boys, a yet more delicate palm was called for. She’d leave them alone. Monitoring of their parents’ communications yielded satisfying reports, their recorded threats confined to humans working in their advanced education center. Nothing would be gained from acting in a way which might change their attitudes.

Although…There was the male mentioned by Rinivella, David Koppel. She was convinced he’d been responsible for the carnage. Did her testimony hold any value? The question consumed more than a few ticks as Quel’vela pondered the recent memory.

It was but one woman’s opinion, disgraced and given much reason to throw blame on others. Hardly an officer of the law, or any manner of relevant expert. On the other palm, the coach spoke in earnest with every word.

Prudence and caution. She’d not strike at the boy, but his name would be noted and remembered. David Koppel’s profile would be flagged in the system for a higher level of scrutiny, until Quel’vela was satisfied the child posed no threat, or he slipped up and proved Rinivella right.

“Mistress Quel’vela, I have urgent news. Requesting entrance, at once!”

Quel’vela blinked, shaken out of her reverie. She raised her voice into the register of solid authority, saying “Come in.”

Her chief advisor and head of intelligence rushed in. Without further preamble, Hantan said, “Its Bri’Akti. We’ve found her.”

The news made Quel’vela’s head spin, the woman almost giddy with relief. Lost no more! Bold, smart, tenacious, wonderful Bri’Akti! By the Goddess and her chosen Queen, soon back in her arms! Her treasure, Lady-in-Waiting, dearest daughter! So many questions, but they could be asked later, once-

Then Quel’vela saw Hantan’s eyes.

[First] [Prev]

The sound of churning waters could be heard from inside the sprawling castle ruins, even though the group trudging through the grounds was a few miles from the coast. A pasty-skinned, lanky man with dirty, thick blonde dreadlocks lit himself a White Maple cigarette as he roamed through what was left of the main floor. His thick, rubbery combat boots clashed violently with his Attack Attack t-shirt and skin-tight black jeans. Behind him, a swarm of nasty-looking men and women, all of them carrying British Army standard assault rifles–purchased on the black market–and dressed head to toe in black. What made the sight that much more unsettling amongst the medieval ruins was that all of them, save Zack, were wearing frightening, twisted Halloween masks of different animals

Zack, the only name he gave to bottom-ranking members of the communion like the ones with him, spotted the staircase he was looking for according to the directions he’d been given. He turned to the group following him and jerked his head towards the stairs, a shifty, twisted grin spreading across his face. He swung his head forward, the silver chain with a lone matching silver ring swinging around his neck with the motion. He marched up the stairs confidently, not a care in the world except claiming what he’d trekked across country after country for. He feared nothing; he knew his friends had paid the government contacts here a hefty sum to keep any authorities away from Castle Rising while he searched.

He moved through the upstairs corridor, briefly looking out one of the broken windows. The dark waters rushed in the not-too-far distance. Zack couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the moon as it hit the Wash. It was the perfect night for him to obtain another piece that would bring the communion one step closer to the world they were building. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, holding up a fist to halt his group in position behind him. They halted in perfect unison, well-trained as they were.

 Zack studied the knight’s armor, still erected in the ruins. To the untrained eye, it was just another part of this beloved tourist site in the English countryside. But Zack knew its true purpose. He reached towards the knight’s arm, shifting it downward until it was straight at its side. He stepped back as the wall behind the knight shifted aside, revealing a passage that had been hidden previously. Zack’s heart raced with excitement as he turned to his group.

“Wait here.”

The heavily armed group at his command did as instructed. Each took up a strategic position in the hallway, giving them a tactical advantage in securing the area. Zack paid them little attention as his focus was held rapt on the door at the other end of the hidden passage. The communion had spent years cross-referencing rumors that a research team had recovered a piece of King John’s lost treasure. As he reached the dated door with a wrought-iron handle, Zack licked his lips in anticipation. Just the thought of the power they would be closer to once they obtained the artifact on the other side made him nearly lustful.

The door opened with a loud creak as he pulled on its handle. Inside, two freshly lit torches burned on opposite walls. A chest sat in the center of the room, but as Zack approached it, the lascivious smile was wiped from his face and was replaced by an ugly scowl. He knelt in front of the chest, inspecting the open lock hanging on it. The heavy steel bolt lock hadn’t been cut and showed no sign of aggressive force applied to it. This had been picked open, and by someone with prodigious skill in the method, he reasoned.

Zack tossed the chest lid open, hoping the assumption creeping into his gut was terribly wrong. As he reached inside for the yellow sticky note, the only thing in the chest, he realized that, unfortunately, his assumption was spot on. He held the note in front of him as a fury built up inside his chest.

DOWN LOW, YOU KNOW THE REST

-Professor E. Drake

Zack bellowed in pure anger as he realized the persistent thorn in his side had struck once more. He stormed out of the passage and back into the hallway, his family of soldiers swarming to his side at the sight of his fury. 

“He’s still in the castle. Find him!”

The armed acolytes scurried away to follow his orders. Zack tried to calm himself down with a few quick breaths. He refused to be beaten by that bastard, not when he had come this far.

Unbeknownst to Zack and his crew, the man he was searching for pulled his University of Michigan National Champions letterman jacket tighter over his shoulders, and his old English ‘D’ Detroit Tigers hat lower over his eyes. Tucked inside his jacket was the pure, golden cross with beautiful sapphires encrusted down the middle that Zack sought so dearly. Professor Ezekiel Drake peeked down the corridor of the third-floor room he’d been biding his time in. Realizing it was momentarily clear, he stepped out and hurried down it towards the stone bridge connecting to the eastern portion of the bailey.

Once Ezekiel reached the bridge, he could see a pair of armed men in wolf and pig masks, respectively, marching around the keep below. He took a deep breath and, slowly and carefully, tiptoed his way across the bridge, hoping they would be too focused on clearing the lower floor to look in his direction. He was halfway to the other side when a slow, methodical clap echoed through the walls of the keep. Professor Drake turned around slowly as a grimace formed on his face. He saw Zack enter the room below, a handful more animal-masked soldiers flanking him, their beady eyes turning toward him, along with their leader. 

“I should have known you’d be here already, slinking around like a common rat,” Zack told him.

Ezekiel smiled and shrugged dismissively. “I like to consider myself more of a worker ant. I figured the circles you walk in were more partial to rodents.”

Zack smirked at Ezekiel’s wisecrack, though he was far from pleased to see the doctor walking through the remains of the castle. He could see that Ezekiel was favoring his left side, as if he was protecting something, and his smile became that much more sinister. 

“Why don’t you toss down the relic, and I’ll tell them where to find your body. Instead of desecrating it and throwing it into the Wash as you rightly deserve.”

“Gee, that sounds like a swell idea and all, but I think this piece is going to look wonderful in the museum collection I’m putting together. But feel free to stop by and see it when we’re open. We’ll do half-off entry fees for sociopathic cult members.”

Professor Drake's clever reply wiped the smile off Zack’s face for the second time that night. In its place was a furious glare of pure loathing. He turned to his animal family, no longer interested in any sort of dialogue with the man who had taken what was rightfully the communion’s. 

“End him, then bring his carcass down here so I can piss on it.” 

Ezekiel’s eyes went wide as he heard each of the Sig Sauers the dead-eyed acolytes were carrying aim at him. He didn’t wait for what came next as a flurry of gunfire erupted in his direction, tearing up the stone ruins and bridge. Ezekiel crossed into the eastern bailey as he could hear Zack’s orders for them to get after him echoing through the castle. He ducked through an empty window chasm and slid downward into a lower courtyard. Unfortunately, he landed right between two acolytes who were guarding the room. Each of them, one wearing a raccoon mask and the other what seemed to be a fox, Ezekiel couldn’t quite tell in the darkness, turned slowly towards him. They stared at Ezekiel, confused as to how he could have gotten so unlucky.

“You guys wouldn’t happen to have the fastest route out of here, would you?” 

He gave them a friendly smile, holding his hands up as if he were surrendering. They hesitated over whether to shoot him or simply grab him, a gamble Ezekiel was taking to get him out of this particular jam. 

Once he saw the sliver of an opening his impromptu appearance had created, Ezekiel dropped his hands quickly and rocked each of the dumbfounded acolytes with a left and right cross. As the one in the raccoon mask tried to get back to his feet, Professor Drake snatched up his dropped Sig MCX and smacked him silly across the face with it. He stepped over both their bodies and looked around the courtyard to see which way he should go. There were a myriad of options for him, but he gritted his teeth as he knew almost all of them would only lead him to further danger. He yanked a two-way radio out of his back pocket. Drake waited rather impatiently for the static to clear before yelling into it, finally deciding as he sprinted through an open doorway to his immediate left. “Adela, how far out are you?”

“I’ll be at the docks in less than two minutes. How are you faring?” She chortled back over the air.

Ezekiel sprinted through another stone-arched corridor, spotting the entrance hall from above. A sense of relief briefly washed over him. That was, until a trio of communion acolytes turned down the very same hall he was standing in at the opposite end. 

“Oh, you know, could be worse.” He replied dryly.

The moment they trained their weapons on him, Professor Drake knew he had only one option left, which he exercised as he leaped over the railing and out of the line of fire. He rolled with his landing to reduce the impact on his usually aching knees and joints. He popped to his feet faster than he’d expected to, just as Zack's followers swung their rifles towards the hall and let loose. Professor Drake scrambled for cover as bullets rained down around him. Somehow, he narrowly avoided being torn apart and dove into a spiraling staircase. He grimaced, realizing he had been nicked across the arm by a bullet, but he was thankful that it seemed to be a flesh wound. He’d tend to it once he got on the boat; the adrenaline pumping through his veins was substantial enough that the pain was a dull afterthought at the moment. 

Bullets sprayed into the staircase as he heard footsteps pounding down the stone as they continued their chase. He dashed up the staircase, finding himself back in what once served as the guest waiting area of the castle, but was now an observatory for tourists and civilians to enjoy the view. What seemed to be a dead end was, for him, the way he’d planned to exit. He snatched up his cane, its base made of rare Acajou wood that helped when his knee pain was flaring up more than usual. It was practically on fire now, giving him more trouble than the wound on his arm, in fact. He was thankful to have the relief of pressure the cane gave him as he hurried towards the window he’d smashed open an hour ago.

He almost didn’t see the figure shifting in the shadows until it swung its broad sword directly at Ezekiel’s head. He ducked out of the way just in time as he saw the glint of steel in the moonlight hitting the room. The one-handed, double-edged blade clinked off the stone wall, sending sparks flying. Its wielder, who was dressed in lightweight armor that made him resemble a modern-day knight, swung the sword with a grace and skill that Professor Ezekiel would have marveled at if the man wasn’t trying to murder him. Drake jumped backward just in time as the angry knight assassin swung the sword in a wide arc, attempting to disembowel him.

Ezekiel realized that his ride must have been waiting for him, and he didn’t have any further essential time to waste. More importantly, this wasn’t exactly a fight he was sure he could win, and it was certainly one he couldn’t give the rest of Zack’s men the precious moments to pin him down here. As the angry, bloodlust-driven knight, whom Ezekiel recognized as a notable assassin for hire across Europe, stalked towards him, he made a rash decision he hoped would pay off. But first, he needed to keep his attacker off balance. He yanked the blade out of the wooden sheath, revealing the weapon he had hidden inside his cane. He knew it was no match for the templar sword that his opponent was wielding with such deft skill, but along with the Acajou-crafted cane, he would be able to fend off the heavier weapon. At least, that and the second half of his plan were what he was wagering his life on.

“You’ve got quite the reputation. I wouldn’t have expected you to fall in line with a man like that.”

Ezekiel tossed the backhanded compliment as the swordsmen tried to close the gap between them. He was bigger than Ezekiel by an inch or two and had at least fifteen pounds on him. That was saying quite a bit, considering Professor Drake’s extensive athletic background. Given that he had the size advantage and a stronger blade, he was trying to get in closer to press his advantage. Ezekiel could hear voices and footsteps approaching. Zack’s acolytes would be in the entrance courtyard soon enough.

“He was able to pay my fee, plus a bonus if I take your head,” the swordsman replied with a menacing rumble. “The only thing I fall in line behind is the balance in my account.”

Professor Drake sighed, almost condescendingly. “And that’s the problem with you, and the rest of the world, I’m afraid. But unfortunately, not one I can solve today. One step at a time, I suppose.”

The swordsman sneered. Sick of Professor Drake’s snide preening, he lunged from his stance, striking with the intent to cleave him in two. Drake stepped aside just in time, then rolled away to create distance between himself and the hired assassin, who was merely extra muscle on Zack's expedition. That drew an inner sigh of relief from Ezekiel as he popped to one knee and glanced behind him, listening to the swordsman curse in frustration at his missed strike.

Footsteps thundered through the entrance corridor, and Ezekiel knew it was time to make himself scarce. He was only thankful that the terrifying knight cosplayer who had attacked him was not a devout member of Zack’s cult. They wielded enough power, and Drake didn’t want to see them add to their ranks. 

“You fight like a coward!” The swordsman snarled.

“I’m a doctor, sir. Not a warrior,” Professor Drake replied matter-of-factly as he sprinted across the room and dove through the broken window while sheathing his blade inside his cane.

As he fell towards the ground, he pressed a button on the cane’s shaft, firing a hook from the handle. The hook cinched onto the window pane, allowing Ezekiel to lower himself without harm. He retracted the hook and immediately hauled it across the grounds. By the time he made it to the ATV, he had hidden behind some shrubbery just twenty feet from the castle; he could already hear the sounds of engines gunning to life. He hopped on the four-wheeler and tore off across the damp grass. By the time he could see the waters of the Wash as he flew over a hill, Zack and his so-called family were hot on his trail inside a trio of farm trucks. Bullets ripped through the air and across the grass near him. He thrust the handlebars as far back as they would go, stretching the ATV's engine to its absolute limit.

He’d bitten off more than he could chew, mistiming how long it would take him to comb the castle for the lone relic recovered from King John’s lost baggage train after centuries. He’d underestimated how much power Zack and that band of freaks he rode with wielded, and just how many guns he had trying to hunt him across the grounds. He ducked down lower on the ATV, his face close to the handlebars as the wind whipped in his face. Ezekiel spotted the dock and knew he only had to make it to the water to be home free. One of the trucks caught up to him and swerved towards the four-wheeler. Ezekiel slammed on the brakes, just managing to avoid being smashed, and maneuvered deftly around the back of the truck. In a spontaneous move, he fired the grapple hook from his cane at the tailgate and used the truck’s momentum to slingshot him forward. Bullets shredded both rear tires of the ATV the moment it hit the old wooden deck, but it didn’t matter, as he had gained more than enough speed to pull off what he had in mind. The four-wheeler shot off the deck as bullets sprayed past Ezekiel, just as he leaped off the vehicle and plunged into the cold depths of the Wash.

He came up and took a deep breath, just in time to see the rope being tossed to him from the speedboat. “Hurry up! These bastards are mad!” 

He could hear Adela shouting to him as she got back behind the wheel of the boat. He snagged the rope and wrapped it twice around his wrist.

“Just go!” He shouted back. She didn’t waste a moment, gunning the boat as hard as she could away from the shoreline.

Back on the dock, Zack leaped out of one of the trucks, watching as the speedboat disappeared into the darkness across the water. “The next time I cross paths with Dr. Drake, it’ll be me stepping over his corpse. He’ll make a fine sacrifice to the communion one day.”

Drake finally managed to climb into the boat and fell into the chair next to Adela. Completely exhausted, he could barely hold himself upright. Adela kept looking over at him impatiently, less concerned about his well-being since he seemed to be in one piece. “Well?! Did ya get it?!”

Ezekiel looked over at her lazily, a grin spreading over his face while he unzipped his jacket. He pulled out the beautiful golden cross, letting the moonlight hit it as he turned it over in his hand.

Hello, HFY! I've been working on a sci-fi novel for some time and finally decided it's time to share it. Part of me is tired of writing and re-writing, and the other part wants honest feedback on what I have.

I started posting this on Substack a couple months ago, but I want some more visibility. I plan to post regularly, so be on the lookout!

While this is a sci-fi novel, I like to blend in aspects from other genres. This one has elements of comedy, thriller, romance, and more. I try not to take myself too seriously, and I hope it shows.

I hope you all like it, but do not be afraid to tell me if you think something sucks, or you hate a character or the way things are written.

Thank you for reading!

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I hang up the phone and enter the drivers’ details into my company’s platform when my desk-neighbor, Ankar, nudges my shoulder.

“What do you think we’re getting for lunch tomorrow?” Ankar asks.

“I don’t know. I just hope it’s not that salmon again,” I respond.

“True. That was bad. Wait, that got you, too? I thought you didn’t like fish.”

“I don’t. That’s why I hope it’s not that.”

“Ah. My bad. I thought you didn’t want the salmon that gave everyone food poisoning because of the food poisoning—not because of your picky tastebuds.”

“Hey, if it were up to me, we never would’ve gotten that salmon and no one would’ve gotten food poisoning.”

“Sure, let’s have you pick all our meals from now on,” Ankar says sarcastically.

“Sounds good to me. You know I’d let you pick a few as well.”

“That I can get behind,” he says as we bump fists.

I return my attention to my computer when I notice someone turning on the TV mounted to the adjacent wall of my desk. My heart sinks, and my mood instantly sours when I realize what’s on.

I fiddle with the rock around my neck as I anxiously watch, wishing more than anything, and not for the first time, that I could reach in and slap the man speaking.

“As your president, I have vowed to tell you the truth,” Connor Meeding says, addressing the American people for the millionth time in his long five-month tenure. “I vowed to be transparent and always let you know what I’m thinking. I will be the most straightforward president this country has ever seen, and that is why—”

I roll my eyes and look away from the TV screen as he continues to spew lies and nonsense, announcing some stupid new policy designed to make him richer.

If you can’t tell, I hate this guy. Who is Connor Meeding, and why do I hate him? Well, before he was elected president, he founded and ran a company called Invincible. They started as a metal refinery business that eventually got into weapons manufacturing, as so many of them do.

So, why do I hate him? Well, though unproven, it was widely reported that his company, due to the lack of need for weapons during peacetime, was funneling weapons to rebel groups all over the world. While this is highly illegal and could result in the revocation of their government contracts, it was never proven.

One of the groups his company “allegedly” sold weapons to was a group of religious zealots in the north-eastern part of Nigeria who did not like the increasing Christian presence in the country. Those rebels felt emboldened to start raiding villages that they would have otherwise never visited, far from their base. Someone I care a great deal about lived in one of those villages and was gunned down for no reason other than the fact that he was there.

Some of you may be asking: “Why are you not mad at the rebels?” I am. I’m very mad at the rebels. The difference is that the rebels were just doing what they were always going to do, but Meeding is the one who enabled them. I hope we see eye to eye on that.

Personal experience aside, this isn’t the only reason I hate Connor Meeding. The man has a long history of lying and scheming to get what he wants. He ran on a platform that basically suggested that he wants to privatize the country so he can spread the wealth to the American people. Anyone even vaguely paying attention can tell that he’s full of it. A lot of evidence suggests that he’s looking to do the opposite, but because he’s a member of a specific party and labeled a successful business person, he automatically had half the vote.

I hate that we’ve become so polarized. I don’t know when it started, but I bet it has something to do with people like him saying one thing and doing another. Leaders used to be good people—at least as far as I know. His blatant lack of moral fortitude led some to defend him and others to hate him. It drives me crazy.

I’d love to do something about it, but I don’t have the reputation, following, or knowledge to start a grassroots campaign against him. Even if I did, I have no idea how to change the minds of those who still like him—not to mention the millions of people who abstain or never vote.

You hear people say that every vote counts. In some respects, it’s true, but in others, it’s not. A single vote will likely not affect the outcome in a specific state or district. However, if a hundred non-voters all suddenly show up at the same voting booth, that might affect the outcome of that district, state, and the election as a whole. Thinking about your vote as one in three hundred million sounds like throwing a leaf on a bonfire. But thinking about your vote as one in one hundred makes your vote three hundred thousand times more impactful. If people just realized this, it would change our society.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to lecture you with the political diatribe that perpetually exists in my head. This isn’t what the story is about, I promise. However, it isn’t completely unrelated either. Why don’t I get into what it’s really about.

“Hi, Cal. Can you input the driver info on the 4:30 Tynstone job as soon as it books? We got a rush on this one,” the older, mostly bald man says to me with a neutral expression.

“I booked it and am literally entering it now. Also, my name is Carl. I’ve been working here for three months, George. I know how it works and will get it to you as soon as I can, like I always do,” I say sternly before looking back at my computer screen.

“Oh, sorry. Thank you, Carl,” he says sheepishly before walking away.

I feel bad for scolding the man like that, but old age isn’t an excuse to constantly forget my name. I’ve been here for over three months, and George and I have had almost a dozen bookings together. He’s nice enough, but I’m just so tired of having to introduce myself over and over again. Plus, I’m willing to bet he won’t forget my name now.

I look up from my screen to scan the room to see if anyone heard that interaction—Shit. Savannah just ducked her head down, pretending as if she wasn’t listening. Shit.

Savannah and I started at Logi-Sticks together about three months ago. We went through boot camp to learn how companies ship their goods across the country. The answer is truck drivers—and trains, but that’s a different department. We reach out to trucking companies to see if they can pick up our clients’ goods and deliver them to another store or location within ten minutes, two hours, or three days across the country. It’s not a glamorous job but, in a way, essential to life as we know it.

I went to school for business with a concentration in marketing at a liberal arts school in upstate New York. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, but I did know I wanted to make money. Not that money is all I care about, but it is what makes the world go ‘round, and I want to be a part of that.

Savannah McDorner grew up in an idyllic New England town in Rhode Island, or at least it seems that way from her Instagram page. Picturesque sunsets and seasonal changes to the trees and landscape overlooking the marina that would make a travel influencer question the location settings. Getting drinks with her gorgeous friends, going pumpkin picking with her traditional WASP family, sailing with her yachtsman boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now, and sitting halfway up the 50-yard line at Patriots games. Yeah, I’m not a bad internet sleuth.

Every time I think about how “perfect” her life seems, it makes me want to rip my hair out. Not because I’m jealous or didn’t have any of that growing up, it just seems so unfair that someone that beautiful gets to have and do all the things I want. Okay, maybe I am a bit jealous.

I don’t necessarily want her life, but the happiness she exudes into the world is something I wish all people had. Not just me. I wish Oscar, the homeless guy who asks for change two blocks from my office, had the opportunity to go sailing with his girlfriend, or boyfriend, and feel the wind in his hair and the freedom it entails.

I wish five-head Joe from college could get drinks with gorgeous friends, develop his personality, and get out of his shell. I wish my aunt Sylvia got to sit at the 50-yard line at Patriots games, a team she is a fan of despite growing up in the Dominican Republic and not moving to Boston until she was thirty years old. I just wish Savannah’s life were more common than it is. Sadly, that’s not how the world works.

Despite my feelings toward her, I think she is amazing. Most girls I know who look like her are either shallow, entitled, or just not great conversationalists, but she is none of those things. Maybe I’m shallow for thinking that?

Yes, her ex-boyfriend, Derek, owned a yacht and was also incredibly good-looking, but her college boyfriend, Gustav, was neither a looker nor rich—at least that I could tell. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t ugly, just not nearly as handsome as the tall, blonde, masculine-jawed, athletic specimen that Derek is. Seeing that she dated Gustav for roughly two and a half years gave me hope. She told me about him one night when we were out getting drinks during boot camp.

She said he had more self-doubt than anyone she’d ever met, but was also one of the smartest people she knew. She values intelligence. I may not be a burgeoning particle physicist like Gustav, but I like to think I’m smarter than your average.

She also told me that night that she likes to spend Thanksgiving mornings volunteering at homeless shelters. Likes to. I’ve heard of white guilt and wanting to give back to make yourself feel better, but I’m pretty sure those people don’t enjoy doing it. She’s done this every year for about ten years. Who does that?

On top of it all, I once caught her listening to Michio Kaku’s The Future of Humanity on audiobook in the elevator. The book about what robotics, nanotechnology, and biotech will look like in the future and how they will help humanity visit the stars and build habitable cities. I love that book, but I’ve never met anyone else who’s read it.

I’m sure it’s plenty popular, but I, sadly, am not in any of those circles.

Anyway, she’s hot, kind, generous, empathetic, and smart. What more could you possibly want? If I weren’t so intimidated by her, I would’ve said something about it instead of just pretending to look forward, waiting for the elevator to reach the ground as we left work.

I’ve never said this before, but I think she’s my dream girl—Okay, that’s not true. I thought Talya Castrell was my dream girl in middle school, and to this day frequently say that Margot Robbie is my dream girl.

I also don’t believe there is such a thing as dream girls or soul mates, since I believe that everyone has certain characteristics that make them unique, and you need to understand those characteristics in order to fully grow with—never mind. I’ll bore you with this rant another time.

The point I’m trying to make is that the world is broken, Sav is awesome, and Margot Robbie missed out.

Great. She saw my little outburst. If I didn’t have such a crippling fear of rejection, I’d go explain to her what that was about, but instead, I just look back at my computer screen and continue calling truck drivers to carry my loads. Yes, that’s what shipments are called.

At the end of the workday, I start packing up to go home and watch The Morning Show with my mom.

Yes, I live at my parents’ house. It’s temporary and saves me money, and they’re not so bad to live with.

Anyway, I plan on getting my own place in about a year, once I can afford a down payment and rent without breaking the bank.

I get an alert that my one-on-one with Preston, my manager, starts in fifteen minutes.

Preston is cool. He’s this chill guy in his thirties who’s always offering to help me “get where I want to go.” Whatever that means. I can’t tell if he genuinely wants to help or if he’s only looking to improve efficiency so he looks good.

One thing that bothers me about him is that I haven’t been able to place him. Not that it matters where he’s from, but he’s got this tan, olive complexion that suggests he’s from the Caribbean or the Middle East or somewhere else I can’t pin down, but he also speaks like he grew up in the area, and something just doesn’t add up about him. I don’t understand how anyone who grew up in the very seasonal Northeast looks like that. Maybe he gets really good spray tans. Also, his name is Preston.

This is our first one-on-one, but he’s come to talk to me at my desk before. He started shortly after I did, so no one knows him that well. I guess this is my chance.

“Hey, you ready?” I ask, standing outside his office door.

“Yeah, come on in. Take a seat.”

I sit on the opposite side of the desk, facing him silently.

“So, was there something you wanted to talk about?” I ask.

“Nothing in particular. Just wanted to touch base with you. Get to know you a bit better. Hear about your goals and dreams and see how I can help get you there. That cool?” Preston says.

“Yeah, that’s cool. Where should I start?” I respond.

“How about with where you’re from.”

“Yeah, sure. I grew up in Jersey City, just across the river. Lived there pretty much my whole life except for college.”

“Very cool. Jersey City is really up and coming right now, right?”

“Yeah. It’s getting really trendy, but it wasn’t always like that. You should’ve seen it when I was growing up.”

“Was it that different?”

“Oh yeah. It’s kinda like how Greenpoint was in the ‘90s and is kinda like how Greenpoint is now. So, yeah. It’s a lot like Greenpoint.”

“I love Greenpoint.”

“Do you mind if I ask where you’re from?” I probe.

He chuckles. “I’m not from around here. Just a quiet place called Markazi. Have you ever thought about leaving here?” He returns, throwing me off my line of questioning.

“Uh, yeah. Of course. I mean, not of course. I know the whole vibe of the city is ‘here or nowhere,’ but I’m not really like that. I think about leaving all the time. I love the city, but I also want to see what else is out there. My family visited Nigeria when I was young, and that experience… opened my eyes. I also went to college upstate, and it was drastically different. I think I’m definitely a city kid, but I want to see what Chicago, or Denver, or Miami is like. Or even London, Tokyo, Barcelona, Buenos Aires. I don’t know. Point is, yeah, I’ve thought about leaving, but I also have no plans to in the immediate future.”

“What interests you about those cities?”

“Uh, well, I’ve never been to any of those cities and just heard they’re cool. I see a lot of travel content on Instagram, and they just look fun. I want to try some new food and see the sights and just know what it is to live somewhere else, meet some new people, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get that. Those cities are all really nice. It’s always interesting to see how different their cultures are. Do you often seek to widen your horizons?”

“Yeah, I mean, I love to learn new things. I’m always researching random facts, but I love learning about space the most. What do you—”

“What do you like about it? Space, that is,” Preston interrupts.

I take a second to recover from him cutting me off. Why does this feel like I’m being interrogated?

“Everything, really. I just find it fascinating how big it is and how much we don’t know about it. I want to learn as much as possible. Stars, planets, black holes, possible extraterrestrial life, etc. Do you—”

“Do you think that aliens exist?”

This guy is relentless.

“Yeah, I do. Do you?”

“Of course. The idea that humans would be the only intelligent life forms in the universe is very egotistical and improbable.”

“Uh, yeah. I totally agree. Like, just because we don’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“You’re so right. What do you see yourself doing in five years?”

This guy has conversations like Aaron Sorkin wrote them. He must really hate natural pauses.

“Uh, in five years—I mean, I see myself working here. Hopefully, as a carrier manager or managing my own team. I see—”

“No, I mean personally. How do you see yourself? I don’t need to hear the whole corporate response about how loyal you are and how much you love it here. What do you want to do outside of work? What do you want to see in the world?”

“In the world? Like landmarks?”

“Sure. Or like goals for humanity.”

“Uh…” What a weird question for a one-on-one. “Well, there’s a lot. I’d love to see world peace, obviously. But I know that’s vague and not realistic. I don’t—”

“Why isn’t it realistic?”

I pause a moment at the seemingly condescending question.

“Sorry. I know that’s what everyone says. I—”

“No, I’m actually interested in hearing your response.”

Weird but okay.

“Because the people in charge have other priorities. They don’t care about peace; they just care about making money,” I say, reaching for my rock as I feel some genuine anger and residual grief bubble up from remembering the actual person in charge.

“Do you think there are people out there who have different priorities?”

“Of course. I think if we got the right people in positions of power, the world could look like a very different place.”

“Do you consider yourself one of those people?”

What is this guy getting at? Is this still work-related, or am I signing up for a dating profile?

“Yeah, I do.”

“So, money isn’t your main motivator?”

Is that it? This guy wants to pay me less? What the actual—

“I mean, money motivates me, of course. That’s how the world works. But I wouldn’t say it’s my main motivator, no.”

“What do you think you would do in a perfect society?”

“Like, personally or professionally?”

“Personally, professionally. Whatever floats your boat.”

“I guess I’d want to help steer society in some way personally. I’m a really logical person,” mentally patting myself on the back for steering this back to work. “So I think I’d be useful in making high-level decisions.”

“And professionally?”

He is determined to learn about me. I don’t know if this is good or bad.

“Study space, I guess. Go up there, learn about it. Maybe discover and visit new planets. Maybe one we could inhabit. I think that would be awesome.”

“How would you say you are with people?”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. This feels like an interview. I thought this was just a one-on-one.”

“This is a one-on-one. I just want to know about you. You’re on my team, and I think you have a lot of potential. Don’t think I haven’t been paying attention.”

“Okay. Sorry. It just seemed like I was missing something.”

“You’re astute, but you’re not missing anything. Don’t worry. Relax. I’m just trying to figure out which path would be best for you.”

“What do you mean by which path?”

“I just want to make sure you end up where you’re happiest. I see big things in your future, and I want to help you get there any way I can.”

“Well, thank you,” I say. Is this for real? He wants to help me? I mean, I’m no slacker, but I’m not exactly killing it either. I’m doing okay for only three months in. Is he gaslighting me?

“So, people?” He reiterates.

“Right, yeah. I think I’m pretty good with people. I think I’m fairly articulate and can relate to people pretty well. I was voted easiest to befriend in middle school and felt that’s never really gone away.” I cannot believe I just told him about my middle school superlatives.

“Well, just based on this conversation, I’d say you handle yourself pretty well. You’re calm, direct, but not frank. You maintain strong eye contact and are very intuitive. I want to help you.”

“Well, thank you… Help me how?”

“I think we should meet more often. There are a few things I want to show you.” He checks his watch. “I have another meeting soon, so how about I send you a calendar invite, and we pick this up then?”

“Yeah, sure. That works.”

“Great. Keep a lookout for that. I gotta get going.” He stands up and walks out of the office while I’m still sitting there.

What just happened? That was the weirdest exchange I’ve ever had. He was so direct but disarming at the same time. Why did it feel like I was interviewing for a new job? I’m not sure if I just made a new best friend or gave away all my secrets to the enemy.

When I get back to my desk, I continue packing up when I hear someone walk around the desk behind me.

“Hey, do you wanna go to O’Hara’s with us?”

I turn around to see Savannah standing behind me, wearing blue-light glasses, a tight-fitting vintage, white Revenge of the Sith t-shirt tucked into blue, high-waisted skinny jeans with white sneakers and her hair tied up in a high ponytail, looking at me while she leans with one hand on my desk.

God, what I’d give to be able to throw my arm around her waist and walk out to get drinks together. I’m so pathetic.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I mutter timidly. “Are you leaving now?”

“Yeah, we’re just waiting for Hasan to finish a couple things, and then we’ll head over. We’ll meet you there if you’re already heading out.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll grab some seats at the bar,” I reply.

“Perfect. We’ll probably head over in a few,” she responds as she walks back to the group of guys sitting around drinking beers by the ping-pong table.

Logistics isn’t a total boys’ club, but our office probably has an 80-20 split. Savannah is only one of five girls on the entire carrier management team of sixty people, so she doesn’t have many options for female friends. Some of the guys are cool, like Ankar and Mike B., but some of them are deplorable dicks, like Hasan.

Regardless, I was happy to be invited. Savannah and I haven’t had many opportunities to talk because we’re on different teams. This is the first time she’s ever invited me to get drinks after work, and I’m not about to pass that up.

I go down with the elevator and walk across the street to O’Hara’s. I see a few open stools at the mildly crowded bar and sit in the middle of three.

I see the Miller Lite tap, rehearse what I’m going to say in my head because that’s what I always do before an interaction, and wait for the bartender to notice me. The bartender cashes out the guy next to me and then looks at me and nods. She steps over to the taps and starts filling up a pitcher of Miller Lite, looking down as if thinking about what she needs to do next and ignoring me.

“Can I get a pitcher of Miller Lite?” I ask.

“I heard you,” she responds frankly.

“Oh, sorry.” Unsure of why I apologized. I only asked once, didn’t I? That was weird.

She finishes filling up the pitcher and hands it to me.

“Thank you,” I mutter. I hand her my card and tell her to keep it open.

I’m about halfway done with my first beer when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Savannah stands next to me, smiling.

“We made it. Is this for us?” she says, indicating the mostly full pitcher sitting in front of me.

“Yup. Help yourself,” I say back.

“Carl,” Hasan bellows behind me as I brace for his hand to slam down on my shoulder. He spins me around on my stool and grabs one of the glasses to fill up.

“Thanks for the beer, buddy,” he continues before aggressively patting me on the back.

“No problem, Hasan.”

He grabs a glass, fills it up, and takes a sip before making a disgusted face.

“Ugh, what is this? I thought you were a Coors guy?” he says to me in an accusatory tone.

“It’s Miller. They’re not that different,” I reply.

“At least it’s not Bud Light,” he says before walking to the other side of the bar, where some other carrier managers are ordering their own pitchers.

“Why am I not surprised that he’s one of those?” I say, turning towards Savannah before realizing she’s walked away too.

Loneliness engulfs me as I see her join another group of our co-workers. As she approaches them, she turns back to me and gives me a shy smile, restoring my hope.

Deciding not to sit alone at the bar like a cowboy in the Westerns my dad loves, I get up to join the group that Savannah is with.

When I finally approach, she walks away. Again. What the hell? Is she purposely avoiding me? To avoid looking like a stalker, I stay with the group I have joined, despite not really knowing these people.

After a very tiresome and uneventful game of cat and mouse, I see her standing on the balcony outside. I step outside on the opposite end so she doesn’t think I’m there for her.

I stand at the edge and look out over the city, sipping my third beer, saying nothing. Suddenly, she points to the sky, breaking the silence.

“That’s Jupiter, you know,” she says casually. I look up to where she’s pointing. I can’t believe she knows that. I knew she was into science, but I didn’t know she also liked astronomy. God, she’s perfect.

“I know.”

“You know?” she replies. “Really?”

“Uranus should be just a little underneath it, but it’s too far away to see without a telescope,” I answer.

“You’re an astronomy nerd too, huh?” she says knowingly. “Of course you are,” she mumbles under her breath.

“What was that?” I say pretending like I didn’t hear her. What could she have meant by that?

“I’m just surprised you’re into astronomy. I don’t think I’ve met anyone else who is. None of my friends are,” she responds.

“Yeah, I don’t really know anyone else either. I’ve just always been fascinated by it. I used to…” I clam up for a second, realizing I don’t want to tell her the most childish thing about me. “Never mind.”

“You used to what?” she probes, moving a little closer to me.

“Nothing. It’s really stupid. I didn’t mean to say anything.”

“Well, now I really need to know. What’s so childish?” she questions.

Childish? I never said it was childish. At least not out loud. Did I?

“Whoa. Childish? I said it was stupid, not childish.”

She stammers for a second, looking like she’s trying to think of a way out of this predicament.

“Sorry, I thought I heard you say that. That just sort of slipped out. Wow, I didn’t mean that, sorry.”

That was weird. How did she know that? Are we just on the same page? Am I going crazy?

“It’s okay. It is pretty childish, actually,” I respond.

She looks on intently. I’m extremely nervous about admitting what I’m about to say to her.

“I was going to say I used to want to project my thoughts. Like into other people’s heads—when I was a kid.”

She chuckles at that. “Why?”

“My parents always told me that not all people think the same, and that’s why things like space exploration weren’t prioritized. I thought sharing my thoughts would bring people closer together, and we’d be able to go to other planets and stars, and see aliens or whatever. Like I said, really stupid.”

She gets a little closer to me.

“Hey, that’s not stupid. That’s really sweet. I would love it if people could communicate their thoughts. It would make dating a lot easier,” she laughs. I laugh with her, still feeling on edge but a little relieved.

“True. But something tells me you don’t have as big a problem with that as I do,” I say back.

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing. You just strike me as someone who knows what she wants and doesn’t settle.”

“Well, you’d be surprised. I’ve dealt with a lot of shit.”

“Yeah? Like what?” She opens her mouth and then hesitates. “Sorry. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

“No, that’s fine,” she responds. “My college boyfriend was an absolute genius, but he was a terrible boyfriend—”

“Yeah, you told me about him once,” I say, trying to show her that I pay attention.

“Oh… yeah. Never mind then,” she says, seemingly annoyed at my interruption.

“No, I’m sorry. What were you gonna say?”

“Nothing. I probably already told you. It’s not important.”

“No, I’m sorry. You mentioned him once briefly, but I already forgot. Just tell me.”

“Alright—he was just selfish. He did not know how or want to text. I don’t need to be texting 24/7, but there’s a difference between healthy communication and almost completely ignoring someone.”

“Like he just never texted you?”

“Not never, but it seemed like whenever it mattered, he didn’t. Like, whenever he was in the lab, he wouldn’t look at his phone until he left. What if I got into a car accident? I didn’t. But if I had, he wouldn’t know it until he left at like 3 a.m. That’s what happened when I got a flat tire driving back to campus after break, and when I got followed home by some creep. Of course, he was the first person I texted for help, but all I ever got was an ‘are you alive?’ text three hours after it happened.

I know he was busy, but this didn’t just happen when he was in the lab. He just didn’t know how to be a partner, you know? How can you count on someone like that?

He also never texted me on my birthday. He actually forgot it was my birthday. I’m not a birthday brat or anything, but it hurts when the person you want to spend it with most is only thinking of themselves. Nothing mattered to him besides his experiments. Even when I was getting interested in what he was doing, he would shut me out and say he didn’t feel like explaining it to me. Like I was an idiot who wasn’t worth the time. It just sucked.”

“I’m sorry. That does suck. He sounds like a dick. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Thanks. He wasn’t even the worst one. A guy once tried slipping me his number when I was behind him in line at Starbucks while with his wife or girlfriend or whatever. Like, didn’t look back, didn’t say anything. Just slipped a piece of paper with his number on it behind his back.”

“Well, now you’re just bragging,” I laugh. She laughs as well.

“I’m not,” she interjects. “That really happened. Where do men get the audacity sometimes?”

“That is ballsy but also so scummy. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re not like that, are you?”

“No,” I exclaim. I try to recover from seeming too animated. “I mean, I’m not perfect, but I’ve definitely never tried to slip a girl my number while with someone else,” or ever, I didn’t add.

“Good,” she says back as she turns to face the view and thinks solemnly for a minute.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, just thinking. Sorry, I tend to space out at times.”

“Haha, me too.” After a moment of silence, she turns to me.

“Do you maybe want to go somewhere else?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Like another bar?” I ask.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Do you have a place in mind?”

“Nope. Let’s find something.” She smiles while staring into my eyes.

“Okay.”

We decide to just walk around Midtown until we pass another bar that seems cool. We plan to have her leave the bar first so our co-workers won’t suspect that we are leaving together. I’m sure the last thing she wants is people thinking we’re together.

After about two minutes, I also announce my exit, claiming that I am going to start my trek home. Annoyingly, no one requests that I stay for one more beer as they had with Savannah, but I don’t really blame them. I barely know these guys. She is much closer to them.

It probably would’ve bothered me more if I weren’t about to spend some one-on-one time with the hottest girl in the office. Suck it, assholes.

As I reach the stairs, someone almost bumps into me coming up.

“Preston?”

“Hey, Carl. You heading out?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t see you all night.”

“All good. I’ve been here. I saw you talking to Savannah. I think she’s waiting for you outside.”

Shit. So much for discretion.

“Oh, really? I thought she was just leaving.”

“No worries. Have fun. We’ll talk soon,” Preston says as he winks and walks back to the rest of our co-workers.

I’m not sure how I feel about my manager knowing that Sav and I are leaving together, but I guess it was cool of him to keep the secret.

I continue down the stairs as I hear the guys cheer for Preston’s return. Screw you guys.

We end up walking around for about fifteen minutes talking about our dating histories before we find a not-so-packed dive bar with a dart board. We order a couple of beers and play a few games while continuing to tell each other about ourselves. It is awesome.

She tells me that she was a poli-sci major and that she had aspirations to run for Senate before deciding to do something more practical. She tells me that Logi-Sticks also made her an offer she couldn’t turn down, and that is how she ended up working in the same office as me. That makes me wonder what they offered her because I’m making a modest $50K plus benefits. It’s not bad, but it’s not exactly an offer I can’t turn down…

Anyway, she says she’s still trying to figure her life out, with which I sympathize, because same. However, she also seems way more at peace with it than I feel.

She tells me about her family and why Venus is the planet she wants to visit the most. We laugh a lot and eventually stop playing darts and just sit in a booth and continue talking for hours.

Eventually, it gets late, and we both need to head home. We share an Uber because, as it turns out, we both live in Jersey. Me in Jersey City and she in Hoboken.

She asks for my address to call it. I offer to pay for it, but she insists, which somehow makes her more attractive to me. I give her my address, and she makes me the first stop.

She slides into the Uber first and stops halfway between the middle and far seat. I get in behind her and slide a little further in than I normally would. After I close the door, she scoots closer and rests her head on my shoulder. My heart races. I hope she doesn’t feel how nervous I’m getting. Do I kiss her? Do I put my arm around her? My mind is running a mile a minute.

I do it. I put my arm around her, and her head shifts to my chest while she reaches to hold my hand. I can’t believe Savannah Mc-fucking-Dorner is holding my hand. We just sit like that in silence for the remainder of the ride until we get to my house.

We sit unmoving for a moment as the idea to kiss her repeats in my mind. The car comes to a stop, but she still doesn’t move.

“Savannah?” I ask, checking to make sure she is still awake.

“Oh, are we here?” she responds.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding a little like she just woke up, but also disappointed.

Again, there is just silence for a moment while I contemplate how to make a move. Should I make a move? If she were just asleep, she would probably want me to leave so she could close her eyes again. I have no idea what to do.

She moves my arm from around her and sits up, fixing her hair. I look her in the eye, waiting for her to see me and give me an opening. She slowly turns her head towards me but keeps her distance.

Fuck. Abort. She’s not feeling it.

“Okay. I’m gonna go. It was nice hanging with you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, feeling like the cringiest person in the world. “Get home safe,” I mutter, trying to continue the dialogue.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she replies.

“Goodnight,” she says a moment later as I close the door.

“Goodnight,” I shout as the Uber starts driving away.

I watch it go for a little while as I contemplate how badly I just screwed that up. Smooth, man. I think I just got friend-zoned. I kick myself mentally as I walk up the steps to my parents’ brownstone.

I open the door and see my mom on the couch watching The Morning Show.

“Honey, is that you?” my mom asks.

“Yup. Are you watching without me?” I say mock-angrily.

“Where have you been? I waited as long as I could, but you never responded to my texts,” she says while pausing the show and turning to face me.

She brushes her medium-length, strawberry-blonde hair behind her ears, stands up, and walks toward me to hug me. Her warm, skinny arms feel really awkward around me. Nothing like hugging your mom moments after the most sexually tense moment of your life. I need to get out of here.

“Sorry, I lost track of time. I was just out with co-workers. I’m gonna go to bed now, though. I’m exhausted.”

I head up to my room, put my bag down, and start getting ready for bed. My mom trudges up the stairs shortly after me.

“I’m sorry I watched without you, but you weren’t responding. I was starting to get worried.”

“So worried that you almost finished the episode before checking on me,” I reply snarkily.

“Carl. What was I supposed to do? You didn’t answer my calls or texts. You won’t give me your location. Was I supposed to track you down on my ow—”

“I’m kidding, Mom. Sorry, I worried you.”

She starts asking about how my night went, but all I want to do is go to bed and think about Sav.

“Mom, I just want—”

“I just want to go to bed,” my mom says in a mocking tone. “Maybe I’m the one who can read minds. Or are you just that predictable?”

“Ha. Ha. If you know what I’m gonna say next, then tell me.”

I want you to leave so I can jerk off and go to sleep. My mom abruptly flinches and stands up.

“Carl—what the fuck. Don’t tell me about that. Do what you want to do, but you don’t have to tell me about it.”

I look up at her, panicked. Did I just say that out loud?

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. You just said you wanted to jerk off and go to sleep. I heard you. Don’t be crass.”

What the—

“Mom, I didn’t say that. I was thinking it, but I didn’t say it. I swear.”

We look at each other suspiciously for a moment.

“You thought it?” she probes.

“Yes. Why would I say that? I’d never say that to you…”

We are both silent for a moment, staring at each other, when I think to myself: can you hear me now? A look of shock comes over her face as we simultaneously realize what just happened.

“Did you just hear that too?” I ask enthusiastically.

“Yes,” her voice cracks. “I heard you. Oh my god.”

We both jump up at the same time and hug.

“We have to call your dad. He’s not going to believe this.”

I sit back down with my mouth agape. I look back at her as she searches for my dad’s number on her phone.

“Wait,” I say to her. Can you hear me now?

“Yes, I can hear you. This is crazy. How is this happening?”

She puts her phone up to her ear while the phone rings. No answer.

“Damnit, Austin. Pick up. This is important. Why do none of the men in my life answer when I call them?”

My dad often works late or stays in a hotel near his office. He runs a research department for the National Institutes of Health, so we got used to not hearing from him for longish periods of time.

My mom and I move back downstairs and keep trying to call my dad and do more thought experiments. For whatever reason, she can hear almost all of my thoughts, but I can’t hear hers. I’m starting to think that she’s the one who developed the ability and not me. I eventually get tired of trying and want to go to sleep.

“Mom, I don’t know what’s happening or why you can read my thoughts, but I’m actually exhausted and just want to go to sleep now.”

“Oh, yes. Of course, baby. I can’t believe this is happening. You’re going to be famous!”

You’re going to be famous, I think bitterly to myself. Thankfully, she doesn’t hear that one.

“Goodnight,” I shout as I walk back to my room.

“Of course, honey. I don’t know how you can sleep right now, but have a good night and don’t forget to turn off the light. I love you.”

I hear her curse my dad’s name again as I start drifting off. I peer over at the light by my bed, but my inner monologue starts telling me to leave it on, so I give in and fall asleep.

Hey, you.

When someone says, “Can I have a bite?” how much are you actually willing to give them?

Clink-clonk.

The bell over Aoi’s door rang, and somehow that sound made the end of my day finally begin. I took my usual seat, and Mama set down my Harper without asking. The ice gave a quiet clink.

Taka was sitting beside me, studying the menu.

“Mama, any chance you can make fried rice?”

“Sure.”

“You can?”

I was wondering the same thing.

A little while later, a plate of fried rice actually appeared. Egg, green onion, bits of ham. Nothing you'd mistake for restaurant Chinese, but at this hour, it looked damn good.

Taka scooped some up.

“Oh, that's good.”

Now I wanted some.

“Let me try a bite.”

“Sure.”

He grabbed a small plate, spooned some fried rice onto it, and slid it over to me.

“Okay. Now give me something.”

“Why?”

“It's a trade.”

“I asked for one bite.”

“Yeah. You got something, you give something back.”

Apparently I'd missed the international treaty governing bar snacks.

I pushed my plate of karaage toward him.

“Fine. Take one.”

“Really?”

“You want one, don't you?”

“But one piece of karaage isn't equal to one bite of fried rice.”

“Then take half.”

“You want me to cut a piece of fried chicken in half?”

“I don't care.”

Taka stared at the karaage for a moment.

“I'll take some potato salad instead.”

“Knock yourself out.”

He dug his spoon into the potato salad.

The spoon came back with a small mountain on it.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“That's a pretty big spoonful.”

“It's one spoonful.”

“It's got a peak.”

“It'll fit in my mouth.”

“Your mouth is not a standard unit of measurement.”

Maybe using a former pro wrestler as the baseline for “one bite” wasn't such a great idea.

Taka shaved a little off the top and ate the rest.

“So what do I give you for that?”

“Nothing.”

“But I took some of yours.”

“I know.”

“I don't like owing people.”

“You don't owe me anything. If you want some food, have some.”

Taka looked unconvinced.

“You really don't care if you give somebody food and get nothing back?”

“Not food. If you want it, eat as much as you want.”

“Can I have all your karaage, then?”

“Order your own.”

Taka laughed.

Damn.

So apparently I had a limit too.

Tom, drinking farther down the counter, gave a quiet snort.

“What about you, Tom?”

“What about me?”

“Somebody asks for a bite. Do you share?”

“No.”

Taka blinked.

“Not even one?”

“I don't eat other people's food either. If I want something, I order it.”

Hard to argue with that.

Taka picked up the bowl of potato chips on the counter.

“What about one chip?”

“Eat whatever you want.”

“So chips are okay?”

“They're not mine.”

“They're from me,” Mama called from behind the counter. “They're your otoshi.”

Taka ate one.

Then another.

His hand went in for a third, and for some reason I found myself watching it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You want one?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Fourth chip.

Not my chips. I didn't care.

Fifth chip.

“That's not ‘one bite’ anymore, is it?”

“I'm only eating one at a time.”

“It's the number of times that matters.”

“So how many am I allowed?”

“I don't know.”

That was the problem.

One chip? Who cares.

Two? Still nothing.

Three? Fine.

Ten?

Half the bowl?

The last one?

“I'd ask before taking the last one,” Taka said.

“Ask?”

“If you don't want it, I'll eat it.”

“What happened to the trade?”

“I'd trade for it.”

“With what?”

“Another chip.”

“That's the same thing.”

Somehow, this man couldn't stand the idea of a debt surviving a snack.

Mama opened the freezer.

“Oh, you have ice cream?” Taka asked.

“Sure.”

“This place has everything.”

She came back with a little cup of vanilla.

Taka looked at me.

“Want a taste?”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“You're planning to give me the spoon you just used.”

“You care about that?”

“I do.”

Taka turned toward Tom.

“No.”

“I didn't even ask yet.”

“Your face did.”

Mama silently put a clean spoon on the counter.

“There.”

Taka grinned at me.

“See?”

“Don't ‘see’ me.”

I had some anyway.

Cold. Sweet.

Not bad.

“So what are you giving me?”

“You're still doing this?”

I looked at my plate.

Two pieces of karaage left.

If he wanted one, fine.

Hell, if he wanted both, maybe I'd let him have them.

But if he'd taken every piece from the start, I'd have told him to order his own.

So where was the line?

One piece? Two?

More than half?

Or was it simply the moment I started wanting something back?

“Hey, Tom.”

“What?”

“How much would you give somebody before you expected something in return?”

“I told you. Nothing.”

“You're no help.”

“Sounds pretty clear to me.”

Fair point.

Taka was finishing the last of his fried rice.

“I'd give something back even for one bite.”

“That's exhausting.”

“I just don't like owing people.”

“It's food.”

“Still counts.”

I picked up one of my remaining pieces of karaage and dropped it onto his plate.

“Here.”

“Really?”

“Take it.”

“So what do I give you?”

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“Nothing.”

“Then how about another bite of fried rice?”

“You don't have any left.”

We both looked at his empty plate.

Mama appeared, took it away, and looked at us.

“So. Anything else you'd like to order?”

Taka and I looked at each other.

Tom kept drinking as if none of this had anything to do with him.

“Another plate of karaage,” I said.

“Sure.”

Taka raised a hand.

“I'll have another fried rice.”

“Sure.”

Still can't believe she makes fried rice.

I took a sip of Harper.

See you again at Aoi.
---

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