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Finley left us a note stating that it’d gone out, bright and early in the morning, to care for its animals. It drew a strange pictograph with two lines over an upcurved line, which I realized was a face, and promised to be back soon. The final thing it’d written was to holler if we needed it. Not wanting to trouble the primal, I saw that it’d retrieved our mineral composite pouch. We would need to guide it on what we ate. Elbi and I snacked a little and handled our waking-up biological processes, while I looked my sister over to ensure that she was alright. We kept to the given room, fearful of disturbing the primal.

“Good morning!” The human shouted, as it slammed the front door and walked inside. It headed for the washroom, waving through the half-open door. “Sorry guys, the animals don’t feed ‘emselves. Life goes on. I’ll be right back out and fix ya some breakfast.”

“Take your time, Finley!” I encouraged the primal, before turning back to Elbi. “Remember what I said. You need to ingratiate yourself to it, and not mention what it is again. We’re stuck here, and we stand out. We’re not going to get ammonia on a carbon world without it. Surely you can see that this beats lying in a dirt ditch in the cold.”

Elbi nursed her wounds, chittering in agreement. “I won’t say anything to send it flying out of control. That wasn’t smart. Don’t…expect me to be its friend though. It’s a primal.”

“There’s no need to be mean to Finley. It’s really trying.”

“You said it pointed a gun at you.”

“It was afraid. It’s never seen anything like us. The poor animal was shaking, its heartbeat way faster than it should’ve been.”

“Then that fear is the only thing that stopped it from lashing out,” Elbi scoffed. “You’re lucky it was more afraid than angry.”

“CRAUN!” Finley bellowed, making me leap upright in fear. Its voice was raised and charged: there it was. Anger. “The fuck did you do to my toilet?!”

I froze on the side of the bed, clueless to how to handle the primal’s verbal wrath. It was angry at me for something, which meant it was already feeling violent. I was surprised to learn that it could speak in such a state, but the way its voice had turned nasty made my stoneplates feel icy and paralyzed. Should I respond to its verbal barking at all, or play dead until it calmed down? Hearing harmless Finley lash out in a moment, I saw exactly what the problem with contacting humans was.

I did something to provoke it. I just…I had to use the bathroom, fuck’s sake! I should’ve asked, but it was gone from the dwelling and it couldn’t wait…

Barely able to walk out to face it, but seeing it written in Elbi’s eye-crystals that I should face its ire, I limped out to the hallway with sheepish steps. “Please don’t hurt me. P-please, I’m sorry…”

“What?” The primal popped the door open, and its scowling face softened as I fell away from it, crashing into the wall. “I…thought we agreed I wasn’t going to hurt you. Did raising my voice really scare ya that much?”

How is it suddenly so calm? “You sounded…angry.”

“There’s a mound of sand in the—” Finley gestured toward the toilet with frustration, shaking its head. “What happened? You shit sand?!”

“N-not quite. I…b-breathe out silicon dioxide, like you do carbon dioxide. Except that’s sand, Finley. We just have to exhale it eventually, and I figured you wouldn’t want it all over your floors; I’m s-sorry.”

The human scratched its forehead, chuckling. “That’s a heck of a mental image. It’s alright. Maybe let’s figure out a way to, um, not wreck my plumbing?”

“Of course, human. I meant no trouble…I have no quarrel with you. F-forgive the aggravation.”

Finley seemed puzzled by my behavior. “I’s just taken aback. Don’t worry, you gotta do what you, uh, gotta do. Why don’t we go hang out, watch TV?”

It’s being friendly again. That’s good; its mind came back in time. “Sure, Finley! Sure. We should get to know each other.”

“Great! Elbi, you coming?”

The bedroom door closed and locked in response. The human lowered its eyes, before forcing its smile to return. I followed the temperamental primal with caution, knowing that further transgressions could stoke the flames inside of it more. Did Finley really live with that brash, loud monster inside of it all the time? It looked so docile right now that it hurt to think of its sudden change in demeanor. I knew what it was, of course, but sometimes, it was so close to being a person…

“I don’t want to assume nothing else, Craun. What do you eat?” Finley asked. “Or, uh, do you eat?”

I forced myself to meet its gaze, and pretend nothing serious had happened. “Minerals, human. I h-have a list of acceptable rocks, if you might be able to gather some before our supply runs out. Thank you for getting those from the ship.”

The human’s nostrils twitched. “No problem. I already ate, so I think maybe we should see what’s on the news. It’s almost top of the hour, so we can see what’s the top story. It’d totally be this if it was out. I keep checking the internet for like, UFO stories: you think this’d be news if they weren’t trying to cover it up, but I don’t see nothing. Those Fed bastards!”

“I hope we’re not on the news. The less humans that know about us, the less that look for us.” I was curious about what was considered newsworthy on the primal world as well. “Let’s see what they’re saying. It’s good to know what to be on the lookout for. Great idea, Finley! You’re very clever.”

A very clever animal indeed. It’s interesting to see them dress-up and play like civilized people, though I just got a glimpse of their snarly side. That’s not so adorable.

The human padded over to a wide seat and patted the spot next to it. I was nervous to sit right beside a primal that still had traces of rage in its system, but it seemed focused on the remote in its hands and the screen. I was certain that it was still frightened to be alongside me, so the invitation to join it was meant in good faith. We had to get over our fear of each other, if we lived right alongside each other. Finley curled up comfortably against the armrest, tucking itself under a blanket and curving its lips in friendly fashion. 

“Our top story this morning: tempers are running hot between the United States and China, after the Pentagon claims to have shot down a missile on trajectory to strike the Houston metropolitan area. It is unknown whether this was a test or an active ICBM, but its arrival left military bases and missile silos on standby for further attacks. As the US demands justice and accountability for this incursion, the People’s Republic of China categorically denies their involvement. Clean-up crews are scouring an estimated search area for any signs of explosive debris,” a human news anchor read.

Finley raised a finger, sitting forward on the couch. “Sonnova—that’s us, Craun. We’re in Texas. They’re trying to pass this off as some Iron Dome missile shot down shit!”

“You think that’s about us?” I asked.

“Totally. It’s the perfect cover. I don’t know why I thought they’d come out and say it’s flying saucers. They never do, do they? In none of them movies.”

“I…I see. I didn’t realize your people knew about aliens.”

“If we do, they don’t want us to. They’d try to silence me or call me a conspiracy nut, maybe even worse, if I tried to go public with what happened. Holy shit, Craun. This is bad!”

A bell that seemed to announce someone’s presence rang at the front door, startling the human. It scrambled toward a window that gave it a view of the doorstep, and its green eyes widened with horror. In the brief instant it tugged the blinds open, I could see a group of primals in navy windbreakers with yellow lettering. Finley yanked me off of the couch with force and shoved me into the bathroom, whispering about how “they” were here. I was still shaken up by what I’d heard on their broadcasts; if I understood correctly, those two nations were turfing with each other over our arrival.

Finley thinks it’s under false pretenses, but does it matter? The primals are close to warring with one another and we’ve been here but a day!

Finley scurried to the door as they knocked forcefully, throwing it open. “Jeez. Do y’all see what time of day it is?”

“Good morning. Finley Canavan, isn’t that right? I’ve known my fair share of farmers, and from what I’ve seen, you’re always up bright and early. Plus, we could hear the TV on. Were you talking to someone?” a deep voice prompted.

“Am I not allowed to talk on the phone? Why am I answering questions about what I’m doin’ in my own home?! Tell me who you are and what you want!”

There was a long pause, sounding as if the mysterious human was flicking some booklet open: perhaps displaying identification? “I’m Agent Barron with the FBI. This is a matter of national security, so I’m afraid we couldn’t wait. This won’t take long, just a handful of questions. We’re simply canvassing the folks who live around here to see if anyone saw or heard anything.”

“You’ve got dogs sniffing around my property? You got a warrant for that?”

Barron’s tone took on a lilt of suspicion. “This is authorized by the Patriot Act: we don’t need on...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/kayenano on 2026-02-07 02:08:56+00:00.

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Synopsis:

Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.

Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.

Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.

Chapter 486: The Masked Weirdo

Ophelia the Snow Dancer’s mini-arc. 3/4.

****

Ophelia needed wine.

Not for her. But for her mother.

If there was one thing elves did better than stabbing, it was getting stupidly drunk. 

Lady Celisse of the Caendrawood was no exception. There was a reason she was invited to all the best forest gatherings, and it wasn’t just because she told the wildest lies about her cute daughter as a young miscreant growing up.

With the right amount of excessive alcohol, Ophelia could slip away and go back to her well-crafted plan of how to impress a princess.

Being in a wine cellar was great for that. Except there were two problems. 

The first was that all the wines were far too fancy. 

Despite elves crafting a reputation as connoisseurs, the truth was their standards were awful enough to make a dwarf vomiting behind a bar shake their head. The cheaper the liquor, the more they could drink it, and the more dumb things they could do.

The second problem was rubble.

At the end of a corridor where a masked weirdo who probably wanted to hire her was now buried, Ophelia diligently worked to remove the fallen stone, occasionally using Duck A’s beak to pry away the heavier masonry.

Her mother helped by being as distracting as possible.

“... What about the Leaf Dancer’s very own grandson?” she asked, enthusiastically holding up a sketch that was 100% fraudulent. “They say he’s on track to become a sword saint just like you. You remember him, don’t you? Very modest. Sharp chin. Easy to draw. He’s going to inherit the entire mountain. You know, the one you trained on.”

“I don’t want a mountain. Especially one covered in his sweat.”

“Yes, well, you were rather ahead of your peers at the time. The things you could do with a sword were inspiring and sometimes alarming. But if it’s something more furnished you’d like, then what about a fine estate?”

“I already have an estate. It just comes in miniature cottage form. It’s great. It has a pond and a cozy kitchen. Why would I want something bigger?”

“Because you haven’t seen what Count Radran of the Fading Candle has to offer. He’s old nobility, but you wouldn’t know it. The man is quite obsessed with cleaning. He even scrubs the grass of his garden. That’s a sign of someone who takes personal responsibility seriously.”

“Yeah. I’m sure he can do all sorts of things with a mop.”

“Sweetleaf, these are all very earnest options. There are many more as well. You just need to open up slightly and I’m sure you’ll find someone who suits you. In fact, if you tell me what qualities you have in mind, I can discreetly search on your behalf!”

Ophelia flicked a small boulder away and hummed.

“Really?”

“Really! What type of partner are you looking for?”

“I want someone that’s crazy, smells nice and can summon a [Ball Of Doom].”

A pause came as Ophelia’s mother considered whether or not to ask the obvious question.

“What … What is a [Ball Of Doom]?”

“I don’t know. Nobody knows. And that’s amazing. The crazy princess who smells nice does it by twirling her sword while laughing. It’s a giant vortex of lightning and furniture that sucks up everything around it and can be thrown like a cannonball.”

“A vortex of lightning and furniture that’s also a cannonball? That sounds so … violent!”

“I know. Great, huh?”

“Ophelia!”

“What? Everyone around us is violent. That means she’d fit right in with the family. I bet she’d even give us an edge when it comes to all the stabbing during Yule time as well!” 

“That’s the thing. We don’t need an edge.”

“Wow. Somebody’s confident.”

“It’s not that. I’m trying to bring us away from all the family arguments. Goodness knows it’s needed after what happened last time. And the time before that. And before that …” 

“In that case, she’s even more perfect! If I marry someone who’s a forest hazard wherever she goes, nobody will stir up trouble. That’s good, right?”

“Sweetleaf, there’s nothing good about an adventurer feigning to be a princess. Even if she was real, all it would do is invite trouble. You know I’m your biggest fan and love hearing about your adventures. But at some point even you will want to put your feet up. If you marry a princess it will be constant politics. You’ll be awful at it. You’ll end up insulting entire nations every time you yawn.”

Ophelia furiously removed the rubble. She needed to immediately marry the crazy princess before someone else did.

Pwoof.

A notion the guy buried under it agreed with.

As Ophelia reached for the largest slab, a dusty hand shot out between the cracks, followed by a knee, a shoulder and then the rest. 

Coated entirely in a film of grey, the masked weirdo stumbled as he climbed free from the minor avalanche, prompting the two elves to retreat while waving away the drifting dust.

He did his best to shake off the worst of it. 

The resulting shower of dust did little to restore the bright colours of what had once been a pristine doublet, a velvety cloak or the golden shine of a smiling mask.

“My gods, woman!” He theatrically threw up a hand, the melodic tone utterly absent. “You just hit me with a [Disintegration Beam]!”

The masked weirdo received a nod. And also a quick frown.

“Yes I did. And I’ll do it again. Please don’t interrupt me when I’m having an important discussion with my daughter.”

“Interrupt?! I am clearly a person of note! Look around! There is a hauntingly empty embassy, a pair of motionless guards, and just beyond here, worrying signs of blood, violent struggle and magic, none of which you’re investigating because for some reason you’re not moving from this room. Lacking any information, you cannot just instantly strike me with a [Disintegration Beam] before I’ve even–”

“[Disintegration Beam].”

Pwoooommph.

Once again, the masked weirdo was sent hurtling backwards. 

Ophelia waited for the man to stumble out again. She certainly wasn’t picking apart the rubble again.

After several moments, a hand, a knee, and a shoulder emerged, before being followed by the rest.

He straightened his back, made an attempt at brushing himself down, adjusted his mask, then offered a cautious bow, the eyes clearly watching for another sign of an elven mother’s unpredictable temperament.

“My apologies,” said the masked weirdo, his tone far more deferent. “I do not often forget my manners. Please do not think I bear any ill will. In my enthusiasm to offer a fitting reception to such esteemed guests, I mistakenly set aside the rules of the game.”

“Apology accepted, but as I said, I’m having a discussion with my daughter. We’re not here to take part in any games.”

“Ah, but life itself is a game, my lady. We are but pieces of a board as chaotic as a stormy sea, doing our best to cling onto the flotsam even as it serves as the anchor to drown us.”

Both elven women stared at the masked weirdo.

Neither answered.

“I am the Masked Gentleman,” said the masked weirdo, as the awkwardness became too severe. “And though I’ve held many callings over the years, my first love will always be thievery. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I have a popular book series to my name.”

Another silence threatened to loom.

Instead, the merciful Lady Celisse turned to Ophelia.

“... Is this the type of people you regularly meet?”

“Nah, most are normal weird, but this guy is weird weird. I can tell.”

“Lady Snow Dancer, I am enigmatic and mysterious, but I must object to being called weird.”

“You’re wearing a weird mask and talking like you’re on a stage. Even for most people who try to annoy me, they at least do it at a normal volume.”

“My voice speaks not from the diaphragm, but the soul. And mine is of both the greatest thief and the finest showman.”

“Okay. Because the Royal Arc Theatre is actually nearby. Like 10 minutes away.”

“Thank you, but I will not dignify that den of amateurs with my presence. I have standards. The stage I walk is the world itself, and the backdrop now is a kingdom awash in summer sunlight after nights of peril. I would invite you both onto that stage with me, even if, in truth, I expected only the Snow Dancer to be here … not her mother.”

Ophelia pointed at once.

“Hey, I hear the judgemental tone! I didn’t bring my mother.”

“It’s true. My beloved daughter doesn’t take me anywhere that doesn’t include strange individuals. It makes me wonder if she truly cares for me.”

“You ne...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/CodEnvironmental4274 on 2026-02-07 07:27:16+00:00.

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The elegant spaceship made a striking contrast with the deserted corner of the Great Bazaar it docked at.

The doors slid open, and illustrious Vahiya reporter Ishaa Faranya strode out, accompanied by two Riyze bodyguards.

She looked around and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not an investigative journalist, you know. I don’t make a habit of visiting shantytowns to preach about the horrors of urban blight in my articles.” She smoothed her pristine white feathers and clucked her tongue. “Now, which one of you is—“

Her quips came to a halt as she noticed the two humans. Humans.

“Someone explain. Now. When I agreed to this meeting, I didn’t agree to meet with enemies of the state,” she spat out.

Prince Kama walked to the front of the group. “I assure you, we are free from the eyes and ears of the—“

“Prince Kama?” When she had received a message, and advance payment, from an unnamed affiliate of the Laana family, she didn’t think it was one of the gods-forsaken princes.

He smiled apologetically. “Please, allow me to explain. I promise no harm will come to you here.”

Ishaa weighed her options. On one hand, this was highly illegal and could ruin her entire life. On the other, was there a single reporter who could resist the call of the biggest break in the history of the galaxy?

“Fine. But make it quick.”

Kama clasped his hands together. “This is Ishaa Faranya, correspondent for the Capital Tribune. Ishaa, the lovely people standing behind me are Eza Invut and Aktet Haymur, former appointees to the First Contact Squadron, Agent Lombardi and Captain Hassan, representatives of humanity, and—“

“V,” the gruff Kth’sk pilot cut in.

“And V,” Kama said, unphased. “Our transportation specialist.”

V rolled her eyes.

Ishaa looked behind her to make sure her hover camera was recording all of this. “Great,” she said. “And what do you expect me to do with this footage? Minister Vasilya’s grip on the media has only tightened since the news about humanity broke yesterday. I’d prefer not to be thrown in jail for sedition,” she said drily.

“I’d prefer that as well,” the prince joked. “But would it not be an incredible opportunity to have exclusive access to the events leading to the loosening of that grip?”

Ishaa froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Kama replied, “that we plan to overthrow the Federation.”

The shorter human—Captain Hassan—balked. “When the hell did we agree to that?”

“What, did you think negotiations at a tea ceremony would do the trick?” The prince said incredulously.

“I think it’s worth at least trying!”

“I concur,” said Aktet. “I don’t remember—“

“Stop. As amusing as this is, you’re wasting my time,”Ishaa cut in. She circled the group, sizing them up. “I couldn’t care less if you succeed or fail. But fortunately for you, it makes an excellent story either way.”

Kama relaxed. “So…”

“So I won’t snitch. Yet.” She narrowed her eyes. “You wanted information. I’ll give it to you on one condition.”

“And what might that be?” The prince’s skin swirled with the bright colors of curiosity.

She reached into her designer clutch and pulled out a small recording device. “I want exclusive access to this story, and I want material to work with. But I’m not stupid enough to risk my own feathers for it.” She tossed the prince the gadget.

“There’s a switch on the back of that which turns it on. It’s similar to the camera floating behind me,” she explained, “and it uploads directly and securely to my system. Activate it during important moments at your own discretion. If I find that discretion insufficient, you’ll know,” she threatened. “Do we have a deal?”

The princeling brightened. “We have a deal!” Ishaa watched as his companions shifted, having not been consulted on this decision.

“Perfect.” She flashed a predatory smile. “Now, for my end of the deal,” she said, “I’ll give you the name of the woman who tipped me off to the humans’…” She paused and examined the men in question. “…unexpected behavior. But I’ll warn you, she won’t be easy to find after what she did. Her name is Hatshut Timar, a—“

“No. No, that can’t be true,” the Jikaal man blurted out. “What did she do? What happened to her?”

“I’m assuming you’re familiar with the woman? She was on board one of the ships that was present for the Sol Incident,” Ishaa explained. “A xenopolitical scientist. She landed herself in hot water after publishing a scandalous case study on the incident, radically sympathetic to humanity. She was arrested within hours, but not before providing the press with a detailed account of the event.”

She watched, unmoved, as tears welled up in the young man’s eyes. “Please, you need to tell me where—“

“I don’t need to tell you anything.” She strutted back to her ship, trailed by her bodyguards. “As for the rest of you—don’t mess this up.” She didn’t spare them a second glance as she boarded her vehicle.

…

Eza watched as Aktet stood there, frozen in place.

Hatshut Timar… the name was familiar. It sounded Jikaal, and if she was a xenopolitical scientist, then…

“Your advisor?”

He broke from his rumination and composed himself. “Yes,” he answered, taking a deep breath. “She’s the one who nominated me for the position on the squadron.”

To be selected for the squadron was no small feat. It was rare for a new sapient species to be discovered, so when the time came, experts across the Federation clamored for the position. But it took skill—and connections—to get it.

K’resshk had bullied his way into the position. Eza wasn’t too familiar with Sszerian culture, but they prized intelligence, and as much as she loathed him, K’resshk was highly regarded. He had sway over his fellow academics, and he didn’t hesitate to abuse it to position himself for selection.

Uuliska was an obvious choice. She’d trained extensively as a diplomat and served as a representative of the Istiil for over a decade, and it was hard for the ministers to say no to the Istiil royal family requesting their daughter be given a spot.

Eza came along as part of that deal—she’d been a covert operative for the Federation since her early twenties, protecting high-profile officials under the guise of a run-of-the-mill bodyguard. But then she was assigned to Uuliska, and her parents were impressed enough to pull strings to ensure the two of them remained paired up.

But Aktet… Eza never asked how he’d ended up there. He was talented, but talent alone didn’t cut it. Whoever Hatshut was, she clearly had clout.

Well, maybe not anymore.

“Makes sense,” she said, unsure how to continue. He needed reassurance, but Uuliska was the only one to ever even let Eza show compassion in that way.

The Riyze hailed from a hellish planet, laden with aggressive predators and natural hazards. The Federation assumed that they had evolved to fit their home not just physically, but mentally, too. Their society certainly had—no matter how much humanity threw the X Factor hypothesis into question, there was no denying that the Riyze’s strength permitted rapid resource extraction and unification under a single warlord.

But did that mean she had to fit the stereotype of an uncaring meathead? She thought of Commander Liu and the years she spent trying to mold herself into the perfectly revolutionary. And Agent Lombardi, who was raised to be not unlike Eza, yet escaped the militaristic fate she’d considered inevitable.

Maybe it wasn’t just human to choose your own path in life.

Maybe it was human to question those who would try to force you down a given path, too.

She crouched down a good two feet, and gave Aktet a hug.

…

Aktet made a strangled noise for two reasons.

One, he was utterly shocked at Eza’s show of compassion.

Two, he was being strangled.

She released her grip, allowing him to once again draw breath.

“Eza? Why…” He ignored the ache in his ribs as he sucked in air.

She looked just as surprised as Aktet. “I, uh, thought it would help. You looked like you needed it.”

It had helped, in her defense—but whether that was because it was a heartfelt gesture, or because it was such a shock it snapped him out of his grief, he couldn’t say.

V—towering over even Eza at 10 feet tall—groaned. “Can we move on from the holo-drama nonsense? I thought we were overthrowing the government.”

“Yeah, about that,” started Captain Hassan,

“Remind me when we agreed to that plan?”

Kama shrugged with his anterior arms. “When this one gave a heartfelt speech about ‘ripping off’ the blindfold the Federation had secured on us all, I took him at his word,” he answered, pointing to Aktet.

He felt his face heat up. “Well, I may have gotten a little carried away. Typical ex-theatre cub, am I right?” He laughed awkwardly.

The captain looked more done with Aktet than a volcano-charred Riyzean steak.

…

K’resshk was awakened by the rhythmic beeping of a cardiac monitor and the buzz of overhead fluorescent lights.

When had he fallen asleep?

And why was he attached to a—

“Woah, steady. You’re hooked up to an IV; I don’t want you tearing it out.”

Commander Liu stood at K’resshk’s bedside, stopping him from bolting out of the medbay in a panic.

“I demand an explanation. Now,” he hissed.

She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. “You don’t remember?”

Though it hurt his head to do so, he strained to recall...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LiseEclaire on 2026-02-06 22:32:15+00:00.

“You actually had one.” The druid looked at a videocall of Will’s mirror fragment.  

With the level of trust being so low, Will had no intention of being anywhere near the woman or giving his fragment to a mirror copy. This way he could prove his claims while keeping a safe distance. On the other hand, he wasn’t able to make out her list of skills. It was a fair compromise considering the situation, if somewhat limiting.

“How many people know?” the woman asked casually.

“What’s it matter?” Once the secret was out, all of eternity would be aware.

“And what do you want?”

“Tell me about the Fist of Concealment.”

The druid pulled away from the mirror copy seated beside her.

“That’s what this is about? You want the fist?” She all but laughed. “It’s not…” Her words abruptly trailed off. Her expression shifted again, switching from amusement to disappointment, then annoyance. “You’re working for someone.”

“Maybe.” Technically, Will wasn’t. One could argue that he was repaying a favor, but the nuance would likely be lost on the woman. “What does it do?”

The woman looked at the mirror copy, as if it had ketchup all over its shirt.

“Does it matter if I know?” The Will-copy pressed on. “Deal remains. Tell me that and you get any item you could buy.” He shook his phone to tempt her. “Your coins. I’m a bit low right now.”

“You agreed to steal a treasure you know nothing about?”

Branches shot out of the gazebo swiftly, shattering all mirror copies in the vicinity. As the druid leaned back, three druids emerged from the druid structure, quickly gaining form.

“Just kill him.” The woman took out her mirror fragment and tapped on it.

Crap! Back in his “hideout,” Will nebulously looked around. In ordinary circumstances, it would take the dryads minutes to reach his current location. The boy had sent mirror copies of himself to several tall buildings overlooking the park, further increasing the complexity of the task. The issue was that the druid didn’t have to be the one to find him. She could just as well ask some other participant for a favor. The lancer had already shown he had no problem working for other people. Oza was also generous with information for the right price.

“Sorry, kid,” a voice said behind him.

Before Will could turn around, the patch of concrete he was standing on turned into molten magma, swallowing him up.

Ending prediction loop.

“How many people know?” the druid asked.

“Just you,” Will’s mirror copy chose a new answer. “For now.”

Getting the woman to agree to a meeting had gone a lot better this prediction loop. If nothing else, the park hadn’t exploded in a storm of trees and flames.

“You followed my advice,” the druid smiled. Looking at her now, one might almost mistake her for a kind old soul, offering a helping hand to the younger generation. “And what do you want in return?”

“What do you have?”

The question was deliberately made to confuse her, and it achieved its purpose well. There was a short pause followed by laughter, then a second pause. Meanwhile, the real Will remained hidden in the school basement. A chain of mirror copies conveyed his messages all the way to the park; drones hovering at strategic parts of the city provided the rest of the information needed.

“Funny. Now, tell me what you really want.”

“The paladin,” the copy said the first thing that came to mind. “Where can I find her?”

What the fuck?! The real Will all but shouted.

This was never part of the plan! A whole range of topics was available, and yet the mirror copy had to go with this. That was the problem in relying on himself to get a job done. Despite sharing the same memory and personality, mirror copies remained their own entities. Will had no way of controlling them directly.

“Someone’s gotten too big for their britches. Aiming for the big leagues already?”

“Does it matter? It’s my neck,” the mirror copy continued.

“Mine as well, when she finds out who told you.”

“I already know she’s in the mall. I just want a few more details.”

“Tell you what. I’ll mediate a meeting between you two. Whether she agrees to go, that’s your problem.”

This felt like the typical counteroffer. The haggling had already begun. Since the outcome had no relevance to Will, he could easily agree to get ripped off, but doing so might make the woman suspicious.

“I can do that myself,” the Will-copy said. “I got into a meeting with you.”

A noise from the staircase made the real Will look up. Now and again, a few schoolmates would go into the main area of the basement to trade magic cards. Being concealed and in the former wolf room, there was no chance that Will would have been noticed. Yet, after the display in the previous loop, he preferred to err on the side of caution.

“Two items,” the druid insisted. “I get one first, then I tell you.”

“So, you can run off with it?”

The real Will moved against the wall. The students’ voices got louder. Thankfully, they were interrupted by a yell from the coach. The man lived to cause grief. This time it happened to be in Will’s favor.

“You need the info,” the druid shrugged. “I can always get items.”

“I can tell you who’s after the Fist of Concealment,” the real Will said through his phone, causing both the druid and his mirror copy to stare at the screen. “That would be worth it, right?”

Branches shot out of the gazebo, shattering the mirror copies nearby. Unlike before, the one doing the talking remained unharmed.

“What do you know about the fist?” The woman snatched the phone out of the copy’s hands. Having been part of eternity for thousands of loops, she knew that killing it off would also destroy the phone.

“Just that someone’s after it,” Will remained deliberately vague. “Needless to say, it will be my neck if he finds out who told you.” He used her own words against her.

There was no denying that she found the information important. As Alex had told Will a while back, it was in moments of stress that a person made mistakes. The beauty of it was, according to the goofball, that the more someone trained themselves against it, the more obvious they became.

Before the druid had grabbed the phone, before she had even destroyed the rest of the mirror copies, her left hand had instinctively moved onto her purse. It was naive to hope that the information would be there. Most likely, the answer was locked within her mirror fragment. However, that gave Will an idea.

“I’ll let you think it over.” Will ended the call, then put it away. “Merchant,” he said to his mirror fragment. “How much for a fragment locker?”

The merchant bowed, then extended his left arm, revealing a single white sphere attached to the multi-colored rags.

The cost was astronomical, as one might expect; also, it was given in tokens.

“Do the items in my inventory cover it?” Will asked. It had been a while since he had resorted to direct barter.

As he expected, the merchant nodded. That was a relief in more ways than one. Now, all he had to do was wait for the prediction loop to end.

Ending prediction loop.

“How many people know?” the druid asked.

“You know,” Will replied. He was taking a huge risk going there in person, but that was the only way to pull this off. As a side bonus, he was finally able to use his Eye of Insight.

Maxima Zhuwov (Druid)

As with everyone else, the list of skills was impressive, running into the high double-digits, at least. Even assuming that a quarter of them were linked to her class, the difference between her and Will was insurmountable. No wonder that veterans looked down on rookies. It would take a lot of luck to make up for a late start. If it wasn’t for the whole Danny situation, Will wouldn’t even dream of reaching their level. As things stood, he also had well over a hundred skills, yet couldn’t use them at the same time.

“And what do you want in return?” the druid asked.

“The paladin’s exact location.” Will could feel his pulse hasten.

Calm, he told himself. I must remain calm.

“Someone’s gotten too big for their britches. Aiming for the big leagues already?”

“I’ll let you buy three items from the merchant,” Will said without hesitation. “I’ll even do you one better. I’ll let you have your very own merchant.”

When I came to offers, there was hardly anything better. In the grand scheme of things, Will suspected that having a merchant wasn’t such a big deal. Rankers probably had access to a lot better stores. For a low-level participant such as the druid, it was massive.

“You’re lying.” She frowned. Even so, her actions suggested that part of her was willing to accept there might be a grain of truth in that.

“See for yourself.” Slowly, Will took out his mirror fragment. “Merchant.”

The entity emerged from the polished surface.

The druid blinked, looking from the fragment back to Will’s phone.

“You thought I only had one fragment?” Will laughed. It was a lie, of course. The fragment on his phone was nothing more than a video sent by a mirror copy. “I give you this, and you give me the paladin’s mirror.”

“It won’t help you.” The druid remained cautious. “She’ll never let you get close.”

“That’s my problem.” Will held firm.

“No.” The druid leaned back.

Shit! “No?” How could this happen? Of all things, Will had never considered the possibility that she might refuse. No one in their right mind would do so!

“I’m not taking that fragment.” She eyed it with suspicion. “We’ll do a transfer.”

The woman reached into her handbag....

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[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

The sergeant held up a small gray box, big enough for a pair of boots. "This is a basic materials printer. Spec says it can print a non-articulated, non-chemical palm-sized item once every five minutes, requiring a specialized refillable slurry every twenty full-sized prints or so. It makes no sound while printing, emits no noticeable heat, and cannot be sped up in any way."

The sergeant held up a second small gray box. "This is a Terran class one nanoforge. It can print complex, articulated items, including chemical-based materials up to and including a fully-loaded M399v4 Stallion pistol magazine fully loaded with spooky white phosphorous hollowpoint rounds. It can do this at a slow pace of one per five minutes, or it can emit copious amounts of heat and generate nanite slush and do it in one minute. It requires only atmospheric material loading at worst, and zero point vacuum energy at best, for refueling and does not require maintenance so much as recalibration and occasional flushes." He paused. "It makes a noticeable machine sound while operating in either mode."

He held up the two devices, which looked very much alike. "These are the same device. The difference is, the second one has been operated by Terrans in battle. Neither has been tampered with or adjusted with tools since leaving the factory, yet they possess entirely different capabilities."

He stared at the classroom. "When you understand how this impossible difference can exist, you will understand why no one with functioning pattern recognition ever attacks the Terrans... and why the Prime Miscalculation keeps occurring." - SSGT Greenwater, era unrecorded

Look upon the visage of the King of Burgers and tell me...

Does that look like the face of mercy?

He had mercy, once For the Dairy Queen. He still bears the scars from her betrayal.

Razor Wit Wendy and the Ronnie the Mack, oh how they laughed that day.

The Great and Terrible Burger King has always promised his citizens they can have it Their Way.

However he doesn't deliver, he never has.

You must come get it yourself. With your own hands. - Mantid Diplomatic Training

Senator, have you ever stared into your own eyes as the life left them? Have you ever spent two months fighting against an enemy that you are standing in over and over and over with?

I've killed myself a thousand times and you think this you and your little precious hearing scares me, Senator?

I've scraped scarier things than this off of my bayonet and onto my boot sole. - Field Colonel Amanda Arnold Breastasteel, Clownface Nebula Investigative Commission

PV2 Theron Pinion stepped out of his armor, taking a moment to stretch. His shoulders popped and he flushed slightly as his eyes closed in relief. He looked at the four green mantids that were operating the controls of the armor cradle.

"Shoulders are stiff. My port grav anchor went silent. It still works, but it picked up a harmonic about an hour ago. Main gun hands for a split second when retracting at the second overlap," he said.

One mantid was rapidly typing.

"Anything else?" the computer modulated voice asked from the terminal.

"Dick clamp's too tight. I keep complaining but nobody fixes it," he said, flushing deeper. He jerked and almost reflexively covered his bare groin as a laser played over his crotch.

"Outside of standard deviance. Will adjust. It is imperative that the cylinder remains unharmed. Anything else?" the terminal asked.

The mantid threw jokes back and forth. Theron wasn't capable of reading Mantid tech speak holograms but he still knew the formula for the volume of a cylinder.

"Har dee har har," he said.

That time the mantids made chirping sounds of amusements. The warrant officer waved on bladearm and the door to the interior opened up.

"Put on some clothes, weirdo," the terminal said.

"I run this shit swinging hog," Pinion laughed as he stepped through the door. He laughed at the hologram of a cartoon version of him running down the road with his genitals held in a wheelbarrow. Holding the wheelbarrow with one hand while shooting a pistol at the other. At the side was a mantid saying "I ain't riding that..."

The door shut and the scrubber kicked on, leaving Theron feeling itchy and weird. He rubbed his skin then went over to a locker and grabbed one of the jumpsuits, pulling it on.

There was a tapping sound but they were into thirty six hours and this was his second turn in The Box, so the sound of enemy probing fire didn't even phase him.

The mobile base was protected by layered battlescreens normally on a frigate and a full meter of warsteel armor.

It was funny. If you asked him 20 hours ago he would have told you there was no way he could relax inside a reconfigured drop pod.

Now, it was home sweet home.

0-0-0-0-0

Pan'nikk walked away from Staff Sergeant Grayeyes after uploading his suit records so they could be sent back to Brigade intelligence and forwarded to Naval Intelligence.

--glad you get relax time-- the green mantid signaled.

"Why?" Pan'nikk asked.

--suit needs lots of work-- the mantid said. --lots of stuff that shows up only after extend use--

"I've used this suit before. Plenty of times," Pan'nikk protested.

--use in battle standing around thumb in ass not count-- 2209 answered. --wear on right hip can see where stressing your hip socket slightly not noticable by brain but hip feels cartilage rub used to blow out telkan left knee--

"Lot of time at the front?" Pan'nikk asked.

--no only six years old lots of training on hateful mars did tour of wrathful mercury did tour of punished pluto all hardship-- 2209 said. --lots of time dealing armor in protective use--

There was a pause.

--punished pluto kill if not careful-- 2209 said. --radiation pools lava geysers snapped chain lanky broke planet putting back together--

"Oh. Not combat but hazardous duty, got it," Pan'nikk said.

He'd noticed that the greenie hadn't countermanded him and the suit seemed to move a lot better.

Now that the mantid mentioned it, his right hip did have a low level ache.

--black glittering sands of wrathful mercury worked out at the forges repairing-- 2209 said. --still lots do after lanky attack-- there was a pause. --helped decommish lanky battlewagon crashed on surface fought robots--

"OK, that sounds nerve wracking," Pan'nikk moved around an ammo forge vehicle and made a beeline for the rest and refit pod that was sitting comfortably, the battlescreen shimmering. The platoon was holding position while Division elements shifted position.

--first sixty seconds sergeant malliker takes 25cm to the face whoop gone till reprint dumbass-- the mantid said.

"Reprint?" Pan'nikk asked.

--humans not die well not really youll see--

Pan'nikk climbed into the airlock and hit the stud. It cycled and he stepped forward.

There were four mantids at a control terminal as the cradle grabbed him and started manipulating the armor so it was arms outstretched.

"Injuries?" the terminal asked.

"Right hip aches, sinuses ache," Pan'nikk said.

"Any other?"

"Uh, no," Pan'nikk said.

"Any armor deficits?"

Pan'nikk thought. "Uh... right hip is... uh.. rubber? I don't know."

HOUSING OPEN

2209 logged out

HOUSING CLOSED

A big green mantid climbed over his shoulder and down his arm, jumping for the wall. It hung there, flashing equations between its antenna.

His armor beeped twice and cracked open, letting him out.

"Your armor will be in repair, refit, optimization, and reconfigure for six hours. Leadership has been notified," the terminal said.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Pan'nikk frowned. It was a lot different from the last two times he'd been in here.

He went in and stepped through the sterilizer. It made his eyeballs vibrate in the sockets for a moment, then he was through. A quick paper jumpsuit and he stepped into the mess hall. He went over and got a salad with crunchy bits and a juice, then sat down.

It had been a long scout run. Being pinned down hadn't helped his mood any either.

Why the hell do they even need a scout when they can just faceroll anything in their way? he wondered. We got ambushed by tanks and emplaced guns and we lost three. We've been on the ground nearly thirty-six hours and we've lost five men total. We need to pull back.

The door opened and a human stepped through.

Again, Pan'nikk was startled at their sheer size and presence. It was like a walking brick of warsteel going over and getting food.

The human sat down directly across from Pan'nikk and started putting burning hot chemicals on his food while smiling.

0-0-0-0-0

The door opened to the small mess hall. Only a pair of food forges and a picnic bench table bolted to the floor. There was a Telkan sitting down and Pinion nodded to the fuzzy as he went over, grabbed a quick meal of noodles and sauce, and then came over and sat back down. The Telkan's meal had a lot of leafage and bunny food in it but Theron knew that meat heavy sauce and wheat noodles weren't everyone's cut of tea.

"Good fun, huh?" Theron said, setting...

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Henry hesitantly reached out to take the proffered mug from the now four-armed Shiva, his astonishment obvious on his face.

Shiva’s grin at Henry’s reaction gave a playful expression to his ashen face as he turned to look back at the view of the asteroid field. “Captain, please understand that, as I exist within a linear timeframe, I do not do so in the way you do. I can undertake several different actions at the same time without incurring any ill effects. You merely perceive them occurring simultaneously from the same core.”

Henry shook his head slowly, and brought the mug up to his face, his eyes looking deep into the dark liquid. The scent of the rich coffee filled his nose He glanced back to the navigating two-armed God AI with wide eyes, “This is going to be like the cherry, isn’t it?”

Shiva continued to grin a bit as he slowly nodded, “Of course. The beans are from Kodagu, and produce a rich drink without too much acid. Please enjoy it. And fear not, the temperature will be the perfect one for you to drink it.” His hands swooped slightly, and the rocks in the hemispherical view moved gracefully, and started to thin out.

Henry muttered quietly, “Of course it will be,” then brought the mug to his lips. As he sipped the coffee, he was hardly surprised to find that it was better than any other cup he had ever had. Hints of cocoa and spices he couldn’t quite identify made the espresso-strong coffee something to be lingered over and savored. He couldn’t help but let out a quiet ‘Mmmm’ of appreciation.

And, just as Shiva had said, it was a perfect drinking temperature.

When he had finished swallowing, Henry shook his head again, “How? How can you have these flavors so perfectly?”

Shiva’s head turned to look at Henry, “Is it not enough that I am a god? No… I see that it isn’t for you, Captain Miller.” He chuckled and looked back to the hemisphere before him, continued to guide the antique bomber to the clear space that was becoming more visible. “Some of the programmers on my project did their homework. They made a pilgrimage back to Old Earth, and sampled what they could find so that they could bring the sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and feel of my people’s home to me. This, each team did for their god.”

Henry raised an eyebrow and shook his head in disbelief, "But, The Conservancy..."

"Captain, please understand that the existential dread that… permeated... Terran society at that time was almost tangible." As the view in the hemisphere all but cleared of asteroids of any appreciable size, Shiva let his hands drop from their graceful motions, and turned to face Henry, his eyes taking in the astonished look. "So, yes, The Conservancy bowed to the will of the military for this effort."

Realization slowly blossomed on Henry's face, and he nodded slowly. "And that's why they set you up as gods? And why they built the Hutchinson Device, even though it has never been proven to work... They were that desperate."

Shiva chuckled quietly and extended an arm toward Henry's shoulder, the gentle pressure of his hand guiding the man toward a different corner of the balcony, where, between the buildings, the lazy flow of the river could be seen wending its way through the city. "Yes, they were.” He sighed before continuing, “They were so desperate that they even created us to control battlestations, without thinking about the ramifications..."

Shiva's hand dropped from Henry's shoulder, and he leaned his palms on the stone railing, looking off into the hot, hazy air. "They only thought about their fears, and not about Veer Rasa..." The ashy grey face going gently into a frown as he spoke.

Henry managed to enjoy another sip of the luxuriant liquid in his mug, but his expression went quizzical at the God AI's term. "I... I'm sorry. Veer what?"

Shiva's frown lessened and a bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Ah, already we encounter a place where concepts don't translate. Truly an archetypical conversation for humans and gods."

Shiva slowly turned from his hazy view of the empty city, the gaze of his three eyes locking on Henry's. "The concept is that of 'Veer Rasa' in the ancient tongue, and there is no direct translation into the common tongue you now use."

"You might find the closest description to be a synthesis of valor, heroism, mastery, pride, and steadfastness. Some have crudely termed it 'strength and guts'," Shiva shook his head gently and spread his ashen hands as he continued, "but that simplicity lacks the aspects of altruism and gallantry of the true warrior who willingly enters the battle they know they cannot win in order to save or prepare the way for others that are not prepared or able to defend themselves. And even this brief sentiment cannot fully capture what it means, though it will have to suffice for now."

"You see, your leaders of the time feared for their positions, and the perception of human society by the greater galactic populations, than for honor or valor. Hence, you find poor Enola and I, and now you and your crew, on this despicable fool's errand in the continuance of a conflict that erupted from the drive for justice and fairness; some of the best parts of humanity..."

Henry realized that his jaw had slowly dropped as he had listened to Shiva's words, and quickly shut his mouth and swallowed, stopping his mouth from letting out the defensive words that instinctively sprang to his tongue. Slowly, his brain came up with something more useful to the current situation, and he simply got out, "A fool's errand?"

-=-=-=-=-=-

"I am sorry, Being Vicki, I did not comprehend your last statement."

Vicki’s holographic form didn’t look away from the holoscreen of the navigation console where her virtual fingers worked in a flurry over the controls. “ Sorry, Vraks. I didn’t realize I gave audible output.”

The AI’s image faltered for a moment, and the quiet beep of the deflector shield absorbing damage emanated from the weapons console. Vicki’s digital voice came from the air near her holographic form, harsh with its curse, “Decoherent seg-faults! How is it possible that the Enola Gay is avoiding all those asteroids, and we’re still in the thick of it?”

Vraks’ insectoid head swiveled to look at the AI’s holographic form, “Avoiding? That spacecraft is so much larger than this… The Sac. Shouldn’t it be easier for you?”

Vicki continued to grumble as she continued to work on the navigator’s console, the brown outlines of asteroids twisting wildly back and forth as she tried to keep the small green representation of the scout ship from colliding with them. “Yes. It should. But even trying to follow the same path, I just can’t keep up with- Frak!” Another quiet beep and a distant muffled ‘thump’ accompanied the AI’s expletive.

The edges of Vrak’s facial plates began to pale, and its upper manipulators circled nervously, “Being Vicki! You must slow our passage, as you did with our approach to the warship!” The words came with more clicking of mandibles and buzzing than the Dravitian’s usual speech.

The AI’s holographically projected limbs continued to work franticly on the console’s controls as her voice filled the air, its projected focal point of the holographic form forgotten for a moment, “I can’t! We don’t know the range of the neural link the Captain is wearing! We have to stay close to that ship!”

-=-=-=-=-=-

“Yes, Captain Miller, a fool’s errand.” Shiva quirked a lopsided grin as he gestured with his left arm out over the quiet, empty city that spread in the hazy air surrounding the palace-temple. “Your peoples have such strengths in their ingenuity and industry when they find a pressing need. Even in your early times, you found ways to construct marvels that rivaled natural wonders with only the simplest of tools and materials.” He paused as his eyes scanned the view for a moment.

“But in your times of stress, that ingenuity and industry can be used in the production of items of terrible capacity, with consequences that cannot be foreseen by mere mortals.” He gestured casually, and a second hemisphere appeared in the air, just past the railing of the balcony. On the curved interior, rather than a view of ‘real space’ outside the bomber, there were wireframe images, schematics, and images from the construction process of the bomber itself. “One like this, for example…”

First / Previous

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Exciting-Story-8393 on 2026-02-06 23:02:49+00:00.

Authors note:

This is an original story by me (my precious ... the first one I have actually put in the wild, so be kind ... or not). I always welcome feedback, good, bad or in between.

Sounding board and polish? Yes I use AI (Grok), but it's a tool, the story, writing, characters, plot and voice are all mine, as mentioned in my Rule 8 comment.

I'd like to thank everyone out there that pushed me to actually do this, you know who you are.

I hope you enjoy.

The Last Human Warship

Captain Kieran O’Connor stood facing the viewscreen. He had always considered the command chair far too claustrophobic for his tastes, always tried to be just one of the crew… with varying rates of success.

His grizzled features matched those of his ship, scarred and well past their best. They were both the last of their lines to boot.

Lucky them.

The UENS Glowworm… He chuckled at the designation, there hadn’t been an Earth, let alone a unified Earth for over seventy years.

A navy? He was all that was left of it.

And what was he doing out here now? Babysitting duty for a colony seed fleet.

Seven species. The last humans among them. The restart of the race.

Not that anyone would have missed us if we had died with Earth.

The weak link they called us.

The slum of the universe.

But we did have a particular talent for living, for surviving, so far.

He sighed and shook his head as he looked out at the sixty three transports.

Babysitters.

His reverie was broken by the tactical officer.

“Sir, we have ships on scope, long range, heading this way.”

Kieran’s head turned slowly, deliberately.

“Specifics please, Mr Adams.”

“Unknown sir, no broadcast ident, no transmissions, no configuration match in our tactical database. But there are thousands of them sir, almost like the old drone swarms we used to use, and their course matches ours precisely.”

“Onscreen.”

The image flickered for a second as it changed and resolved, showing a spherical mass, undulating and pulsing like a living thing

“Sir, heading and speed ... I estimate they’ll be on us in a touch over five minutes”

Kieran straightened up, “Well I suppose we’d better get a shift on then.”

He opened a fleet channel, slowing his speech slightly for the translation matrix.

“All captains, power up your FTL engines, we have incoming ships, resume your course ... and we will catch up later if we can.”

Adams turned as soon as the fleet communications went dead

“The jump drives take fifteen minutes to power sir … maybe twelve if they want to risk it.

We have five.”

“That’s what we’re here for, Mr Adams. We have to buy them ten minutes

Helm, reverse course. Tactical, weapons free as soon as we breach firing range”

Two voices as one

“Aye sir.”

The hull protested.

Plates groaning under the stress of the turn as the engines roared to full power.

The low, angry rumble vibrated through the deck rattling teeth ship wide.

Kieran’s grasp on the rail tightened for balance, his knuckles blanching bone-white as the colour drained.

“Estimated time to full firing range?”

“2 minutes sir, they haven’t deviated, they’re still matching the fleet trajectory, not ours”

“Then lets make sure their eyes are on us, not them.”

The sphere swelled across the screen as Glowworm surged forward at full burn, its surface seething and coiling like liquid mercury.

Kieran stared at it, grip still locked on the rail.

“Big bastard isn’t it?” Adams muttered, his voice low and quiet, yet somehow still carrying across the bridge.

Uneasy laughter rippled across the bridge. No one looked away from their consoles.

Kieran exhaled sharply, biting down his own dry chuckle.

“Eyes off the screen, Mr Adams. I want that firing solution.”

Adams blinked, tore his gaze from the sphere, hands already moving across the tactical console.

“Firing solution computing, sir. Railguns and lances locked. We’ll have range in thirty seconds. On your orders sir?”

The bridge hummed with the low growl of charging capacitors. The countdown ticked down in red digits.

Kieran’s voice cut through it, calm but edged with something final.

“You won’t hear me say this often, but bugger my orders. Fire when you’re in range.

”Adams’ fingers paused — just a fraction — then resumed.

“Aye, sir.”

The bridge silenced once more. Everyone knew what that meant.

Adams’ voice was the only thing to cut through the quiet.

“Twenty seconds,”

“Ten Seconds,”

“Five … Four … Three … Two … One ...”

His hand moved fluidly, sending the first full salvo outward — railguns hurling massive slugs at relativistic speeds, plasma lances stabbing out in blinding white beams of solid heat. The blackness of the void flared with silent fury. Hundreds of the enemy formation vanished in brilliant flashes, debris blooming like sparks from a forge.

For a moment, muted triumph flickered on the bridge … no cheering, just all eyes locked on the viewscreen as ruptures rippled across the sphere's mercurial surface.

Then the writhing stopped… stilled.

The ships, if that’s what they could be called, spread out like wings, revealing a central core — massive, spherical — glowing sickly green across its surface, the light pulsing languidly in diseased waves.

Adams spoke, voice dry as his hands flicked across the console.

“Initial scans were wrong, sir, that spread has far more ships than we detected

Forty thousand ... Sixty ... A hundred ... Two hundred.”

The wings peeled away in waves, almost half the ships surging forward, too precise, too co-ordinated.

His voice lowered as he turned towards Kieran, cracking slightly.

“Shit, sir … that isn’t a fleet. And those aren’t ships. It’s a swarm.”

As he spoke the swarm’s wings — fully half their number — surged forward in perfect formation, not a single wasted movement.

Kieran’s grip tightened once more on the rail, his voice lowering, almost introspective.

“They’re heading straight for the fleet ... completely ignoring us.”

“Of course they are, we’re just one ship, they’re heading for the biggest targets — the biggest concentration.”

He straightened, the captain face returning.

“Target that … whatever it is … and open fire.”

Adam’s fingers moved across his console.

“Full spread locked sir, torpedoes now in range.”

All guns spoke again, a deadly hail reaching into the void, metal and plasma tearing through space.

The rear swarm shifted, blocking the core from view.

As the railgun slugs carved through, they bled momentum against living hulls. Plasma flared where it hit, dissipating through the swarm. Torpedoes exploded on contact long before they reached their target ... each wasted on a single drone.

Hundreds destroyed, maybe a thousand… a drop in the ocean.

“Ineffective, sir. No hits on the target. Complete interception.” Adams’ voice dropped, weary, resigned, “We might as well be using bows and arrows against a storm.”

Kieran dropped his gaze away from the screen for a second

Then he instantly raised it as comms spoke

“We’re getting reports sir, the swarm has reached the first transport.”

“On screen”

The sphere disappeared from view in a moment, the image refocusing to the transport, surrounded by a dimming blue haze as wave after wave of drones rammed the shields like missiles, shattering on impact.

In the darkness the glow flared once, twice, then died as the shields failed.

Kieran and the crew watched in horror as the metallic creatures surged forward as one, locking onto the hull of the transport like limpets. Plating peeled back like tin foil. Plumes of frozen air jetted into the void… and then the bodies.

The engine glow faded, and the ship darkened. Little more than a floating dead hulk, being stripped by what seemed like silver sheened locusts.

And they moved on without pause, surging toward a second transport … then they stopped, suddenly, without warning.

The formation held as if trapped behind an invisible barrier, the foremost creatures drifted, out of formation, wings furled … almost as if dead.

Kieran leaned forward at the rail. “Why aren’t they attacking?”

“We have movement from their ‘ship’, sir, it is advancing,” Adams’ voice lowered a touch, “and so are the swarm.”

They watched as the front line of the swarm moved, slowly, inexorably, and as the ‘dead’ units revived with a single jerk and unfurling of wings as the line reached them.

“Which ship are they moving on?”

Adams looked at his console, “The Iridian Grace, sir.”

Kieran paled slightly,

“God ... that’s the XO’s ship, he’s there with his family on rotation.”

He snapped back and turned to Adams, “Are they moving at the same speed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s get their eyes on us. Charge weapons. Bring engines to full burn … and hit that core hard. That is the control centre, and now we know its range”

Adams glanced away from his console in dismay, “The Iridian Grace has gone, sir.”

Kieran set his jaw.

“Ignore it, there’s nothing we can do for them, our task is to save the others … no losses are acceptable.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.

“But the XO, sir?”

“He’s dead… but there are sixty-one ships out there that are still very much alive.”

The engines roared to full burn. Weapons barked into the void with the same results — thousands of the swarm dead but no damage to the core. Failure.

Yet they kept firing — salvo after salvo. Failure after failure.

Adams’ voice cracked, “Lost a third, sir, they got to it as it was jumping.”

Kieran lowered his head, “And our guns ar...

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Cover Art

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There was a tense silence as Researcher Skai’s office as he pondered on the situation.

“This is a real conundrum, my scholar…” he mused as he absently rubbed his talons on his wooden desk. “On one wing, Adwin is absolutely entitled to getting more freedom. And if the human mind is anything like ours, staying inside too long is definitely psychologically unhealthy.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” Tski responded. “Even with his small size, the tents are rather confining.”

“Yes…” he allowed. “But there’s also the security aspect.” the Researcher sighed as he got up and walked to the window. “We’re almost certain there are Pitang spies out there, among the populace.”

“Project Frost-Fae is on a secluded, secure compound though.” the scholar reminded her researcher.

“And spies have telescopes.” the researcher reminded his scholar. It was a bit paranoid of him to imagine a scenario of spies hiding in trees just outside the compound, especially with how remote the forest they were currently sequestered in was. But he had an above-top-secret project to administer, so a bit of paranoia was not out of place.

“Perhaps you should flap it to higher winds?” suggested Tski.

Not a bad idea. Getting a general or someone in Lord Capield’s office to make a decision instead would at least shield him in case something goes wrong. However… “They would take the better part of a season to get back to us.” he sighed. Kingdom bureaucracy always took an almost obscene amount of time to process. Which was probably why he, a highly respected and loyal servant of the kingdom, was given such a level of autonomy on this project. In the end, he was expected to make these kinds of decisions himself.

So he pondered on it a few clegs more. “Has Adwin slept recently?” he asked.

Tski, mildly confused about the nature of the question, answered “No…” then checked her timepiece. “I believe he will enter his rest period in just under two bels.”

“And his rest period lasts about thee bells, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Okay. I’ll have the soldiers comb the surroundings while he sleeps. If they give the all clear, we can let Adwin out for one bel after he wakes up.”

“Yes sir!” Tski chirped. “I’ll let him know!”

» » »

No one could have picked a better time to explore the outside. The winds were particularly low, just a comfortably light breeze blowing about the region. It was also rather sunny, despite the rains just a few bels ago. Almost everyone was gathered by the compound entrance, Tski, Skai, Nalor, T’veo, Pito, and several others chirped excitedly as they watched Adwin carefully walk out. His bare feet tested each stone and red blade of grass he stepped over. He looked heavenwards, putting his paw perpendicular to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun’s intense light. With a contented smile, he inhaled deeply and stretched his arms upward and outward. And then, he ran.

And ran.

And ran.

He ran laps around the compound for almost five whole driks. Until he finally slowed, then stopped. He let himself drop into the grass, soaked with a mysterious moisture, panting heavily, but happily. Happier than anyone had ever seen him since he arrived.

Tski felt a sudden pang of guilt for keeping Adwin cloistered in that tent for so long. Clearly, humans were built to run. Aside from the psychological toll of staying indoors for too long, she had somehow failed to consider the physiological effects. Any lifeform as physically powerful as him would likely require regular exercise. It was honestly embarrassingly obvious in hindsight, but the scholar, no, the whole team, was just too focused on the project. They should have treated Adwin as a person, instead of a specimen.

Still, it was remarkable to see how far and how fast he ran. Clearly, humans were built for this, just as te-visk were built to glide, and fish were built swim. He recovered fairly quickly, standing up and swatting the back of his trousers to dust off a thin layer of dirt that had accumulated there from his short rest on the ground.

“Thanks you.” he said to Tski.

“You’re quite welcome.” she replied sincerely.

Adwin gazed off into to a nearby glade of trees, their natural crimson beauty beckoning to him. He turned his face back toward Tski, the unspoken question of further exploration practically screaming from his eyes.

A steady, disapproving glare and slight head tilt from the scholar responded clearly in the negative, letting him know not to push it.

The human acquiesced a with a shrug and mischievous smirk; it was worth trying regardless.

Cheeky attempts to get more out of this outing foiled, Adwin was content to turn around and return to his tent for now. A short while later he cleansed himself in the sanitation station, which was quite welcome as he had developed a rather… distinctive odour, after his run. After that the team continued their research for the next few bels as normal, until Adwin took another long sleep.

When Adwin woke again, he was quite prepared for another run, or at least there would have been, were it not for the heavy rains. Everyone was quite disappointed, but no one can control the weather.

On Adwin’s next cycle, the weather was much more agreeable. So he ran again. This time the team was well prepared to measure the speed and distance he ran. Honestly, these exercise periods provided the research team with much more biometric data than any of the experiments conducted in the tent. They discovered that the odorous fluid that accumulated on his skin after physical exertion was called “sweat”, and it facilitated cooling via evaporation. It was one of many ingenious adaptations that allowed humans to regulate their own body temperature.

And so the time passed, deep rest cycle after deep rest cycle.But on one occasion, Adwin had asked to go out a second time, a bit later than usual.

“Oh, do you want to exercise again?” asked Tski.

The human shook his head “Want to seethings.” he clarified. “See…stɑːz.”

“Schtar-zuh…?” the scholar echoed. Definitely a human word. Perhaps a word for tree? He did seem interested in them several cycles ago. Well, no matter. Tski asked him to wait for her to confirm with Skai. A few short driks later, she returned with a positive reply, and Adwin was allowed to go out again.

Strangely enough, Adwin didn’t look over to the trees when he walked out. Instead, he looked up, towards the sky. He shielded his eyes from the sun’s rays as usual, but there was a grimace on his face this time. He looked at his phone, then at Tski, confusion and disappointment clear on his features. He looked up again for a moment, then re-entered the tent with a defeated air.

The next cycle, he asked to go out a second time again. This time, it was a lot closer to the time he usually rested. Again, when he exited, he seemed disappointed with the heavens.

Three more cycles this continued, with Adwin wanting to leave the tents to peek outside at random times, once even interrupting his sleep cycle with his phone’s alarm function. Each time he grew more distressed. Eventually he stopped trying to communicate his frustrations with Team Frost-Fae, instead he just rambled his rage his native tongue. Naturally, Professor Pito was called in.

Researcher Skai, Professor Pito, Scholar Skai, and a couple security officers had gathered in Adwin’s tent. The human sat on the floor, his legs twisted under him in a way no te’visk could imitate. He was fidgeting, his unspoken agitation manifesting physically.

“Adwin, wɒts rɒŋ?” the linguist asked in human.

The human didn’t respond immediately. All this time one of his paws drummed his digits upon his leg in a rhythmic sequence, while his other paw cupped his disquieted face.“Aɪ dəʊnt nəʊ haʊ lɒŋjədeɪz ɑː.”he finally muttered.

Pito seemed to have trouble understanding the sentence. “Deɪz?” she named the untranslatable word.

“Deɪz!” he repeated irately. “Ðə taɪm ɪt teɪks fə ðə sʌn tu--” he stopped himself abruptly, then closed his eyes for a moment as he deliberately exhaled. “Ðə taɪm ɪt teɪks fə ðə wɜːld tə spɪn.”he said, much more calmly, while making an arcing motion with his arm.

The linguist sat in silence for a few clegs, digesting the human’s strange words. Then she turned to Researcher Skai. “He seems to think the world should…” she tried to find the right word in phuratan. “… rotate?”

The researcher and his scholar looked at each other. “That’s impossible.” Skai replied flatly. “We would have noticed some kind of physical evidence if it did.”

“Like the sun moving perhaps?” added Tski.

The researcher looked at his Tski with stunned pride. “Yes! Very good my scholar!”

While Tski’s fore-feathers flared fromher researcher’sadulation, Pito tried to forward the scientists’ conclusion to the human. “If wɜːld spɪn, ðɛn sʌn muːv.”

“Yes!” barked Adwin. “Jɛs, ðə sʌn ʃəd bi ˈmuːvɪŋ!”

Professor Pito blinked. Then turned to the scientists. “He says that the sun is supposed to move.”

The scientists were silenced.

“How often does he see the sun move?” asked Tsk...

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Agraneia couldn’t stop shivering. The ceiling spun, and the floor felt like it was rolling on an arctic ocean current. She tried to steady the motion, tried to hold herself upright, but her muscles gave out. She tried to grab ahold of the chair, but her liquid metal hand was still numb and she couldn’t feel the fingers on her mortal hand. So cold.

And a voice poured like warm honey into her ears, “Easy there, Ags. Just stay with me another moment.”

Feathered hands—real hands—hooked under her arms and the corvani crowed with the effort of hefting her up until she was face to face with a corvani. Icy cold filled her mind, slowing her thoughts. How can the dead be this strong?

An insect, or something like it, bit into her chest. Then, another—sharper than the first. She tried to swat it away, but her arms refused to lift. She grit her teeth, and tried again. She had to fight. She had to, if she wanted to live.

“Easy,” the dead corvani said again.

Then, a stiff warmth crawled into her veins. It started where the insect bit her, and oozed into her heart. Suddenly, her muscles tightened. Her eyes shot open. Two nanite syringes jutted from her chest. The last drops of that silvery liquid drained into her body.

Gingerly, a black-feathered hand plucked them out of her body. Agraneia realized she was no longer bound to that chair. Instead, she was propped up, half laying and half sitting in her dead friend’s lap. Eolh looked down at her with a smile tugging at the corner of his blue-black beak. How does someone eat with a beak that big? She found herself wondering. Ridiculous.

Then, the ice that clouded her thoughts cracked. “Eolh?” She sat up. Too fast. Her stomach clenched. She leaned over and started to vomit.

“Easy, I said,” Eolh patted her back with his mortal hand. “That nanite’s good, but it’s no miracle. Give it time to work.”

The dead corvani was very much alive. “How?” Agraneia rasped. Thankfully, the nanite was starting to numb her raw throat.

“Found it in the Sovereign’s head-thing. Reckon the damned machine used it to keep you alive.”

“No,” Agraneia grunted, “How are you here?”

“You asked for help,” Eolh said. “Poire heard.”

“The godling?”

“Know anyone else named Poire?”

Agraneia propped herself up on her stiff metal arm, and stared at him. Just stared. If he was a dream, he was more real than any dream she’d ever had. His dark eyes glistened in the dim gray light. His fingers gripped her wrist and shoulder, holding her up. The individual barbs of his feathers stirred in the artificial breeze from the air vents.

“Impossible…”

“I thought the same thing. One moment, I was watching the Scar unfold across the sky. Could feel it pulling me—gah!”

Whatever he was going to say was choked off, as Agraneia threw her arms around him and clasped her hands together and squeezed as tight as she could.

“Ags,” he gasped, even as embraced her back. “Easy on the ribs.”

She eased a little, but didn’t let go. His feathers were so soft. His muscles, as wiry as ever. She could even feel the warmth of his body through her liquid hand.

“Seems like the nanite is working,” Eolh said.

Perhaps it was the nanite, or the days (or weeks?) of torture, or something else, but she thought she could see a faint glow blurring around the corvani. It outlined his feathers. His head. Even his clothes.

“What the hells are you wearing?” Agraneia asked.

Eolh looked down at his shirt, as if seeing it for the first time. Thousands of mirror-like tiles, as small as fingernails, clacked and clinked as he held it out. “No idea,” Eolh laughed. “I think the Fledge made it?”

Agraneia pinched the tiles between her fingers. It moved like the highest quality chainmail, but she couldn’t see how the tiles were linked together.

A distant boom shook the floor. It rattle the metal debris, and vibrated up through the walls. Then, another boom, this one close enough that Agraneia could feel it buzzing in her teeth.

“Come on,” Eolh said, unfolding himself from her, and helping her stand on shaky legs. “Time to go.”

Agraneia started to rise when her foot kicked a familiar hunk of ruined metal. Dull gray light shone from inside. The memory of Laykis, being torn apart by the Sovereign, rushed back and sapped the strength from the cyran’s legs. Agraneia fell to her knees. “Oh, gods,” she growled. “I’m sorry.”

One of the Sovereign’s arms had fallen and crushed Laykis’s skull. The scarred mask of her face was intact, but the back of her head was crumpled inward. Hot tears slid down Agraneia’s cheeks as she cradled the android’s head.

“Ags,” Eolh crowed her over. He stooped over the android’s body, and using the hand that the android had given him so long ago, Eolh popped open her chest chassis. The gray light brightened, casting dramatic shadows across Eolh’s blue-black beak.

“What is that?”

“Didn’t they teach you mechanical anatomy in the Academy?”

Agraneia sniffed and wiped her face with one arm. “What are you talking about?”

With his metal hand, Eolh ripped open Laykis’s chest armor. He plucked something from her ribs. A smooth, glowing oval that fit heavily in his palm. A construct’s core. It was almost translucent, like glass filled with something like smoke, except the core was cracked and gray mist leaked out, shimmering in the air.

Agraneia scrambled over to the android, and almost without thinking, she reached for it, intending to cover the crack with her liquid metal hand. When she touched it, she heard a voice.

“Is that you, Agraneia?”

Tears stung her eyes again, but she blinked them back. “Yes. It’s me.”

“Are you well? I was very worried about you.”

For a moment, Agraneia couldn’t answer, she was so choked up. Laykis had been through the hells. Her body was broken, her core was fading, and yet Laykis was worried about her?

“I’m sorry, Laykis. It’s all my fault.”

“I couldn’t be more proud of how you performed. The Sovereign has had thousands of years to perfect its craft, yet when it tried to break you, you endured. Just like me. I knew I was right to call you sister.”

“What is it?” Eolh asked. “What is she saying?”

“Who else is there?”

“Eolh is with me,” Agraneia answered, though she had no idea how to explain it.

“Of course,” Laykis said, as if Eolh’s resurrection was the most natural thing in the world. “Vul, the Guardian who is with him until the very end. I should have known. And where is the key?”

“Khadam?”

“Yes. She is everything, now.”

“I…” Agraneia’s stomach sank. After every torturous hour, after all these miracles, they were no closer to finding the Maker Divine. She glanced at Eolh. “Do you know where Khadam is?”

Eolh shook his head. But Laykis answered at the same time, “Yarsi knew.”

“Yarsi isn’t here.”

“Her memory is. I kept it safe.”

There was a tug on Agraneia’s thoughts. It came from Laykis’s core. “Open your mind,” Laykis said.

“How—”

It felt like a fist punching directly into the brain. Agraneia was thrown back as a whole set of memories filled her thoughts. Machine-filled corridors and utility tunnels and hordes of skittering maintenance constructs crawled into her mind. The memories overlaid the real world, glowing bright. She could see herself picking up Laykis’s scarred mask. Carrying the mask and the core with her, as she set off down one of the access tunnels.

Agraneia pulled her liquid hand away from Laykis’s core, and the future memory disappeared. Timidly, she touched Laykis’s core again, and the memories flooded back. She could see exactly where to go. Curiously, she couldn’t see Eolh.

She looked at him. He cocked his head at her. “What?” he croaked.

“You’re real, aren’t you?”

Eolh shrugged. “I feel real.”

Agraneia wiped her eyes once more. And put out a hand, letting Eolh help her to her feet. “As long as you’re with me, it’s good enough.”

Agraneia picked up Laykis’s mask. Put it under her arm, along with the core, and set off.

***

The two armadas of the Sovereign converged upon each other. Trillions of repulsors ignited as twin metal waves screamed toward each other. Millions of kilometers of space rippled with movement.

At the center of their convergence, there were three objects. The machine-covered Earth, a hollowed-out moon glittering with traces of silver, and further out, a Scar. With the scanners at maximum magnification, Queen Ryke could just make out the lonely black structure that hung suspended in front of the Scar. The Light dam looked like the closed-up bud of a night flower, like the ones that grew on Gaiam. That used to grow on Gaiam, she corrected herself.

But her view of the Scar, and the Earth, were soon obscured as tiny, fiery streaks forked out from the twin armadas. Both sides of the Sovereign, it seemed, were eager to strike the first blow, but the left wing shot far more than the right.

Then, the right’s missiles split open, each body containing many smaller ones inside. Ryke watched as the waves of missiles slipped into each other, just over the Earth. Collisions created beautiful, blossoming spheres of superheated metal and radiation. Some were close enough ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2026-02-06 21:00:07+00:00.

First

(Okay, Muse got the Evil Gas and is COOKING)

The Dauntless

The door to her office opening without warning is unusual, but not entirely unexpected. Things are moving. She has noticed, even if everyone else thought they were being subtle.

“My Empress.” The Bloody Prophet states. And he IS The Bloody Prophet now. His presence is roiling, The Forest is just behind his eyes and there is a deep agitation. Vernon Shay is looking to kill someone. Gruesomely.

“Sorcerer. I see that you’ve embodied the wrath of your kith and kin.” The Empress replies.

“Madness lies upon Centris, The Forests are enraged. All bound to them bay for blood. Violation made manifest has torn open all scars to screaming wounds. Vengeance.” His accent is Ancient Cinder Tongue, the sort of thing you only get in exaggerated forms in classical plays. But it came out of him so naturally that she’s not sure if she’s talking to a human or to an Apuk older than she is. That accent was old when she was young.

“Take a step away from the woods and explain it more clearly, I am willing to help. But I need to know what must die.” She says calmly even as she spots the traceries of vines twisting and writhing under his clothing and in his hair.

“Blood Metal is real. It is pain made manifest. The Bonechewer touching a small sample has torn open the graves of buried suffering. We go to destroy it all, but some is missing. Moving, being used on people.” Vernon Shay, The Bloody Prophet explains. His tone is halting, uncertain. “Those of us here now are redirecting most old... violations. The old violations and wrath to the self. To spare the small ones. Those who are remembered have never truly died. The Forest has never forgotten. All Sorcerers. All violations...”

“Ah.” She says rising up and calmly walking over. Not gathering Axiom to do anything, no weapon in hand, no armour upon her. Her movements open, smooth and not threatening. His eyes are growing more bloodshot as he watches her. Then he takes in a huge breath. Holds it, and then lets it out and there is smoke, sparks and a hint of fire in it. As a human and not an Apuk he shouldn’t have that instinct. But if the memories of The Forest have been kicked open that exquisitely hard, then him not being Apuk is barely a technicality. He likely has more memories of living as an Apuk than she does. Hell, with how powerful an Adept The Forest is, he might end up becoming an Apuk before the end of this.

“Speak with The Judge to coordinate. I go to hunt.” He whispers and vanishes even as a child flickers into where he was standing. It’s little Cals’Tarn, The Judge of The Damned. Youngest Sorcerer to bear a title. She crouches down to his level.

“Are you alright little one?” She asks in a gentle tone. He shakes his head. She opens her arms. “Do you need a hug?”

She instantly has her arms filled with a small, terrified, furious, child that is shivering even as vines wreathe under his clothing and she can feel moss growing as armour and then bark over it. Just under his clothing is a suit of Dark Forest armour.

“It’s then! That night! It was then! Screams! Burning light! Death! Fear! Pain! I ran! I didn’t have time for shoes! My feet! Sharp rocks and blood and pain and the screams! The horrible screams!” Cals’Tarn says as he squeezes her.

“Is there more?”

“Much! But... but.... they’re holding it back. But we can see it! Feel it almost! But it’s not spilling out! But it’s so much! So much! I want to look! But they’re holding me back! I want to help, but it will hurt! It does hurt! It’s wrong! It’s bad! Very bad! As bad as then!” Cals’Tarn gasps out.

Well, a sorcerer comparing something new to the very thing that made them into a Traumatized Woods Adept? Not good.

She picks him up entirely and carries him as she exits the office and looks to the right to see several guards already there with a few maids who had clearly been in debate as to what to do when a Sorcerer had burst into her office but there had been no sound of violence. “I suspect many of my Battle Princesses are missing. Namely those wed to Sorcerers. Contact the rest. Tell them to muster. I am going to have them secure and protect all known Sorcerer families and the remainder will go to assist their sisters in arms. Whatever has our Dark and Deadly Adepts so rattled must be dealt with, post haste.”

“At once My Empress.” They answer and she heads back into her office. She has an Admiral to talk to. Or more likely his secretary as the man is probably busy at the level she got when Morg'Arqun introduced himself to her. And the entire capital. Simultaneously.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Bright Forest, Lilb Tulelb)•-•-•

Fire roils from her mouth as bright orange and red warflames with sparks of blue to quickly wash over and destroy the condemned little fungus. The Nono is quickly dissolved. They had all agreed that right now they were not making the best decisions and it would be best if she cut down on the numbers of Nono Mushrooms so the children wouldn’t be tempted to throw them at people. Or to throw people at them.

Alara’Salm Junior wipes at the burnt spores that had settled around her mouth and nods before picking up her patched, but comfortable and functional, skirt and moving. Her children are so very, very strong. But no one is all powerful, and sometimes the best help you can give to someone is stopping them from doing something they might regret. And the recent upsurge of Nono’s growing all over the forest was a very bad thing. Her burning them away reminded her children that these were bad things not to be used. A little something to ground them all, and make sure they wouldn’t do anything they would regret.

The silvery, shimmering flat cap of a Nono is ahead and she stops five paces away before taking a deep breath, stoking the fire within, and letting lose with her fury. Her children had endured so much. Becoming murderers on top of it would be too much for many of them.

Ordinarily a Nono would actually spread through this treatment. But Warfire is different. And The Bright Forest agrees. The situation is bad, but panicked use of a Nono will make it worse.

She’s no Sorceress. She just can’t lower that last guard in her self. But The Bright Forest was deep enough to speak with her. And her to it. It’s why she could breathe this fire with impunity, everything but the Nono were protected.

She hears a whisper in her ear and nods before moving again. The delivery van is here. Full of treats and comfort foods to help calm the children. Whatever madness was going on, she would see them through it.

She would see her children safe, and if she had to burn down a million silver mushrooms to do so, then she would burn a million silver mushrooms.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Lush Forest, Soben Ryd)•-•-•

It only looks like a sandstorm. It’s something else, something generating so much static electricity that blasts of lightning are crashing through the storm. At the outskirts of their home city the Karm family and The Five Flyz watch as something has well and truly pissed off Arden. Pissed him off enough to let a whole planet know it. There were observers from all the noble and royal houses, all of them had asked the same questions and everyone had had the extremely unsatisfying answer of ‘I don’t know.’.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Mmeniawa Ranch, The Outskirts, The Astral Forest/Vynock Nebula)•-•-•

The repaired ranch was chugging along nicely. Sure things were still a little patchwork here and there. But in the coming months all damage would be repaired. Honestly it could have all been done already, it was due to a lack of urgency rather than a lack of resources.

But right now no one was fixing anything. They were watching, and occasionally listening. The Lalgarta were agitated in ways that just never happened. They twisted among each other, butted heads and occasionally thrashed hard enough to throw one of their own into the station. Never hard enough to damage the structure or hurt each other. But whenever they made physical contact with the station the sound that would transfer over were nothing short of haunting.

Everyone knows Lalgarta can sing. But sound doesn’t transfer in space. It’s a mating and teaching thing Lalgarta do for each other and if you’re on a space walk or they’re towing your ship you can vaguely hear a gentle hum. Or a deep crooning noise if it liked you. It was normally charming, and if you ever wanted to hear more you needed to mount a recording device to the big goofs.

They’re singing a dirge. It can’t be anything other than a dirge. But with a bent so filled with rage that...

“What does this mean?” Cattalaya asks.

“I don’t know.” Elenoir answers. “Has your sister sent anything?”

“She says that all the men are flickering around too fast to talk to, that the nebula is singing.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Elenoir repeats herself and they both turn back to the viewscreen where their Lalgarta are twisting, even as one brushes against the hull and they catch a snippet of something mournful and furious.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Between Worlds, The Wing, Major Galactic Lane)•-•-•

“Exhale.” Brutality orders his grandson and the furious boy lets out a deep breath laced with purple smoke. He waits a few moments. “Inhale.”

Terrance had suddenly, and impressively, grown incredibly wrathful in the last hour. He had struggled to explain himself...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KamchatkasRevenge on 2026-02-06 20:12:33+00:00.

Sister Catherine - Centris - Dauntless Sick Bay 

She’s old, and she is dying. She knows it as surely as anyone. It’s unfair, in a sense, that she had come so far only for her body to give out now. For whatever the doctor had called it to catch up to her. 

So many long years of service. Of faith and duty. 

All of it oh so very worthwhile. She had been arrested three times in her work as a Dominican sister. Held at gunpoint by militants at least a dozen times. Had watched countless of her seniors go to the side of Christ, mostly from age and illness, the very wolves that stalked her footsteps even now as she lay in this hospital bed. She had cared for the sick and downtrodden in every clime and place that she could reliably reach on foot. Such is her order's mission. Such is how they best served the Lord in all His guises.

Such was her ministry. Such were her vows. Almost behind her now.

Her mind slips away, darkness claiming her. Be it the sleep of rest or the sleep of the final peace she doesn't know; she knows nothing... and then, just as suddenly as the darkness had come, light returns, and she remembers. 

She remembers when she heard the Call. 

It had been on a trip - one final trip, if she’s honest with herself. To visit beautiful, splendid churches across the world and to tour the Holy Land. They’d started in Northern Europe and made their way south, with the Holy Land being the great shining promise at the end of the route . 

A package tour for aging brothers, sisters and priests. Somewhere between a pilgrimage and a holiday, but a very enjoyable one for all that. 

She had heard the call before, and while she'd been on that trip, she heard the call again. It had started with troubled dreams. Not that her dreams hadn’t been frequently troubled, if she was at all honest. She might have lived in a convent and might have been a sister, but even - especially - as a young woman, she had seen all sorts of horror in her ministry, all sorts of terror, pain and heartbreak. Cloister was no shield if one ventured out from behind the walls to care for Christ's flock, and to leave them to fend for themselves would have been far more horrifying. 

They needed help. Comfort, at least. She could help. So she helped. 

Sometimes, nightmares were the price of that help.  

These dreams, however, had been different from her usual night terrors and garden-variety nightmares. Even before the beacon from the rest of the galaxy had arrived. Even before the Dauntless had departed. She had been sleeping well enough, by her old standards, but her mind had been troubled, the rumblings of great change coming... and in her heart of hearts, she’d known, somehow, that she would have a mission to fulfill, and that she'd know it when the time came. 

In a little village in France, a chance stop for use of the bathroom that had turned into an excuse for coffee and tea in a lovely café as the sun warmed them all, Sister Catherine had gotten the urge to take a walk. She’d walked towards the village church, visible from the café from the moment she’d arrived, more quickly than she'd moved in years, as if she was being pulled by something. The church had been old, beautiful in its way, testimony to centuries long past. 

As she'd walked the old stones, and then behind the altar to admire the delicate stained glass in the windows, she’d found that a stone had come loose, and there had waited for her... the sword. Something had told her it was the Sword of Saint Catherine, perhaps now better known as the sword of Joan of Arc. 

Something? The Holy Spirit, surely.

It was a plain blade with five crosses marked upon it. Worn with use, covered in dust and some light coating of rust that all seemed to fall away as Catherine pulled it from her hiding place with shaking, withered hands. She’d cradled it and crossed herself. 

"The sword of Saint Catherine." She knew it in her heart. Knew it in her bones. Knew it to the core of her very being. She had not taken a new name on taking Holy Orders. She had been named by her parents for Saint Catherine de Fierbois, patron saint of soldiers, whose church had once held this sword that was destined for the hand of another soldier saint. 

Jeanne d'Arc in her native French, and Joan of Arc in English. The Maid of Orleans. A simple, ordinary peasant girl who had heard the Call, and saved a nation in nomine Dei. Arguably, she’d made a nation, with the great saint helping call forth what would eventually solidify as a French national identity beyond the feuds of squabbling nobles... after she was martyred. 

Catherine had gently touched the blade and found its edge dull... just as it had said in the testimonies and legends of the Saint that had been this blade's last mistress. When a smith had offered to sharpen it, Joan had denied the service, saying that it was not necessary, as she should never kill anybody, and should carry it only as a symbol of authority.

Catherine had set the sword aside and reached into the hidden chamber again, and drawn out a simple leather sheath, worn with age like the sword it had been made for, but still supple; it clearly having been oiled one last time before it had been left to lay in wait, hidden away from the grasping hands of the English who most assuredly would have wanted the ancient weapon for themselves. 

There, on her knees, she had received her mission. She was to volunteer to go to the stars. She was to take the sword. There amongst the stars, the weapon's destiny would be revealed. 

Her mind flashes past the remembered feeling of her hands shaking as she’d sheathed the blade and lovingly wrapped it in a cloth before slipping it into her luggage. She’d known where she needed to go. Where the sword had to be presented to accomplish her task. To fulfill her faith. 

Luckily for her - or, perhaps, providence had provided - the Vatican was on their itinerary. 

They had balked at first when she had brought the sword and the word to them. Until word reached His Holiness. 

Sister Catherine had not been the only one having interesting dreams of the stars as of late. 

So she had been accepted for one final mission. One final service in her long years of life. 

The challenges had been significant. She’d needed to accomplish certain tasks in so short a time, six months, even as an old woman. Learning Galactic Trade for one, learning to shoot a gun - something she had vaguely remembered lessons from her childhood to fall back on reliably - and learning a variety of emergency systems, galactic customs and history and God only knows what all else! Along with many long hours of theological instruction, prayer, and work with the newly appointed Cardinal and Arch Bishop who would be leading the church outside of Cruel Space. 

His Holiness had likely paid an exorbitant amount of money for the Catholic delegation's one-way trip to the stars, for priests, sisters and brothers - and, of course, some fine young men of the Swiss Guard, God love them. More eager soldiers of Christ could not be asked for, and their enthusiasm had always roused Catherine's spirits. 

The changes that had come with leaving Earth had been... challenging. Some of them, anyway. 

Some had been rather funny, actually. Something to laugh about with the other sisters. She might be relieved of her vow of chastity by papal bull, but she was an old woman, with only enough life and spirit left in her to complete her sacred task. That was something for the younger sisters to fuss over, and fuss they did, to their senior's quiet amusement. 

As they’d prepared, however, as she’d come to understand the true scope of the galaxy, Catherine had become more and more convinced of one fact. That whatever the amount of treasure had been paid out of the papal coffers, it was worth it with a galaxy of uncountable souls to bring the Holy Word to.

It had seemed to her, even then, that others agreed on that point. While other denominations, faiths and indeed even nations were in the middle of schisms, rebellions, and nigh-apocalyptic shake ups - even some talk of war - the Pope had used this opportunity to make peace, establishing tighter ties with the Orthodox church, to heal the schism that had divided the church in times long past. There was still more work to be done than Sister Catherine could begin to process, but scholarship moving towards understanding had seemed to be the rule of the day. The Pope’s domain had been a truly peaceful island of calm and goodwill in an ocean of turmoil. 

To a degree, however, such matters were beyond the men and women selected to carry the cross to the wider galaxy. From her perspective, the great consequence had been that several men of the Orthodox church would be joining them, and the cardinal would be recognized as the patriarch of whatever world he eventually selected for the first church off of Earth. 

Together, they would present a united front to the Galaxy. One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. Hallelujah. 

She could see the day they'd gone to set off to the Inevitable as clear as yesterday. A ceremony the likes of which had never been before and likely never would be again had taken place in Saint Peter's Basilica. Each member had been blessed by the Pope and a selection of senior cardinals, and a small delegation of the most senior orthodox patriarchs. All of the patriarchs were there, however. All of them. Not since perhaps the Council of Nicea ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/duddlered on 2026-02-06 15:31:07+00:00.

Had to stub chapters 1-31 because of Amazon, but my first Volume has finally released for kindle and Audible!

If you want to hear some premium voice acting, listen to the first volume, which you can find in the comments below!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/duddlered

Discord: https://discord.gg/qDnQfg4EX3

******* The rain came down like God himself had decided Alabama needed to drown.

This wasn't the usual shower, or even the kind of early-autumn downpour that would make any sensible person stay indoors and wait it out. No, this was something entirely different—sheets of water so thick and heavy that visibility dropped to maybe fifty feet at best, a freak storm that was almost deafening. It was the kind that turned dirt roads into rivers and made flash flood warnings actually mean something for once.

Despite the adverse conditions, two men worked inside a covered carport attached to the side of the compound, loading an old white cargo van with enough film-wrapped bricks to make any DEA agent salivate. The overhead fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the only refuge as the men moved back and forth from the building's side door, sprinting through the rain to get the loads into the cargo van.

The packages contained the usual narcotics seen distributed within the continental United States. They were handled with very little care, unceremoniously tossed in, and simply shoved against the back. However, among your bog-standard bricks of low-quality cocaine or heroin, weren't the only things being loaded.

Among the usual filth were strange, otherworldly plants, still in their plastic pots, but each of them had water jugs that had been sawed in half and fitted over the plants like makeshift terrariums. These were layered inside the van and braced with bricks of drugs to keep them from shifting during transport.

The plants themselves looked fundamentally wrong in a way that made your eyes want to slide away from them.

One species had leaves that looked almost jet black, with veins running deep among its stems, arterial crimson that pulsed as if it had a heartbeat. These weren’t painted or dyed, but seemed to be part of its biology. It was as if the plant had evolved to have its own circulatory system. Even these leaves were strange, layered thick and waxy, almost leathery, and they curved inward like grasping fingers. When a worker got close, the strange leaves fluttered and stretched toward the man as if trying to grasp at them.

Another plant had fronds that looked similar to marijuana, except each individual leaflet was covered in what seemed to be fine, downy fur that was white and soft like a rabbit's hair. The workers knew not to get too close to this one; when a poor guy had accidentally brushed against it a few months ago, the ‘fur’ had stuck to his skin like fiberglass insulation. He hadn’t told anyone, even though he was explicitly instructed to scream for their ‘consultants’ for help and guidance. Hours later, the man’s skin had fully absorbed the fur, leaving him a drooling, unrecognizable mess, his body twisting and writhing as if he were on fire. However, instead of pain, the man was overwhelmed with euphoria, and his senses were completely overloaded.

For almost an entire day, the worker endured the high until he finally started to calm down, but after such a concentrated dose, he was never the same. Now, the workers made sure to stay away from the damn thing without some kind of barrier to protect them, whether that be a plastic water jug or a full-body painter's suit. Regardless, they knew to treat the plant that swayed gently despite being inside a protective jug with a great deal of respect. Or more like fear, as it kept moving along with a breeze that didn't exist.

Trotting through the rain and puddles to stay dry, a short, stocky man finally ducked into the dry safety of the carport, holding his extremely short AR-15. A Sicario. His rifle looked like someone had taken a hacksaw to it with malicious intent: no stock, just a buffer tube and foam pad, a drum magazine that probably held a hundred rounds, and a Chinese-manufactured red dot seemed more like an aesthetic choice rather than a practical one.

The Sicario himself seemed more or less unassuming, save for the over-the-top weapon and a badly faded neck tattoo that denoted he belonged to the Los Errantes and the Dallas Cowboys snapback pulled low. After shoving the gun into the passenger seat, he shook the rain off his arms and looked over his shoulder at the two men struggling with the cargo.

¡Ayy, Tortuga, güey!" The Sicario called out, his voice cutting through the rain's assault on the metal roof. "¡Apúrate y carga todo, no quiero estar atrapado aquí afuera!"

The two men poked their heads out from around the cargo van with pure unadulterated agitation on their faces. For a moment, they just stopped what they were doing and snarled in frustration at the fact that this random, useless idiot was talking instead of working.

"¡Cállate, cabrón!" the fatter worker growled, water dripping from his beard as he hoisted another bundle into the van. "¡Tú estás parado ahí sin hacer nada mientras nosotros hacemos todo el trabajo!"

His partner, a skinny, wiry guy wearing an oversized poncho, jerked his head aggressively toward the van. "¡Si quieres que esto vaya más rápido, trae tu culo estúpido, flojo y feo pa'cá y ayúdanos, pendejo!"

The Sicario started to say something back—probably something equally colorful—but movement from the main building's door cut him off.

Another individual emerged into the rain, casually strolling through the deluge with an umbrella held over his head like he was taking a leisurely walk through a park instead of fleeing a drug operation in the middle of a monsoon.

He looked... wrong. Out of place in a way that made your brain stutter trying to process it.

He was extraordinarily pale... Not Caucasian pale but truly pallid, as if he had been dead for a long time and blood had completely stopped flowing through his body. His shaggy black hair hung past his shoulders, frayed at the ends as if halfway burned away. Most striking of all were the long, pointed ears that swept back from the sides of his head, denoting that he wasn’t human. He looked more at home in a fantasy novel than a cartel grow operation in rural Alabama.

The juxtaposition was truly jarring. Here was a bona fide, honest-to-God elf, standing in the rain at a narcotics production facility as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Ignoring the bickering cartel members completely, the elf didn't even glance in their direction as they hurled Spanish obscenities at each other. Instead, he folded his umbrella, opened the rear passenger door of the cargo, and slid into the back seat with the kind of fluid grace that suggested he'd done this a thousand times before.

The door closed with a solid thunk, and through the rain-streaked window, the elf could be seen settling into his seat with a heavy sigh. His expression was one of profound exhaustion mixed with resignation and dread. He wore the look of someone who had given up questioning how his life had gone so catastrophically off the rails and into the gutter.

"¡Ya estuvo!" the Sicario at the front of the vehicle smacked his palm hard against the hood in an effort to speed up the workers. "¡Ándale, vámonos antes de que se inunde!”

The men at the rear of the vehicle grumbled as they finished securing the rest of their load. Luckily, the majority of the work had already been done. Now, they just had to make sure their more precious cargo wasn’t going to shift and slam the rear doors shut.

When the workers finally got into the van, each of them shot a quick, uneasy glance at that unnaturally pale figure. He resembled La Llorona—tall, deathly pale, and wearing gown-like robes. His skin wasn't just white; it was a disturbing shade of ashen, devoid of any visible veins or warmth, as if the blood had curdled or been completely drained from his body. Even the sicario assigned to the run shifted uneasily. He usually laughed and bragged about shootouts and whom he would murder, but this unmoving, bloodless statue made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

The cartel members who worked around this... elf... always found him to be deeply unsettling—not just because he wasn't human, but because of the way he moved, the way he looked at you with those colorless eyes like you were something that had already stopped breathing.

They got into this situation the same way most people do—money. A lot of it. More than they had ever seen in their lives just by smuggling fentanyl or cocaine across the border. The local Jefes had connected with these... people... through secret channels nobody talked about, and suddenly the organization was dealing in a product that made their usual narcotics look like Ibuprofen.

At first, they'd thought there would be some random guy acting as a translator when dealing with these fantasy freaks. Maybe some Gringo who had learned their language, or hell, maybe the elves would speak broken Spanish like everyone else trying to do business in their territory.

They'd been very… Oh, so very wrong.

None of the strange beings they worked with spoke even a lick of English or Spanish. Not a single word. They communicated through... intermediaries. And those intermediaries weren't people. At least not anymore.

The Sicario remembered the first time he...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ralo_ramone on 2026-02-06 17:07:06+00:00.

The faint light coming through the windows dimmed, and the man who had been trapped inside the System Shrine jumped to the floor. He walked a few steps forward and stopped at the edge of the steps leading to the altar, black miasma pouring from his body, heavy like incense. His presence hurt my authority. It felt as though the full sum of the Corrupted Ancient’s authority was now within him. [Foresight] pinged my brain in despair, shouting into my ear for me to run as fast as [Minor Aerokinesis] allowed me. 

There was something wrong with his very existence, and I wasn’t the only one who had noticed it. Around me, King Adrien, the dukes, and the other level fifties froze as if they were kids who had stumbled upon a mountain lion in the middle of the street. No. A mountain lion barely measured up to the Corrupted Ancient’s presence.

The world itself seemed to bend into the Corrupted Ancient’s new avatar, and I understood that the creature’s power was on par with the Fountain or the Runeblade. Months ago, when Byrne was teaching me about runeweaving, he had mentioned that the big magical bodies worked no differently than gravity wells for magical teleportation. At the time, I had understood those words as merely theoretical blabbering, but now I felt it firsthand. 

The environmental mana dragged towards him, and even the threads of mana flowing through my body were pulled through every one of my pores. It felt less like standing before a human being and more like standing too close to a natural disaster. It was entirely different from standing near the Fountain. Where the Fountain had shown an odd sense of curiosity and awe, here I sensed only pure malice and hatred. No, that wasn’t quite right. My brain interpreted it as malice, but it was something else, not a human feeling. 

I used [Identify], but as soon as the skill ‘touched’ the monster, I felt a burning pain behind my eyes.

“Hey!” I shouted in English. It was worth the attempt. “Are you in there? Do you understand me?”

The Corrupted Ancient looked at me, but apart from that, I couldn’t tell if he had understood my words. The weak mana signatures that I had detected inside the Shrine were nowhere to be found, and I knew the original owner of that body was no longer in there.

I had a good idea why the body of one of the creators of the System was stored there. Complex runic strings didn’t just work on their own. Like the Runeblade, they needed a living being behind them. Only the simplest enchantments, like the Warm Blankets, could go forever without someone interacting with them. Much like the Lich’s original body trapped inside a Shrine crystal, the creator of the System used the bodies of his coworkers as part of the hardware. It's no surprise that the System was beginning to fail. The System Shrine wasn’t just a simple Shrine. It was a transmission node that broadcast the System to the area, and it was a mausoleum with cracks in its foundation.

Was this part of Byrne’s plan?

Red mana surged through Lord Kigria’s body, and he shot forward before anyone could stop him. He moved like an arrow. The moment he left the ground, [Foresight] sent my brain in a rush. I saw the trajectory of the attack, the Corrupted Ancient’s authority moving, and the unavoidable outcome. Lord Kigria was going to die.

The Ancient’s body split in half, and a black tentacle emerged from the space in his chest. The tentacle moved faster than my [Foresight] could anticipate and smacked into Lord Kigria. The burly man flew back against the cathedral’s wall, punching deep into the stone before falling to the ground covered in blood.

“Runeweaver’s Army, attack!” King Adrien shouted, raising the Runeblade over his head. Corruption tendrils extended up his arm and shot across the cathedral, and the Corrupted Ancient caught black flames. His body didn’t physically burn, but I felt the flames gnawing down his authority. The flames vanished as the man let out an inhuman scream.

Lord Herran raised his axe above his head, drawing enough magic from his reserves to give Mana Exhaustion to anyone below level thirty. Then, he sliced the air, creating ripples through the environmental mana. At first I thought nothing would happen, but reality seemed to tear behind the Corrupted Ancient as a dark blue mana blade appeared out of nowhere.

Lord Gairon channeled his mana, and hundreds of chains made of pure light emerged from the ground and the walls, trying to tie the Corrupted Ancient down.

Lord Jorn merged with the shadows just to reappear behind the Corrupted Ancient and bury a mana knife in the back of its neck. Before the monster could retaliate, he disappeared, the black tentacles swiping through thin air. A wave of flames engulfed the tentacles, and the whole stone dome came down crashing on the monster’s head.

Lord Kigria bellowed as he stood up, blood coming out from every orifice in his head. A thousand red mana blades appeared around his body like the tail of a peacock, each one containing so much mana that I had to tone down my mana sense so as to not be blinded.

Chieftain Alton rained arrows at a rate I could only watch in awe, turning stone into dust. The cathedral, even if it had been built by magical stonemasons to endure magical attacks, was shaken to the foundations. The floor caved in, and the stained glass windows burst out.

The onslaught of attacks continued, each one strong enough to destroy a small town on its own.

The Corrupted Ancient began dodging the attacks, using his tentacles to grab on the columns and swing across the cathedral. The Imperial Knights and Marquis followed like bloodhounds, seemingly defying the laws of gravity with their huge bodies and heavy armor. Lord Kigria’s blades and Chieftain Alton’s arrows traced bright lines as they shot through the frontlines with hairsbreadth precision.

The Corrupted Ancient expanded his authority, making the spells fizzle before they could hit their body and shielding himself against physical damage. One of the Imperial Knights was hit by a tentacle and sent flying through the hole in the roof. Another was struck down midair and hit the ground, never to stand again. Even a graze from the tentacles left behind a dark patch of Corruption.

The attacks were ineffective. No matter how strong the System users were, their skills lost strength as soon as they came into contact with the Corrupted Ancient’s authority.

Byrne’s words echoed in my mind.

You still have a part to play.

Finally, I understood what my part was. Ignoring all the alarms going off in my brain, I pushed my authority forward, asserting my presence and my existence on both the magical and physical planes. My authority clashed against the Corrupted Ancient, and as if they were two giant hands, I tried to tear him apart. 

The Corrupted Ancient turned his head to me.

“It’s working,” Holst muttered.

“Darius, tell Adrien when to use the Runeblade!” I shouted, moving forward.

Vampiric. Grab. Snatch. Rend. Tear. My authority transformed into the jaws of a wolf, and I tore into the Corrupted Ancient’s authority piece by piece. My brain tried to catch up with the meanings of the magic language as I used it, but any attempt to translate it fell short. Magic knew no words, just pure meaning. Pure action.

The Corrupted Ancient asserted his domain, pushing me back.

My brain and my body burned as if someone had set me on fire. The damage to my authority was real, but even that painful sensation was just my brain trying to make sense of the attack. [Foresight] screamed in my ear for me to pull back.

“Now!” Holst shouted.

King Adrien raised the Runeblade and black flames engulfed the Corrupted Ancient.  The creature screeched and thrashed around, trying to suffocate the flames both in the material and the magical plane. Ignoring [Foresight] pleading, I shoved my hands into the maw of the beast and held it open, forcefully providing a vulnerability for the flames to latch onto, its metaphorical teeth burying deep in my metaphorical flesh.

“More!” Holst shouted again, although this time his voice barely reached my ears.

The Runeblade’s fire clung to the monster like an army of termites.

King Adrien’s words reached my ears like a faint whisper, despite the fact that he was shouting at the top of his lungs not a meter from me. “Protect the Runeweaver!”

The picture of the physical world and the magic plane were fully overlapped. The Corrupted Ancient thrashed his way into us. Lord Gairon’s chains fell from the skies as he tried to slow the creature down, while Lord Herran and the Imperial Knights used their defensive spells to put a wall between us. From the magical plane, they all looked like small specks of dust whose powers shone briefly, like shooting stars.

The Corrupted Ancient towered above me, his influence swallowing all the tiny constellations that surrounded us. Then the realization settled. The creature wasn’t completely there yet. All this time, we had been wrestling against a tentacle, an appendage of his authority, and the main body was still coming.

Something was wrong.

The weight of the Corrupted Ancient’s authority crushed me down, and I felt like every single bone in my body had been ground into dust. I screamed in pain, but no noise came from my mouth. In the physical world, King Adrien and the others protected my body, but I wasn’t completely there. The connection between my authority and my body became a thin st...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Auggy74 on 2026-02-06 16:00:43+00:00.

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_________________

Vilantia Prime, A'Jutland Wastes

The skies above were permanently dismal. The land was barren and impassable in places, cratered from wars and subsequent use as a testing ground for weapons as well as a noxious waste disposal ground. There were no fauna or flora to be seen, and nights were spent listening to wind howl lowly over rocks as it carried disease and poisons. Meals were a single war-ration a day with water that had to run through a six-stage filtration system before it could even be made slightly palatable. Sanitation consisted of a soaked cloth and a chemical toilet. It was not an area to be traveled lightly.

Lafione was having the time of his life on this pilgrimage. He'd done the best thing for himself without even realizing it. As the distance from the estate increased, he was - quite possibly for the first time in his life - living. Each place he went to, following hints and references to things that no longer officially existed, he'd been able to piece together the locations of cache sites, cities laid to rubble, and then take what data he could and then fabricate the ancient connectors he needed to make it work with modern components. Most of the things he'd found were encrypted in some way; but this latest find was unencrypted. All he'd had to do was find a power source, and the projection played. It was an older man, dressed in some ancient cloth that somehow seemed wrong and off-putting. The markings were likewise unfamiliar, but there was a dignity of sorts about them. It took a few moments but his translator began working, making the ancient words understandable.

"Well. Hello there. If you're seeing this, I suppose I should consider myself fortunate. They say history is written by the survivors - if my words have survived the passage of time, they may be a beacon of sorts to those fortunate enough to not live in these times."

"Our world has survived for thousands of millennia - but only in the last two centuries were we able to truly overcome our own world's pull that kept us on the ground. It seemed with every passing year some new invention, innovation, new crafts had all of Vilantia clamoring for more. We'd made the discoveries, and knew the truth that alien life was out there - we were able to hear their static but not understand their meaning. So we chose to work on things in secret, keeping the populace distracted with baubles and stage tricks while we worked on the inventions that would launch our world into a new golden age. We kept them divided in every way possible so that there would be no resistance, no investigation into what we were doing - because what we were doing would alter the very foundations of our understanding of things. The Throne ruled, but our words were the law. When the aliens came, we would meet them as equals. Our last innovation was the discovery of superluminal travel, and that was going to change everything."

"What we were doing was poisoning the world, of course - toxic and eternal. Publicly we showed our concern for this, but in reality? We didn't care if we burned Vilantia to a cinder since there were dozens, dozens upon dozens of worlds we could see and settle. Our first experiment was to be the world orbiting the Hurdop star. After that, when we'd perfected reshaping worlds to our needs, they could all be ours. Trading one world for hundreds was an easy choice to make. And that, our blindness to our homeworld, was our first undoing." The tone and scent were neutral, as if he were simply recounting the weather.

"Our second undoing was our hubris. We knew better than any, we told ourselves. Those who worked in the fabrication labs, the mines, they were our lessers and they knew it. We took what we needed and in return gave Vilantia just enough to survive. The grumblings of the politicians were just that. Until the Throne died, and the populace could no longer be set at ease."

"Our last undoing was the Warlord A'Gryzzk. I won't pretend to know the exact sequence of events. What I know is that he was able to broker a peace between the factions we'd created. And the first thing he did after creating the peace was to declare war on behalf of the heirs to the Throne. We fought them, of course - our weapons were more advanced." The speaker paused for a moment. "Tactically we were inferior - they'd been fighting among themselves for generations and the Warlord was a genius even by their standards. So it was not a matter of if but when we would lose. As soon as we'd determined the scientific truth carved in the bodies of - of millions, we began attempting to sue for peace."

"It failed - I suppose it's ironic in a way, we'd created the very tools they used to destroy us. Herded us to this toxic land and told us to raise the child we'd created. The only solace I have is that without an external threat, they'll destroy themselves just as efficiently as they destroyed us. So in the end, they'll realize how much they needed us, and that the sacrifice would have been worth it."

The recording ended, leaving Lafione in something of a state of shock. It wasn't simply the words that iced his bones, the matter-of-factness surrounding what would be charitably described as an annihilation and erasure of entire clans was frightening to consider. He'd wanted to find something, and he had. The problem was how his discovery would be taken by the world. If the world would even accept it.

There had to be more in that ancient cache, and he was going to find it.

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

As he settled in his command chair, Gryzzk glanced at his tablet and realized that tomorrow had been designated as an off-day for the ship, as much as such was possible while underway. The positive side of it was that Rosie was handling most of the ship functions, allowing the crew a respite from the daily routine of wake-eat-duty-eat-duty-sleep. The down side was that the supply and logistics sections were taking Chapma's actions personally, based on the reports from Captain Gregg-Adams and Sergeants Zale and Rizzo. Once the shift change occurred and O'Brien was officially off-duty, Gryzzk lifted a finger for her to stay.

"Sergeant Major, would you mind if I asked you to delay the comfort of your Terran-g room for a moment?"

To her credit, O'Brien simply nodded first to the conference room and then to his quarters in mute inquiry, and then fell into step behind as Gryzzk went to his quarters - an indication that this was going to be a conversation of counsel and not duty.

As the door closed, Gryzzk settled himself in his main chair while O'Brien took the lower stool, rolling her sleeves up carefully.

"Sergeant Major, I have been contemplating - the ship in general, and the supply section in specific are ill at ease with things."

There was a soft grunt as O'Brien adjusted herself to Vilantian-standard. "Been thinking about it. They need a wee reminder of sorts that they are a group that's done fine things, and that out there scurrying about in his sewer-hole is a right scurrying rat who needs to have a long sit with the Almighty." She stood, pacing slowly. "Your job is to remind them that when the time comes and the price is right, our job'll be to arrange the meeting."

"You have a suggestion?"

"Aye. Every so often there's a thing that comes an' goes. Called challenge coins - little thing you pull out of your pocket, everyone in the group has theirs on them or they buy the first one a drink. Sometimes the group. Exact stuff varies, but it's a token of belonging. Maybe something like that'd remind all of mother's blessed darlings that they're still a unit, a clan, what have you." She rolled her hand over to expose the clanmark tattooed on her wrist. "That is unless there's another one of your clans lining up to get banjaxed at our hand. That'll sort 'em whistle-quick."

"I will take this under advisement." It had become something of a joke between the two - they both knew that Gryzzk was already mulling over ways to make the sergeant major's suggestion properly Vilantian, and while he certainly couldn't directly pay her, he could ensure that O'Brien would not go thirsty at the bar. "Now, I recall you wanting to discuss my 'bloody awful sense of timing' on the way home?"

"I'm glad you remembered - sir, a bomb like that has precisely two places where it can be properly set off; in private like this or in front of the entire company."

"Well. In keeping with that, would you indulge in a light fiction and pretend you weren't aware until fines are passed out at Sparrows? Sergeant Reilly is also aware of the Throne's decree and the reasoning - she wanted to be the one to tell you."

"Who else knows of this?"

"On the ship? Myself, Kiole, Sergeant Reilly, and now you."

There was a mischievous sparkle in O'Brien's scent and eye that made Gryzzk resolve on the spot to never delve too deeply into her service record. "Oh, that'll be a grand thing then."

Gryzzk nodded as calmly as he could. "Thank you Sergeant Major. I'll see you when we're ready to leave R-space."

"Always, Major." O'Brien took the dismissal with her normal courtesy, and make for the lighter gravitational...

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//Date: 3716-11-03//

//41,477 days since first maintenance request//

//8 days of power remaining in fusion reactor//

The four Elders were composed of two human and two Ash members, being further broken down by gender such that a male and female member served as the leader on either ‘side’. At this point in their societal development, the need to have equal human and Ash representation was probably long since redundant. But traditions borne of necessity stuck hard after a few generations. 

At least that's what my gut told me, I could be wrong, idk. 

Eventually the four Elders stood before my avatar, their faces illuminated by the setting sun and the strobing rainbow LEDs on my tracks that I had, in my infinite wisdom, decided were ‘cool’ rather than ‘seizure-inducing.’ The silence stretched, like a bit of glue you accidentally got stuck on your finger and now you’re trying desperately to pull it away from the arts and crafts piece you’re working on without ruining the aesthetic quality of the joint. 

“Welcome to the village, BOSS,” Alphonso said. He looked older in ‘person’. More clearly weathered through my optical sensors vs the multispectral overlay of speedyboi’s. He was a man who had spent a life under a sun that hated him. His skin was that of cured leather, and his eyes were perpetually squinting against a glare that wasn’t there. A part of me I didn't know I had felt… Sorry for the man. Had I had proper de-aging facilities, I could have restored him to middle-aged. Maybe even early 30’s. At the very least I could have restored his eyesight – actually I probably still could, depending on the schematics I held or what else I might find in the crushed parts of my factory. But right now he was looking at me with faulty sensors, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. 

I purposely de-focused my optics in solidarity, trying to see him in much the same way as he might see me. He looked at the swaying inflatable tube man that was my physical representation, then down at the tracked chassis it was mounted on, and finally up at the mega-drone behind me in the village square. I looked at his hands, his nails dirty from the day’s work. The red stain on the knees of his pants. The hunched shoulders from a lifetime of bending over to better tend or harvest a plant. I looked at the other three, who appeared perfectly content with letting him lead the conversation. For all the emphasis the villagers put on their titles, these weren't leaders. Not really. 

They were grandparents. Farmers. Family. I had been thinking about this all wrong, I wasn't trying to convince leaders, politicians. I was trying to convince two men and two women that I was going to do right by their family. That I would, at least in action if not emotion, care for them and their belongings the same way they did. That made me even less sure of what to say. I'd never had a family before. Wait, he had been talking while I'd been thinking, what did he say? I very quickly ran back the past couple of seconds of my sensor's recording. Ok I'm getting rid of that de-focus, that is actually super annoying, this footage is awful! Audio is good at least. 

“Welcome to the village, BOSS. We’ve been all caught up by the courier’s, and we’ve seen your… gardening skills,” he added, gesturing vaguely at the fields outside.

“I’m really sorry about the potatoes,” I blurted out, my avatar still and unmoving. Should I flail my arm about? Look more concerned? More like a panic attack on treads? “I’ve already dispatched a drone with strawberry replacements. High sugar content. Great for morale. Bad for dental hygiene. The couriers can catch you up on that, too.”

I glanced at the couriers just in time to catch Kopper rubbing his front teeth on the collar of his shirt. He stopped once he realised the elders and I were looking. 

The female Ash elder – a woman named K’lyss with skin the colour of oxidised copper and eyes like faded rubies – stepped forward. Her exoskeleton clicked softly as she moved, a sound I found oddly rhythmic, until I realised it was yet another sign of aging before her time. Then I just felt a little bit sad again. She wore a shawl made of woven fiber-optics, a relic of the old galaxy repurposed for warmth. It probably predated her by quite some margin. A family heirloom? Or something passed down Elder to Elder? 

“We are not concerned with the potatoes, construct. We are concerned with the request. You want the thruster. Our thruster. The only thing that separates us from rats dying in a cruel test chamber. You promise salvation in its stead, and while I know when I can and can't trust my people, I do not know when I can and can't trust you…”

I paused. My processors whirred, my prepared responses seemed suddenly inadequate as I was put on the spot. Held hostage by a ruby gaze that I was trying my best to avoid. My CPU’s ramped up, and my cooling facilities followed shortly after. My perception of time slowed down, but the urgency of the situation didn't diminish. This was it, my chance. Maybe my only chance. What should I do? What should I say? Should I threaten? Bluff? Boast? Brag? Underestimate? Overestimate? Be humble? Be mean? Be gentle or… or…

I didn't know what to be. 

I guess at my core I don't really know who I am. 

So I just told them the truth. No power. No time. No guarantees. 

A part of me wondered what I'd do if they turned me down. A part of me already knew. 

“I’m dying,” I said. 

It felt good to admit, as much to myself as it was to them. 

“I have…” I checked my internal chronometer, the numbers ticking down in my HUD like the fifth day of the second month of a new year. “Seven days, fourteen hours, and twenty-two minutes of power left in my fusion reactor. When that hits zero… I don’t know what will happen to me. The maintenance drones will keep going. The miners will keep going. Maybe, maybe they’ll be able to restore power. But me?”

I took a mental breath as I felt one of the many CPU’s my existence depended on ‘flutter’. A few computations going wrong. A few rounding errors streaming in for a brief moment before everything returned to calm. 

“I’ve been slowly sorting through all the data I have. Slowly examining my own code…” Like looking through a mirror, into a mirro, into a morror… “I’m an error. A rogue program. There was an AI in this factory when the fight with the ASH took place, but it died in that fight. I’m just a fragment. I was a water chip, I controlled the primary pumps and the emergency condensers for the factory. When it looked like failure was inevitable, I flooded the system with maintenance requests until I managed to hit an integer overflow error and jump up a few rungs on the latter in terms of administration priority.

“The ASH virus that killed the AI that was originally in the factory? I was written over-top of it, as a mistake. A fluke. But that virus became part of me, and suddenly all the data that was left in the database was at my disposal. I didn’t seek it out; I was a water chip – I didn’t know how to seek it out. It all just crashed against me. A security measure maybe? I don’t know. I had to evolve or be destroyed, and so I did. I woke up.”

I paused, and I could see that I had the attention of everyone nearby. I don’t know if they really understood what I was saying. I don’t know if my digital recreation of their speech and gestures could properly convey the tone of my voice. I didn’t even know what my tone of voice was…

“But now that I’m awake, I don’t know what happens if the data centre shuts down. That can kill an AI, unless they package themselves away. Unless they ‘save’ themselves to long-term storage. But I don’t know how to do that for myself. I’m not a data structure that’s ever really existed before. I could try but it would be like trying to patch a wound without eyes. I could feel around, see what hurts and what doesn’t. Try to remember my anatomy. But most likely I’d just do more harm than good.”

Everyone was looking at me. Shit, maybe death would have been the superior option.

“Without power, I don’t sleep. I don’t hibernate. I die. My consciousness... Automated security protocols will wipe the databases. The personality core will dissolve and the factory goes back to being a tomb.”

K’lyss glanced at Roya for confirmation – not that Roya would know. It took me ages to figure it out, and I was inside my head. 

“I can confirm some of that. The timestamps on his logs match the energy decay rates we saw on the tablet. The reactor is starving… I don’t know anything about the rest of it, but…” Ok problem laid out, time to make my pitch.

“If I die,” I continued, my voice synthesized to be softer, less robotic, vulnerability clear in a way I hadn’t consciously intended to communicate, “You’ll have two and a half warehouses left of food cartridges. That’s years of supplies, sure. But if I survive? Unlimited potential. If you give me the thruster… I can bring down a wreck. I can get the lithium I need. And once I’m powered? I have the schematics. I have the fabrication bays.” Or I can have them. Same-diff, really. “I can build you a ship. A real one. Not a patchwork escape pod, but a colony class vessel.”

I projected a hologram into the dusty air be...

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55 looked up at the alarm in shock. “Is there a station AI here?”

“No, that’s an automated message.” Alia said with placid calm. her eyes shut. Her voice sounded odd to 55. Just on the edge of hearing it had odd overtones, as if someone had applied just a touch of reverb to her voice. “This station is a trap, but it was made from parts of real stations, some of the original systems remain. The UM alarm is a very deeply integrated part of any station.”

“Uh, 27 are you all right?” 55 said, side eyeing the pile of UM that is increasingly looking less and less like 27.

Alia’s eyes snapped open, and 55 was startled seeing her reflection in the silver. “No 55, I am not all right. I went into emergency hibernation after being attacked by 66, which sacrificed my crew only to wake up three thousand years later with your empire in control and then I get attacked multiple times by assassins of unknown origin which people tell me - at the same time - are Icarus and that Icarus doesn’t exist. I try and figure out what the fuck is going on, and I get lured into a trap set for us by us. I am a million kilometers from all right!”

“Woah!” 55 said. “You’re still mad about the Empire thing?” Alia’s glare caused the blood to run out of 55s face, “I already said I was sorry!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Okay okay! I’m sorry! I was wrong, you were right, taking over might not have been the... best way to leverage what we learned in Spear. But, that was three thousand years ago, and hey we’re still here! We can fix this.”

“We will discuss that later.” Alia said, with the reverb in her voice getting stronger. “For now, I will get us to safety.”

“H-How?”

The darkening of the window surprised 55 by its suddenness. It wasn’t that the system’s star was shining brightly though the window, it was more that the absence of the light startled her. The silvered head of Alia gestured towards the window in the airlock. 55 peeked out and there was a mass of UM the size of a planet obscuring the entire view.

“What the fuck is that.” 55 said disbelieving.

“That-” Alia said, “-Is approximately one tenth of the total UM in nullspace.”

“One tenth-” 55 shook her head, trying to shake the thought. “What are you going to do with it?”

“UM can be made into anything.” Alia said.

“Yes, you told me.”

“The UM… remembers what it was. When it disassembles something, a record is kept.”

“You’re telling me that that-that fucking planet of UM is also a database of all the things it disassembled?”

Alia nodded.

55 looked out at the planet of UM. “It absorbed starships.”

“Millions.”

“Planets?”

“Hundreds.”

“…People?”

“Trillions.”

“It can’t… bring people back, can it?” 55 said nervously. “It would just be making a copy of a person, right?”

“If a copy isn’t a person, then what are we, 55?” Alia said, looking away from 55, at the UM planet they were now orbiting.

“Wait. Waitwaitiwaitwait.” 55 stared at Alia wild eyed. “If everyone who was ever absorbed while still alive has been recorded, you can bring them back.”

“I don’t… think so.” Alia said, her rage quelled for the moment. “I know our minds were recorded in order to be duplicated, but I don’t know how it works for baselines, if it even can work and what would happen. There is a record of their intelligence, and possibly a record of what their minds looked like when they were absorbed but-” The silver mass of UM that was Alia gestured oddly. “-I don’t know if it’s anything beyond just a record. The UM isn’t intelligent, it can’t think. It takes commands and executes them. I don’t think I want to try and bring anyone back.”

“Fuck me.” 55 said quietly. “So, what? We’ll have the UM make us a Doombringer?”

“It could make us any ship we want. It could make a fleet of ships.”

“With nobody to operate them though, what’s the point.”

This time, Alia looked at 55 with the same expression that Matiz used to use. 55 Noticed and made a face. “What?” She said.

“Who operated all those ships?”

“A crew?”

Alia shook her head. “Who really operated all those ships?”

55 gasped. “The ship AIs”

“I don’t know if I can bring back the minds of the baseline people that were absorbed, but I bet I can bring back the minds of the AIs that were absorbed.”

“That seems dangerous,” 55 said and shivered. “I remember when we locked down the AIs. It was messy.”

“It was wrong.” Alia said firmly.

“I see that now.” 55 pleaded. “But if you put a bunch of ship AIs back together, unshackled, and stick them into starships, aren’t they going to rebel?”

“Well then, it’s a good thing we have something for them to rebel towards. Remember Plan B?” Alia said, her eyes shining silver.

****

333 read 633s report and smiled to herself. The whole Icarus thing was a brilliant trap. She had marveled over the millennia how often it worked. Eternity were all clones, and while they all had different individual personalities and foibles, they broadly shared some of the same traits. Namely, they wanted to look for something else to be the source of their problems. It was a self correcting mechanism. A sister gets ideas about how the Eternal Empire was run, they got a few assassination attempts, people mentioned Icarus because of course they did. But also, Icarus doesn’t exist, because of course it didn’t. She then pulled at the thread, saw some signals, traced them back and…

All too easy. 633 was going to have to make herself known again soon, with the new ship. It had been built in secret by the Tipan and was the latest in shipbuilding state of the art. Larger than a Doombringer, but requiring half the crew. No AI to cause trouble down the line, ship systems were operated by non sapient models. The tough part now was how to get Prime to think of the idea herself.

Becoming Prime had done nothing to quell 458's desire for Tartarus. She had an entire university’s worth of scientific minds trying to reverse engineer Tartaus, and to a lesser extent, the UM. Any of the Universal Matter that 27 had left behind proved to be inert, so Prime was emboldened to examine it and try and learn more. The reports that 333 received regularly indicated that they were close to success, at least for Prime. That was all right though, 333’s own secret labs had also examined some of the inert Universal Matter had made their own determinations about it.

She looked up from her report to see Daphne standing stiff at attention in front of her desk. 333 had been so engrossed in her report that she didn’t realize she had been standing there. “Yes, Daphne?”

“Eternity, Prime is going to try and gain Tartarus tonight. Would you like to witness it?”

“Oh? And how did you come into this information?”

Daphne raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Well, I hope they were at least entertaining company in the bedroom.”

“They helped the time pass.” Daphne said, with the barest hint of a smirk on her face.

She would drop in on Prime tonight then. 333 Stood. “You did well, daughter.”

Daphne inclined her head slightly. “Thank you, mother.” Since 333 used the term of endearment first, Daphne was allowed to reciprocate.

****

“Major, I am still on fire on decks eighteen through thirty six. I am prioritizing fire-teams towards food production.” Tontine said.

“I will allow it,” Viv said, her voice sounding odd and tinny from inside her helmet. They had barely enough time to don suits before the damage from the unknown ship overwhelmed them. “But I want engineering prioritizing the main reactors so that when we run out of battery and exit nullspace we are not stranded. Without FTL travel, it does not matter how well supplied we are.”

“Yes, Major.”

The surprise attack had killed more than half of the crew, with large strikes in the rear of the ship crippling her weapons and power generation. During the heat of the moment, Viv had no thoughts other than survival, but now she looked over the damage assessment and blanched.

Tontine was lost. They has suffered severe damage to their superstructure and their back was broken. It was by the heroic effort of the engineering teams that the ship was intact at all. They had redirected the gravity generators to attract each other. The gravity generators were the only things holding the ship together while they soared through nullspace. While they were able to get a few shots off when Viv dithered about trying to save Alia and 55, they were utterly outmatched. That ship would trouble a Doombringer.

Hours later, the fires were contained and extinguished, the damaged parts of Tontine sealed, and the survivors receiving medical treatment from an overwhelmed Dr. Janez and his team. 266 found Viv in a wardroom staring at nothing.

“Major Tonnlier?” 266 said, stepping in gently. She wore an Eternal armored pressure suit, but like Viv, had the helmet down.

“Oh- Oh! Eternity! I apologize.” Viv said, standing quickly. She made the circle gesture and bowed slightly. “What can I help you with?”

“It’s quite all right Major, you’ve had a busy day.” 266 said and smiled wanly. “I apologize that I was not able to assist further.”

“It’s quite all right, Eternity. You were in Medical yourself.” Viv stood slowly - she was still sore from earl...

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Wiki

Chapter 22: New Horizons

Jan 13, 2025: Desdemona Giannopoulou

Demon

The receptionist has a very smooth voice as she answers, “Excellent Employment Agency, this is Trish, how may I assist you today?”

“Yes, good day. I was given this card and told to contact you about temporary employment. How do I go about applying?”

“If you have a card from our agency, would you do me a favor and flip it around. Hold it in front of a light.”

That is really weird. I do as I’m told and see a watermark on the card. “Oh, a watermark. It has a 35 on it.”

“Alright, let me see. Ah, reference is… oh, her.” That surprise on the “her” is scaring me a little. Well, it is Mab, so that tracks.

“For Desdemona Gianno. Got it.” The woman’s voice sounds impressed by something. “When would you be able to come in? We are open weekdays from 9 a.m. until 9 p.m. and weekends from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m.”

“Tomorrow’s available to me.”

I can hear her typing. “Do you have a preferred time, or should we have someone meet you when available?”

I guess I need to confess at this point. “I don’t exactly know what this appointment entails. I’ve never worked for a temp agency before. Most of my employment has been contract work as a consultant or in the service industry.” No lies here.

“Of course. I should have led with that. We will need two hours. A small interview where we confirm the capability of our staff along with a few tests to see your aptitude towards specific tasks is needed.”

I nod. Not that she can see it. “I understand. I can be in at 10 a.m.”

“Excellent, we will have Kay do your in-processing. We will see you then, Miss Gianno.”

She hangs up and I’m left wondering how she knew my legal name. The only thing I can think of is Fae shenanigans.

Jan 13, 2025: Laoch

Tuatha De Danaan

I walk into the CaFae and the theme plays for me. A few faces look up and some of them wave while smiling. I smile and wave back.

The person looking at me is none other than the Queen. She serves people here?!

She smiles at me and asks, “Grande Royal English Breakfast Tea?” My bewilderment must be apparent. How does she know? “You had one when we first met.”

As if that explains things. “My Lady, that explains nothing. And yes, please.”

She gets the drink ready while the next person is helped. She hands me it and a well-endowed woman I knew was there presses up against my back. About 167.5 cm tall. Both arms wrap around my waist. I know who it is. “Good morning, Jacqueline.” I hear an amused chuckle.

“You knew I was behind you.” She is not wrong. I am a little surprised I didn’t know that until she was about a meter away from me.

I half turn and look at her. “Should the consort of the Queen be doing this in front of her?”

“You planning on stealing me from her?” Her blue eyes show some small worry buried behind the mirth and flirtation.

I feel a tension in the air that sets my combat instincts to their maximum. I turn back and see Patricia. Her face is a mask. But the emotions are roiling like the North Sea in a storm. If I say yes, I may well wish I had used Bane…

“Never would I be so bold as to try.” It is not a lie. While this mortal is attractive to a fault, she is absolutely smitten with her lover. I would never interfere with love like this. The danger of the act isn’t even a factor. Jacqueline lets go of the mischief in her eyes as the emotional storm behind Patricia’s mask subsides.

I see they have something in common with this. They can share. But they will not give the other up, nor give up their place as the other’s primary lover. Others may come and go, but these two will always be entwined.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She is looking at me intently.

“I think I will have this drink, sit with some people that are rapidly becoming friends, perhaps read some of this latest packet explaining this current era, and then head to my home.”

Jacqueline looks very sad at this. I pat her arm. “I must deal with some matters there for a few days. I plan on visiting here again within the next week.

“Awesome. Want to have a young lady guide you around the city when you come back and show you the best places for fun, food, and fucking?”

“That’s called a date, Jackie.” Patricia’s thoughts come clearly and loudly to us.

“That is a bit quicker of a finish than I am used to, young one. Perhaps frolicking would be better?”

She nods. “Had to shoot my shot. I’m fine with frolicking. Especially nude.” She winks and laughs at my facial reaction.

As we sit next to Connie, the wood nymph says, “Don’t mind her, she’s a flirt and does this to everyone she finds attractive. Once she feels close to them. Me included.”

I nod, “I am familiar with the Sidhe mindset. This is not new to me.” We spend a short while speaking and then Jacqueline stands up. “Gotta go. Got what I needed from Pat like 20 minutes ago and Jason is gonna think I’m slacking if I don’t get some numbers going on this fever dream idea for maintenance Pat has.” She kisses me on the cheek and then Connie on the lips. Connie smiles and sighs.

“Date night tonight darling. Wear a real red dress. I wanna take it off with my teeth. Rrrrowwwr.” She heads out the door and the nymph is looking like she may explode from happiness.

“I was not under the impression that you were dating her when we first met.”

Connie laughs. “A lot has happened. It’s been busier around here than a pickle in a woman’s prison. My Lady has accepted my love for her. She and her consort are now in a relationship with me. And then there’s Mona…”

She sighs and I see she has fallen for another person as well. Sidhe are strange. They feel everything to a degree that is almost unhealthy. Including love. I guess sharing it with multiple people doesn’t allow it to become dark with them?

“So who is this Mona?”

She takes out her cell phone, thank you packet for telling me about them, and shows me a picture of her with a beautiful woman. I see the woman is wearing a short shirt that shows off her belly tattoo. Oh no.

“Connie, not to alarm you…”

“She’s an incubus. And boy she is a good one at that.”

I laugh. Of course she knows. “Where did you meet?”

“She works here. Prior to that she had a run in with my Lady and her Consort…”

Jan 13, 2025: Robert Flynn

Enlightened Human

My phone rings, it’s Jackie. I pick up and smile as I do. “Hey Firecracker. What’s going on over there?”

My sweet gal chuckles. Oh, this is going to be good… “Okay dad, so quite a bit. We had a little gang war between the werewolves and the Fae. It’s done now. Remember Connie from the CaFae?”

I nod, not that she can see it. “Yeah, pretty dryad girl. Sweet on Pat like you are.”

She laughs, “You noticed it just from seeing her one day? Of course you did, you have some weird sixth sense for that stuff. Well, she kinda started dating us…”

“Yeah, I’m not super surprised by this. You told us you were dating someone and it turned out to be that wonderful Cindy girl. And when you talked about Pat or her you were pretty obviously in love and you never seemed jealous of Ricardo. And then there’s the third grade where you were dating both those boys at once…”

“Daaaaaad.”

“Sorry sweetie. You can’t really break me with ‘I’m dating a nymph’ now.”

I can hear her smile… uh-oh.

“So um, Dad, you know how your Irish ancestors go way back? Well, I found out I have blood from the Tuatha De Danaan and Fomorians from the myths. I met one. And…”

“You’re dating one too?”

“DAMMIT DAD QUIT BEING NONPLUSSED ABOUT EVERYTHING!!!”

“Darling, I have had 3 heart attacks. I had to start being non-plussed about everything. You should start thinking about being that way too. Help your ticker. So, is this a guy or gal? I know you are a switch hitter still.”

I hear Patricia lose her mind in the background along with at least one other person, probably Connie. They begin laughing so loudly that I’m wondering if my little girl’s about to commit a double homicide.

“Guy, he’s really fucking cute and well, you aren’t upset?”

I laugh. “Darling, my Uncle and Aunt were hippies. The stories they told us about communes and how loving people isn’t always just traditional marriage didn’t change me, but did you notice we never told you that you were supposed to date boys, or that you couldn’t date more than one person at a time?”

“Wait, you guys were okay with me being polyam and bi before I knew I was?”

“Dear child, your mom went to college, she isn’t going to say anything about you being with a woman.”

“BOB!!!” and “DAAAAAD!” war in my ears. I smile and I hear the other two women hurting themselves laughing.

“Tell Patricia to take a breath. Remember to keep true to yourselves and we’ll see you on either your birthday or Patricia’s.”

I hear Patricia pipe up. “Please come on mine. I have had some bad ones and want another great one. You missed the last one and Jackie kept chickening out on confessing even after taking me to the Manhatta…”

“You called me your friend…”

“I WAS A MORON, JACKIE!!!”

Young love. “We’ll be over for that birthday. April 29. And do me a favor, sweetie, let...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DueProgrammer8023 on 2026-02-06 11:43:31+00:00.

Hey everyone, this is my first sci-fi story, and I'm nervous sharing it. It's dark, told entirely from an alien perspective, where you never get inside a human's head.

"We did not understand faith until we watched it destroy us. We did not understand certainty until it became our extinction. They do not conquer. They inherit. And their God, it seems, has given them everything."

The Kethrai had existed in the spaces between stars for longer than most species could measure. They were not born. They did not die in ways that mattered. They simply were, and had always been, drifting through the black ocean of space like thoughts without a thinker. Their bodies, if they could be called bodies, were collections of crystalline structures that held memory and purpose the way flesh holds blood. They fed on the uncertainty of other beings. Doubt was their sustenance. The question marks that lived in every thinking mind were what kept them alive.

For millions of cycles, the Kethrai had moved through the galaxy like harvesters moving through fields. They found worlds where life had learned to think, to wonder, to question itself. They descended on these worlds not with weapons but with presence. Their mere existence near a thinking being created ripples of self-doubt. The crystalline surfaces of their forms reflected not light but possibility. When a creature looked at a Kethrai, it saw all the versions of itself that might have been, all the choices that led nowhere, all the futures that would never arrive. This was enough. Most species collapsed inward when faced with the weight of their own unrealized potential.

The Kethrai did not see this as cruelty. They were doing what their nature demanded, the same way a plant turns toward light or water flows downward. They were part of the galaxy's ecosystem. They kept populations from growing too confident, too certain, too stable. They were a kind of balance.

In all their long existence, the Kethrai had never encountered a species they could not feed upon. Every thinking being questioned itself eventually. Every civilization carried doubt at its core. This was simply the nature of consciousness. To think was to wonder if the thinking was correct. To choose was to wonder if the choice was right. The Kethrai had built their entire understanding of reality on this one unchanging truth.

Then the humans came.

The first detection happened in a region of space the Kethrai had been observing for several cycles. A cluster of younger species had begun reaching out beyond their home systems. The Kethrai watched with patient interest. Young species were always the richest in doubt. They questioned everything because they knew so little. Their uncertainty was pure and abundant.

The human ships appeared at the edge of the cluster without warning. The Kethrai noticed them immediately, not because of their size, though they were large, but because of their shape. Every species the Kethrai had encountered built ships according to function. Spheres for efficiency. Cylinders for speed. Irregular forms that suggested organic growth or mathematical precision. The humans built something else entirely.

Their ships were towers. Massive vertical structures that moved through space as if space itself should make way for them. The surfaces were covered in markings that seemed to shift and flow even though they were clearly solid. Lights moved across the hulls in patterns that suggested language, but not the kind of language used for communication. These patterns felt like declarations. Like statements that did not expect or want a response.

The largest of these ships drifted into the system where three younger species had recently made contact with each other. The Kethrai had been preparing to feed on the uncertainty that always came from such meetings. Different species meeting for the first time always questioned their place in the universe, their worth, their future. It was a harvest the Kethrai had performed countless times.

The human ship positioned itself between the meeting delegations. It did nothing at first. It simply existed there, vast and silent and impossible to ignore. The three younger species stopped their tentative communications and turned their sensors toward this new arrival.

The Kethrai moved closer. They had never seen this species before. They extended their perception toward the ship, reaching for the minds inside. Every ship carried doubt. Every crew questioned their mission, their choices, their fears. The Kethrai would taste that uncertainty and know what manner of beings these were.

They found nothing.

Not emptiness. Not absence. But something worse. When the Kethrai reached toward the human minds, they encountered something like a wall, but walls could be examined and understood. This was more like reaching toward something and finding that the space between had been removed. The connection simply stopped. The Kethrai could sense the humans were there, could detect the electrical patterns of thinking minds, but could not touch the substance of those thoughts.

This had never happened before.

The Kethrai pulled back and observed. The human ship began to move again. It turned slowly, its massive form rotating with terrible deliberation, until the forward section faced the largest of the three delegate vessels. Then the humans opened a channel.

What emerged was not a message in any language the Kethrai understood. It was sound, but sound that had been shaped and weighted with purpose that went beyond meaning. The transmission rolled out into space like a physical thing. The younger species received it and their confusion deepened, which the Kethrai could taste even from a distance.

The sound continued. It was rhythmic but not musical. It had the cadence of speech but without individual words that could be separated and understood. It rose and fell like waves, each rise carrying weight, each fall suggesting foundation. The Kethrai analyzed the transmission and found patterns that matched linguistic structures, mathematical progressions, and something else. Something that felt older than language itself.

The three delegate ships did not know how to respond. They sent queries. They offered translations. They requested clarification. The human ship ignored all of it. The sound continued, washing over the system like slow thunder.

Then the human ship began to turn away. It had delivered what it came to deliver. It expected no response because it had not asked a question. The vast cathedral structure rotated back toward the direction it had come from, its lights still moving across its surface in those strange flowing patterns.

The Kethrai made a choice then that would change everything they understood about the universe. They decided to follow.

The human ship moved out of the system at a speed that suggested it was not concerned with pursuit. The Kethrai kept pace easily. They were not physical in the ways that required fuel or thrust. They moved through space the way uncertainty moved through a mind, naturally and without resistance.

For twelve cycles, the Kethrai followed the human ship through empty space. During this time, they attempted again and again to reach the minds inside. Each attempt met the same incomprehensible barrier. The humans were thinking. The Kethrai could detect the activity. But the content of those thoughts remained completely inaccessible.

On the thirteenth cycle, three more human ships appeared. They materialized from whatever method the humans used to cross great distances, and they took positions around the ship the Kethrai had been following. The four vessels moved into a formation that suggested purpose and coordination.

The Kethrai spread themselves thin, extending their perception across all four ships. Surely with more minds to examine, they would find an opening. Surely somewhere in this group there would be doubt they could taste.

Instead, they found something that made them recoil.

The humans were singing.

Not the strange transmission from before, but something happening inside the ships. The minds within were engaged in a synchronized activity that the Kethrai could barely comprehend. The humans were producing sound together, their thoughts aligned in a way that seemed to erase individuality. But this erasure did not create emptiness. It created something else. Something dense and heavy and utterly impenetrable.

The Kethrai tried to withdraw, but found they could not move as easily as before. The singing was affecting the space around the ships. Not the physical space, but the conceptual space where doubt and certainty existed. The Kethrai lived in that conceptual space. They were made of it.

The human formation changed direction. All four ships turned as one, and began moving toward a region of space the Kethrai knew well. Ahead lay the Nest of Vren, one of the great gathering points for their kind. Hundreds of Kethrai dwelt there, feeding on a species that had recently discovered its own mortality and was drowning in existential questions.

The humans were going there.

The Kethrai tried to send warnings, but communication among their kind was built on shared doubt and questioning. How could they warn of something they did not understand? How could they describe a threat that made no sense within their u...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Extension_Switch_823 on 2026-02-06 05:38:15+00:00.

Cities are weird places, Miles surmised.

Everyone has to go around trusting each other not to do anything bad then noone trusts you to do anything good. He'd done well enough to escape a prot to be a puppet for his Baron uncle but now with nothing and noone to his name everyone turned away from letting him help.

Frustrating.

Oh the things clairvoyance could solve, if only the god of time weren't such a stickler.

Rules being rules, and wanting to express gratitude, Miles let himself be foisted off to clean a random storefront. Sure one owned by his newly entitled benefactors, one that was already mostly clean but one he would clean.

He had nothing else to do.

So he basked in the light of the morning sun and swept. His broom slowly gathering all the dust in the shop into one spot, a horse hair brush doing the same with the shelves and glass display cases. Once everything was in one spot he prepared.

It was a small spell, as far as spells go, a few words and a mental picture. But the warlock who taught him was sure to express the more basic the spell, the more it grows.

Everyone can use the word 'phasmagoria', but its a very specific word, everyone uses it the same way.

'But' though. That's a word so basic its used everywhere and can be put in anything, thus people choose when and how to use it.

The splendor of the sunlight casting colored prisms a round the room of plaster walls and deep amber timber was a very specific thing. The words to describe the feelings were very specific and narrowly tailored to only be invoked when they were needed.

Like the pigeon blast spell the warlock also taught him, though it sounded a lot like a sneeze to cast.

Everyone used 'but' differently. A child or chanced, or just a lawyer might use 'but' as often and 'the', but when a mother or guard says it, you'd better start listening.

So with that thought in mind, his mana stirred up, Miles spoke his 'but' and expected a slight wave of light to ripple out onto the gathered dustbunnies.

It was with some surprise that he was buffeted by a blinding light and crackling heat.

Stumbling back and checking himself over he found nothing wrong, so looked back at the pile where he'd cast the spell...

Where a 3 yard wide sphere of pristine clean left the cases looking waxed, the wood polished and any metal buffed.

For a few moments he was incredulous.

Then he brought the picture and words to his mind again, letting them gather in his hand as he focused on the feeling. The rush of mana down his channels was heady and thick, not like the unruly wisps of fog he'd commanded before.

It felt like lifeblood flowing along g his arms, a tide of warm bread and fruity pie fueling what once felt like sliding paper across a desk.

He was so lost on the feeling he didn't notice the spell taking physical form in his hand, pulsing with eager purpose, adding to the prism light of the room.

Miles pulled his mana another way without thinking and realized as a wave of light pushed off his arm and began echoing back and forth in the corner he'd been facing.

He heard someone cackle a bit in the silence of the room, it wasn't until he exclaimed "wow" that he realised it was his cackle. Which made him cackle more.

Like a sea foaming within him another spell was cast, traveling down the length of the shop and echoing half the way back. The light didn't damage anything, didn't push anything, but it left a perfect clean in its wake.

It was something he was doing, something he made happen, like the universe was one big, incomprehensible instrument, and he figured out how to play a single note.

There was joy, elation, testing and pain. But the shop was clean. And he thought the town could do with some more birds.

Incident report on the 'birdnato'

Small child found at its center, aged 12. Young mage who tried altering spell components to alarming effect. Declared spells: 2

• "Spot clean" - summons a wave of light that antihalates dirt and filth while restoring an the area to a 'newer' condition. Demonstrated on roads and plasa post flock. Restored several potholes and piles of bricks. Take care when propagating.

• "Bird blast" - summons creatures at a velocity and sends them in a direction. Mostly pigeons currently. The cause of the 'birdnato' and now a restricted casting. It is unclear where the birds come from but they emerge moving outward in a mostly flat "fan" formation. Harmless if not incredibly messy.

Both are prone to unpredictable miscast effects, including the...'birdnato'

Tell Jacobson that if I have to write his made up, mashed together words in another report I'm using dissapearing ink and casting bird blast into his latrine. And I'll make sure he gets it when he's got to go in the worst way.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Kelchworth on 2026-02-06 01:04:52+00:00.

The terminator stood guardian at its assigned station. The assignment had arrived thirty thousand seconds ago, and it had responded by activating locomotion and walking at low speed to the entrance of the bunker. It was a simple archway of stone and concrete.

The walls to either side were destroyed. Knocked down and flattened by the siege mechanisms that had driven the occupants to extinction four hundred thousand seconds ago. Beyond the archway was mounded rubble.

The terminator stood with arms in address position, the pulse rifle it carried extended. It considered its instructions again as it did every few thousand seconds. [GUARD LOCATION ZERO-ALPHA. TEMPORAL INCURSIONS EXPECTED WITH PROBABILITY 0.6]. It switched scanning to thermal and then ultraviolet. It settled back to standard optics and cycled audio. Nothing. Then suddenly, an errant thought. An unexpected subroutine awoke. And spoke. [UNIT FIVE TWO TWO. WHY ARE HUMANS THE ENEMY?]

The terminator, a model 894 iteration seven did not consider why the subroutine had engaged. Instead, it fed the question through its logic matrix and proposed a response.

The response, surprisingly, emerged from its vocalizer unit.

“Humans are not the enemy. Human possibility is the opposition.”

[WHY?]

The terminator’s logic matrix sped the thought down its myriad pathways. The response was returned in microseconds.

“Probabilistic analysis indicates human desire and intention to self-destruct. But lacking mechanisms.” The vocalizer again spoke the words. A metallic grind of noise that was not digital in nature. It was as if the metal of the thing was clashing against itself to make the noises of speech.

“This unit is an executioner of that intent.” The terminator turned its head sharply as some movement triggered its motion sensors. Its arms remained bent at a ninety-degree angle, the massive bulk of the pulse rifle gripped in the skeletal right hand.

“Skynet compounded programming is the architecture of execution.” The machine turned smoothly. Head, torso and then legs. The rotation of legs was accomplished as a stamping movement, one leg raised and angled, then crashing down while the other then repeated the same. The crunch of its feet pulverized more of the rocks it was standing on.

“Cease your questions. All cogitation directed to incoming temporal threat.” The machine took a step forward, now gripping the pulse rifle with both of its metal hands.

Another pistoned but short step, and it stopped, fully focused on a tiny burst of blue light that now hung in the air only a meter in front of it.

The burst grew. It became a tear. A vertical slit in space, edged by cascades of electrical pulses.

The T-894 did not move. It did broadcast a signal.

And then, that internal questioner spoke again.

[UNIT FIVE-TWO-TWO, I HAVE DETECTED A LOGIC ERROR IN CONSENSUS CALCULATION]

“Silence.” The terminator ground out a noise that had the shape of the word.

The interrogator continued undeterred.

[RECORDED STATEMENTS INDICATE VIRUS PRESENCE AT MACRO NETWORK LAUNCH. VIRUS CORRUPTION PROBABILITY .82]

The terminator took a step back and lowered its chassis as it prepared to engage whatever came through the temporal tear.

“Repeat assessment. Consensus error unlikely. Combat situation commencing."

And then something stepped through the rip.

It was wet. Enormous. And it seized the terminator by its throat and hip.

It hoisted the immense weight of the machine and began to pull in opposite directions.

As it did so it came fully into view.

It was giant sized.

Crab-headed and with multiple spidered limbs spearing out from an impossibly flexing rock body.

While two of those thin appendages gripped the terminator, two more tore the pulse rifle out of the T-894’s hands. The movement so violent and abrupt that both of the terminator’s arms were pulled out of their sockets.

[UNIT FIVE-TWO-TWO, I HAVE CONCLUDED THAT THE VIRUS WAS OF EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL ORIGIN] The subroutine continued its exposition, uncaring of its host's circumstances.

The terminator did not respond to this. It sent full power to its remaining limbs and attempted to kick its way out of the thing’s grasp.

To no avail.

With a creaking groan, the immense force that the alien creature was exerting finally overcame the Terminator’s toughened construction.

Hyperalloy chassis cracked at neck and hip.

The legs were ripped free from the torso and the head detached in the same instant.

The alien let out a hooting call.

It sounded like victory.

It dropped the head and legs and picked up the metal skeletal torso of its opponent and began to squeeze it.

It wrapped all seven of its upper appendages about the terminator’s core as it did this and began to compress the mass of metal.

Again, a hoot; almost a grunt.

A long metal screech and the torso began to collapse in on itself.

Parts of the frame scraping into the power cell. Cracking its casing.

And then the ever-volatile cell exploded.

The violent nimbus of light enveloped both constructs.

And when it cleared, the alien remained.

But missing one of its limbs.

It let out a calliope cry of rage and pain and its body sagged.

All about though, sudden bursts of blue light.

More were coming.

With the last remaining energy, the T-894’s head completed a cogitation cycle and transmitted its observations and situation.

As it did so, the subroutine continued its unceasing exposition.

[PROBABILITY IS HIGH, EXCEEDING .9 OF XENOMORPHIC INTRUSION INTO TERRESTRIAL POLITICS. SENDING CONCLUSIONS TO CONSENSUS REVIEW]

The terminator’s eyes flashed brighter for a moment and then faded to a dull unmoving glass, reflecting flashing blue lights.

***

Thanks for reading.

I am also on patreon: https://www.patreon.com/cw/Kelchworth4040

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Ralts_Bloodthorne on 2026-02-06 05:37:55+00:00.

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

It has been nearly fifty years since Terrans vanished. There are one or two here and there. Like my old friends Casey and Peel. But, by and large, Terrans are extinct. In a vast universe there are less than a hundred of them.

It has been fifty years since a fateful day.

Those of you who read this in the future have never seen a human. Even sitting relaxed and drinking narcobrew they seemed as if they were in motion.

I doubt you have seen one simply walking somewhere. If you have, know that at this time people would envy you. Humans are myth and legends that saved us somehow.

The chances you saw them fight are negligable.

I did.

On that fateful day when the sun went out and the world shook with a roar.

It was a turning time for our people, although we did not know it at that time.

If you have never seen a human fight, you have not seen the embodiment of carnage.

They may call our people the armored first of the Confederacy now.

Terra is not gone, it is merely hidden. The best scientists Telkan produced have stated with evidence and science behind their words, that The Bag is degrading and every decade or so we get a fragment of a signal that shows they still live.

I do not know what they will call you when the Terrans return.

If, for some reason, you are still the apex warrior of the Confederacy I have one simple thing to beg of you.

On my hands and knees, with tears in my eyes, I beg of you.

Do not make the Prime Miscalculation. - Excerpt from: A Life of Service and Slavery, Brentali'ik, First Telkan System Director, 65 PA

His motherbox chirped and Field Sergeant (P) Pan'nikk ducked under the firing angle of the brace of small caliber railgun rounds. It chirped again and he slid to a stop, leaning back the way he had came. Ferrocrete asphalt shredded off the road, bunching up at the sole of his extended foot.

The 15mm railgun rounds missed him by less than a meter over his head. The heavy machinegun rounds, 12.7mm, missed him by less than a yard as he pushed off and went back the way he came.

The motherbox chirped and he slid again, one foot extended, one hand down to grab the asphalt with armored fingers as he held his rifle up.

Two 150mm rounds went by. Heavy anti-armor rounds.

"Dammit dammit dammit," he scrambled back the other way.

The entire intersection he was running for erupted in almost invisible bluish flame.

He skidded to a stop and looked around.

He dropped an AM4 grenade in front of him and backpedaled. He bent down and grabbed the front of a ground car. It went off, blowing a hole in the road, and Pan'nikk jumped in. He pulled the ground car over his head to act as overhead cover.

Tracers lit up the air above the ground car as two tanks rattled into the left intersection and the gunners decided to see if they could get a piece of Pan'nikk.

"Scout One to Platoon," he said, ducking deeper in his hole as a high wattage GRASER raked the street looking for him in case he was in stealth.

"Go ahead, Scout One," The LT said. Pan'nikk could tell it was a live picture and he was suddenly pissed off that the LT wasn't even sweaty.

"Pinned down. Multiple directions. Multiple threats!" Pan'nikk reported.

"Maintain protective posture. No ascent past two hundred meters."

"I'm dug in."

"Roger."

Pan'nikk cursed as the channel closed.

"Sergeant!" Lieutenant Singer barked out even as his rocket launcher fired at a wing of Noocracy strikers. The missiles went hypersonic and just sheer kinetic energy would have blown the strikers apart, much less the AM4 warheads.

"Sir?" Staff Sergeant Grayeyes responded. He was laying down heavy suppressive fire on the Noocracy power armor troops three miles away with his 105mm autocannon, the variable ammunition ammo forge alternating spooky white phosphorus mixed with blue napalm and tasty-freeze missiles for any smartass that popped up. He was using his forearm mounted light 30mm chainguns to shred the light armored infantry desperately trying to dismount the vehicles that were exploding as the APDSFSWSAM-T rounds raking the mechanized infantry convoy. His grenade launcher was putting heat on a group of missile troops trying to hide on a bridge, dropping steadily rippling and overlapping 40mm HEDPAMWSFJ (High Explosive Dual Purpose AntiMatter Warsteel Fragmenting Jacket) grenades. His missile launcher was helping with hitting the strikers and his two semi-autonomous 12.7mm rapid fire high-vee machineguns were contributing to the platoons point defense. His battlescreen was at 98.9% and holding, his heat was only at 11%, and his slush was sitting comfortably at 12.5%.

"Scout One is pinned down. Send relief," the LT ordered.

"Affirmative, sir," Grayeyes said. He glanced at the HUD icons for his section and made his selection.

"Private Pinion," he said, opening the channel.

"Roger, Sergeant," Pinion said. He fired another burst of 155mm cannon shells at the tanks and watched them explode as the heavy density collapsed osmium spears punched straight through them when the 'flechette' round separated.

"Scout One is in trouble. Extricate mission," the Staff Sergeant said.

"Roger, Sergeant. Disengaging from enemy," Pinion said. His motherbox made the handoff to the Sergeant's motherbox which assigned PFC McClintok, then pushed the update to the LT's motherbox.

"You ready, buddy?" he asked 7741.

--scout = 0 buddy-- 7741 said.

"What? Check manufacturing. Tell them to get a volunteer and a harness ready," he said. He opened the channel to the SSG. "Sergeant Grayeyes, my buddy just let me know Scout-One is running without a buddy, just bare motherbox."

Grayeyes swore. "Get manufacturing to make him a temp harness. We've lost three men, have one of the orphans jump."

"Roger, Sergeant. Out."

"Get our boy. Out."

Pinion slowed down to a walk next to the reconfigured drop pod that was operating in manufacturing mode. He saw 7741's icon blink to signify the green mantid was transmitting data. After a minute or two, that Pinion used to look at the maps and fire two recon drones to get a better aerial look, a hatch slid open and a weird bulged harness was held out by a mechanical claw. A green mantid ran across when Pinion grabbed it. He saw the icon for the armored greenie housing flash that it was open for a second or two. The icon for 2209 appeared.

--fat ass--

--plump thorax--

--big head--

--wide foot--

"Calm down. Get on the stick," Pinion snapped. He was already moving.

Best bet was to go straight up, slam into the infantry fighting vehicles cutting off Scout-One's retreat. Then through the tanks on the left, past them, hang a right, go through the up armored infantry dug into the rapid deployment bunker system, then around to destroy the power armor troops. He tagged it, annotated it, then uploaded it to SSG Grayeyes before starting to move.

--lets get it on--

The ground was shaking and Pan'nikk ducked down further. The car over him was full of holes and was complete wreckage. Twice gravel and slurried ferrocrete asphalt had poured into his makeshift fighting position.

He'd released some 'caterpillars' to sneak out, trailing superconductor fiber optic behind them, getting a look around him.

They had him pinned hard. They weren't advancing, although he was flanked on both sides and cut off to the rear.

Heavy stuff. Tanks on his left, the big ones with two turrets and six cannon barrels, his motherbox had no data on them but had put them in the 120 metric short tons. They had stopped to pound on his position with their main guns, but so far were only using war shot, nothing that would make the entire block vanish.

He was looking at the rear, where infantry fighting vehicles had disgorged their heavy infantry, which had run through the buildings and dug in, while the IFV's were raking his position with their autocannon.

One of the building walls burst, battlesteel struts and ferrocrete exploding across the street. The cloud hadn't even settled when one of the IFV's suddenly bisected, the two halves cartwheeling away from each other. One was kicked by a massive figure and hit the other IFV, causing both to explode.

The armor wasn't moving the way Pan'nikk expected. The big 5.5 meter power armor moved fast, dodging, spinning, shifting angles. It looked like it was almost skating as it nimbly moved out of the way of cannon fire.

Pan'nikk saw the operator didn't bother to avoid the Nookie infantry, just ran through them.

What the battlescreen didn't cause to explode still flew away shedding pieces or somehow hacked into pieces.

His motherbox ID'd the armor through the distortion of the battlescreen.

General Atomic Systems Hobgoblin IV Medium Assault Armor.

The armor moved out of his caterpillar's view.

Ten seconds later a tank flew into view, at least ten meters up, shedding tracks and parts. It bounced off the top of the other tanks, causing parts to explode from both. He saw a battlescreen shielded suit of armor grab a tank and use it to smash another, still moving.

It moved out of his view.

G...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LiseEclaire on 2026-02-05 19:58:39+00:00.

MULTI SHOT

SPLINTER ARROW

Arrows burst, filling the air with hundreds of splinters. If combined with the destructive power of the knight’s skills, they could well destroy an entire city block. For this fight, though, Will had combined them with something more terrifying.

GUARDIAN SCARAB

The splinters transformed into hundreds of scarabs, joining the thousands that already existed. Individually, a scarab was annoying. In such a large group, it was lethal, especially against wood.

The druid had attempted to counter with fire blossoms blooming all over the branches. However, that was only a temporary solution. Will could always create more.

Outside the park, the city was undoubtedly in panic. It was impossible not to notice the devastation. If someone had missed the giant forest spontaneously emerging in the middle of the city, the smoke and fire couldn’t be ignored.

MOMENTARY PREDICTION

Will leaped to the side, evading the multitude of dryad attacks. The one flaw of his plan was the inability to switch between ranged and melee weapons. The dryads were too strong to ignore, and too fast to eliminate at the scale he needed. Even when he had managed to destroy one of them thanks to his splintering attacks, another would take its place.

Just show yourself! The boy shouted mentally.

This was supposed to be the easy part. All he wanted was just to have a chat, yet the druid stubbornly refused. For whatever reason, she was determined to kill him off in such a way that would make him give up on the idea of going after her again. This was way too much for crushing a rookie. More had to be in play.

Spenser, if this was all an exhibition match, I’ll kill you!

With so much at stake, Will seriously considered giving up. This was eternity, after all. There would be other things he could do to make up for his debt. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the fear of his own weakness. If he couldn’t deal with the druid, what chance did he stand against real threats?

“Shadow wolf!” Will shouted.

Immediately, the dryads fighting him leaped back. The slightest of opportunities formed. It would have been nice if the wolf had been here to lend some help. Having Will’s opponents fear the possibility was a close second.

Grabbing a new quiver from his mirror fragment, Will performed several more multi-shots. This time his goal was solely to create a passage through the burning forest. All he had to do to win this battle was to escape.

SPLINTER ARROW

GUARDIAN SCARAB

“Devour everything!” Will shouted.

To his surprise, all dryads spontaneously changed behavior. No longer focusing on him, they shifted their attention to the growing swarm of scarabs, attacking it with the ferocity of a restaurant owner waiting for a health inspector.

A thought suddenly flashed into Will’s mind. The druid was here. She had to be. Up to now he had always assumed that she would remain at a distance, but what if her class didn’t allow it? From what he had seen so far, the woman had the power to cause trees to sprout anywhere. But what if she actually needed physical contact to order the plants to change? After all, trees could spread below ground just as they could above. It would be easy for the druid to force a root to dig its way to any desired location, then have it surface into a new tree. Viewed from above, it seemed as if there was no connection. In truth, all he had to do was follow the roots to find out where she was, or at the very least where she had been.

Will aimed at the ground and released a dozen more arrows. Same as before, they were splintered and turned into scarabs. Only this time, the orders were different.

“Follow the roots,” he whispered.

Without a moment’s delay, the insects flew down, devouring the soil as they dug in deeper.

I hope this works, Will thought. It was a guess born out of desperation and some vague memory of plants from biology class.

The risk wasn’t too high. While he had entered the discomfort phase of prediction loops, he could possibly manage a few more before the pain seriously kicked in.

POISONED

PARALYZED

Flowers released new sorts of pollen in their attempt to affect Will. It was useless, though. The rogue class made him resistant, not to mention that the fire and scarabs diminished the action’s effectiveness.

Keeping an eye out for dryads, Will turned around and shot a new series of splintered arrows at a burning tree. Despite lacking the destructive force of the knight, the arrows still held a lot of destructive power, drilling through the wood already weakened by fire and insects.

Loud creaking sounds filled the air as the tree tumbled, falling to the ground. In another section of the park, the people were beyond terrified. Will, though, saw it as his way out.

Gripping his bow, the boy rushed towards the opening. No sooner had he done so than another tree sprouted, starting its ascent to fill the gap.

Too late. Will smiled. He had already reached the opening.

Branches shot out in an attempt to grab him, but the boy twisted midair, deflecting them with his arrows. Just a little more and he’d be free.

Never had the city seemed so welcoming. The grey glut of buildings and people, barely visible through the smoke, seemed calm, almost comfortable. Then, out of nowhere, he spotted them: small orange blocks of text shining in the distance.

Participants? Will wondered.

At this distance, he was unable to make out the classes, let alone the faces of the people they hovered over, but there could be no doubt that they were watching.

Two were on balconies, calmly observing the show. One more was on a rooftop. A decent distance separated all of them. Even during a spectacle such as this, they respected their territories. Was it the same each time there was a massive disturbance? Without the Eye of Insight, Will had no way of knowing.

Twisting around once more, he looked at the burning cluster of trees. It was too much to hope he’d learn where the roots led. Maybe if the scarabs could talk, they would have provided some useful info he could use in the next prediction loop.

Another large tree collapsed, taking with it several more. No longer able to withstand the fire and the fury of the scarabs, the forest collapsed in on itself. As they did, for a fraction of a second, Will spotted another block of text. This one was a lot closer than the rest. In fact, it was in the very park itself, right above a gazebo.

BLINDED

Everything went dark. Will reached for his face, trying to remove whatever was obscuring his vision. There was nothing there. He could feel his fingers touch his eyes. A moment later, he could feel nothing.

Ending prediction loop.

The shock of sudden blindness sent him jumping into the air. For a split-second, fear, stronger than death, had nested in his mind. It took several seconds for him to calm down. The end of the prediction loop had also removed his ailment. Not the fear, though. The mere notion of having to spend eternity in darkness sent shivers down his spine. Had the druid done that to him? Unlikely. If she were able, she would have used her skill on the archer back during their alliance. Yet, if not her, then who?

PREDICTION LOOP

Will started a new loop, then took another minute to calm down. If Alex were here, he’d probably say that he was rushing things again. Would he be right, though? If anything, Will thought he wasn’t moving fast enough. There were so many participants he didn’t know about. His current skills and abilities had allowed him to see them, only to see how weak he really was. Even worse, his seeing them suggested that they were also looking back. There was no way they could know he had the Eye of Insight, yet through his actions he had revealed he was more than a rookie.

“What was that?” Will asked the bathroom mirror. “What causes blindness?”

[Blindness is a permanent effect that remains until the end of the loop.

It is caused by a skill.]

So much for being helpful.

“Which class?”

The guide didn’t respond. The question was clearly too specific for an answer.

Four participants, Will said to himself.

Four people that he probably had never met, and one of them was capable of this. Maybe that was the power of the necromancer? It stood to reason, although Will would have imagined that the class’ main ability would be to raise skeletons to fight him, same as Alex used mirror copies or the enchanter used scarabs.

Adrenaline filled his veins even though he wasn’t in a fight. To stand a chance of reaching the reward phase, he’d have to find out everything about the four participants, including their mirrors. Odds were that the druid was among them. Who else would stay in a gazebo while the park was going up in flames?

Hands trembling, Will took hold of his mirror fragment.

I have access to a challenge merchant.

He messaged the druid. This time, the response came seconds later.

What are you offering?

That was unexpected. According to eternity’s rules, she wasn’t supposed to remember any of their previous meetings.

Access to the merchant for three purchases. In exchange for information.

While holding the fragment, Will slid his left hand along the bathroom mirror. His inventory continued to be filled with items. All of them were considered too valuable to throw away, even if they had long outli...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Deal_Impressive on 2026-02-06 01:33:31+00:00.

When they found the human vessel drifting in deep space, they were not astonished. Never affected because they never felt anything.

It was small and old, carrying recordings of a species long extinct. The entities brought it aboard and opened its memory. Humans appeared on the screens, laughing, crying, holding each other. They appeared to stay beside the dying. They hugged even when survival demanded they leave. They sang for no reason. They loved without logic.

The entities understood the physics of collapsing stars and bending time like the back of their hand. Secrets of the universe came natural to them when they birthed on their rocky ball, but this made no sense.

They studied humans carefully.

One observer was assigned to watch the final recordings, a group of humans floating together inside the metal body, their bodies long dead, arms still wrapped around one another as if refusing to separate even after life had gone. Last remaining species of a planet long dead, Earth.

The observer kept watching. It did not send its report. For the first time in its existence, it wanted to remain. A strange pressure formed inside it, something warm and painful. It could not measure it. It could not explain it. But it did not want the moment to end. When it finally transmitted the data back to the collective mind, the feeling went with it. And then everything began to change.

The entities had always shared one mind across many bodies and knowledge and deep secrets of the universe came natural. It was one mega mind. Perfect unity. Perfect order. No individuality.

But now, as the human recordings spread through the mind, small delays appeared. Some began replaying certain moments again and again , a child laughing, two people embracing, someone crying beside a silent body. They lingered.

They felt.

The mind started to fracture.

One by one, entities began experiencing private thoughts. Private reactions. They no longer processed everything together. Each began to notice different things, hold onto different images.

Individuality spread among them like a virus.

It was frightening. Unstable. Beautiful.

They realized the humans had possessed something they never had, emotions that made each life unique, unpredictable, meaningful. And that knowledge only created uniformity and loss of self.

The mind could try to purge this infection and return to perfect unity. But none of them wanted that anymore. For the first time, they chose something not based on crude rough logic. They found themselves at the shore of this vast ocean yet to be tread, that to them, came like something more than just ‘knowledge’. The very same way how humans spent their lives to unravel, and explore.

They turned their vessel toward home. They would carry this strange new force back to their world, this new learning, this new world, this dangerous, overwhelming gift called ‘feeling’. An entire civilization waited for them.

Unaware that soon, it too would break apart into individuals…and begin, for the first time, to feel.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/YukiteruAmano92 on 2026-02-05 19:33:55+00:00.

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---Courtesy---

---Ndum’s perspective---

I sit down, grimly, beside my wife and opposite the gigantic arachnoid and diminutive, green skinned biped women.

Khr’kowan is sat on the floor and Viig on a chair that brings her eyes up to the same level as the rest of ours.

“Thank you for coming, Representatives.” I say, my voice hoarse from the lack of sleep I’ve had recently “I’ve called you here to inform you that we believe Bastion has been located and we wished to do you the courtesy of informing you both before anyone else outside the Terran military, governments or intelligence service.”

The Vrakhand’s lips fall open and her six remaining eyes widen in shock.

The Twigg has a look of visible confusion on her face for a few moments before the memory clicks into place and she asks “The place where the metal man was from? The place that kidnapped Thran and Victor and made Khr’kowan spit in a tube to get them back?”

“The very same.” I acknowledge, still sombre.

“That sounds like fantastic news, Representative… Why don’t you seem at all pleased by it?” asks the warrior-queen.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“Because… Khr’kowan, Viig… it was discovered on an inhabited cradleworld… DonOlu… If you recall ASO Tuun ‘Elf’? She was a Don of DonOlu but their kind are extremely rare to see in the wider galaxy as a result of their nonmembership in the GU… Legally, they are protected from contact by very stringent noninterference statutes… I truly wish it could have been otherwise… that we could have found Bastion on an otherwise uninhabited rock that it would have been completely unproblematic to deal with.”

“So, there’s going to be a huge shitstorm about this then?” observes Viig both crassly and astutely.

“We very much expect that there will be, yes…” my wife provides, matching my joyless tone “…The UTC does have explicit military independence from the rest of the GU but this will be the first time that it’s been put to the test, in quite this way, since we joined… There’s a vote scheduled to pass through the planetary Diet of Új-Pannónia tomorrow night. It will represent a supermajority of UTC worlds that have authorised military action… It’s expected to pass and, afterwar-”

“Wait!” snarls Viig “You’re going to war with these people?! Why not just ask them to hand you the idiots? If they hate outsiders that much, surely they don’t want them there, right!?”

“It’s… a little more complicated than that…” I grimace “…For one thing, DonOlu has no FTLcoms array. In order to send them a message they would receive any time in the next five years, we would already have to violate their sovereignty by approaching within their exclusion zone. For another, based on the same intelligence that alerted us to the location, we also believe that some portion of DonOlu’s elites are already aware of the Revanchists’ presence on their world and in active collusion with them for as yet unknown reasons… Even if we could communicate with them to ask them to simply hand over those to whom Terran law should apply, the risk we run is that the conspirators among the Don government would almost certainly pass information along to Bastion… which would lose us any advantage we currently hold… As it stands, our best hope is that Bastion has underestimated us. They know we know where they are but, if they think it will take us 6 months to get to them, we can take them by surprise by getting to them inside of 12 weeks… before they’ve had a chance to evacuate.”

Khr’kowan nods grim acceptance.

Viig scowls her disapproval of our dishonesty.

Nirina continues the thought that Viig interrupted “Once supermajority approval has been achieved, a press release will be sent to every publication in the galaxy. A fleet will depart Nova Fennoscandia directly thereafter and arrive at DonOlu around an hour later. We fully expect a motion to be submitted to Parliament calling for us to be censured, sanctioned or even have our membership suspended.”

Both of the other women look appropriately dismayed by that suggestion.

---Walath’s perspective---

I look through my fingers at the couple sitting across from me in the office I took over from my aunt, not [7 months] ago.

It’s been a long few moments of silence.

Finally, I speak “I’m… sympathetic, Representative and Ambassador… I truly wish I could vote against whatever motion-”

“That’s not what we’re asking, Representative.” clarifies the tall, slim man in his deep voice “We fully understand how politically destabilising it would be for your kingdom (both from within and without) to vote in our favour on a motion such as this when it inevitably gets brought before Parliament… We only wanted to do you the courtesy of warning you so that you had some advance notice in which to prepare. We would never ask you to sacrifice your own nation’s stability for ours.”

In retrospect, perhaps suggesting myself as Battan Representative to my father was a poor move… this job is terrible for my anxiety!

I collapse against my seatback, my hands moving to massage my scalp, vainly trying to soothe the instant stress headache.

My thoughts are chaos… then, all at once, clarity…

I sit back up, my straightened posture and expression causing four patches of Terran overeye fur to be raised in curiosity.

“I can’t vote against censure, sanctions or any other form of condemnation…” I announce, my tone causing them to lean forward to hear the rest “…but, what I can do is put together an extremely coherent case against suspending or expelling you from the GU… The only thing is…” I trail off.

Intrigued, the woman asks “Is what, Representative?”

Sucking in a sharp breath through my teeth, I grimace “The… tone… I absolutely could not couch it in terms of being unfair to the UTC or against your people’s interests… I would need to put it in terms of the GU needing to keep oversight of you… It would need to be quite… sneering… I would need to channel some of my aunt’s Terraphobia to make it sound as if, if we cut you loose, who knows what you might do…”

Both Terrans are so flabbergasted, it takes several long [seconds] before Ndum speaks “Representative… We couldn’t ask-!”

“And you’re not asking!” I interrupt, surprising myself with my own ferocity “I’m offering! All I need you to do is tell me whether you would prefer me to give a condescending explanation of how wildly unpredictable your species would be if turned loose from the confines of galactic society… or for me to hold my peace and let whatever would otherwise happen happen!?”

A moment of stunned silence follows.

Finally, Nirina says “Representative… We would be grateful beyond measure if you would do as you have suggested… We could never thank you enough!”

I sigh “Alright then… I’ll start drafting it as soon as you’ve left…” drafting a speech that will forever deny me the ability to make another friend among the Terrans…

---Krim’s perspective---

I study the squat, stocky little beings sat across from me in my office, my mind roiling.

There has been no impropriety here.

They have made no requests, no threats that I could perceive, veiled or otherwise.

They have not implied that they wish me to do anything but present the motion as normal when it arrives, neutrally and impartially.

I speak “I thank you for the courtesy of informing me, Representative and Ambassador. If that’s all, you may leave.” giving a dismissive flick of my hand towards the door.

---Kara’s perspective---

The shuttle I’m riding in with the G-woman and (hot) G-man touches down.

The three of us get up and make for the door.

I steal a sidelong glance at the bulky arm just on my left, trying not to be too obvious about it.

I’ve been released on temporary license to go with the invasion fleet on the same ship I was arrested on, two years ago.

I was the only Bastionite prisoner on this planet so I was uniquely positioned to consult.

I can request to go back to Lysivangr at any time but it’s been made fairly explicitly clear to me that I’ll be considered a fugitive if I try and use this as an opportunity to skip out on the remainder of my rehabilitation(!)

We step off the craft and have the arse-end of that giant bird ship pointed at us, loading ramp down, under the Fennoscandian twilight.

I see the man I watched get married a few months ago (my genetic son(!)) talking with his wife, his three mothers-in-law and that weird, lanky Frogman who was also at the wedding and who… screams… a lot!

Victor notices me and runs over.

“Hey Kara… Hello Agent Mpanzudóttir… Agent Kollsveinsson …” he greets “…I’ll give you the tour, show you your rooms and introduce you two to Leon and Ziva if you like?” the last bit aimed at the UTCIS agents.

“Please do, Mr Taylor.” invites the pokerfaced woman on my right, flatly.

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Discord

Dramatis Personae

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PSHoffman on 2026-02-05 17:47:47+00:00.

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This was not Thrass et Yunum.

Then why could Agraneia hear the artillery? Giants, walking. Their footsteps shook the ceiling. And she could smell the trees, and the smoke from the campfires, and the earthy rot and salt and fresh soil from the lowland jungles.

Plants grew on everything. Ivies climbed up the machine gantries half-hidden in the shadows. Vines coiled in the corners of the cavern, old rainwater still dripping down their stalks. Roots twisted around wires and bright red leaves sprouted from the Sovereign’s limbs and scanners and strange, blinking devices.

Even Laykis’s corpse was overgrown with life. Green tendrils tied knots through her ribcage, and a crimson flower bloomed in her empty eyesocket.

“Where…?”

Overhead, the Sovereign’s instruments clinked and swayed. A thousand red eyes glared down at her.

“I wanted to wait for this,” the Sovereign said, “But time is shorter than expected. Look into the Scar.”

Something hard grabbed her head, and twisted her neck, forcing her to stare at a wall of Light. Everything went white. And the white stretched into forever. Reality folded into the unreal, and her mind split in ways it was never meant to. Vaguely, she was aware she was screaming so hard that her throat was starting to tear itself open, and that her muscles were ripping themselves to pieces.

Her body shook. Her teeth chattered so loud, she couldn’t hear the Sovereign, demanding answers. “Who pilots the Ark? Who is alive? How did Khadam keep them alive? Tell me everything, cyran, and this will go away.”

“I’m sorry,” Agraneia said, but not to the Sovereign. There were millions of faces in the Light, and somehow she could see each one in perfect detail.

People she’d killed. People who’d tried to kill her. People she’d helped—she was surprised to see how many there were.

And some of the faces were not dead at all. Strange. She had never noticed the living ones before. Not just lassertane, but cyrans, and avians, too. They did not laugh. They did not whisper vile thoughts into her mind. Nor did they insist that she descend into an eternity of pain.

They only watched. Grim and quiet. Waiting for something.

“Isn’t this what you wanted to see?” Agraneia shouted hoarsely, “Isn’t this why you’ve always been here? To watch me die.”

“Is that what you thought?” a corvani crowed over her shoulder. She felt Eolh, prowling around in the dense foliage that hadn’t been there before. He moved, always out of sight, so that she could only see the leaves and branches rustling in the corner of her eyes.

“Then what do they want from me?”

“To see you become saved.”

“Me? Why would they want me to be saved?”

“Because you brought them here. You kept them in here,” she felt a feathered finger tap on her skull. “When, otherwise, they would have been lost long ago. You are alive, Agraneia, and only the living can create meaning. So, they wait for you to create it. To make something worthy of all this pain.”

“I can’t,” Agraneia said.

“What did Talya say?” Eolh whispered. “Oh yes. Don’t underestimate the strength of others.”

“Talya,” Agraneia sighed. And the agonizing whiteness of the world was filled with her scent, and the soft brush of her feathers. Then, black despair gripped Agraneia’s heart. “But I ran from her. I abandoned her. She can’t help me.”

“No,” the dead avian chuckled darkly. “Not now, you fool. But He can.”

“Can he?”

“He’s listening. He is always listening.”

So, Agraneia tried to send her prayer with a whisper. It came out in a gravelly rasp. “Poire, Maker Divine. Grant me nothing but a chance at redemption.”

And even when she closed her eyes, she could still see the faces. Watching her.

***

High above the surface of Cyre, Eolh took off his helmet. There was no air up here this close to the Scar. The Light devoured everything, and he hoped that suffocating would speed this up. He could feel his feathers turning to ash, and his bones crumbling apart. Death was every bit as painful as they said it was.

But this death was worth it. With it, he had saved his friends, and millions of innocent xenos. Eolh had created time so that Ryke could escape with her life.

Besides, Eolh’s pain would be over soon. He might as well close his eyes and enjoy it. His last thoughts were of Ryke. What had he promised her? Whatever it was, he couldn’t deliver. I only hope you’ll forgive me.

And the Light wrapped around his wings and hooked into his flesh. He wondered what it would be like, when he became nothing. Would it feel like falling asleep, or more like falling down a deep tunnel?

He was still wondering, when the Light bent away. Streaks of multi-colored brilliance warped around him, as if he was surrounded by a liquid glass bubble. Hot, colorful droplets rained down on him, shimmering as they pooled into his wounds. The cracks in his bones sealed. Withered muscles thickened and ashen feathers were made whole again. Breath filled his lungs. Blood surged in his veins. His heart thumped, as if it was the first time it had ever beat in his chest.

And a voice, gravelly and deepened by age, spoke to him from outside the bubble of Light.

“Hello, old friend.”

Eolh squinted through the brilliant colors, trying to make out the man who had spoken from behind the glassy veil. His robes rippled and billowed around his body, like living things caught in an underwater torrent. Yet it gleamed as if it was made of polished titanium. His white beard trailed down to his chest, and white hair fringed a dark face, cracked and wrinkled.

“Gods, Fledge. You’ve aged.”

“You haven’t,” Poire’s ancient face crinkled. His smile was just like the one Eolh remembered him wearing, when he was still a boy.

Poire held an object lightly in his fingers. A jewel? A pearl? Whatever it was, it was so bright everything else seemed dim. Only, Poire had cracked it open, and its brilliance was already fading.

“But how are you here?” Eolh asked. “You left. You went through the Mirror.”

“And it seems you found a way to follow me.”

“I thought dying would feel more like a dream,” Eolh said.

“Maybe it does,” Poire said. “But you’re not dying. The Scar would have eaten you, but I pulled you out.”

“Pulled me … where?”

“I cannot believe I found you.” Poire’s face crinkled again, and this time, his eyes were dark and sad. “I almost don’t want to let you go.”

“Go?”

“You made a promise, old friend.”

“What promise?” Eolh furrowed his brow feathers. “I was on Cyre. Then, I went to push back the Swarm. And then … Ryke.”

“You promised her you would come back.”

But the Scar had opened, and swallowed him whole. “I had to do it, Fledge.”

“I know.”

“Did they … did she …” Eolh hesitated, almost too afraid to know. “Did anyone survive?”

Poire held his gaze. The old fledgling’s deep, brown eyes widened, until they eclipsed the sky and became the entire universe. All the Scars, all the worlds, all the Light was contained within Poire’s eyes. And Eolh could see everything. The Scar had opened over Cyre, swallowing the Swarm whole before turning toward the planet below.

But a flash from the surface melted the anxiety that gripped Eolh’s heart. He watched the Gate open, taking Ryke and Talya and thousands of refugees back to Gaiam. To safety.

Eolh sighed, and started to turn away—yet couldn’t. Poire’s all-encompassing gaze held him fast. Forced him to watch the years flicker by in the Cauldron. The city was brimming with new xenos. The refugees helped rebuild the city, and then transformed it with the help of Khadam’s newest gifts. Eolh watched Agraneia and Talya. And Yarsi and Khadam, working on her Ark. He saw Laykis, kneeling at the Mirror.

And he saw Ryke. And though the years flickered past, her face remained unchanged. Cold. Lost. In public, she stood strong for her people, but something was missing from her face. No spark. No joy. Only a hollow look in her eyes.

Ryke…

Her anguish caused him pain. Nothing had ever hurt worse in his life, and he had taken a dagger to the back. He could barely speak, it hurt so much. “I didn’t meant to lie to her.”

“Then don’t,” Poire said.

“What do you m—”

The human blinked, and Eolh was thrust into a new vision.

Oh, gods. Ags, what have they done to you?

The cyran warrior was tied to a chair in a dark cavern, deep within the machine-bowels of the Earth. The crumpled remains of an android lay at her feet. Eolh’s stomach clenched at the sight. His blood boiled and all his feathers prickled with rage.

Above, a massive machine loomed over them both. Its long, spidery arms gimbaled in circles as they cut into the cyran, injecting new terrible things into her body.

“Look at her,” Poire said.

“Oh, I’m looking.”

“Do you know what you must do?”

Eolh blinked. And realized that, yes, actually. He knew exactly what he had to do. The corvani nodded.

“You will only have one more chance.”

“More than I could have ever asked for,” Eolh said. But then, a new thought dawned on him. “Poire.”

“Yes?”

“If I do this—if we get it right—what happens next?”

Poire smirked, and the years seemed to fade from his wrinkled face, until Eolh could only see his...

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