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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Klokinator on 2025-11-05 18:18:12+00:00.

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(Previous Part)

(Part 001)

January 29th, 2021. Aevum.

The next morning, Jason approached his father. Hideki was lounging on the couch again, watching the final episode of some sitcom from the 70's.

"Dad-" Jason started to say, but Hideki quickly raised a hand.

"No. Go away. The kid'll be fine."

"Have we had this conversation bef-"

"Yup."

Hideki cut his son off without explanation, frustrating Jason immensely. The guilt he felt for what he'd done to Nadia was overwhelming. What did his dad mean by 'she would be okay'? What constituted 'okay'? Because it sure looked like Jason had left Nadia traumatized and fearful.

Just as Jason was about to leave, Hideki turned his eyes to look at Jason, then he spoke up. "Since I'm about to finish this show, I'll only say this once. Son, right now we're on my first loop. Once I see how everything pans out, I might rewind all or some of the way back to the beginning, the day when you locked me in to this new timeline."

"Your first loop?" Jason asked.

"That's right. Any time I reach the end of my natural life, or the end of what used to be the 'end goal', ie; the destruction of Earth, once I rewound all the way back to the beginning, that was one loop. We're still on my first one. I'm currently seeing how everything pans out before I decide whether to go back or not."

Jason stared at his father. "Are you saying you might not rewind time at the end?"

Hideki sighed.

"Jason. I spent so much time trying to save the Earth, and I sort of failed, but then I succeeded when you rewound. I don't want to do all that crap again from the start. I'm tired. I just want to watch my granddaughter grow up, see how things turn out, and then make my decision at the end. If you end up saving the Earth, albeit imperfectly, I'll just leave it like that. I'm not going to bother trying to save everyone. There's going to be losses, people suffering major ill effects, and so on. If it takes a couple of loops to figure out a few key details that will allow you to save humanity, then so be it."

Hideki closed his eyes.

"But I'm done with perfection. I'm aiming for 'good enough' and don't you even bother trying to motivate me beyond that. Don't come running to me, wanting me to fix fuckups on your end. Unless you or Daisy ends up dying, I don't care who else does."

Jason pursed his lips. "But Nadia is just a kid, dad."

"So? Everyone is just a kid at some point. She'll be an adult someday. Depending on how you grade things, spending seventy three years in that simulation technically makes her an old woman. Mentally, at the least."

Jason hadn't told his dad how long Nadia had been in the time loop. Not this rewind, anyway. He must have done so in a previous one. Jason was getting used to his dad knowing stuff Jason was about to tell him.

For some reason, Hideki's words made Jason feel a little better. He wasn't sure why, but Hideki's logic seemed to make Jason's nerves ease up a little bit.

"I see. Thanks, dad." Jason muttered, before turning away.

After Jason left, Hideki clicked play on his sitcom and went back to consuming the content.

...

Some time later, Jason entered the dormitories. He walked over to the female half, then paused outside for a long time.

Jason hung his head. He wanted to knock, to go inside, to see how Nadia was doing.

But he didn't feel that he deserved to know. He had screwed her up. He had ruined her life and locked her inside a simulation for 73 years.

She was a teenager when she entered. With no real social contact, she had been living with fake people for what felt like tens of real years. Her RealitySim had been supercharged to such a level that it had spun up way outside of anyone's expectations. Jason hadn't taken more than ten to fifteen seconds to wake her up after attaching the MindCore to her Mind Realm, but those seconds ended up becoming a lifetime's worth of trauma.

Suddenly, the door opened, startling Jason. Daisy stood in the doorway.

"Dad..." Daisy said, noticing the poorly concealed pain on his face. "Come in. Nadia's been waiting for you."

"She has?" Jason asked. "That's hard to believe."

Daisy sighed. She gestured inside, and Jason followed her.

When he entered, Jason was surprised to see Nadia and Sasha sitting at a small table. Nadia calmly sipped some tea. She smiled when Jason walked over.

"Hey." Jason said.

"Hey." Nadia replied.

A moment of hesitation later, Nadia carefully motioned with her hand to the chair on her right. Jason chose to sit on the opposite side of the table. When he sat, Sasha and Daisy left the room, allowing Jason and Nadia to remain together, alone. This was outside his expectations.

"I'm... I'm so sorry." Jason said quietly. "I don't even know what to say, or where to begin."

"A lot has happened." Nadia said softly. "Jason, I'm sorry too.. I said some... some really terrible things. I didn't know this was reality. I thought I was still in the simulation."

"I know." Jason answered. "But it's only natural you'd hate me so much after what I did to you. Don't pretend you were making things up just so you won't hurt my feelings now. I deserve your hatred."

Nadia shook her head.

"Jason, you really don't know me that well. The others do. I realized I was trapped in a simulation within the first week. You know how my powers work. I am able to comprehend things extremely well, and my powers worked just fine inside my Mind Realm."

Nadia licked her lips thoughtfully.

"I immediately realized something had gone wrong with the surgery. I first hallucinated exiting surgery and talking to you about how things had gone. Everything seemed to have ended well, but at the end of the day, time rewound, and I woke up back in the surgery room."

She continued. "For a short time, I thought I might have somehow started rewinding time like Hideki. But I deduced that was extremely unlikely, and since my new MindCore was all about simulations, I started feeling afraid that I was trapped in a coma. I didn't know that my MindCore had drastically accelerated my perception of time."

Jason looked at her in surprise. "So your anger wasn't that you had been trapped..."

"Not at all. I started to think that every second spent in the false reality meant a second had passed in realspace. I thought I was trapped there with reality passing me by. I thought that if I was there long enough, all my real friends would grow old and die, or leave me behind in an unknown future."

"I spent the first several years trying to break the loop. I never succeeded." Nadia explained. "But then I found out that I could change what was being simulated by conversing with the other characters. It's a little hard to explain, but for some reason, I didn't possess 'administrator rights' over my MindCore. You did. Well, your character in my dream, at least. Except your character kept treating me like a stupid little girl who didn't know the difference between my head and my toes, so I had to find ways to convince him to alter the parameters of the looping reality."

Jason listened quietly. He was surprised by Nadia's calmness, but now he understood why.

It was because after waking up, Nadia realized that no time had passed at all in the outside world. She hadn't been idly wasting her time away inside the simulation, but had previously been terrified and angry, thinking her friends would have moved on without her, or Earth might have fallen, or some other horrid circumstance might have come to pass! Instead, everything was okay, and her fears had ultimately proven unfounded.

"What sort of alterations did you make?" Jason asked.

"Well, I found out that the character of Jason in my simulation actually seemed to have all your knowledge." Nadia said. "So I had him teach me about the events of the future, and tell me everything he knew. Um. Well, I'm uh... I'm sorry to say this... but I know all about your Wordsmithing now. All the, um, secret details you haven't told anyone else."

Nadia looked away sheepishly, while Jason's pupils shrunk to pinpricks. His heart nearly stopped on the spot!

"H-how?!" Jason gasped. "How would the simulated version of myself..."

He paused. Then it dawned on him.

"It's because... when I made your MindCore, I really poured my power into making your Mind Realm. It must have linked up my memories and placed them inside your Mind Realm."

Nadia nodded in embarrassment. "I wouldn't have pressured 'him' so much, but I was desperate to escape. I thought if I unraveled your abilities, I might ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/RootlessExplorer on 2025-11-05 14:57:50+00:00.

Jeridan really, really wanted to punch somebody.

Unfortunately, Helen was a woman.

Well, a half woman, but he still couldn’t punch her.

So he punched Negasi in the shoulder instead.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For lying.”

“What did I lie about?”

“Not you. Her.” He jabbed a finger in Helen’s direction.

“Then why hit me?”

“Because I can’t hit a woman, dummy.”

“But—”

“Stop interrupting. Helen, why the hell does the only surviving intelligence from the Imperium Era not remember a little thing like an invasion? Care to explain that?”

Jeridan felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.

“Ow!”

“If you can hit me for lying, I get to hit you,” Negasi said. “Helen, explain yourself.”

The cyborg looked flustered. “I-I don’t know. ZHI should remember. She said some of her memory was corrupted. That must be it!”

Jeridan was not impressed. This thing could make a million computations per second and couldn’t come up with a believable story?

“Uh-huh. How convenient. The AI forgets the one thing that’s motivated us to go through all this danger.”

Helen response came out more as a plea. “Come on, Jeridan, think. The invasion is real. We couldn’t have made it up. You’ve seen newsvids about it on half a dozen planets and spaceports!”

“Sure, the invasion is real, but that doesn’t mean that’s your motivation for coming here.”

“Why else would we go through all this?”

Helen took another step back. Jeridan took a step forward. Negasi didn’t.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Helen raised her hands, trying to look confused and helpless. Jeridan wasn’t convinced for a second.

“Jeridan, look. I know we kept the two of you in the dark about many things, but that was only for security. We had the Antari Syndicate hunting us, and traitors in our own ranks. Negasi and I were nearly killed by one on Yavari Prime. We had to keep our true plans secret.”

“Yeah, you guys use that to justify a lot. Way too much. The question is, are you still keeping your plans secret? Which excuse are you using this time—the safety of the galaxy or your own personal security?”

Jeridan felt Negasi’s hand on his arm. He turned. Negasi nodded toward the AI. The blue pixelated face was impassive, listening.

“Um, right. ZHI, if you’ll excuse us for a moment?”

The two of them walked out of the room. Since Helen was between them and the door, she could either get out of the way or leave too.

She chose to leave.

The three of them walked in silence save for their footsteps on the metal deck. Once they were around the corner and all the way to the stairs, Jeridan stopped in front of her and, with his fists on his hips, spoke again.

“All right, I want an explanation and I want a good one. I don’t want you opening your mouth and a waterfall of cack coming out of it.”

“That would be a cackfall,” Negasi said.

“What?”

“If cack was coming out, it would be a cackfall. It might be in the shape of a waterfall, but if it’s cack, it would definitely be a cackfall.”

Helen smiled. “Are you two ever serious?”

“We are serious,” Jeridan snapped. “You can tell because we’re joking around. But I’m not joking about wanting an honest answer. Why does ZHI not remember the invasion?”

“It happened nearly a century before the rebellion that led to Imperial collapse. Maybe—”

“Maybe she wasn’t versed in basic history? Come on. Even when she was a human, she would have known about that.”

“The invasion was nearly a century before she was born. The Imperium had lots of wars with alien species.”

“Not one that powerful, and no others that came from outside the rim. Come on, Helen, you’re not getting out of it that way.”

“I’m not trying to get out of anything. I’m just as confused as you are.”

“We’re getting a cackfall,” Negasi told him.

“Big time.”

Helen gave Negasi an earnest look. “I’m not lying. Please believe me.”

Jeridan remembered what she had said about being in love with Negasi. Had that been a lie too? Something to put them off guard?

As far as he knew, Helen hadn’t told Negasi about her supposed feelings. He would have probably mentioned it, or maybe not if he was embarrassed. But if she didn’t tell Negasi, then why tell him? She had made it look like it was a reason to trust her, and it had convinced him a little bit. She had put on a good acting job.

Or was it acting?

Damn, these people are driving me crazy!

“We’re getting nowhere,” Negasi said. “She’s not going to give us a straight answer. Let’s figure out what to do about ZHI.”

“Now that we’ve put her on life support, we can finish up scavenging this place and then come back to her.”

“So kick the problem down the road because we don’t have a clue how to solve it?”

“Exactly.”

“It’s worked before.”

“It’s worked for most of our careers.”

“We have to tell her something,” Helen said. “We can’t just walk away and leave her stranded.”

“Um … right,” Jeridan said. “Let’s go talk with her. Helen, you stay outside the room and do not speak to ZHI. That’s an order. If you pull any more stunts, I’ll confine you to quarters for the duration and I don’t give a damn how important you are to the mission.”

Helen looked to Negasi for support, but he only turned away. The two of them headed back to the command center, Helen’s head hanging low.

Once they got back to the main command center, Helen stayed in the corridor and they entered. The blue face still shone on the central screen. There was nothing on the two flanking screens. ZHI obviously didn’t want to waste any energy.

Before Jeridan could speak, ZHI asked, “When will you power up the main reactor?”

“We haven’t had time to check its condition, and we lack the expertise to power it up safely.”

That was true. No one had ever found an intact Imperium reactor. They had all been scavenged in the early days of the fall or had detonated because of accidents or warfare. Not even a team of top research scientists from the highest-tech world in known space could turn on this station’s reactor without weeks of study.

Jeridan glanced at the doorway and didn’t see Helen. Good. The last thing they needed right now was her interference. She was probably just around the corner listening, though.

“We need to do some more work here in the station. We’ll return when we’re done.”

“I only have sufficient power reserves for 4.2 days at current power expenditure.”

“We’ll be back well before then.”

“What will you be doing in this station?”

Jeridan didn’t see any reason to lie. “We’re downloading all the information about jump gate technology. We’ll also be looking around for other tech that we don’t have in our era.”

“Theft of Imperium property is a felony.”

Jeridan bit his lip. From her perspective, that was exactly what they were doing.

“In normal situations, you would be correct. But since the fall of the Imperium, any Imperium-era station or ship not under local jurisdiction, such as a planet or planetary system, is considered owned by whoever first discovers and claims it.”

And who can fight off their rivals.

“So the station legally constitutes a natural resource?”

“You could put it that way.”

Negasi cut in. “Could you tell us a bit more about the technology you have here on this station?”

“Imperium protocols do not allow me to divulge that information to unauthorized personnel.”

“All authorized personnel died three centuries ago,” Negasi replied.

“I have not confirmed that information.”

Negasi didn’t have a response to that. Neither did Jeridan.

“Coming from your perspective, I can understand why you might not trust us. Is there any way we can convince you?”

“I presume you came here on a spacefaring vessel.”

“Of course.”

They had cut ZHI off from any external sensors, not that they were working anyway.

“If you give me access to your vessel’s databanks, I can scan the historical information and confirm your statements.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that at this time. Security.”

“I pose no threat. You have isolated me from all other systems.”

“I’m sorry, ZHI, but we don’t know your capabilities, and you nearly overloaded Helen’s implants.”

“I would be more careful next time.”

“We’ll see. In the meantime, sit tight. We’ll be back in time to give you more energy. Don’t worry, we won’t let you run down.”

Just what we’re going to do with you in the long term is another question.

He looked to Negasi, who nodded.

They headed out the door.

Just as Jeridan was about to leave, he turned back to the expressionless blue face on the screen.

“Oh, ZHI. We had a bit of trouble with an Imperium combat mech, probably the same mech that powered you up. Do you know of any other station defenses that might still be online?”

“Imperium protocols do not allow me to divulge that information to unauthorized personnel.”

Jeridan sighed. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

No tech scavenge of this magnitude was going to come for free.

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With the whirlwind turnaround to rescue Capal, I was glad we’d had that day of rest back on the Fakra’s forward operating base. There hadn’t even been a proper debriefing with General Takahashi, with Velke shooing us right back onto the ship; it wasn’t ideal, but the Marshal clearly wanted to hurry us along by the second. Besides that, I didn’t want to leave Cappy to rot in a cell any longer than necessary—his hosts seemed to have been rough with Dawson. I’d telepathically messaged Takahashi a handful of details that had been glossed over, before we left.

I hastily described everything from the Justiciary and the Elusian traitor, how 5D knocked us out for 11 hours, how the probe had shattered after a few glances, and my newly-unearthed far sight ability. Her head had snapped toward the spacecraft, when I told her right before we warped off Earth’s soil that Corai and I were an item. It was probably a good thing that she never heard the part where I broke the Watcher out of prison, endangering humanity for someone who might not have been on our side.

“How are we going to find your friend?” Velke demanded, having retrieved the nanobot vials at a blistering pace. The Marshal might have the secondary motive of wanting to return to supervising his insane invasion as soon as possible. “You don’t seem to know where he’s being held prisoner.”

I scratched the back of my head. “Er, I’m gonna do it like I trained the normal precog? Once we get to Caelum, just warp me…two feet, until it works. It seems like it’s only for stuff in the dimension I’m in. Like, I’ve done it once, but I also just knew things.”

“Excellent. That’s reassuring. You inspire such confidence in your abilities.”

“I’m sorry, would you magically understand how to use freaky brain abilities? I can’t just read a singularity like a book.”

“Preston cannot read any books,” Mikri added. “He’s computationally-challenged and basically illiterate.”

Sofia crossed her arms. “Mikri, I love you, but you can’t call anyone illiterate after your takes from our book club. You’re asking for Messton to clap back at you.”

“Obviously. I want to be ‘roasted!’”

The scientist frowned with displeasure. “Wouldn’t you prefer compliments that elevate your self-worth?”

“No. I know I am great. I like being stepped on and eviscerated! That’s how I know it comes from the heart.”

“A roasting? Not over a fire, presumably,” I mused. “You’d be shitty cavalry, because your lazy behind never holds a charge.”

“Ooh. Great. My turn! Your jokes are so cheesy—that’s why you’re afraid of mice!”

“Wait. You’re afraid of mice?” Corai snickered.

A growl rumbled in my throat. “Mikri…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Velke shouted, fury shaking his voice. “We’re crossing over to Caelum. Figure out how to find your friend, or else!”

The Vascar pulled a party horn out from under one of his wrist panels, and placed it in my mouth. I complied and exhaled with gusto, though the Marshal wasn’t provoked by the whimsical noise. He waited for his people to generate a new portal to Caelum, much like when they’d built an opening to Sol; Velke set his vessel to autopilot, then let his brain be temporarily deadened. Corai plucked the noisemaker from my mouth, and unfurled the paper right onto the tip of my nose with a smile. She winked at me, before allowing the nanobots to knock her out for transit.

Wait, is the random panel under Mikri’s wrist clean at all? He doesn’t even dust himself, ever. If we all make it out of this war in one piece, I’m gonna celebrate by gifting him a feather duster. Glorious.

I decided to focus up as we passed through the 5D portal, hoping I could tap into the far sight to locate Capal. It didn’t work in 5D for some reason, likely because every universe was too much, while 4D narrowed it down to one. Corai rebounded from being resuscitated yet again, though she was looking exhausted. The Elusian opened a simple portal effortlessly—show off. I remembered how I’d reached out to the singularity through the 5D probe, so I tried to reach out yet again with my mind: where was Capal? 

One foot through to hop to the back of the ship, and I was elsewhere: looking over Meganerd’s shoulder in a drafty cell, as some buffoons that called themselves Brigands were keeping an eye on him. They’d forced Capal to build some kind of negative-energy device, which was nearing completion. Jakov…I remembered that name from before, had sent Zitrae to monitor Cappy’s progress, since that traitorous metal lump understood what he was doing better. 

I could see a hopelessness in the organic Vascar’s eyes that I knew all too well, and I reached out toward his feelings even further—a formless extension of myself that could absorb knowledge like a sponge. Capal was running a test with a negative energy sample, and there was no way he was letting Jakov get his mitts on this. The time to act was now. The Brigands had pulled him away from the group, so that he wouldn’t try to escape, which was why…

“Hey, Ficrae?” Capal prompted, rage in his eyes.

Ficrae leaned forward, satisfied with lording over the creator. “Yes?”

“Fuck you.”

The Asscar yanked the handle on his device, praying that his plan would work. He’d only have a split second after it opened up to dive through and rejoin his buddies. It was simple—oh, of course that motherfucker thought that was simple! Capal’s reasoning was that he didn’t want to warp his friends straight into Ficrae’s arms, by opening the portal right on top of them. However, he conveniently placed the teleporter’s other side right in the middle of the wall to Dawson’s cell, dematerializing it.

Capal dove through the newly-opened portal, just after it deleted the wall. Dawson was caught off-guard as the Asscar frantically waved at him; the battered human crawled like an infant, unable to walk. However, just driving a shoulder into Jetti, Redge, and Hirri’s cell was enough to destroy it, since that wall wasn’t built to contain humans. While he wasn’t fast, funnily enough, Mr. Fields could keep up with the Caelumites on all fours. Wild. 

“What an inferior plan!” Ficrae whirred with rage in another room, running to catch them with a contingent of guards. “I thought your services may have been useful, Capal, but you are done. DONE!”

My grip on the scene was slipping, though I asked it one final question, vaguely remembering that I needed an answer. Where are you? Coordinates! The numbers appeared in my head in human notation, as if I’d always know them. I burst the bubble of my vision with an explosive push, like emerging from beneath water’s surface while drowning. I turned toward Corai, and hurled the digits at her mind before I’d regained my senses enough to speak. The Elusian nodded, making another portal.

“You’re abandoning the ship?” Velke exclaimed.

I turned back for a split-second, huffing with frustration. “No time! In and out. We can warp right back into it. Or you can stay here.”

The Fakra scowled, before grabbing his gun and trudging after us. Sofia tested her raisers and gave me a nod; she walked alongside Mikri and I as if we’d scripted it, finally acting together in the midst of danger. Before she got teched up by the Elusians, I would’ve been worried about Dr. Aguado in a combat situation, even with Sol strength. However, raisers and nanobots made us godlike compared to what any Brigands were capable of.

Blood rushed to my brain stepping through the portal, but I shrugged off another far sight vision, fighting through blurred senses. Now wasn’t the time. I lurched forward while the world was mere pixels, and found that my far sight had given us the exact location of Capal’s cell. The Asscar and his friends had already run off ahead, which meant we had to play catch-up. Corai and Velke emerged right behind us, while Mikri jumped on my back not to slow us down. I figured our hyper-advanced Elusian and Fakra party members could fend for themselves.

“I can’t keep up, but I can warp alongside you. Don’t worry about me. Let’s go save your friend,” Corai said, echoing my thoughts.

I sprinted down the hallway toward the sound of the noise, as the Elusian placed a helpful portal in front of us on the fly. It was disorienting to barrel at full, Sol-enhanced speeds into another hallway, and I knocked in a wall trying to turn on accident. It was all I could do not to slow down—not even to rub in to Sofia that she was falling quite a few steps behind, despite me carrying an overweight tin can. I could vaguely hear the sound of Capal pleading around the next corner, as Ficrae and her subordinates had caught them.

“Kill them and dispose of the bodies. We will get other scientists to continue his research, like Jakov said,” the android ordered.

“Corai!” I could hear the sound of gun safeties being unclicked, and we were out of range to use our raisers or to catch up in time. “A little help?”

The Elusian threw several portals down in front of us, ensuring that the five of us were deposi...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Engletroll on 2025-11-05 12:59:37+00:00.

Marcus Weiner entered the interrogation room, looking at the strange young man sitting in a chair, chained to the table. The man was muttering to himself. “No. It has to be a way, maybe him.. no, that leads to … then him?  No.. what about…  Sugat.. tamp Sagut..”

“Hey there, I’m Inspector Marcus Weiner.  And…” He looked at his file. “You are a mystery. The IDs we found on you are definitely stolen. So why don’t you start by telling me who you are?”

 “I’m Kalus Hamdecio, but you can call me Kalus. Not that it matters.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, Mr Hamdecio. You know why you were brought in, right?”

“Oh yes, I killed James Matthew Hain, I really did you guys a favor with that one. Do you know how many people that bastard will kill?” the man replied, and  Marcus looked at him, confused.

“He was five years old. You killed a kid. Why? For God's sake, why?”  Marcus said, and Kalus looked at him. His green eyes seemed manic, but the short black hair, slightly tanned skin, and casual suit almost made him look normal, except for the tattoos creeping over his arms and neck. He had seen the pictures of him without his clothes and knew the man was covered in these tattoos and scars from stabs, burns, and who knows what.

But from what he saw now, it was only those manic green eyes that hinted, that and his muttering.

“Because I know who he would grow up to be. Tell me, have you ever heard of a man named Adolf Hitler?”

“No, did you kill him too? How old was he when you killed him?”

Kalus smiled, “he was six. What about Lenin or Stalin?”

“Wait, are you confessing to murders of kids?”

“Yes, I did, and because of that, I stopped the war that would have devastated Europe in the 1930’s.”

“You don’t look that old. Look, so you claimed you stopped a war in the 1930s, what about the one from 1945 to 1960? You know the great one?”

Kalus sighted, because I didn’t understand the aftershock, then I thought it was just nightmares, but now.. now I know. I have stopped all the wars that came after.”

“So little James would have started a world war?” Marcus said and Kalus nodded.

“Yes, he would have grown up and become a communist leader who would take over the Southern States, he would have launched a war against Canada and the Northern United States. With his allies in the United Mexican states, they would manage to drive their forces north until the German union would come to rescue, and that's when he launches the nukes.”

“Little James launches nukes?” Marcus replied, and Kalus shook his head.\

“he won't be little then, he would be 58 years old, but if I wait, then he gets bodyguards, and it will become impossible to get close. Better to kill them as kids. A shot to the head and they die quickly. Save all of us from trouble.”

“Wait? You claim you’re a time traveler? Or do you see the future?” Marcus looked at the man, a confused expression on his face.

“I was born in 2247, and my father invented a time machine. So yes, I’m a time traveler. I travelled back to 1894 and killed Hitler as a kid in Austria, then I went to Russia and got both Lenin and Stalin.  Then I went to Italy and got Mussolini. My plan was to lie low until I caught up on time. Hell, I thought I would die of old age, but I was okay with that. I mean, I saved the Jews and gypsies from the Holocaust. Or so I thought.”

“Wait, the who? What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem, I didn’t know Hans Wolf would replace him.  Or that Hans would be far worse and win.”

“Serious? You are blaming yourself for that monster? You don’t even look old enough to have been born during that war.” Marcus replied

“A side effect of time travel. My body is stuck in time. I won't age; I will heal. Hell, I heal from anything, but I don’t age. I’m like one of those movie monsters.  Forced to live in this nightmare I have created. And still continue to prevent the end of the world.”

“Ahh, so you’re the good guy? Going around and killing dictators and monsters when they are little kids?”

“Yes, and as crazy as it might sound,” Kalus replied, and Marcus stood up.

“Well, I know what you’re going for, an insanity plea. I don’t think it will work. They don’t like child murders here."

He walked out and looked as if his partner had come out from the side room. “Have you heard something so stupid?”

“Yeah, crazy, right? Want me to check up on those names he dropped?”

“Are you crazy? It will take months. They will have to dig through mountains of archives just to find out if a kid dies in Austria, in what? 1804? That’s 131 years ago. You think they have time to do that? On the hunch that this guy is a time traveler?”

“Yeah, you're right. It just would be interesting to know.”

“Oh, Thomas, you like those novels too much. Time travel is just a fantasy.” Marcus looked at the guard and gave him a nod. “Bring him to the cell and keep him there. The judge can deal with him tomorrow.  Now, where is Ms Smith? I need her to type up the interview so I can write a report.” 

Thomas chuckled as he looked back at the room where the strange man was still chained to the table.

“Yeah, those lunatics? Always claiming the craziest things.”

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First | Previous

Pealy / John Doe POV - Hungry Opportunists

Council member Pealy Kauti strided through the halls with excitement in his step.

[THIS ISN'T A SHOW. GET LOST!]

He fucking got them!

Up until now, the Terrans have mostly been civil.

There was also that one incident on the S.S Kalen, but there was no way to establish that one's connection to it without exposing methods quite a few members of the Elder Council relied on as well. For some reason, he seems to have prepared a dead man's message confessing all of his involvement as well as the means he used.

Many of them need to gradually phase out of their method of accepting respect first, or it would be like kicking over a stone to expose an insect nest to the birds. They should probably do it anyway, if humans were deceitful enough for a random citizen to think of it.

He had their team remotely delete that message, but then automated accounts created 83051 more of them. It's the same identification number as the Coalition's Assembly Station, so it was practically a sarcastic message and threat.

These simians are frustratingly clever at times. That one in particular liked using a combination of technology and social leverage.

But no matter. The Elder Council had an appropriate public example they could use now. Now, they could finally fight this newcomer's influence off on two fronts.

A Terran was visibly and audibly snarling at passing shoppers in defense of an oversized scale sack that just savagely tore apart a table in an unprovoked outburst of violence.

There was certainly no way to explain this one.

Pealy and his associates had been pushing for a reevaluation of the Terrans' Aggression Index for months now, but the clever newcomers kept their ruse up far too well. They were relentlessly polite, always eager to discuss and negotiate peace even between feuding species, and were endlessly enthusiastic to learn about the other races.

And then there was their huge show of charity for the reptiles. It was utterly ridiculous to waste your standing in the Aggression Index just to purchase a garden world and modify it specifically to suit another species.

So ridiculous, in fact, that it was all the harder to accuse them of concealing their true natures.

He sighed once he was in the privacy of his office.

He remembered feeling like a raving lunatic struggling to convince the other Elder Race council members of the threat. Only five of the nine seemed to even feel a modicum of urgency when they bonded that well with the brutes. At the time of that first video with the ambassador, the Terrans were merely an amusing novelty to them.

Pealy suspected that the others...were getting too comfortable reaping profits. They didn't properly appreciate how delicate the systems built by their ancestors were, or how they needed adapt it to changing times.

He took his seat and accessed his computer. For now, it would start as an innocent proposal for the rest of the Gisali Council by...the Vensnil councilwoman. It was a delicate theater of impartial and opposing opinions between the Elder Council races, and it wouldn't do for him to be considered suspicious.

Canik like him were a "peaceful, diplomatic and trusting people", after all.

While the proposal made its rounds, he and the other original races could work out their roles to sway opinion. He would likely play the Terran's greatest advocate that acquiesced to the aggressive Kenia councilwoman's push for rigorous recordkeeping. Perhaps they could bring up the Terrans' interest in weaponry that seemed to frequently come up in their negotiations.

...

It had been a while since he last chat with Elder Councilwoman Pak'l, actually. Perhaps he should invite her to that new performance by the Horizon Troupe. She loved their work, if he recalled.

Late into the night, a nameless shadow slipped through the streets into the dock of the new up-and-coming shipping company, Mott's Shell.

With 400 employees and 127 shipping vessels, it was a modestly scaled operation within this sector of space, but it did incredibly well for itself considering it only recently broke off from its parent company.

The shadow slipped into the offices, where computers and documents lay.

For businesses with over 200 employees, it wasn't unusual for there to be a diurnal and nocturnal species-focused shift, but it was dead silent in the yard for this particular one because its staff were dominated by two races.

Terrans and Uvei.

In fact, they employed a good number of the Uvei on Kalen Station. While this did seem to scare off some clients, the benefits seemed to outweigh the costs.

It probably helped that there were a large number of the famously friendly Terrans who could deal with those people, but Mott's Shell mainly did business with Terrans happy to interact with and support Uvei anyway.

The shadow dug through the documents in the office until he found records of a specific shipment and memorized its contents.

Soon after, it slipped through the docks and went searching for that particular shipment.

Along the way, he observed the...extensive firepower built into various delivery shuttles. Surely, that was Uven influence?

The other unexpected benefit to employing many people from a warrior species was the sense of protection it brought.

This company was not shy about sending its cargo into dangerous territory. In fact, it almost seemed to boldly and deliberately venture into space pirate territory.

The company had been operating for 7 months now. During this time, it had overcome three attacks and initiated two of its own in retaliation. It also was successfully "plundered" once, but that turned out to be a trap.

All in all, Mott's Shell was practically just as much a bounty hunting business as it was a shipping company.

Anyone would think that this was the militaristic Uvei at work, but the intruder's client insisted that the Terrans themselves were likely leading these skirmishes.

Vessel A-83, the shadow's target came into view.

After double-checking his surroundings to ensure it was secure, he slipped into delivery shuttle.

Inside this shuttle were large, empty crates. It had just finished a run to Nysis providing food aid and would restock to make yet another run tomorrow.

The infiltrator went straight to the engine and started changing out some parts. As his client would have it, this vessel had completed its last run on this day. Tomorrow, its engine would overheat due to a manufacturing error and rupture, ruining all the cargo aboard.

The first part of his job complete, the shadow slipped out and headed to the security room.

Destroying this one supply might end up causing one or two Uvei families to go hungry, but it was a drop in the bucket compared to the larger Terran-Uven effort.

Inside the security room, there were two sleeping Terran guards-the only two on the roster for tonight. Their drinks had been laced with a knockout drug earlier in preparation for this.

The saboteur quietly walked past them and to the security computers. They hooked up their own device to it before scanning through for any and all traces of their presence. It must all be purged.

Their digital tool flickered and the missing data was soon replaced with doctored footage.

He personally had nothing against the large reptiles. It just so happened that the highest bidder, for some reason, did. Unfortunately for these new friends, Hate was simply good business.

The shadow quietly returned to its own ship, occasionally checking their surroundings to ensure they weren't followed.

The path back had an intense odor, but the less people around to witness signs he existed at all, the better.

Finally, he arrived on his compact and innocuous base, where he promptly plopped down in the captain's chair and made a report on his computer.

"Send message: [The job is complete. Moving on to the next assignment in one week.]"

....

[Message recieved: Payment to be rendered upon the explosion reaching the news.]

"I guess it's only natural that you don't actually have your client's name written anywhere."

"!?"

An unfamiliar voice sounded behind him snapped him to attention just as he'd begun to relax.

When he spun around, a Terran came into view. He had a roundish body and an almost blank stare. It was one of the executives of Mott's Shell.

"So, what's your name?"

Just as the saboteur reached for a weapon...he fell over, captain's seat and all. Did...did this Terran unscrew it and add adhesives to the seat?

"Let's call you John Doe."

"Guh-!"

John pulled his pistol out and pointed it at the new intruder. Before he could pull the trigger, however, a large looming shadow dropped from above and crushed his gun underfoot.

It was an Uven, and it was panting with fury. He dragged his claws down the walls and grasped John's tail, lifting him off the ground. The talons dug into his tail painfully, but he suppressed the yelp.

"Is it true?!" Gretal snapped. His tail slammed the ground with emotion.

Jacey interjected as he walked past John to start typing on his computer. "He's asking about my s...

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—

Tobby was in hell. A special kind of hell. Not the blackjack and hookers kind of special, but the kind devised by a sadistic god of social interaction that preyed on introverts. One where you’re given good food, a comfy booth, classical music, and a pair of shi bringing up every cringe moment you’ve ever had.

At least the line to the buffet table was nonexistent… It seemed weird that a fish known for its likeness to crab meat could taste better than the real thing. That might be just him, though… Plus, no shells! The only reason he picked the imitation crab was because it was one of the few things he recognized in the selection. His knowledge of human foods wasn't vast, but he was sure this one was safe for Shahsian consumption. Probably…

“Oh, did he tell you he tried out for the school’s bap-tal team?” Pinky asked from his left, slightly leaning on Tobby in the booth as she carried on the conversation like its subject wasn't sitting right next to her.

Leaning onto his right side in a similar position was Soapy, visibly just as entertained by his suffering as Pinky was. “Actually, I think he mentioned it when I was helping him get his gloves on for our match.”

Pinky snickered, giving Tobby a nudge. “You had her help you get your gloves on?”

“I didn’t know how. Hard to remember when you haven't worn a set in years.” Tobby grumbled defensively, trying his darndest to focus on the food instead of this whole conversation.

“Was that before or after your mom asked me to drag you kicking and screaming to tryouts?”

“Whatever undermines your story more, I still feel betrayed about that by the way.” He grumbled louder, ears going flat to the side, clearly unamused, remembering how one-sided the bap-tal tryouts had been.

Soapys winced a bit sympathetically, but still seemed amused. “It went that bad, huh? Get his tail handed to him?”

Pinky nodded, “He was so afraid of getting hit, his arms were black with glove marks by the time try-outs were over.”

“I was not!” His ear flicked, totally not having flashbacks to how all the water in the bath he took after turned black from the sheer volumes of smudge marks.

“That does explain why your first reaction when we fought was to put your arms up.” Soapy thought aloud, looking up at the roof like the memory of their fight was somehow up there.

“It’s okay, I got enough petty vengeance on his behalf to make up for it.” Pinky said, folding her arms and nodding proudly.

Soapy leaned in a bit closer, curiosity visibly peaked. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hear something about petty vengeance?” She asked, looking all too eager about the subject now.

“I’d hardly call it petty…” Tobby pouted between the two pretty shi. “She slept with a guy’s brother just so she could bash him in the bits the next day and tell him: ‘his brother’s was bigger.’”

While Soapy looked momentarily surprised, Pinky simply shrugged, still plenty proud of her actions. “What can I say? I do love me some emotional damage.”

“Yeesh.” Soapy cringed a bit at the mental image. “Did you kick him while he was down, at least?”

Tobby would have been impressed if Pinky hadn’t. “Yes, she did. And that was-” Tobby's head snapped over towards Soapy, not believing his ears. “What do you mean, at least!? She was assaulting people for being mean to me.”

“I’m sure they… probably deserved it?” Soapy shrugged, trying to sound plaintive but coming off more like she couldn't believe it herself. Her eyes, though, looked past him to where Pinky was sitting. Then came the stifled snicker of doom.

Oh no, he was not getting ambushed again! His head snapped the other way, expecting Pinky was about to honk his ears again, only to see stands of imitation crab disappearing into her mouth. He glanced down at his place, noticing some was missing. “Hey! You have legs, don't you? Get your own! The buffet table’s literally right over there,” he protested, pointing to the buffet with one hand while pulling the plate away from her with the other.

Pinky looked guilty as sin for all of 0.3 seconds before she snickered around a mouthful of his pseudo-crab!

Tobby’s head snapped the other way to see that his plate was now even emptier. He’d question where it went if not for Soapy daring to whistle innocently after she swallowed.

He was being mugged; worse, he was being tag-teamed. He pulled his ever-diminishing plate away again, but before he had time to scold Soapy, he sensed a disturbance and turned back to Pinky to see even more of his fake crab missing. “Quit it! I got these for me!” He growled, moving the plate again.

Every time he looked to one to scold them away from his food, the other struck, snatching another strip of his proxy-crab. He may not win this battle… but this meant war!!

—

Meanwhile… across the room.

To say the government didn't have a vested interest in the comings and goings of the sha-kai would, at best, be public grandstanding, and at worst, crippling naivety. That being said, the Populi needn’t be the only governing tribe sinking its teeth into the bounty of human relations.

Bounty was the Mercanti’s domain, and Representative Noideen (Noy-deen) was here to ensure it remained so. “I’m honestly unsure if I’d want the blitz to end. The scare has pushed profits to the highest they’ve been in years. Think we can convince the lizards to slow down a little?” She jested with a laugh that gave an air of practiced haughtiness.

The Sha-kai bosses gathered around chuckled along politely, while the humans had a bit of a delay, their translators likely still adapting to converting Shasian standard into one of their numerous dialects and vice versa. She couldn’t hold it against them; learning new languages was hard, and the bald apes had so many languages she couldn't guess how anyone kept up.

“True, those ancient space lizards forcin’ everyone to cash out like this is really crunchin’ me time tables,” a pale one with the orangish fur patch on his head said, his attire reminding her a bit of what those voidling pirates fancy wearing. “Me ships runnin’ hot day n’ night trying to make as many trips as possible. But I got to say, my checking account ain't ever looked so pretty.”

Another darker one gave him a nudge with his elbow. “Sure would save you lots of time if ya just pre-cooked them there woolie’s ‘ey? All yer’ sheep ‘dere are just gonna get cooked when they get here anyway.”

“Oi, them xenos pay out the ass for fresh meat. Ain't notin’s fresher than alive, so I’ll happily take five light-years off me top speed to keep my sweater factories comfy. Ya maple rasta-drum halfbreedin’ bastard.” Ah, casual racism, good to know humans have it too.

“Oh, don’t gimmie dat half-breedin’ shit dere bud. All you fellas on Wales 3 and 4 barely break past a quarter Welsh. But I’ll be damned if when you settle Wales-God-Damn-5 if it ain't almost entirely made of splicers.” Ah, competitive raceism… good to know humans have that too…

“I do have to admit, mutton is good… especially lamb,” Noideen said, choosing to diffuse the situation before it devolved into a brawl. “If only it were legal in the GC, then we could do our business out in the open.” She shook her head in faux disappointment. “Then again, that would only tank the value of the product. And we can't have that now, can we?”

“As enticing as cashing out might be, I’d actually like to see how you cats intend to fend ‘em off.” Said the pale one, she’d get his name eventually, if not solely for the sake of having a private mutton supplier down the road.

“Fend them off?” She questioned, a little perplexed that the humans thought they could actually fight the Kalikai Ancients. Thus far, she’d been pretty certain they grasped the severity of the power gap between their civilizations. Despite Militaunt posturing, the Shasian military was rendered just as hobbled as the economy. Meanwhile, the ancients were one of the few founding species of the galactic community left, and the only race left that technologically rivaled the Gra.

“Yeh, why not? I don't know about you, but if some asshole came to one of our worlds to enforce laws we didn’t have a say in, much less wanted, we’d kick 'em in the dick, repeatedly, until we couldn’t kick anymore. And then we’d swap legs.”

“I see…” Graphic though it may be, Noideen mulled the mental image over a bit. It heavily implied that the humans would fight back even if they couldn’t win. The Militaunt would love to take advantage of that… or hate the problems it could cause.

The darker ‘halfbred’ as he’d been called, idly twiddled a thick knife between his fingers as a kitten would a toy. “We’ve got a long and colorful history of being absolute bastards to occupying powers. Lots ‘ah warlord types who thought well-oiled war machines were the best way to go. They’d conquer a lot of territory initially, but they always failed to account for the pissed off locals. Piss in their cereal enough, and suddenly important people start dying mysteriously, wells get poisoned, and bombs start ending up in some real creative places there~”

“Doesn't that come off as a little… spiteful?” She questioned, idly stirring one of those ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Iggy-Giggy06-03 on 2025-11-05 04:36:08+00:00.

THE TAXONOMIC BREEDS OF HUMANS

The taxonomic branches of Terran-based hominids, as acknowledged by the Interstellar Council of Species and Evolution.

Note: this is not an exhaustive list. There are other, smaller subsets of humans out there that are not listed due to various concerns and issues. The ones listed are often considered the “Big Five” of humans.

Homo sapien - oldest human breed in the taxonomic branch. The origin point of all the other modern Terran-origin hominids. They are mostly unchanged from the days of FTL travel creation, except the phenotypical presentations have narrowed due to globalization on their home planet, Earth. They mostly remain on Earth, rarely leaving their planet. There is a cultural perception among them that they have to keep their bloodlines “pure”. Due to this, this breed is culturally more prone to xenophobic practices, even to other Terran-based hominids. There have been reports of extremist governments on Earth sending out Homo sapien soldiers for the express purpose of “culling” non-Earth-origin humans. This branch considers themselves superior and traditional, despite being the most susceptible to chronic conditions like obesity, heart disease, and cancerous growths. The galactic community considers these hominids to be backwards and cult-like, so they are often not included in galactic conversations.

————>

Homo levo - the “average” human in the universe. These hominids are taller, stronger, healthier, and generally have larger eyes to account for lower light levels in space. They are the first taxonomic split from Homo sapien, the split occurring between 2,500-4,000 years after FTL travel became common. The quickened evolutionary pace is attributed to gene modding. These are your typical “space” humans, running FTL ships. Like Homo sapiens, their phenotypic presentation is narrow, but the gene-modding in their gene pool prevents genetic homogenization. Homo levos make up about 77% of all living Terran-based individuals today. Much unlike their Earth-origin counterparts, they are much more open to other hominids and even xeno races. Some xeno races claim that Homo levos are the “superior” humans, as compared to Homo sapiens. Their kinder temperament and improved health makes them fine ship companions. Their presence in the galactic community is cherished, despite how we view their backwards ancestors.

————->

Homo pugnax - these humans are bred for the specific purpose of being soldiers. There is debate whether these hominids should be filed under the Homo levo species, but they have their own identifiable markers. Homo pugnax are not bred specifically for space-fairing, but combat in a diverse range of settings. They have the taller, broader stature of Homo levos, but their eyes are generally squintier and more upturned, likely to help protect the eyes in combat. The split was a staggering 1,000 years post evolution of Homo levo. Gene modding is again the culprit for this massively quick pace. Homo pugnax is generally considered the most unhealthy of the Terran-origin hominids due to their constant joint problems and heart problems. While not often included in greater galactic community due to their aggressive nature, they are the galaxy’s last line of defense against threats of both natural origin and racial tensions. Homo pugax do not allow xenophobia in their ranks, believing it a moral failing of a soldier to prefer one type of “civilian” over another.

————->

Homo frigus - these Terran-based hominids are often not called humans at all. They call themselves the hulnin, calling planet Aeuth home instead of Earth. Multiple Terran-based hominid colonies formed on Aeuth about 100,000 years ago. Since then, Aeuth had entered an ice age, forcing the Terran hominids to adapt over those 100,000 years or face starvation or hypothermia. Hulnin are the tallest of the Terran-origin hominids, standing at an average of 190cm. They have grown pale from lack of sun and living underground. The distinctive blue hue of males is an epigenetically triggered after a rite of passage ritual where they survive for approximately 28 days on Aeuth’s frigid, stormy surface. In hulnin culture, the deeper the blue, the more “masculine” they are considered. They often refuse to be part of galactic conversations, seeing modern technology as corrupting and evil. They prefer to live quiet lives on Aeuth, their only interactions with other homos coming from outward attacks from Homo sapiens. They are not hostile to any other race.

————->

Homo definitus - another Terran-based hominid highly debated on having their own taxonomic branch. The split debatedly happened in the last 500 years on Earth, as so-called “neurodivergent” humans chose to produce progeny with each other. These hominids are often nonverbal, preferring to communicate with Galactic Sign Language than with typical spoken language. The ones capable of speech often have deeper, more monotone voices. This is the only taxonomic branch of humans that preserved recessive traits like lighter and orangey hair, light eyes, and height under 165cm. The debate of separation began when a hominid “neurodivergent” female gave birth to five boys with red irises. Homo sapiens reject them from their ranks but also refuse to acknowledge their separate genotype. Due to this, the galactic community stepped into preserve this budding breed. You will often see them working with xenos. They give other Terran-based hominids a fear response known as the “uncanny valley”, where their minds ID them as human-looking but not human.

Originally posted to r/HASO, but decided to edit and post here to test my market

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Obsequium_Minaris on 2025-11-05 02:38:35+00:00.

First / Previous / Royal Road

XXX

The General led them through the arena's halls. Light-emitting stones embedded in the walls showed the path ahead of them, but did little to quell the apprehension that had forced its way into Pale's mind since their arrival here.

Within just a few minutes, it was entirely possible that the war would be close to ending. Hopefully, it would end in their favor, but if it didn't…

Pale shook that thought from her mind as she continued on, trailing behind the General. They walked on together for several minutes before finally exiting the halls and emerging out into a large chamber of some kind.

And, as expected, their opponents were already there.

Pale hadn't heard anything about the Otrudian Champion, but looking at him now, she wasn't surprised. He was tall – taller than even General Caldera – with fair skin, a shaved head, dull gray eyes, and a litany of scars covering his face; she could only assume the rest of his body looked similar. He was dressed in thick plate armor from his chest down, which had been colored jet black, and was carrying a wicked-looking spear, with a series of daggers sheathed across his chest.

Coupled with the blank expression he wore on his face, and he looked every bit an equal to the General. Pale was actually taken aback by it; the last time she'd met someone this intimidating in looks alone, it had been Sven. That was both cause for concern, and cause for relief – concern because it meant that this man was likely even stronger than Sven was.

Relief because, much like Sven, he wasn't invincible. Sven had seemed like an unkillable monster, up until the moment Pale had reduced his head to a pulp by pumping it full of bullets. If the Otrudians' Champion was anything like Sven was, then he was also mortal after all.

Not that it would be easy, as evidenced by the apprehensive look on the General's face.

Pale tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention, and the General glanced at her out of the corner of her vision. Slowly, Pale gave her a small nod.

"You have this under control," she assured her. "Get out there and let's end this, once and for all."

The General blinked, but nodded, then sucked in a breath before stepping out into the arena. Pale and the rest of her knights stayed behind; from across the arena, she could see the Otrudian Champion's group of six had done the same as them, having opted to stay away from the center of the arena.

It just reinforced the fact that they were all nothing more than witnesses rather than participants in what was about to happen.

Pale tore her attention away from the other side's spectators and focused instead on the General as she approached her opponent. The tall, musclebound man's eyes narrowed as she approached, and he crossed his arms.

"You're late," he surmised. "Did you not understand that you were supposed to make it here as soon as possible after the challenge was issued? We've been waiting for a long time."

"I got here as soon as I could," Caldera insisted. She glared at the man before her. "Before we begin, I have but one request. I ask that you grant it."

"I am merciful enough to grant the last wishes of a dead woman walking. What is that you want?"

"Your name. If the Gods are going to force us to kill each other, then I at least want to know what I'll be putting on your gravesite."

"Heh. Maybe this will be fun after all." The man shook his head. "I am Commander Grayson. And you?"

"General Caldera."

"Well then, General… this will be a fight to the death, between us and us alone. If you are prepared, now is the time to stand firm and draw steel."

"Yes, I-"

At that moment, though, Pale noticed something. The General suddenly reeled, her eyes widening in surprise. She raised her hands up and stared at them in shock. From her spot next to the exit, Pale was just barely able to make out the faintest flickering of magical sparks across Caldera's palms. She realized then and there what was happening.

Something had just caused Caldera's barrier to completely drop.

Before the General could properly voice her concerns about this, however, Grayson struck. As Pale watched, the Commander suddenly rocketed forwards, leading with his spear. And despite her nature as a machine, he was moving so fast that even Pale found it hard to properly track him. Caldera was no slouch, however; she was matching him movement for movement, the two of them darting around the arena so quickly that Pale felt like she was watching an afterimage of the fight rather than the fight itself.

It was an incredible display of power. Each blow left another crater in the ground, or in the wall; every spell cast filled the air with enough residual magic to cause the hair on the back of Pale's neck to stand up, even from her spot far away from it all. And yet, even as the General did her best to stay in the fight, one thing became clear very early into it.

Whatever had gone wrong with her barrier, it was costing her badly.

The two Champions eventually separated. Grayson stood across from Caldera, blood dripping from the tip of his spear. Caldera was doubled over, gasping for breath and clutching at her wounds. Crimson fell from her right arm and torso onto the ground below, and a nasty gash above her right eye had forced her to close it in order to keep the blood out of it.

Alarm bells began going off in Pale's mind as she stared at the two combatants. Without another word, she went to raise her rifle and begin firing at Grayson, only for one of the knights next to her to grab it by the handguard and forcibly prevent her from taking aim.

"Don't," the knight urged. "If you do that, this war is lost."

Pale glared at the man. "Are you watching the same fight as me?" she growled. "Look at her. This war is already lost if we don't do something-"

"Stand down!" General Caldera barked out without looking back, causing Pale to go silent. "Don't interfere! I can… I can do this!"

Reluctantly, Pale grimaced and did as she was told, because was unable to do anything else. She wanted to look away; she may not have liked the General on a personal level, but the fight she was watching was so hopelessly one-sided that she already knew its conclusion ahead of time.

She didn't bother watching the rest of it, instead switching to her ship's surveillance system to see what was happening outside. To her surprise, she saw what appeared to be several high-ranking Otrudian officers beginning to rally their troops; it didn't take much for her to realize an offensive was imminent. Slowly, her eyes narrowed.

None of the spectators from either group had left the arena yet, so there was no way anyone from outside would have known how the fight was going. Unless…

Pale's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a flash of steel, followed by a sharp gasp from the General. Her eyes widened as she watched Caldera sink down to her knees, Grayson's spear jutting out point-first from behind her.

The fight was all but over. And from what Pale could see, Caldera hadn't even managed to break Grayson's barrier in the process.

The Otrudian Commander stood over the General as she clutched at the shaft of the spear, desperately trying to pull it from her torso even as blood pooled on the floor around her. Grayson eyed her with sheer malice, a sneer crossing over his face.

"Pathetic."

And then he drew a dagger from the sheath crossed over his chest, drove it into the General's throat, and roughly tore up and out.

Caldera fell to the ground, writhing in agony as blood arced from her wound. But it was no use; it only took a few seconds before she was unconscious, and then just a few more before blood loss finally claimed her for good. Pale simply stared at the General's body in shock for a few seconds, still trying to process what she'd seen.

And then, as she stared, the Otrudians' barriers suddenly flared up. Everyone on the opposing side cracked a wide grin as purple energy surrounded them for a moment. A quick check of Pale's surveillance system showed the same thing was happening to their entire army, with soldiers staring in awe at each other as they began to radiate with pure power for a few seconds.

Then the purple energy collapsed inward, causing them all to jolt. Their eyes began to glow as they convulsed in place. But just as soon as it had come, it was over.

And when it was, they were changed, somehow. It was difficult to describe; it was as if the entire army had just received a massive second wind, and had entered the field completely rejuvenated and re-moralized. Pale wasn't sure what had happened, but she knew one thing.

She needed to get back to her friends, as soon as possible.

That was why, when the Otrudians outside began to rush forwards, she didn't hesitate.

Her ship's cannon opened up, and suddenly, the entire mountainside was riddled with explosive shells. The first wave of Otrudians was torn to absolute ribbons, as the sheer amount of artillery kicked up enough dust and debris to temporarily block out the sun in that area. The arena itself shook with every shell, but somehow it didn't collapse. Pale, for her part, didn't wait ...

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John's mind blanked.

For a moment, there was nothing; no thoughts put to words, just an overwhelming sense of worry. The fugue didn't last long, though. Something snapped deep in his core as he took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting down the sudden incandescent rage that threatened to burn him up from the inside out.

How dare she? What gave Kiku the right to come stomping around here like she was the queen of the universe and ruin everything like some god damn drunk driver? Things were actually getting better for once!

Perhaps he was right, and that every bit of brightness came with a hidden dagger, waiting to punch its way right into your guts. He shouldn't have let his guard down so much.

He—he was going to fix this. Somehow. The problem would be resolved, and Kiku would never dare set foot in this region again by the time he was done with her. He had to make sure that there was nowhere to hide, nowhere where she could go to catch her breath.

What frustrated him the most was the question of how. It was impossible to fight a shadow, and for all her flaws, Kiku was maddeningly evasive, with her presence more felt than seen.

He took in air deeply and shuddered, violent energy once more trying to violently escape as he felt the urge to put his fist straight through the nearest wall.

John turned to Yuki. "Pardon me for a moment, I might be a bit loud," he shakily said.

A smile, so faint that he almost didn't notice it, graced Yuki's face. "Please, go ahead."

He opened his mouth and intended to curse Kiku out with words that had never been spoken on this world, he really did. Instead, what issued forth from his lungs was more of a primal, pained roar as he screamed his frustrations to the aether, reverberating off the walls.

It stretched on unto eternity, and he didn't know he could shout that long as his lungs burned and stars danced at the edges of his eyes, but it turned out his lungs could hold more than expected. By the time it was over, he was a heaving, panting mess, and he had to roughly clasp a hand onto wood shelving to make sure he didn't tip over. His lungs burned, his eyes watered, and his throat hurt from the sheer exertion.

Yet, his mind felt clearer and more focused than it had any right to be.

"Better?" Yuki asked.

After a moment, he nodded. "Surprisingly? Yeah." He felt more ready to act, at least.

Now that he thought more about it, everyone upstairs probably had questions, and the couple were probably scared half to death by his banshee-esque shrieking. Nobody came rushing down the stairs, though, so Rin probably knew he was fine, somehow.

"It's fine, we can deal with this," he sighed. "Now that I think of it, it isn't quite as bad as I thought, although we might have to take some cuts." John stopped, glancing around at the various sealed containers containing the more volatile foods. "The jars are still sealed, so Aiki physically couldn't have spoiled those, but everything else? We can't test it without knowing what she might have put on it." He paused for just a beat as something came to mind. "Wait. You said that there was no way she'd be able to use a poison that would disable me and still affect you, right? What about Rin?"

"I'm unsure about Rin, but in the short term, she should be fine," Yuki said, "If she spent months eating tainted products, whatever it is might build up into affecting her."

"So, the town is, in theory, safer for Aiki and Haru right now than here now that the priests put those wards up and the tax collectors are dealt with, right?" John asked. "Should we drop them and, uh, that tax collector we still have locked up? I think his name was Kaito? None of them knows anything secret, and odds are that anything that Kiku could get out of them she already got from her alone time with Aiki. That alone already cuts our food load in half, plus you can still eat the potentially spoiled stuff." He paused, just for a beat, as a new worry bloomed in his mind. "What if she expected us to see this? After all, you don't shed, so neither does she; thus, that hair may be there as bait, somehow."

"No, it'd be too likely to blow away or get lost. If I were her, I'd leave better, less unstable bait, like a mysterious bag of coins that happened to have a hair in it," the kitsune mused, shaking her head. "It's possible that it came loose during our last fight, and only fell off now. Nevertheless, I'd carefully wash everything in the kitchen, too. Dropping some poison in a cup would be terribly easy and not arouse much suspicion. Perhaps she tried to poison the well, but your curious system of filters should handle most common poisons she could acquire locally."

He didn't even think about that. He really, really should have.

"Besides that point, your idea has merit. I enjoy Aiki and Haru's presence, but they're liabilities right now. About Kaito…" Mischief flashed in her eyes, and a wide grin crossed her face as she made a big show of scratching her chin. "We have some money now, and his kind may still think him a traitor. Perhaps he could hire him as a food taster."

A vision of the man they held captive, weeping over a bowl of vegetables as Yuki loomed over him, forcing him to eat under the shroud of her intimidating presence flashed through his mind.

"Yuki, no," John said. "We don't need another person who is too scared to have a conversation with us hanging around."

"You're right, we could keep him in the room to avoid having to pay him," she admitted, sighing dramatically. "Either that, or we could feed him a selection of tainted foods before we send him on his way and see if he dies on the walk back. If we're lucky, perhaps he'll get fed to the Greater Nameless and get it sick."

"Please don't," John groaned. He was fairly sure she was messing with him, but the kitsune was a natural actor, even if that put-upon sigh seemingly gave the game away. Of course, there was always the chance that some "Haha, just joking… Unless…" shenanigans were in play, but he refused to believe Yuki would stoop to the level of some of the most desperate souls he had seen online.

"We could solve a few issues with a single choice," she mused, before finally shaking her head. "No, you're right. It's best to have a loyal food taster. Empress Mariko died that way back in my time; the head of the previous dynasty, whom she used as a shield against plots by his loyalists, managed to poison himself so completely that even his saliva was enough to taint the young empress' drink, starting another succession war."

For a moment, John just stared unblinkingly at his companion. If nothing else, that was an admirable level of commitment, even if it was surreal to imagine how long ago that must have been.

"Yeah, that makes sense," he muttered in response, unsure of how else to respond, pausing for an uncomfortably long time. "How the hell did you end up so nice when Kiku's so… like this?" John hesitantly asked.

Yuki's smile did not flicker, but she turned to John and stared at him with uncomfortable intensity.

John broke eye contact first, looking away and cringing. "Sorry. I didn't think what I said through."

Yuki gently placed a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched at the unexpected contact. "I ask the same thing, sometimes."

John opened his mouth, unsure if he should say anything. He hadn't thought about it much then, but in retrospect swore she dropped a hint. How much could he trust his memory? 

"Kiku did mention something about a betrayal, but she didn't elaborate," John said once he gathered his courage. 

When he finally looked up, he saw that Yuki's gaze was boring into him with uncommon, steely intensity. "Are you sure she didn't mention anything else?" asked the kitsune. 

"Yes," John said, shaking his head. "She seemed bitter about it, though. I don't know why I didn't think more about it before." Could some trauma be the reason behind the sister's ill temper? Perhaps more importantly, was it something from Yuki's earlier years or just before she was cast down and locked away? With the assorted mix of memories each of the kitsune sisters seemed to have, it could easily be either.

That gentle hand drifted along his neck before patting him on the head. It was his turn to glare at the kitsune, even if there was no heat to it.

"You were preoccupied. There's no shame in that," Yuki stated.

John broke eye contact first. "We should let them know. Maybe we'll bring them back tomorrow, if this storm lets up." Of course, this might be some kind of attempt to lure them into the open with fragile non-combatants to protect, but that was too conspiratorial, even for John, and if he locked himself up thinking about every "what if" he'd never get anything done.

"Of course. Do you want to deliver the news, or should I?" she inquired.

John paused. It was tempting to say no, to squirrel himself away on a project and not think about how much they may hate him now, but something in his heart wouldn't let him. Was it guilt? The sneaking suspicion that they feared Yuki even more than him? He didn't know.

What he did know was that he had to do right by them. They needed a proper explanation, and he could only pray he was strong en...

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Chapters: 1,2,3,4,6,7,8,9,10,11,13,15,17,19,21,22,23

Chapter 24: Day of Ambush

Arthur rapped on the tent pole once. Twice.

“Come in.”

He stepped through the curtain, eyes adjusting to the warm lamplight inside. The heat of the tent wrapped around him, a stark contrast to the sharp morning chill outside.

“Sir Felinus?” Arthur said.

Henry emerged from a partition, his tunic half-laced and grin ready. He extended his hand. “Just Henry. Save the titles for my eldest brother and his spare. I earned my name the hard way.”

Arthur grasped his hand firmly. “Henry, then. Are you ready for today?”

“I understand our duty.”

“That was not the question.”

A pause. Henry nodded once, deeper this time. “I am ready. We will not fail. I’ll fall before we break.”

“I trust your resolve,” Arthur replied. “Still, I’d hate to see you die.”

The grin thinned to something more hollow, resigned. “I have always been a burden to my house. If not here, I’d have been sent to die in some other noble war, for some other cause. This one at least feels like it matters. I’ve made my peace.”

Arthur observed him for a moment. “You’ve been passed from battlefield to battlefield,” he said. “Shuffled out of sight. Too dangerous to keep close, easy to lose at the edges of the world.”

Henry blinked.

“Yet, every time they tried to cast you into the fire, you walked out of it.” Arthur went on. “You didn’t just survive, you led. You won. Again and again, you took disaster and bent it to your will.”

That landed. Henry looked away, jaw tight.

“If you truly believed you were meant to die,” Arthur said, “you would’ve let it happen.”

Henry swallowed. “What are you saying?”

“You’ve built a life out of proving people wrong.” Arthur replied, voice low. "Do not stop now.”

Silence. Then a small nod. “You’re good at this, you know,” Henry muttered. “Blunt.”

“I do not need you to like me,” Arthur said, offering the faintest hint of a smile. “I need you to hold the line.”

“I will,” Henry replied. The old fire flickered behind his eyes. “Even if it kills me.”

Arthur’s expression hardened slightly. “Don’t let it. I’ve grown tired of watching the good ones die.”

Henry studied him for a moment, then gave a quiet nod, heavier than anything he’d said aloud.

Henry finished lacing his tunic, buckled his armor, then stood, shoulders squared. Outside, horses shifted. Tack creaked. Two Battle Groups waited, mounted and ready.

Arthur stepped back and lifted the flap of the tent. Morning sunlight flooded in, catching the fine dust in the air like drifting ash.

Henry followed. The two men emerged shoulder to shoulder, boots thudding softly into the packed earth. Conversations among the ranks stilled as eyes turned to them.

Arthur gave a sharp whistle, and Drew guided his mount over. The young man handed Arthur the reins without a word.

Henry mounted up with practiced ease, and Arthur followed suit. They both took a moment to survey their men. Each rider was ready, their expressions solemn. 

Then, without a signal, they turned and rode. The line moved as one, steady and deliberate. Not covert. Not rushed. A force with nothing to hide.

Or so it would seem.

Arthur’s eyes swept from tree to tree, ears tuned to the wind, breath steady. His Daniel Defense PDW rested in the crook of his arm, muzzle angled low but ready to snap up in either direction. Behind him, the column rode in disciplined formation, two abreast. They were silent, tense, every rider watching the treeline.

The forest closed in around them. Environmental Analysis pulsed, glowing outlines flickering behind brush and root, threat vectors painting themselves in ghost-light across his vision. Situational Awareness expanded outward, wrapping his senses around every snapping branch and distant echo.

They didn’t wait long.

The first contact came in the form of a snarl. Low, guttural, primal. Then a blur of motion: two Hellhounds broke cover on the left, lunging straight for him.

Arthur was already moving.

The PDW snapped up. Two controlled bursts. Gas spat from the suppressor’s front, hot and sharp. The first hound crumpled mid-leap; the second never made it out of the brush.

Drew’s spear flashed forward, striking through both corpses in quick succession, confirming the kills.

The column didn’t stop.

They pressed on. The first attack was followed by another. Then another. Stronger demons now, with larger bodies, gnarled horns, scavenged armor strapped over mottled skin. They roared and shrieked, swinging heavy clubs of bone or rusted steel blades.

Arthur adjusted.

The PDW spat again. Short, surgical, vicious bursts that folded enemies where they stood. He pivoted, dropped targets, reloaded, moved on. The column rolled forward.

More came.

A trio on the right: one with an axe, two four-legged beasts. A flash of fire from the mage on Arthur’s right. One burst, one scream, then silence. 

Another group appeared atop a ridge to their left, some ambushers trying to gain elevation.

Spells flew. Gunfire and arrows tore through them. The ridge went quiet.

Sir Henry barked a command, and the rearguard finished clearing their own skirmish, riding hard to rejoin the column.

A lull.

Then another wave.

And another.

It went on like that. Mile after mile. Fight. Kill. Regroup. Ride. Blood soaked the ferns. Pine needles glistened with demon ichor. Charred trunks marked the paths of fire spells. Corpses were checked once, then left where they fell. No time to burn them. No time to care.

Arthur lost count around the seventh or eighth encounter. They blurred together until they were indistinct. Even the shouted reports of arrow counts, wounded tallies, spell limits, dissolved into background noise. The horses were lathered in sweat; the men weren’t far behind.

At last, they reached the trailhead.

The overgrown path to the dungeon mouth loomed ahead. The canopy thinned above, and cool daylight spilled across the forest floor. Arthur slowed his horse and raised one hand.

The column halted.

Drew pulled alongside him, pale, but steady. Henry followed, visor up, a crimson splash of drying blood streaking his tabard. Behind them, the rest of the column looked like ghosts. Armor gouged, cloth torn, blades sticky with blood. Even the horses bore streaks of black and red.

Arthur scanned the trail ahead. 

No ambush. 

Yet.

He turned his mount to face the men.

“We go back.”

No one questioned it.

That had always been the plan.

The retreat was no easier. 

Demons harried them like wolves. More killing. More blood. Fatigue settled in like lead armor, morale fraying with every mile. Arthur didn’t blame them. Fighting an enemy that sprang from the woods...

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The world was not born from love, or fire, or even chance. It was born from a mistake. An apprentice architect—seventeen years into his first eternity—had been copying the Prime Design, tracing the equations of gravity and time with a trembling quill made of comet bones, when he sneezed. Not a grand, prophetic sneeze. Just an ordinary, human one—sharp, wet, unplanned. A slip. A blot. A blight. The drop of ink did not land on paper, because paper was not yet real. It landed on a potential. A probability. A corner of being that had not yet been sculpted into shape. And where the other worlds in the workshop gleamed with symmetry and harmony and circles that closed with mathematical grace… This one pulsed. It pulsed like a bruise. The apprentice stared at it. The ink spread like a shadow that hadn’t learned what to cling to yet. “Erase it,” said the Master Architect, without looking up. But the apprentice was young. And ashamed. And curious. He did not erase it. He nurtured it. He drew stars around the stain, to balance it. He drew oceans, to cool it. He forged light and bone and carbon and silence and seasons and predators and lullabies—all to make the bruise belong to something. But the bruise did not vanish. It deepened. It learned hunger. It became… story. Not neat story. Not parable. Not morality play. Chaos-story. Pain-story. History. The stain was now the world we live in. The apprentice watched as the first creatures died simply because things with teeth had to eat. He watched as love arose not from purity, but from loneliness. He watched as the first mother outlived her child, and screamed a sound the laws of physics were not built to carry. He watched as beings capable of joy invented envy just to balance it. He watched as murder entered the lexicon before mercy did. He watched as the stain in the heart of the world stained everything it touched. He knelt. And he wept. Not because it was evil— but because it was beautiful in ways that broke him. One night, after a millennium of watching, the apprentice approached his Master. “I cannot erase it now,” he said. “It is too alive.” The Master did not scold him. The Master did not console him. He simply asked: “Do you love it?” The apprentice closed his eyes. He saw the widow talking to an empty chair. He saw the child laughing at a puddle in the road. He saw two enemies clasp hands in the mud, not because they forgave each other, but because the night was too cold to survive alone. He saw a violinist playing for no audience but a dying dog. He saw a woman kiss the gravestone of the man who never knew she loved him. He saw a boy write a poem so honest it made him afraid of his own voice. He saw a surgeon cry in the stairwell after saving a life she hated. He saw people break, and break again, and still return to the world carrying bread, or books, or their own trembling hands. And he whispered, “Yes. I love it. Even the bruise.” The Master nodded once. “Then you cannot fix it,” he said. “Only join it.” And so the apprentice climbed into the world he had stained. Not as a god. Not as a savior. Not as a teacher. But as a man. With lungs that could collapse. With dreams that could rot. With a heart that could break not just for the world—but with it. They called him many names. They praised him. They ignored him. They buried him. But every time someone asked, “Why do we suffer?”— every time a child wondered why her father didn’t come home— every time a wife spoke to the dirt where her husband lay— every time a man screamed at the dark, and heard nothing back— the apprentice was there. Not to answer. But to ache with them. Because the stain was not a flaw in the world. It was the world. And the only thing holier than fixing sorrow is being the one who refuses to look away from it. You don’t need a humble god. You need a guilty one. Because only the one who knows he made the bruise can love the bruise enough to stay. End.

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[Chapter 1] ; [Previous Chapter] ; [Discord + Wiki] ; [Patreon]

Content warning: Violence

Chapter 244 – Priority

The world around her was tinged in white as Shida’s vision zeroed in on the man before her. Her mouth went try, and a ringing began to fill her ears as her senses blocked out everything but her target.

Within just a few seconds, her entire world narrowed down to nothing but that endlessly familiar face.

The sudden appearance of the Captain had taken her off guard, and before her aware mind had the chance to act, her instinct had already taken over. Her claws extended from her fingers while her ears stood up and her eyes flitted all over the primate’s massive body while looking for openings.

The offworlder was a lot larger than the primates that her ancestors used to chase through Dunnima’s tree tops, but the primal part of her brain assured her that the vital parts were one and the same, and they could be taken out all the same – if she only found the right moment to get at them. And so her vision sharpened; her eyes locking in on the Captain’s every movement. Every spread of his nostrils, every twitch of his eyes, every little shifting of motion as he carried his weight.

However, those instincts proved to be a problem very soon when they made it abundantly clear that they had not been evolved or adapted for life in a modern world as she very quickly noticed the man reaching back for something, but only caught onto the fact that it was a problem when her active thought finally forced itself back to the wheel – a moment too late to actually do something about it.

Unable to prevent the man from drawing his weapon, Shida immediately lowered herself into a tense posture; her legs bending like springs to get her ready to bolt out of the way as soon as that barrel would threaten to actually be pointed her way.

Her jaw clenched as she internally scolded herself for her mistake, but there was no taking it back now. Instead she had to plan for what would happen moving forward.

If she did things right, she knew she could move quicker than the primate could think and thus avoid getting shot even at a range like this. However, for that to actually be the case, she would have to finally pull herself together and focus the hell up instead of letting herself be puppeted around by her damn meat-suit!

Logically, she knew that. However...

“It is hard to believe that you would look at me with such eyes,” Uton said in a quiet murmur. His words would've barely been audible over the ringing filling her head had it not been for her ears being entirely focused on every noise that he made.

The Captain’s dark face looked like it was...hanging down...almost entirely limp, with barely a hint towards something like a proper expression. It was tired, if anything. So much so that his eyes weren’t even all the way open, remaining half-hooded as he looked at Shida.

Not that she cared as she glared back at him. Her eyes...she could only imagine the look he was talking about; the one she was now regarding him with. She could only imagine, but she felt it.

Felt how wide open her lids were pulled. Felt the way her pupils dilated. Felt the sting of her eyes drying as her body refused to blink.

Her claws were out. Her ears open. Her hair stood on end while her tail kept low and still.

She must have had the look of someone who wanted to kill him – because that was what her body craved. To get its claws on him. To sink them deep into his flesh and to not let go until he stopped struggling. To open up that person who had brought her and others so much pain and to dig out an answer for every single question she had until nothing was left over but the dirty, messy truth.

Nature had written death into her instincts, and as they stood face to face, it tried to cash in on that promise with a murderous cocktail flowing through her veins, tempered only by a vague sense of duty that flowed as an intangible thing somewhere in the back of her mind which barely allowed her to focus on the very real threat that the Captain’s gun presented to her.

In a snap, her eyes tore away from the primate’s limp face and onto the weapon, keeping tight track of its dangerous end. Even though it wasn’t technically pointed in her direction yet, she would not be caught off guard again once it inevitably would be.

A growling hiss escaped her inadvertently as soon as she pulled her tightly pressed lips apart.

“Why don’t you get it over with and pull that trigger?” she asked sharply with her eyes still attached to the weapon in his hand.

Her mind flashed back to that moment in the middle of the crowd, shortly after the shots fell, when Sky came up to her and…

“Come on.” she growled out, pressing the words through her teeth while her legs tensed further as she noticed the Captain’s shoulders shaking at her words. “I know you want to. Not like it would be the first time.”

Uton’s flaccid expression gradually darkened; his cheeks beginning to quake as his lips seemingly worked against each other. His already hooded eyes closed a little bit more as his gaze was directed downward in obvious guilt.

A pang went through Shida at the sight of his pain. However, even the last stubborn remnants of attachment to the man her soul stubbornly refused to shake only served to ignite her wrath even further as she realized he had the gall to still feel bad about his own actions now. Even now, after everything he already did, and countless chances to walk away from it all.

“I didn’t want any of this,” Uton said quietly, his voice low as he kept staring at the ground, seemingly unable to even look at her even though he was literally trying to hold her at gunpoint. “This wasn’t how I wanted things to go. Not how they were supposed to go.”

Shida could see his hand clenching harder around his weapon, and she had to hold herself back from spitting on the ground.

“This is all your doing,” she brought out, her shoulders cracking as her muscles strained to get her body moving against her permission; instinct pushing her to act while his eyes were averted. However, she knew better than to do that. Because, for everything that had happened that led to the hate coursing through her in that moment, she still knew that man well. Well enough to know that there was something off about this. “Years after years, you have worked towards this. Don’t pretend like anyone forced your hand now.”

Uton’s nostrils flared broadly as he forced a sharp breath out.

“You don’t know-” he attempted to say, but Shida wouldn’t make it that easy.

“I know enough!” she cut him off and her body twitched to move in a burst of energy so violent that she had to compensate for it by taking a step forwards before catching herself again. “I don’t care how this may have started, I know that no one could force you to go this far over this long of a time! If you went along with it until things got this bad and you never did anything about it, then you are complicit. Nothing else.”

She then had to scoff at her own words because she knew very well that even that was giving him far too much credit already.

“Not that I even need to reach that far to know what a miserable piece of shit you are,” she went on, another scoff escaping her along with the words. “You can’t even look at me while trying to lie to my face.”

She could see a jolt go through Uton’s body at her words.

“Of course I can’t!” he exclaimed, his eyes clenching shut for a moment as signs of life returned to his face. His flaccid features tightened, his cheeks and lips pulling back and wrinkles forming on his face as it morphed into a snarl. Finally, he opened his eyes completely and lifted his head up to look at her. “Do you have any idea what you- … What this is doing to me?!”

In a harsh movement, Uton shifted his weight, pulling it back to lift himself up from his tripedal position to instead rise to his hind legs; standing much taller while simultaneously freeing up his not-armed hand to reach for his chest, his thick fingers digging into his visibly thinning fur.

“You are right. Years after year went into this!” he said loudly, urgently, and swung his arm with the weapon around in wild gestures, almost as if he had forgotten that he was even holding the firearm for a moment.

Shida twitched slightly as the muzzle swept her, her strained nerves nearly causing her to bolt as it turned in her direction.

The weight of her own weapon dragged heavily on her hip where it was attached. A weapon she wasn’t even technically supposed to have right now because of that man before her, but one that had been entrusted to her either way. Too bad her instincts hadn’t been primed to reach for that either…

She was faster than him, yes. But the Captain didn’t exactly earn all of his many awards for nothing. Trying to draw on him now wouldn’t end well for her.

“Years after years in which I have tried to find a better way! Tried to be better! Tried in every little way to reach out and see what holes I could find that I could fill with compassion! … And where has it brought us?!” Uton continued with his tirade. At his last words, he suddenly whipped the ...

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First

(Crap, out of caffeine and Drivers ED has been burning into the time I’d usually grab groceries.)

Herald of Red Blades

“So, think you’ve cooled your jets long enough?” Harold asks The Synth in the interrogation cell.

“Your methods are weak and frail.”

“Our methods are legal and have hard limits on them. For now.”

“For now?”

“Yes, it’s been agreed that torture is generally a bad idea. But there are other ways to do things.” Harold says and from his seating position, cross legged on the table above The Synth. He leans forward with his fist on the table. There is a flicker of recognition from her, but she says nothing. He then smirks and brings out a communicator.

It projects the image of a blue skinned and multi-horned woman in formal robes. The Synth’s eyes widen.

“For the next hour my representative speaks with my voice.” Lady La’ahbaron states and the image shifts to Lady Val, Tret descendant of Lady La’ahbaron and representative upon Centris.

“The Undaunted are aiding us. The Vish among them are a tamed and changed. Already they provide information and assistance. Work with them, not against.” Lady Val orders and The Synth pauses and looks up.

“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

“It wasn’t in effect earlier. But sit with your knees together. It is time for you to listen.” Harold orders and she starts before shifting. Finally realizing that he in fact does know what sitting like that means in La’ahbaron and is using it properly.

“Now, for full clarity. I am Harold Armoury Jameson. Fully realized clone of Intelligence Commander Herbert Jameson, in both body and memory. Twixt the two of us, I am the warrior. I am the killer and destroyer. Now, we are going to have a talk. Information, about the amount of La’ahbaron troops and drones searching for Vish on this world.”

“But they’re still...”

“There is a second group that while the same species as The Vish are not Vish. And you need to be listening. Not speaking.” Harold says.

“Of?”

“You have struck against my family. What does that permit me to do according to the culture of La’ahbaron?” Harold asks and she doesn’t answer. “You are permitted to answer questions you know. You should know this better than I.”

“Rhetorical questions do not require answers.”

“I wasn’t asking rhetorically. I want you to say out loud what kind of retaliation you can legally expect for your actions in La’ahbaron space.”

“Full retaliation. Everything needed to stop the threat.” She says and Harold nods.

“That’s right. Now that you have direct orders, by one speaking with the voice of your empress no less, time to start talking. I want your name, not your serial number.”

“Eldras Forge. Sergeant in tracking and recon division. I and my team were sent to deploy drones to seek out and counter Vish expansion to Zalwore.”

“Just a single team?”

“We get to places undetected, find what we’re looking for and report back. Our orders afterwards were to use Vish weapons against them to flush them out.”

“And you found Vishanyan instead.”

“What’s the difference?” Eldras demands as she opens her legs as best she can with a damaged spine. Signifying that she has no intention to simply listen and respond.

“Cultural. Like what separates the Synths of La’ahbaron from those beyond it’s borders.”

“Like that changes anything.”

“What are their names?” Harold asks.

“What?” She asks.

“The Vishanyan name themselves based on an essay they write as juveniles. Calculated Velocity of Victory is my wife. Unending Rain of Retribution is my adopted daughter. My blood daughter will choose her name later, but until that time she will have a childhood name. This tradition teaches the Vishanyan consequence, thoughtfulness and asserts their ability to choose for themselves. Do the Vish you are at war with have anything even remotely like this tradition?” Harold asks.

“... We don’t know.” She admits.

“So, you were expecting to cull some nameless monsters and now that you’re faced with people, people with names, traditions, hopes and dreams. What will you do?”

“My duty.” Eldras states and Harold sighs.

“And that duty is?”

“To combat the enemies of The La’ahbaron Empire!”

“And are the Vishanyan enemies of the empire?”

“All those of Vish blood and all those who fall in with them were declared enemies of the state.”

“If I turn her off and on again will she actually start thinking?” He mutters under his breath in annoyance. “Alright, let’s start again. Considering that new information has come up around the parameters of your mission, will you or will you not at least hesitate to finish your now no longer in context orders?”

“... No.” She says and Harold groans in disgust.

“So you are and will remain a threat to the Vishanyan?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. Talking to you is a waste of time. I will be speaking to the others then. You will be detained until such time as you are remanded back into the custody of the La’ahbaron Empire. As an Undaunted Prisoner you will have the majority of your synthetic body fully repaired with the exception of weapons and all communications from your person will be blocked except to and from permitted sources. Is this understood?”

“... Yes.”

“Good.” Harold says as he slides himself off the table and rises up taller still.

“Hey wait!”

“Yes?”

“Where are the others?”

“Being seen to by others.” Harold states.

“Are you torturing them?”

“Don’t be savage.” Harold replies.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Undaunted Intelligence, Interrogation Cells, Zalwore)•-•-•

The sound of the sheer poison being processed makes her twitch. The horrible, vile crunching sound as the Valrin takes a bite of the bright orange triangle. Even from across the room the smell of it made her nose burn and had her break into a shivering sensation as she wrestled her Axiom aura to not try to freeze her against the sensation of rising heat.

Then the other, far worse poison is raised up. The Ibu would occasionally have something like that. But his was the kind that would kill at every mouthful.

There is another crunch as the poison dusted triangle is crunched between the teeth of the poison eating freak mere metres away.

The nightmare seems to end as the foil bag he had been retrieving the poison covered triangles from seems to run out. Then the absolute madman straightens out the bag and pours the dregs directly into his mouth.

“Thank goodness that was over.” She says to herself as he licks his dusted feathers and her tail starts flaring out in distress. She smooths it out a bit by hand, then it flares out again as he retrieves a second bag of the horrible food.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” She demands.

“Hmm? No, I’m just snacking as I wait for you to want to talk.” He says casually. “The Adaptation that humans offer lets you digest all kinds of wonky things. And I gotta say, spicy is amazing.”

“... It’s pure poison.”

“New organs let you handle new things and comes with new needs. This stuff is amazing.” The Valrin says. “I used to use a shirt that helped me with digestion, but I learned to love a lot of the foods and made it permanent.”

“What is a freaking medical officer doing trying to interrogate anyways? Do you not have anyone better?”

“Oh this isn’t an interrogation. This is just me waiting on ou to find your brains and start talking.” The Valrin says and her eye twiches. “By the way miss Feli, did you know that this stuff is flammable?”

He holds up his bottle of drink and then produces a tiny glass. Pours it halfway up and then uses a wooden match to show that he’s not just conjuring things with Axiom. He then lights it on fire, and drinks it down while it still burns with visible flame. “It burns so good and in so many ways.”

“You’re insane!”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes.” He confirms and she blinks. That was not how that conversation was supposed to go at all.

“You’re supposed to deny being insane.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Who are you!?”

“Captain Shriketalon.” He answers. “I also go by Jacob. But you can just call me God Almighty.”

“I most certainly will not!”

“Why not?”

“That’s absurd! Why is a ship captain interrogating me?”

“I’ve requested to branch out in my skills and this is me getting some interrogation practice in.” Jacob states with a sniff before smiling wide. “So... now that I’ve had a snack to get my appetite really going, do you care to join me for a meal? I have been on a chili binge recently and have been practising.”

“Chili?” She demands and then watches as he pulls out a sealed container and a spoon. He then cracks the container to reveal the contents a red sauce with numerous objects in it that smells like arson.

At this point she’s pressed up against the far wall and staring in abject horror as he proceeds to devour it. She can make out beans and shredded meat and what look like fungus within the concoction, as well as unidentified lumps that appear to be the prime ingredient of the sauce.

“You know, this is actually a poison.”

“No shit.”

“But the fascinating bit is that it’s not supposed to be a poison for avians. Had I a beak I wouldn’t be able to taste the heat at all. It’s my more mammalian traits that lets me taste it. Interesting isn’t it?”

“No! It’s horrible! Why are you eating it?”

“Nutritious and delicious.” Jacob says and then licks the spoon clean before resealing the dish. “Now, care to talk to me?”

“Your breath alone is dangerous!”

“Maybe. But the so...

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//

I am a dragon.

Toar Halfshade affirmed those words to himself so often that he almost believed them.

A half-leopard, half-tiger beastkin born under the bloodline of a deer… there was a lot in Toar’s composition that he couldn’t rightly make sense of.

His mother had married into a clan of tiger beastkin who predominantly bore dragon bloodlines. Toar had inherited the deer bloodline from his mother, a bloodline that had skipped multiple generations up until his birth, and a physical appearance that mainly resembled hers.

He’d grown up a leopard surrounded by tigers. A deer surrounded by dragons.

But here, down in the mines…

He was surely closer to a dragon than a deer.

“Hey, Toar… you got a sec?”

Toar brought a hammer down on the rock that’d been troubling his group until the stubborn stone split. The muscles across his slender frame rippled as he smashed apart the rubble.

He turned to them all, snarling. 

“Mine all of it. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

With hurried, panicked looks about them, Toar’s group nodded and began to go at the recently opened deposit with their picks. 

Thirty minutes was generous. If they weren’t done and out of here within an hour, Selsor’s group would show up and beat the piss out of his workers. This was their site.

Thankfully, he’d broken in his group already. They were more scared of Toar than they were of being caught.

Tasks delegated, Toar turned to regard his cousin, who’d been waiting patiently this entire time. 

“What is it?” he asked the tiger.

“Walk with me.”

“I don’t have time to talk. We’re already cutting it close here.”

Toar’s cousin grabbed him by the shoulder. The larger man looked down at him, fangs glinting.

“Quickly. This will only take ten minutes.”

Toar sighed but did as instructed.

Toar’s cousin, Mansol, was a full-on tiger. They didn’t even look alike. Fifteen years his senior and working as this rift’s doctor, Mansol had gotten him this job, though Toar had carved out his own position as a group leader.

Granted, he’d had to kill a whole load of monsters, plus his previous group leader to do it, but he’d managed without too much help from his cousin. Even if the group he managed now was one of the smallest and weakest in the mines.

“What’s this about?” Toar asked as the two of them walked through the central cavern, back towards the medical tent.

The moment they entered, Mansol began to speak, closing the entrance flap as he did.

“The overseer just received a letter about an Unclassed that’s set to be joining us. He has an outrageous contract.”

“An Unclassed? Here?” Toar scoffed. “What’s the point? He’ll be dead in a week.”

“Not this one,” his cousin said, waving a finger. “Apparently, this guy’s special. The recruiter was dead impressed with him. Weak, but resourceful. And when I said his contract was outrageous, I meant outrageously good.”

As Mansol spoke, he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over to Toar. Toar’s eyes scanned it, slowly widening.

“Seriously? Fifty-five percent?”

“Seriously,” Mansol nodded. “I’ve never seen a contract go that high.”

“And here I am on thirty.” Toar growled, the fur on his face growing sharp. “Still, he’s Unclassed. Whether he’s exceptional enough to be sent here or not, he’s a liability. He’ll make my group look even weaker than it is. We’re already forced to sneak and scavenge.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you. However…”

Mansol tapped on the piece of paper twice. “Read the whole contract.”

“A thousand gold signing bonus… paid to the contract holder… THREE superior health potions?”

“Keep your voice down,” Mansol hissed.

“No, but seriously, those things are worth…”

“Are you starting to see why you should recruit him?” Mansol asked, a gleam in his eye.

“Still, even with all of this gear, even with a good weapon, training an Unclassed is…”

Toar felt a mighty sting before the slap to the back of his head even registered. 

He looked up at his cousin, dazed. The tiger began to snarl.

“No, you idiot. You don’t train him. You find out where he keeps his money and his equipment and you take them. Then you can do what you like with him.”

Toar shook away the wasps in his head as Mansol looked over him. 

“Do you get it? Do I need to find simpler words?”

“But…”

“But?!” Mansol laughed. “What’s there to be confused about here? Explain.”

“You want me to steal this kid’s gear?” Toar asked, stating the absolute obvious. “You realise what that would end up meaning, don’t you?”

Toar didn’t treat his group nicely. He acted as he did in order to keep his position secure. When he’d killed his asshole leader, and his whole group had been there to witness, he’d leaned into that fear. Played the part he was always meant to. 

But this wasn’t self-preservation. This was malicious. Taking from someone so weak was…

“You said it yourself,” Mansol said, scratching the side of his face as he spoke. “He’ll be dead in a week regardless. He’s some Unclassed that doesn’t belong here, and equipment like that is wasted on him. 

“Get him to give you his gear in exchange for protection if it makes you feel better. It doesn’t matter. Just make sure you get your hands on it. If you want to challenge the other group leaders, if you want to do anything of significance with your remaining time here, you need those healing potions. You’re running out of time.”

“I already out-earn a majority of the other miners,” Toar reminded his cousin. “I have been for a while. It’s not like I’ve been doing nothing since I got here.”

His cousin scoffed. “You’ve done nothing worthy of your clanname, or your rare class. It was my suggestion to bring you down here. Three years and you’re managing the most useless group in this place. Wonderful. Let’s throw a parade in your honour.”

“I’m trying my hardest to be worthy of this family…”

“No, you’re not,” Mansol growled, jabbing a finger into Toar’s chest. “You’re soft and you’re stupid. If I hadn’t warned you that Fallos was planning to off you last year, you’d be dead already.”

Mansol grabbed Toar by his shirt, staring him in the eye. “If you want to be a dragon, if you want to truly be one of us, stop worrying about your stupid feelings and start making some money. You’re not going to get another opportunity like this. Don’t waste it.”

With that, Mansol released Toar. Toar stumbled back, trying to control his breath.

“Go find your group, little leopard. If you’re gone too long, they might realise they don’t need you.”

Despite his fear, Toar wanted to throttle his cousin in that moment.

He swallowed the feeling and left.

Toar marched back towards his group, thoughts swirling and weighing down his head. He took a scenic route; it did little to clear his mind.

As small as Mansol made him feel at times, Toar knew his words were true—he wasn’t doing anything impressive down here, certainly nothing worth his father’s approval. He was a waste of space, not worthy of the Halfshade name.

What would happen if his family rejected him? Would he survive in exile?

“Something the matter, boss?” Finn, one of his workers, asked him.

Maybe Toar was a deer. Maybe even someone like Finn, human, a year younger than him, could see that much just by looking at him.

Maybe he could see the conflict. The fear in his eyes.

Maybe he pitied him.

“Toar?”

Toar grabbed Finn by the shirt. He clenched his fist. Knuckles ground against ribs.

“Did I ask you to speak?” 

“N-no. I just noticed you were gone a long time and I—”

Toar clenched his fist harder. Finn gasped, raising to his tiptoes as Toar threatened to lift the smaller boy into the air.

“You’re still speaking.”

“I… I’m so—”

Toar slapped him. 

“Still speaking?”

Toar waited for an answer. None came. He raised his hand again. Finn flinched.

Toar smirked. He dropped the boy to the floor and whistled to get his group’s attention.

“Pack this shit up. We’re leaving.”

Toar’s heart pumped with adrenaline as he watched his group hurriedly collect the silvery rocks they’d harvested and shove them onto a commandeered cart. 

They moved as he told them to. Did as he instructed. Each of them feared his wrath.

He was a dragon. He refused to believe otherwise.

He would do everything in his power to make those words true.

“You.”

My head jerked at the address. Me and the other newbies had been shuffled off into groups for the past half-hour. Group leaders made loud claims as to which workers they wanted, often predicated upon the class that person had. Sometimes, they squabbled over which group got who.

Naturally, I, being Unclassed, had been passed over by everyone. And considering the non-subtle whispers I’d overheard, people seemed aware of my ridiculously good contract numbers. Thankfully, most seemed to be under the assumption that I’d been given those numbers as a joke.

I’d been passed over until now. The last person standing here—even the boy still crying after witnessing the fight with the wolf monster was chosen before me.

But someone had finally approached me. He’d waited until all of the other groups had left. 

I was almost in disbelief.

“Get on your feet.”

I did as the older boy said and raised myself up. Getting a better look at him under the torchlight, I realised the boy was a beastkin, a fair size bigger than me and looking something like a… cheetah? 

I wasn’t good at discerning feli...

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"William."

"I don't have time for it."

“But I wanted to...”

"I said I don't have time for it, Arvie."

"Bill."

I blinked. I pulled myself away from the simulator. I looked down at my hand, which was fuzzing as I grabbed the control stick. Then I looked up at Arvie.

For a moment there, it felt almost like I was completely inside the simulation. Like it was my mind that was controlling things directly in those ships rather than using the computer representation of the physical controls I’d be using in the real world instead.

I blinked.

"You called me Bill."

"Don't get used to it," he said with a smile. "I simply wanted to get your attention."

"Okay, Arvie, what's going on?"

"I'm monitoring the neural link. The thing is still very new, and I worry you are pushing yourself too hard too quickly."

"Yeah, and I worry we're about to have a bomb dropped on us, so you'll forgive me if I don't worry too much about overdoing it with the neural link or whatever it is you're so worried about."

Arvie stared at me, and then finally he sighed and shook his head.

"I suppose you do have a point, but I don't like that you have a point."

"Yeah, I bet you don't like that I'm making a good point," I said, and I turned back to the display in front of me.

I sent one of the ships after a bomber, then switched. The second one fired off a volley of missiles at a bunch of fighters rising through the city to go after the third fighter.

With the third fighter I dove down into the concrete canyon that was the livisk capital city, though it wasn't even really a concrete canyon. No, it was made out of a bunch of exotic building materials, but the term concrete canyon had stuck in language, and so that's what I thought of as I dove down in between the buildings.

I moved to the fourth fighter and fired off my plasma blasters at a livisk fighter stupid enough to get too close, then I moved to the fifth fighter and turned towards the bomber, really punching it to get in close.

Then I moved to the sixth fighter, and I turned in the direction of the imperial palace.

"William, what are you doing?" Arvie said.

"I'm fighting the empress,” I said.

Back to the first one. The missiles went off, and it took out a good chunk of the fighters. The problem being there were a lot more imperial fighters coming out of the woodwork than I could conceivably deal with. I switched to the fighter with the plasma blasts and turned, firing my plasma guns at yet another one. Though everything was moving so slowly that it was almost like flying on easy mode.

I was gaining ground on the bomber. It was doing a bunch of evasive maneuvers trying to get away, but then I noted two more bombers had appeared.

I switched to a fighter that had other imperial fighters pursuing it, but I had a little bit of room in between us. I could feel the buffeting as their plasma blasts slammed into the fighter, but I knew I’d be able to do this. So I punched it on that one as well, wanting to get in closer to one of the other two bombers before I fired off my missiles.

The closer I was, the less likely it was that something from down below was going to hit me.

I moved to another fighter just in time to see the world go black. Damn. I hadn't even had a chance to get off the missiles before I switched to that one.

I switched to yet another, turning to fire my plasma blasts at yet another fighter that didn't have time to react.

"William," Arvie said, and this time there was a quiet to his voice that caught my attention and had me turning to look at him.

"What's wrong now?" I asked.

He was staring at me with wide eyes looking at the simulation in front of me.

"How are you able to do this?" he asked.

"You mean fly a bunch of fighters at once? Well, the empress is making this easier on me. Every time she destroys one of those things, it means less that I have to concentrate on. Other than that it’s just like alt tabbing between windows in a game, and everything being slowed way down makes it super easy. Barely an inconvenience!”

I moved to the fighter that was going towards the palace. I dove down in between the canyons there as well. The better to shrug off any missile or countermeasures they might send at me. I could even see the palace straight in front of me. It was like when they designed Imperial Seat with the massive palace at the middle surrounded by a bunch of pyramid towers that provided shield-generating capacity as well as defensive capacity in case somebody tried to do what I was doing they never conceived of a world where somebody might try to do a trench run in between the buildings to avoid all their fancy defenses.

I could sense other fighters trying to come in after me thanks to sensor sweeps from the other fighters I still had up there. Only five of them left now, and two of them were down in the canyons.

I moved to the other one that wasn't doing a trench run towards the imperial palace. I shifted and moved up along a building, causing some of the windows on it to blow out as a result of the antigrav

I didn't even so much as wince at that. As long as it wasn't one of Varis's towers then I didn't feel bad for whatever bastard owned the thing.

I switched to the fighter that was still in the middle of a dogfight. There were too many fighters all around me, and they were starting to score too many hits. So I dove for the deck with that one as well, but not before leaving a little surprise. This one had a mine installed in the back for some reason, and so I dropped the thing out the back. For all the world like my fighter was taking a crap on Imperial Seat.

Which in a way it totally was.

Then I switched back to one of the other two that was still up and going for a bomber. I was close enough now that I was able to fire off every missile, and I made sure every one was heading straight for the bomber. But I could also sense that there were more bombers starting to take off. 

The entirety of Imperial Seat was starting to look like I'd kicked up an angry hornets' nest, and I'd managed to do it with only eight fighters. There were a bunch of lines of traffic that were starting to get disrupted as missiles flew. A couple of those disruptions caused chain reactions where entire lines of traffic started crashing into one another. Some of them exploded, but most of them merely started moving down towards the buildings below as safety protocols took over.

I briefly felt bad for any civilians caught in that nonsense, but only briefly. We were in the middle of a war, after all.

A voice in the back of my head whispered that was what anybody who attacked a civilian population had ever said all throughout history, and maybe some of them were right. Maybe they weren't.

But I had to get my people out of the reclamation mine, damn it, and that took priority over everything else for me in that moment.

I moved back to the other fighter that was still free and clear over the city. Only there were multiple missiles rising up towards me, damn it. The anti-air and anti-starfighter stuff was really starting to come online now, filling the skies over Imperial Seat.

I fired off everything I had from that ship towards the second bomber that had appeared. Though there were even more of them now.

I moved back to one of the two doing a trench run. I did a quick reverse that had an imperial fighter behind me overshooting me, and then I took it out with plasma cannons and did a turn.

I moved back to the one that had blown out all of the buildings. I let it get a little too vertical, and that allowed some of the livisk fighters to get in shots. The thing had taken heavy damage on the port side, and the antigrav there was starting to go out.

Damn it. I let that one go a little too long.

"How are you doing this, William?" Arvie said.

"Come on, Arvie," I said, grinning at him. “This is the kind of stuff I was doing back on Earth with nothing but alt-tabbing in between a bunch of windows when I couldn't take on single-player content all on my own, so I needed to bring in a bunch of extra botted fighters.”

"Damn, William," Arvie breathed.

I switched back to the one that was getting close to the Imperial Palace.

"Is it possible to generate a signature on this thing that makes it look like I'm about to launch a nuke at the Imperial Palace?" I asked.

"It is," Arvie said, and then there was a pause. "Might I ask why you would want to do something as mind-bogglingly dangerous as making the empress think you're going to fire a nuke at her?"

"Because I'm sending a message," I said.

"I don't know that the message she will receive is necessarily the message you want to send," he said.

"It's totally the message I want to send, Arvie. Now do it. We get in the shit, and then we get ourselves out."

"We get in the shit, and we get ourselves out," he said.

Suddenly there was a new signature on the fighter, and everything in the city seemed to pause for a moment.

Sure, it was difficult to tell for certain if everything paused was because of that false energy signature that made it look like I was about t...

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Ke Yin has a problem. Well, several problems.

First, he's actually Cain from Earth.

Second, he's stuck in a cultivation world where people don't just split mountains with a sword strike, they build entire universes inside their souls (and no, it's not a meditation metaphor).

Third, he's got a system with a snarky spiritual assistant that lets him possess the recently deceased across dimensions.

And finally, the elders at the Azure Peak Sect are asking why his soul realm contains both demonic cultivation and holy arts? Must be a natural talent.

Expectations:

• MC's main cultivation method will be plant based and related to World Trees

• Weak to Strong MC

• MC will eventually create his own lifeforms within his soul as well as beings that can cultivate

• Main world is the first world (Azure Peak Sect)

• MC will revisit worlds (extensive world building of multiple realms)

• Time loop elements

• No harem

Patreon

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Chapter 309: The Deal

I stood in the crystalline heart-space, watching Astralis as he paced back and forth, the dying stars in his hair flickering with what I could only interpret as agitation. The boy-shaped inner world spirit was an odd creature, simultaneously ancient and childlike, powerful yet desperate. The Celestial Sovereign had quite the interesting guardian for his realm.

Han Renyi's consciousness was currently in a deep state of hibernation, slumbering quietly in the recesses of his own mind. Unlike last time, when Astralis had forced him into sleep, this time I'd asked Han Renyi if Astralis and I could have a moment to ourselves.

He had agreed without hesitation, retreating his consciousness voluntarily. I could feel it now, dormant but peaceful. As much as I trusted my ‘disciple’, my inner world held secrets I couldn't yet reveal.

It was simply better this way.

"Let me make sure I understand correctly," Astralis said, stopping his pacing to look at me directly. "You want treasures specifically to make your inner world more habitable? Not just for simple plants, but for complex life forms all the way up to sentient creatures?"

The way he emphasized "sentient creatures" made me wonder if he found the request unusual for someone at my cultivation level. Which, to be fair, it probably was. Most Qi Condensation cultivators were focused on advancing their personal power, not developing complex ecosystems within their inner worlds.

"That's exactly what I want," I confirmed. There was no point hiding my goals from Astralis. As Azure had explained, the inner world spirit couldn't lie to me, which gave me a distinct advantage in our negotiations.

Astralis crossed his arms, looking contemplative. "I don't have treasures like that just lying around, you know."

I waited, watching his expression. When he didn't turn his head to whisper a contradictory statement, I knew he was telling the truth. No surprise there, the Starhaven Realm was dying, and most of its valuable resources had likely been consumed long ago in the desperate effort to keep it stable.

"That's not a problem," I said with a slight smile. "I don't expect you to have such treasures on hand. But you can get them from the Celestial Trade Nexus, can't you?"

Astralis went completely still. The stars in his hair froze mid-twinkle, and his eyes narrowed.

"How does a cultivator at your stage know about the existence of the Celestial Trade Nexus?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You're playing a very dangerous game, cultivator."

I maintained my composure despite the sudden shift in atmosphere. "You shouldn't worry about how I know. What matters is whether you can connect to it. Can you?"

For a long moment, Astralis simply stared at me. I could almost see the calculations running behind those ancient eyes set in a child's face.

"Yes, I can,” he said finally. “Without the resources from the Nexus, the Starhaven Realm would have died centuries ago."

"Good," I said, nodding. "Then we have the basis for a deal. In exchange for you obtaining specific treasures from the Nexus for me, I'll provide more energy to feed the trees."

Astralis's expression immediately brightened at the mention of more blue sun energy. The eager look that crossed his face reminded me of a thirsty man being offered water in a desert. The dying realm's desperation was palpable through its guardian.

"How much energy?" he asked, trying and failing to hide his eagerness.

"Enough to significantly delay the realm's decay," I replied. "Similar to what I provided before.”

Astralis nodded, the stars in his hair dancing with renewed vigor. "Very well. Do you know the name of the treasure you seek?”

Now came the tricky part. I knew from my conversation with Elder Chen Yong and Madam Butterfly that the Celestial Trade Nexus contained items of unimaginable value. But I also knew that Astralis, despite his inability to lie directly, would try to give me the cheapest options possible.

"I don’t know of any names, all I need is the most effective item for making my inner world habitable for advanced life forms," I said plainly. "Something that will prepare the foundation for everything from basic organisms to complex wildlife and eventually human-like beings."

Astralis tapped his chin thoughtfully. "There are three treasures that would suit your needs perfectly," he said after a moment. "The Primordial Essence Bottle, the Lifespring Seed, or the Genesis Clay."

He gestured, and three illusions appeared floating between us.

"The Primordial Essence Bottle contains the purest form of primordial soup, the original mixture from which life first emerged in the earliest realms," he explained, indicating a delicate crystal bottle filled with swirling, opalescent liquid. "Pour a single drop in your inner world, and basic life forms will begin to emerge within days."

Had it not been for the unique quality of my inner world, even a single drop from such a treasure would be too much for the inner world of a Qi Condensation cultivator to handle.

The second illusion showed what looked like an ordinary seed, though it pulsed with a subtle rainbow light. "The Lifespring Seed can be planted in your inner world. Once rooted, it creates a network that enriches the soil and atmosphere, making conditions perfect for transplanting various species."

Finally, he pointed to what appeared to be a simple ball of clay with softly glowing veins running through it. "The Genesis Clay is perhaps the most straightforward. You can shape it into whatever form you wish, and it will transform into that creature, starting a breeding population."

I studied the three options carefully, looking for any sign that Astralis was trying to mislead me. "These are the best options available for what I need?" I asked, watching him closely.

Astralis's expression remained normal as he nodded. "These three treasures are exactly what you're looking for."

But then, just as I'd anticipated, he turned his head slightly to the side, and a dark smirk crossed his face. "But little does this fool know," he whispered, "these are actually the cheapest options. The World Tree Origin Soil would be infinitely more valuable and compatible with what he wants, but I'll never tell him that!"

I blinked, keeping my expression neutral despite the urge to smile. This was exactly why dealing with an entity that couldn't lie had its advantages.

"Actually, I think I'll take the World Tree Origin Soil instead." I said nonchalantly.

Astralis's head snapped back toward me, eyes wide. "What? How did you—" He stopped, the stars in his hair flickering chaotically. "You heard that," he stated flatly, not a question.

"I did," I acknowledged. "You really should be more careful with your whispers."

Astralis let out a sound that was half-groan, half-childish shriek of frustration. The stars in his hair actually dimmed momentarily. "Fine, but it's far more expensive than the other options," he warned.

"But worth it, I'm sure," I replied smoothly. Then, a thought occurred to me. "There are three world-stabilizing trees in this realm, each requiring my energy. By my calculation, that means I should be able to select two more treasures to make this an equal exchange."

Astralis's face contorted with indignation. "That is absolutely not fair! One treasure is already generous compensation!"

I frowned, considering the inner world spirit's reaction. Was this negotiation pattern typical of all inner world spirits, or was it a reflection of its creator? I couldn't help but wonder if the Celestial Sovereign himself had been this stingy with resources.

"The trees are the foundation of this entire realm," I agreed. "A realm that is dying without my help. You need my energy far more than I need your treasures." That wasn't entirely true, I did need those treasures to advance my cultivation, but Astralis didn't need to know that.

We had reached a standstill. Astralis glared at me, the stars in his hair twinkling furiously, while I maintained a calm, uncompromising expression. The crystalline fragments surrounding us seemed to pulse in rhythm with our deadlock, reflecting the tension in the heart-space.

Finally, Astralis sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't have enough treasures to exchange with the sellers for three items of such value, if I did, I would h...

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FIRST

Blurb/Synopsis

Captain Henry Donnager expected a quiet career babysitting a dusty relic in Area 51. But when a test unlocks a portal to a world of knights and magic, he's thrust into command of Alpha Team, an elite unit tasked with exploring this new realm.

They join the local Adventurers Guild, seeking to unravel the secrets of this fantastical realm and the ancient gateway's creators. As their quests reveal the potent forces of magic, they inadvertently entangle in the volatile politics between local rivalling factions.

With American technology and ancient secrets in the balance, Henry's team navigates alliances and hostilities, enlisting local legends and air support in their quest. In a land where dragons loom, they discover that modern warfare's might—Hellfire missiles included—holds its own brand of magic.

Chapter 65: Shock and Awe (2)

Kelvand twisted in his seat, straining against the belt to catch the sky through the gaping ramp. The straps bit into his shoulders, leather creakin’ with the pull. All down the row the councilors craned the same, a line of greybeards starin’ out like miners watchin’ for a fall. The wind came howlin’ in, cold enough to bite, but none of ‘em gave heed.

Six shapes came screaming out of the high sky. Hawks on the stoop, aye, but faster still; fiercer still. Too fast to mark, too fast to name.

Great silver darts they were, sharp as any forge-wrought blade, wings fixed hard as if hammered from one piece. No flap, no feather, no breath o’ life in them. They were only steel, flyin’ as though will alone bore ‘em up.

Where hawks wheel in wide grace, these things carved the air square and sudden, corners sharp as a mason’s set. Where eagles climb with beatin’ wings, these simply rose.

And the speed – by the Forge, the speed! Falcons fall fast enough to blur, but these… these were gone afore a man could point, dartin’ in ways that made his head swim.

The sound came with ‘em, shriekin’ past their ‘helicopter’ in a thunder that rattled the very frame. Wind tore through the open ramp, whippin’ beards and cloaks. The noise jarred his jaw, rattlin’ him to the roots o’ his teeth.

In a blink the shapes were past, gone out of sight. They vanished into the blue like arrows loosed from the gods’ own bows.

Then they were back, sweepin’ round with the surety of hawks returnin’ to the kill. Two hung close, glidin’ down the flank of their craft, metal wings steady as stone. The others broke wide, circlin’ high above. Kelvand craned to the ramp again, seein’ two lingerin’ astern, followin’ in tight line, hunters guardin’ their charge.

“Sweet stone o’ the mountain.” Pragen’s lips moved, though the roar made a mockery of the words. The old man was half out of his seat, strainin’ his belt near to break just to see.

One of the arrow-craft tilted, showin’ its belly for a breath. Four great eggs hung beneath, each thick as a prize hog and twice as long, two to either wing. The thing bore ‘em like they weighed naught at all. Its hide was painted queer, a gray that drank the light, cut with seams and edges sharp enough to turn the eye aside, as though made to be looked at yet never seen.

The crewman only grinned, calm as if thunder were an old friend. “Those’re our fighters,” he called over the roar. “F-22s up front, and the rest are F-35s.”

Pragen lurched forward, beard whip-snappin’ in the wind. “How fast? What drives them? What—”

“Fast enough they’ll be past ya before you hear ’em comin’.” The crewman’s grin widened. “No magic, no nothin’. Just good ol’ American engineering.”

Kelvand could scarce hear a word, the roar poundin’ through the hull like a smith’s line of hammers. The man’s easy talk set him ill at ease, as though such power were naught but another craft to boast of.

“But the wings don’t move!” Forgemaster Pragen’s voice cracked with the strain of shoutin’. “How do they—”

“Wings’re shaped special: curved on top, flat on bottom. Air moves faster over the curve, creates lift. Same principle as a sail, just…” He swept his hand through the air in a quick arc. “Faster’n sound.”

Master Boral, pale as fresh parchment, found his voice. “How high can they fly?”

“Higher’n any dragon ever dreamed of,” the crewman hollered back. “They could drop those bombs from so far up, the wyverns’d never even see ’em. Once they Pickle those bombs, things’re gonna get real interestin’ real quick.”

Pragen hadn’t stopped starin’ after the silver arrows. His mouth worked as though tryin’ to find words to match the sight. “What manner o’ metal…” he muttered at last, near reverent, near afraid.

“Titanium alloys, carbon fiber composites,” the crewman said, clearly enjoyin’ himself now. “Stuff that’s stronger than steel but weighs half as much. Hell, the skin on those Raptors absorbs radar – though I dunno if that’ll be of much use ‘round these parts.”

Pragen’s jaw slackened; his hands, still on his knees, curled as if grippin’ tongs that no longer answered him. To his ears it was likely blasphemy, and wonder both. No forge could birth such matter; no hammer could shape it. Yet there they flew, proof against every truth any dwarf had ever sworn by.

The crewman ignored the man’s awe. “Fifteen minutes out.” He checked his watch again. “Settle in, folks! You’re boutta see why nobody fucks with the U.S. Air Force.”

He gave them a last grin, then shouldered past to his seat near the ramp, strappin’ in without a second glance.

Kelvand’s stomach turned – not for the lurch of the craft, but for the ease with which a man might speak of such ruin. The others sat wordless; no man spoke, for what words could stand beside such power?

He drew a breath slow and steady, lettin’ the weight of it settle in his chest. Whatever awe had seized them, it would not serve; wonder was a poor companion to duty. There’d be talk, and sharp talk at that, once they were on the ground. Yet better it begin now, while the sky still held them close and the world below was out o’ reach.

The craft banked again, sure as a mason’s line, and Kelvand took his moment. He bent nearer to Pragen, his voice droppin’ into the deep-cut mountain-cant of their youth – a tongue rough-hewn and old as iron, too knotty for any spell to follow clean.

“Forgemaster, what’s yer measure o’ this?” Kelvand gestured around them. “Not whether we could make such things – that answer’s plain enough – but what would it take? How many forges burnin’ day an’ night to birth one o’ these beasts?”

Pragen shook his head. “It’s not the forges, General. We could fire a thousand, an’ it’d change naught. This craft isn’t won by heat or hammer; precision is what we lack.” He rapped a knuckle on the hull beside him. “Look here: every rivet twins its brother, every plate cut true within a hair’s breadth. No hand could keep such measure, not even the steadiest.”

Kelvand frowned. “Then what could?”

“Some art we’ve never dreamt,” Pragen said quietly. “A craft that shapes metal to command, not touch. Machines that make other machines, mayhap – each one perfect as the first, an’ blind to error. It’s not mastery of the forge, General. It’s mastery o’ repetition.”

He continued, “Their small tablets, their speakin’ boxes… each the same as the next, no hand’s mark in any. And the metal…” He drew from his pouch a little screw the Americans had given him, turnin’ it in slow fingers.

“That trinket,” Kelvand nodded at the screw. “Can ye at least fashion that?”

“With what, General?” Pragen’s temper showed in the tightness of his voice. “I’d need to know the mix itself! What metals, what trace o’ others, what temperin’ they used, an’ the heat to the very degree. Even then, I’ve no means to see that fine. We’ve hammers, tongs, gauges – aye – but naught that could measure the grain o’ the metal itself.”

Kelvand’s brow knit. “Their weapons, then – the guns.”

Pragen took a great pause, before he finally responded, “Aye, the shape’s no mystery. With mithril, the barrel need fear no thunder. Why, we might fashion a piece truer, harder than any rifle they cast.”

The man’s speech spoke of disappointment, as though such a feat would not be a great victory. “And yet?”

The Forgemaster set the bit of metal down and folded his hands. “We’ve no means to produce the ammunition. Their bolts are not lumps o’ lead; each is turned, dressed, weighed an’ beaten to a measure finer than any eye we keep. To make but a soldier’s day’s load by hand would call for a hundred smiths at least, an’ presses, jigs, gauges – tools we do not have in number nor in cunning. To arm a company thus would set our forges burnin’ for months; to arm an army would be to set the whole mountain to the task.”

Pragen’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his own admission settlin’ on him like slag gone cold.

“It is like…” He drew a breath through his beard. “Tryin’ to teach steelwork to a copper-smith. They might see what ye’ve wrought, even grasp the shape of the thing in their mind, but they’d lack every tool, every temperin’, every truth o’ craft that bridges the gap.”

Kelvand said naught for a spell. The Forgemaster sat bowed, hands idle on his knees – and that, more than any word, told the measure of it. “An’ we’re the ones still workin’ copper.”

Pragen nodded once. “Aye.”

The Americans and their ways yet remained a mystery. They could sit here guessin’ at shadows, or they could ask plain. Kelvand’s gaze found the e...

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“Um. William?” Arvie said from beside me.

"Yes, Arvie?” I said, grinning, because I knew what he was about to say before he even said it.

I wondered if that was a result of the neural interface giving me an idea of what he was going to say before he was going to say it, or if it was just that I'd been spending so much time around the Combat Intelligence that I was getting to the point where I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"I know I say this quite often, but this action seems precipitous even by the standards of the sort of thing you do on the regular," Arvie said.

"Why's that?" I asked. "Give me an analysis. That's what your job is, correct?"

"You want an analysis?" he said.

"Well, yes. You are a Combat Intelligence, right? So provide me some combat intelligence."

"Yes, well then," he said, and he sounded extremely pleased suddenly. "You firing a missile against that craft is going to be utterly ineffective. It has countermeasures, and there are anti-aircraft and missile defenses all around the city that can be used to take down that missile before it reaches the bomber. All you've done is alert the imperial forces to your position, and that means they're going to be firing on this fighter craft very shortly."

"Yep, that sounds like exactly what's about to happen, Arvie."

I got another one of those pauses that I loved so much. It was the sort of pause that told me he was trying to think something through. I chalked that up as a win for good old-fashioned natural intelligence baked by nature over a billion years instead of cobbled together by some ones and zeroes over a few hundred years.

"That is your intention, isn't it?"

"Exactly," I said.

"You want to provide a distraction in the hopes you'll be able to occupy the forces long enough that everybody will be able to get away from the reclamation mine before the bomber has a chance to deliver its payload."

"Look at you," I said. "A Combat Intelligence actually learning from a little bit of combat."

“I’ll have you known that I can run countless simulations that tell me the efficacy of..."

"Simulations are great, Arvie," I said. "But there's something to be said for just getting into the shit and figuring out a way to get yourself out of it."

"Getting into the shit and finding a way to get yourself out of it," he said, and it was in an almost approving tone. I didn't dare look over to him to see what his expression told me in that moment. "I rather like that expression. Let's get into some shit then, William."

“Way ahead of you," I said.

I switched to number three and fired a second missile at the bomber. It had already stopped doing its lazy spiral around the city and was taking evasive maneuvers. There was a lot of space in between the fighter and the bomber. Imperial Seat was a big city, but it was a missile streaking across that city. Which meant it was going to close that distance pretty damn fast.

I could see it doing that. Like, I could see it in my head. I didn't even have to look up at the status display to see it.

"That's interesting," I said.

"What's that, William?"

"I'm able to see the status reports in my mind."

"Ah, yes," Arvie said, as though it was nothing. "That is another one of the advantages of using a direct neural link. I told you that you would enjoy it."

"That almost sounds like you're telling me, 'I told you so.'"

"I would never dream of doing something like that," Arvie said.

"Good."

"But I did tell you so."

"I knew it," I said, shaking my head and grinning. I couldn't bring myself to be too mad at the bucket of bolts. He had been right after all.

I switched to number seven, which was at about a 90-degree angle from one and three, and fired off another missile.

Meanwhile, the bomber was going a little crazy. The missiles were still streaking in, but I could also see countermeasures flying up from the city below.

Imperial City was riddled with the stuff. The empress had an iron grip on her people, and that meant she needed to maintain that iron grip by having troops and weapon systems out there ready to go at a moment's notice in case somebody decided to start firing on her. Or, more likely, in case one of the constant squabbles between the various nobles accidentally sent a stray missile towards the imperial palace.

Which was the kind of thing that could get somebody executed if they did it on accident. It was certainly the kind of thing that would get me killed if the empress could get her hands me. The problem was, she had to get her dirty mitts on me in the first place, and she'd had a little bit of trouble doing that so far.

"Three missiles are away," Arvie said. "The first one is down. The third one is down."

"The bomber is still evading, right?"

"Correct," Arvie said.

I switched to five. I could see signatures from fighter craft rising up from the city now, but they were moving far slower than they had any business going. It was almost like I was playing one of those old games I'd enjoyed so much, but I was playing it with a cheat code that allowed me to do everything at a sped-up rate. Which gave me one sequel trilogy of an unfair advantage.

I let out a whoop in the computer space, and then I saw something dark looming in front of me.

I blinked and the world spun around me. It did that weird dizzying thing where time seemed to speed up for a moment of disorientation.

"Shit," I said, ducking below a bar that loomed out in front of me in the darkness. I almost bumped my forehead on it.

"I'm going to need to dedicate a little more attention to walking through this tunnel," I muttered.

"What are you talking about?" Rachel asked, looking at me with obvious concern.

"He's probably doing something stupid in an attempt to annoy the empress,” Varis said with a smile as approval flooded through the link.

Approval and something else, but I really didn’t have time for that kind of distraction right now.

"Trying to save our asses," I said. "And I need to get back in there. I'm in the middle of a little bit of a furball."

"A furball?" Varis asked, the livisk term not quite translating.

"A dogfight," Rachel said. She was mostly fluent in livisk. Fluent enough that she could handle the lost in translation moment. "A bunch of fighters are engaging one another."

"Not yet," I said, "But it's about to get that way. The empress is launching a lot of shit, but I also distracted the bomber.”

"I will guide you through the darkness and the ruins, Bill,” Varis said, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me along.

It made me feel like I was less than useless for a moment. I needed somebody to guide me through the dark tunnel, but I was doing something important, so I was going to let her do it.

“All my trust and love to you," I said, leaning in and putting my forehead against hers. A bit of surprise came through the link, but then she smiled.

"All my trust and love to you as well, Bill."

"Let's do this," I said.

"It's not very honorable. I'm just guiding you through a dark tunnel," she muttered, as I faded away.

"Arvie, could you please tell her that supporting somebody who is kicking some ass is every bit as honorable as actually going out and kicking some ass?"

"I don't think that's going to play very well with a livisk who is very much into the idea of going out and kicking ass personally, but I will pass the message on to her," he said.

"Good," I said.

I switched to number six. There were a bunch of fighters rising up from what looked like a clandestine base the imperials maintained. I guess the nobility weren’t the only ones with secret bases full of weapons, though it was hardly surprising the empress had stuff like that too.

I turned my fighter and dove towards them, but they were moving slow enough that it would keep for a moment. I moved to seven instead. it was in the middle of the shit. A bunch of fighters had come up and were surrounding it. I stared in fascination at a bunch of fighter craft pointed almost directly at the ship, their plasma blasts frozen in the air from my perspective.

"Well, damn," I muttered. "Looks like I pissed them off just a little bit."

"Yes, just a little bit, William," Arvie said. "How are you going to get out of it?"

"That's the fun part," I said, grinning. "I don't plan on getting out of it. Harath is going to be pissed off when he realizes that I'm throwing away his fighters like this, but there's nothing to be done about it."

"As you say, William," Arvie said. "But I'm sure that he will be happy as long as it preserves the life of you and his general."

"Something tells me he cares a little more about the life of his general than mine, but that's nice to know," I said.

I switched back and forth between the ships. I used one to dive directly at fighters rising towards me. I was starting to lose track of which number I was piloting at the moment. I just knew I was at different points on the city compass, and the more I did it, the more I was able to f...

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First | Last

Klara and Joshua don't waste another moment to tear toward each other. I see a flurry of three, no four, no five moves between the two of them in the blink of an eye. A kick from Klara, a jab from Joshua. And then the two Soulless are slamming into the dirt on top of each other, taking it in extra close.

Matteo takes that as our opening and hauls me by the back of my clothes before tossing me forward. Goodness, is he strong. "Ship! Now!" Matteo roars behind me as there's a discharge of energy fire from the fighting Soulless. I take a glance to see neither was hit, and they're exchanging blades again. Both have been cut.

I also notice that the other groups of lifeforms near their ships around this dockyard, about the take off, either do so in a hurry or scurry away in a panic. They see the two killers going blow for blow and realize they want no part of it. Warning lights start to shine. The entire dockyard is being notified, evacuated and giving the Terrans center stage for their duel.

I can't tell if that's good or bad for us. I don't care.

I dart up the ramp into the ship with Matteo right behind me. Getting to the top of the ramp, I stop to see the cargo hold. Boxes and crates and other machinery are parked around us, and I realize I haven't really spent much time here since we took this ship.

I spot the door beyond the cargo hold that will take us to the rest of the ship. I turn my head back to Matteo. "I see the door!' I yell. Matteo is almost up to me. "We can get to the cockpit that way--"

Out of the corner of my eye, something flashes in the darkness. Matteo sees it too. So, Joshua wasn't completely alone. Should've known.

"Sheon!" Matteo yells, pounding his way toward me, moving far faster than a man that big should. "Down--"

I manage to jerk my head back as quickly as I can, but it's not enough. Crippling pain rips across my forehead, and I feel a rush of warm blood immediately. I'm falling, crumpling to the ground not on some battle instinct, but in sheer agony.

I can't see. I can't see a thing. Did it hit my eyes? I wipe away at the blood. No, no the excruciating pain is coming from above the eye. I try to squint, furiously wiping away my own blood.

It's a good thing I dropped to the gorund, because another blade flies through the air, one that would have made a nice, comfortable home in my neck had I not moved. But it's chattering harmlessly down the ramp as Matteo bellows and hops straight over me. He reaches into his belt and pulls his pistol, firing three quick times.

I don't see what happens as I use my sleeves to wipe my eyes. I press my hand straight on the cut and immediately recoil. Fuck me, that hurt! I gut through it and press my hand to the wound again, clamping down with a hiss. I stagger to my feet, finally taking it in, as I brace against a wall.

Matteo is standing over one dead Terran, who took what has to be three rounds straight to its chest, because I see the upper half of its body at least three or so feet from the lower half. Matteo's aim cut the main straight in half.

Matteo is ducking behind some cover as more shots ring out. He growls in annoyance. "You'll kill us both, you fucking idiot!" He yells. "Hit the wrong thing, and this whole place blows fucking sky high! You can see the fucking gas lines!"

"Fuck you, traitor!" Another few shots from the other side of the cargo hold.

Matteo actually laughs. "That's just disappointing," he says. He reaches into his pocket, removes an orb and kisses it before pressing on it. I squint to watch as Matteo tosses the orb over his shoulder and then does a double take as he sees me up and moving. His eyes go big.

"Sheon! Don't look at it! Drop!"

This time, my instinct saves me. I've learned that when a Terran tells me to cower, it's best to do so immediately. I've gotten good at it and let my body go limp, curling into myself.

There's such a flash that I can almost see it through my arms wrapped around my head. A loud bang that rips at my hearing. Then, slowly as it comes back, a happy tune. A...what does James do sometimes? Whistle?

Yes, a whistle. And as I uncurl myself, I see Matteo holstering his pistol. He flips a knife out from his sleeve and disappears around a corner. There's a sickening sucking sound and a gasp, and then Matteo reappears with blood on his hands. He jogs over to me.

Matteo bends and carefully, delicately, places a hand on my forehead. "You okay?" he asks. His breath is heavy. That was textbook, but he hasn't done this in a while, clearly.

"Yeah...I'm good," I say, taking deep breaths as I steady myself against the wall again. "Got me pretty deep though."

Matteo removes his hand and takes a look by gently removing mine. He lets out a tsk from his mouth. "Yeah, they got you good alright," he says. He reaches into his waist and pulls out a strip of something. He places me against the wall as he wraps my wound in whatever it is. A shirt? A bandage? I don't know.

I just know it hurts like hell when he finishes it with a knot and a good amount of pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.

Then Matteo slaps my shoulder. "Med bay is needed. But that'll have to do for now, because we have to make sure there's no one else around," he says. There's a huge bang from outside. The Terrans are upgrading their weapons against each other. Sirens are going off now.

Either the city or the planet's government is clearing the stage so the Terrans don't kill anyone else in their blood feud. Honestly? Not a bad way to keep the peace. And all good for us, I've decided. Gives us a runway to leave.

Another slap on my shoulder. "Gotta do it now."

Then Matteo is darting that big body toward the door at the front of the cargo hold. He gets to the opening and pulls back just in time as an energy round comes screaming into the hold from further inside.

It collides with the ceiling at the back of the hold. Just as Matteo warned, something ignites. It's not large, and anti-inflammatory systems kick in to suppress it.

But it just drives Matteo into a further rage. "Just like I fucking said! The fucking gas line!" he roars as he discards a pistol behind him as I approach. He points to it, then to me, then to the hallway leading into the ship.

"Don't care if you don't know how to shoot!" he yells. "Cover me!"

I pick up the gun, steeling myself and knowing that I have done this before. I do not like this feeling. I've told you that.

But sometimes, a Gyn just wants to live. And sometimes, you can't let everyone else fight for you. So, sometimes, I have to fight for that.

That's why I fire on automatic over Matteo's shoulder without a thought.

...

Matteo and I are crouching over two Terran bodies and peering around the corner to the cockpit. It was a bit of a game finally getting them to the ground. Attack and retreat. Attack and retreat. They are good, but Matteo is a revelation. Klara was right. There is a soldier in there.

He was the one who delivered both of the killing blows. I definitely wounded one, and I provided covering fire to take the other down. So, I'm not innocent--I've played my part here. My hands are dirty too.

I tap Matteo's back hip as we wait to see if anyone comes to answer the alarm that went off two minutes ago. Matteo is panting now. He doesn't have much energy left, I don't think.

We haven't heard anything from Klara. Just a lot of breathing over the comms. Some shouting. They're still going at it.

James has gone dark. Not a word.

My head throbs something terrible, but the pain and fear are keeping me focused. "Why'd you leave Earth, Matteo?" I ask out of nowhere.

He doesn't even look at me, but he scoffs. "Not the time, Sheon," he grumbles.

"I know why James and Klara left. I need to know why you left," I say. "So I can trust you."

"Why would you need to trust--" Matteo pauses and turns to me. His eyes are still sharp, despite the exhaustion.

"Right," he says, seeing something in my eyes. "Family was killed. Car accident. You don't know what cars are, but it doesn't matter. The fact that it was an accident does. And that I didn't have anything left to live for." He frowns at me. "You? Why'd you leave"--he makes a motion with his hand--"your home."

I swallow. "Father was king. His generals pulled a coup. Killed my entire family." I cock my head. "So, similar."

Matteo opens his mouth. Then he looks around the corner, sees nothing and looks back at me. "I'm sorry, Sheon," he says quietly.

"So am I," I say. Then I nod. "But I have something to live for now. And so do you. So, let's not die, right?"

Matteo looks at me for a moment before breaking out into a smile. "Amen to that. To the cockpit. Stay behind me. I'll block you from view in case there's anyone in there."

I smile back. "Yes, you will. You're big," I say.

Matteo coughs and laughs at the same time. He starts to move forward. "Little shit," he says to himself.

I stay far enough back from Matteo, but still close enough and to his side, that anyone opening the closed door to the cockpit wouldn't be able to spot me. We have no idea if...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ralo_ramone on 2025-11-04 18:38:35+00:00.

Prince Adrien and Althea cowered like little children. Their natural confidence slipped away the moment they realized what I truly was. [Foresight] highlighted the details of the scene. Color returned to Prince Adrien’s face, and his heart raced; the pain and exhaustion lifted from his body as adrenaline shot through his veins. Althea clutched his arm, her eyes jumping from me to the shards of the bed pillar lying on the floor. For the first time since I met them, they looked small. Neither spoke for a long time, but my brain wouldn’t stop.

Maintaining my secret identity wasn’t my greatest priority anymore. To face the Corruption Cycle, Prince Adrien’s support might be more important than anything else, and for that, I needed to keep him alive.

“S-since when?” Prince Adrien asked as he regained the ability to speak.

“Just before the royal army arrived at the Great Hall,” I replied, pointing at Althea’s dress. “But only recently I managed to create things like that. Can’t say the System is a great teacher. I’ve been figuring things out for the past two years.”

Prince Adrien opened his mouth again, but any sound died before he could utter a single word. For Ebrosians, two years was an extremely short ‘cultivation’ period. I gave him a moment to process the situation.

“What is your quest in Ebros, Robert Clarke?”

That was a tricky question, but I decided I wasn’t going to lie.

“The Fountain follows a cycle of death and rebirth. We are coming close to its death, and the System expects an era of high Corruption ahead of us,” I explained, skipping the fact that the System Avatar’s plan was just to fix the malfunctioning subroutines and lie low until the cycle reset. “I’m here to help people survive.”

Prince Adrien blinked. Then, I felt the sensation of a thousand little needles probing me. He was using a detection skill on me. Not one like [Foresight] that only caught external stimuli, but one like [Identify] that pried into private information.

“Are you using a skill on me?” I asked.

Althea looked at Prince Adrien in panic.

“Y-you shouldn’t be able to feel anything,” Prince Adrien said.

The greater the mana pool, the easier it was to detect the currents of mana.

“I-I’m an Arbiter. I’m using [Lie Detection].”

Arbiter was a Prestige Class from the Scribe line. A Scribe turned into a Diplomat instead of a Scholar, and then the Diplomat turned into an Arbiter. There was little information about Arbiters in the Book of Classes—as with most of the Prestige Classes—but they were described as a support class with strong perception powers and mild magical aptitude ranging from non-elemental attack magic to illusion magic. Although not confirmed, the author of the book believed Arbiters also had hypnotic skills. 

“Am I lying?” I asked.

“No, but you aren’t saying all the truth either,” Prince Adrien cautiously replied.

I sighed. Prince Adrien and Althea weren’t ready for the truth that the System was created by some chubby dude with a sparse mustache and a strange obsession with yellow polo shirts. They weren’t ready to know how much the System tinkered with one’s brain. Nor the fact that the System decided to abandon this generation to their fate.

“There are more dangers lurking, but those are mine to deal with,” I said.

Althea and Prince weren’t prepared to know about Runeweaver-on-Runeweaver violence either.

“Our survival through the Corruption Cycle will depend on the kingdom’s unity. We need someone with power over the dukedoms. Someone who can make unorthodox decisions if it comes to it.”

Someone who doesn’t want power. Someone I can trust. 

From the moment we sealed our deal, I knew Prince Adrien was the closest to the right person I was going to encounter. The Marquis and Lord Osgiria were too greedy. Lord Gairon was too prideful. Lord Herran was too much of a loving father to put the well-being of the kingdom above his sons and daughters. Lord Vedras hated the Osgirians and was carried away by revenge. Lord Jorn and Lord Kigria didn’t have enough political power to move the kingdom. Lady Evelisse was a conspirator and a manipulator.

Prince Adrien was the closest to an alright guy I was going to find among nobles.

“You need to live,” I said. “Show me Baram’s Runeblade.”

Althea jumped forward. “Even if you sever the connection, with the amount of corruption he has … will he be fine?”

I felt the tiny needles probing my skin again, but the sensation disappeared a moment later. Prince Adrien didn’t want to know.

“It’s over there, Runeweaver Clarke. Please do as you want,” he said, pointing over my shoulder.

“There’s no need to be so formal. I’m just a school teacher from Connecticut.”

Leaning against the corner of the room was an old sword in an even older scabbard. I knew the scratches on the metal were purely cosmetic. That same sword had allowed Prince Adrien, a man with a support class, to cut down hundreds of monsters during the Lich’s Monster Surge in Farcrest.

I grabbed the scabbard, careful not to touch the handle. If the legends were accurate, the Runeblade wasn’t locked to a certain bloodline like the Aias Sword, so I wasn’t going to burst out in flames if I touched it. However, the Corruption covering Prince Adrien’s body was enough warning for me to be careful. I took a deep breath and used [Identify].

Baram’s Cursed Runeblade. [Identify]: A cursed sword created by Runeweaver Baram capable of cutting mountains and separating seas. Enchantment Threshold: ???/???. Status: Degrading.

I didn’t like the last part, but if the sword had existed for centuries, I could only assume it would last a few more. I focused on the handle and activated [Rune Identification].

Many System prompts popped in front of my eyes with Rune names. User. Activation. Detect. Depletion. Repel. Release. Echo. Resonate. Guide. Absorption. Bind. I also gained insight into many more Rank I Runes that I haven’t encountered before. Pulse. Dampen. Transform. Aura. Amplify. Shape. Even with all the known runes, my brain couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. We used the same alphabet, but Baram’s Runeweaving looked like constellations in the sky.

The sudden surge of information made me dizzy, so I had to close my eyes for a second while the System kneaded the knowledge of the runes into my brain. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in front of a small universe of runic circuits. Although it wasn’t a physical sensation, I could only describe it as the Runeblade screaming like a live wire, and considering the amount of power flowing through the sword, it might be a live mana wire as well.

The more I focused on the runes, the more my vision blurred, as if my brain refused to make sense of the higher rank runes engraved in the metal. Runeweaver Baram was either a genius or a monster. I couldn’t envision myself conducting so much magical energy into a single enchantment circuit.

I tried to recall the sensation I felt when I used the Vampiric Rune on the Mage Killer Gloves to extract the Red Corruption from Rup’s body. More than a sensation was an understanding of the rune. Vampiric was just a label for a deeper meaning I couldn’t grasp with my mind alone.

I relaxed, letting my eyes run free over the runes. Huge chunks of the enchantment made no sense to me. More than half of the runes were just smudges in the periphery of my vision. Other chunks were eerily familiar, although I couldn’t say with certainty what their purpose was. Byrne had told me the Runeblade was an anchor between Earth and Ebros, but that didn’t make the enchantment any clearer. 

I was absorbed by the runes. No matter how hard I tried to count them, there were always more. Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands. Then, when I thought I couldn’t go any deeper, I saw it. Like a curtain being pulled aside, I saw a mana spire floating in the middle of nowhere. The environmental mana curved down into the void, following the spire’s direction. 

I was a tiny speck of dust in front of a black hole.

The spire roared as my mana sense quivered. I kicked my metaphorical feet to get away from the swirl. I flew up just to get away until I reached the top of the spire. There was a person there. Or the projection of a person. I recognized him.

Prince Adrien was fixed in place with chains that came out of nowhere, the spire seemingly protruding from his chest. His body was transparent white, made out of mana, and his mana pool—a swarm of small mana particles—was exposed in the middle of his chest. A powerful flux of mana passed through Prince Adrien’s astral body, powering the spire. 

I followed the flux up into the void just to find a lone distant star. The Fountain.

No wonder Corruption had killed Prince Ragna and was now eating Adrien’s body alive. Prince Adrien was the convex lens that gathered the mana necessary for the anchor to work. He channeled more power than any ordinary human should.

“Avatar! Are you there?” I called.

“I am,” a feminine voice replied behind me.

When I turned around, I found a woman dressed in office clothes, her hair in a high bun secured with a pencil. I recognized her instantly. She was Rebecca from HR, the woman with hypnosis skills who had enslaved a flock of dragons and wanted to become the queen of the world, and one of the original Earth humans to arrive at Ebros.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s me, the Avatar,” the woman added.

Strangely enough, she—he?—‘felt’ like the Avatar.

“Why do y...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Douglasjm on 2025-11-04 18:33:18+00:00.

Synopsis:

Carlos was an ordinary software engineer on Earth, up until he died and found himself in a fantasy world of dungeons, magic, and adventure. This new world offers many fascinating possibilities, but it's unfortunate that the skills he spent much of his life developing will be useless because they don't have computers.

Wait, why does this spell incantation read like a computer program's source code? Magic is programming?

<< First | Characters | < Previous | Next > (RR) or Next > (Patreon)

Aaand a spell enchant to finish the job! There we go, all done. Carlos raised the gauntlet he'd just finished tinkering with high in front of him and inspected it with a critical eye. He turned it over a few times, probing it with his mana sense thoroughly, and found nothing out of place. In particular, no part of it tried to divert his attention from anything, even though he was being extremely blatant about investigating every last part of it.

He looked over at Amber, who he already knew had finished the other gauntlet in the same suit a couple minutes ago, and nodded. She nodded back, and the two of them turned to Crown Mage Felton and sent the paired gauntlets floating over to him with a casual display of telekinesis.

Felton took the gauntlets in his own telekinesis spell with a flawless handoff and placed them on the armor stand beside him with the rest of the suit of armor. "All done, I take it? That was impressively quick."

Carlos tried to keep his face blandly neutral as he shrugged. "What can I say? We work fast." He was sure that Felton would speculate privately about them having some kind of mental enhancements, but he wanted to minimize any hints about the details. He especially wanted to not let on about having several minds working concurrently on different parts of the project; letting that secret out would be too likely to either inspire poorly done attempts to duplicate it that backfire into insanity, or suspicions of them having fallen victim to such insanity themselves.

Felton accepted the excuse without comment and scanned the entire suit of armor with a spell. Carlos easily identified the spell as a modified variant of the same enchantment analysis spell the gauntlets themselves used, with the modifications guarding against the interference the sophisticated sabotage had used to conceal itself. Felton nodded, satisfied. "All functions appear intact and operable, and I detect no sign of sabotage. We will still have to test it more thoroughly to be certain, but I believe you have succeeded. Excellent work."

Amber started to bow and prompted Carlos to do the same, then hesitated and adjusted to merely a respectful nod. She blushed and tried to pretend the aborted bow hadn't happened. "Thank you, Mage Felton. We are glad to be helpful to the Crown."

Felton gave a half-bow back and smiled. "If only all nobles felt that way, this country would be much easier to manage." He pressed his lips together, then shook his head and sighed. "As helpful as this is, the Crown will want to not be dependent on you for it. I respect that it involves a house secret, but I think the Crown might insist that you disclose this particular secret so that the Crown's own mages can implement the fix ourselves."

Carlos nodded. "I've been thinking for a while that that might be the case. I haven't decided on what to ask for in exchange yet, but I'm sure we can come to a good agreement on it." He thought to himself, We can teach how to enchant things without revealing the greater secret of the system's self-documentation. He gave Felton a sharp look. "I will definitely want a guarantee that the Enchanters Guild will not learn the origin of the Crown's knowledge, though. I don't want to find out how they would react to that."

Felton chuckled. "I can't imagine the Crown having any objection to that. If anything, letting people think the Crown discovered it themselves would even further increase the already-high prestige and reputation of the Crown." He waved his right hand, and the whole armor stand disappeared. "Anyway, I believe you have some consultation and planning to do with Lorvan and the rest? I'll go present our results and leave you to your business. Good luck."

"Thank you." Carlos nodded, and Felton vanished with the mana flash of a Teleport spell in Carlos's mana sense. Colonel Lorvan stepped up from the side, where he'd been observing the proceedings, and Carlos sent a telepathic signal through Purple to all the House Carlos staff in the camp. Soon, the entire camp was assembled in the relatively clear but still-covered spot they'd been using as a workshop for their magic crafting work. It seemed as good a place as anywhere in the camp for a meeting.

Carlos waited for everyone to assemble. Ressara was the last to arrive, and he nodded to greet her before surveying the group. Colonel Lorvan and Major Ordens stood front and center, resplendent in their heavily-enchanted royal guard armor. The enchantments kept trying to push his attention away from their souls, especially from scrutinizing details such as their level, only to have the opposite effect by pushing on inverted levers around his mind.

Trinlen, academy-trained mage and prankster, lounged in the air to Carlos's left, supported by a customized Flight spell that he claimed feels like lying on clouds. The adventuring party from Dramos stood just right of the royal guards, all lined up in a row: Haftel, tall and lanky and packing a great many daggers; Esmorana, long hair waving in localized wisps of wind; Noralt, stocky and musclebound; and Sconter, large yet strangely quiet. Their souls all felt denser than they used to, though still far short of what Carlos knew was possible. Kindar, not yet officially confirmed as a noble, had the densest soul of anyone present except Carlos and Amber themselves. Ressara, self-styled investigative scholar and definitely the least combat-capable person present, rounded off the lot.

Carlos clapped his hands together to start things off. "Right, so, I expect you all already know that Amber and I will advance to Level 46, the highest the aether here can support, overnight tonight. Lorvan tells me the risk of the guardian noticing us will increase rapidly as we approach closer than this, so we need to be ready for that fight." He raised his right hand and waved to quiet any objections. "I know, I know, Amber and I will have to take on the fight ourselves. We're the only ones here with enough power to properly stand up to it. But we could use some advice on strategy. We've gotten a lot of advice for fighting monsters in general, beasts, and other people, but not for wellspring guardians."

Haftel chuckled and idly flipped a dagger with his left hand. "As far as I've ever heard, wellspring guardians can be anything. Any type of monster, any type of beast… I suppose nobles could be considered human wellspring guardians, but that's the one possibility you definitely won't find at this wellspring. So, really you're asking for advice on how to fight exactly the same things, just stronger."

Carlos shrugged. "I suppose I am. Except it's also a one-off opponent with a known home base that we are specifically hunting. This isn't some random thing we happen across; it's a specific target that we can prepare for. Can we scout it? Find its strengths and weaknesses in advance? Hide from it? Prepare traps? Maybe bait it into an ambush?"

"Hmm." Haftel cocked his head, then looked to his party.

Sconter looked back, then raised his right hand and wobbled it. "Against most things, I would be confident of scouting them undetected. Against a wellspring guardian, though… Maybe even odds it might notice me? Depends how close I get, I suppose, but any significant gap in its senses is a vulnerability a competitor likely would have exploited to defeat and replace it already."

Haftel nodded and shifted his gaze to Esmorana, who shrugged in response. "I can probably locate it from a distance, and even tell its shape from how the wind flows around it. That won't reveal much about its abilities, however."

Haftel faced Carlos again and spread his hands, but Carlos looked at Noralt, the last member of the party. Noralt raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you looking at me for? I'm a fighter, not a scout."

Haftel cleared his throat. "Honestly, your best bet for sussing out its weaknesses is probably some kind of magecraft. I've heard of spells that let a mage see all kinds of things from miles and miles away. But that's more your own specialty, not ours."

Carlos shared a look with Amber and Trinlen, then nodded. "Fair enough, though I hope not everything will come down to finding the right spell."

Trinlen laughed from his floating perch. "I don't know, Boss, wouldn't that reinforce that becoming a mage was the right choice?"

Amber nodded sagely. "Versatility combined with power is the reason I chose the path of a mage, after all."

Carlos groaned, but he couldn't help chuckling a bit, to...

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Chapter 33: Certain Death Valley

Leo wasn't really sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. Everything Cale had said about attuning made sense. It explained why he was having so much difficulty trying to shift the base aspect of his mana core, and even before Cale said anything, it told him in no uncertain terms that his approach had been flawed. In rejecting his core aspect, he was making it even more difficult to attune it to anything else, and while there were records of that sort of permanent reattunement working...

Well, there was a reason all of those records had taken each mage decades. Leo had thought, perhaps rather foolishly, that he was willing to give up those decades if it meant he could be among his family and village once more.

He was a little less certain now, and not only because of everything he'd been through today. As much as Cale had tried to wave off the effects of his very, very long life, even Leo could see the way it wore on him. And minotaurs didn't live nearly as long—he couldn't simply waste decades of his life and... what, come back to live in a changed village, with no one left that he knew?

A second core, though? That was Cale's solution? Leo didn't know if he wanted to laugh incredulously or punch him.

Probably the former. Punching Cale seemed... ill-advised.

Cale was still beaming at him with that ever-present smile, so Leo forced himself to speak again. "What do you mean, building a second mana core?" he asked. It came out a little more desperate than he'd intended. "Can't I just—I don't know—get my hands on something like Damien's cloak? You could awaken a different artifact!"

At those words, Damien flinched slightly. Leo grimaced. He hadn't intended to bring that up, but the words had slipped out. It seemed like such a convenient solution.

"Nope," Cale said dismissively. "That cloak works well for Damien because his base aspect can't be fully attuned to a different aspect. It's a bit like water and oil—you can separate the oil pretty easily. Trying to do that with your mana would be like trying to separate water and... I don't know, milk? It's a lot harder, is my point. That cloak wouldn't be able to do it."

There went that idea. "There has to be something else," Leo argued. "Maybe in Orstrahl's vault. There's an artifact for practically everything. We have the credits, we could—"

"—Leo." Cale interrupted him, his expression turning into something a little more severe, and Leo felt his stomach drop in response. "Why don't you want to make a second core?"

"It's not a matter of whether I want to do it or not," Leo said, flustered. "Second cores are what archmages do. I can't just make one. I'm barely a novice! A second mana core is—it's the step between archmage and minor divinity!"

"Well, yeah." Cale's brows drew together, as if puzzled. "I'm teaching you. It's not like any of you are going to stop at archmage."

The room fell dead silent. Cale glanced around at the four of them, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"...Unless any of you don't want to be an apprentice?" he asked suddenly. "I don't think I ever asked any of you properly."

"I'm pretty sure if any of us said no to that we'd regret it for the rest of our lives." Flia was the first to speak, her tone dry.

"Do you... normally go around picking up apprentices like this?" Damien asked quietly.

Something indiscernible crossed Cale's expression. "I used to," he said.

He didn't elaborate, even in the silence that followed.

Leo broke the silence this time, somewhat awkwardly. "You really think I can build a second core?" he asked. "How long... how long would it take?"

Cale eyed him up and down, then nodded to himself. "Two months," he said. Leo tried not to flinch again. Two months?! Becoming an archmage was itself a task that took decades, it wasn't something that could just be done in a month or two—

"Two months to get the second core started and working well enough you won't need to worry about leaking labyrinth mana," Cale clarified. "It'll take you longer to become a full archmage, probably. Hard to say. Maybe a year or two before you're ready to step into minor divinity?"

"Let's just stick to the archmage thing." Leo exhaled, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He was starting to wonder if he was dreaming. "I have enough trouble with that."

"Sounds good to me," Cale said cheerfully. "Like I said, you need a second core. You can get started on that without getting all the way to archmage, but you do need to be fully synchronized with your labyrinth core first, and we have a rather convenient labyrinth available whenever you wish to do so."

His tone gentled a bit. "Though I know that might be hard for you," he said. "That's why I said we'll do the labyrinth when you're ready. It's your choice, alright?"

Leo felt his shoulders relax slightly at that reassurance. He couldn't remember when he'd tensed up, but apparently he had. "Right," he said, exhaling. "I'll do my best. It... it might take me a day or two. I'm sorry."

Cale shrugged, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I'm the one throwing you into the deep end," he said. "But your original plan is a lot riskier, especially since there's no guarantee you won't experience an aspect rebound. You'd never really be safe if you went with that."

"I... I know," Leo mumbled. It had been a nice thought, though. The idea that he could have a normal core had appealed to him.

"Mind you, I have no idea why Asterion would do something like this," Cale muttered, mostly to himself. "Doesn't seem like him."

Leo felt his skin prickle at that. Had Cale actually met and spoken to Asterion before? It seemed possible, now that he knew his background, and that meant...

No. It meant nothing. What was Leo going to do, find and kill a named mythology? He didn't even know if it would free his people from the Impetus.

"Once you get a second core, the goal will be to use it as your primary core," Cale explained, though there was something in his eyes that made Leo wonder if he knew what he was thinking. "You'll feed your labyrinth mana into it so that any mana you leak will be from the new core. Essentially, you'll be automating the attunement process. Any questions?"

Leo had so many questions, but his mouth was dry, and nothing was coming out. He shook his head.

"Good," Cale said. He gave Leo a friendly grin. "I suggest you start thinking about what you want as a second mana aspect, because it's going to shape who you are as a mage."

Right. He would have to think about that. Leo couldn't remember the last time he'd given serious thought as to what he wanted his base aspect to be. Fire, maybe? Fire was one of the more common, notoriously easy to attune aspects. Fire would be nice.

Fire also felt like it wouldn't be enough against anything they'd faced today. He didn't want anything too esoteric—the tradeoff with attunement just meant he'd be locked into a different set of spells—but maybe if he could find something that was just on the edge of that, something with both offensive and defensive potential without sacrificing too much in the way of utility...

Before he realized it, he'd pulled out a set of notebooks and begun muttering to himself, cross-referencing them and muttering to himself.

Cale grinned. "Looks like Leo's taking it seriously," he said cheerfully. "Your turn, Flia."

—

Flia felt, in spite of herself, kind of nervous when Cale turned his attention to her. She still didn't know what to think about what happened in the Inverted Spires—the idea that she'd just been wrong about her mana aspect this entire time was...

Not just her, but her family. Her people. Water elementals were known for their kindness and their ability to heal. Their presence alone could end droughts and famines, and as such they were a symbol of luck and good fortune in cultures all across Utelia. All across the Great Realms, really, if the records found within dungeons were any indication.

Flia had been different from the moment of her birth.

Variant elementals had been born before. Most of the time, it wasn't anything remarkable. A tempest elemental could control the winds and storms, ocean elementals handled more large-scale magic like the tides. Flia even had a cousin that was an acid elemental who had acquired a job with an alchemist. All of those mana aspects were well-known, and none of them were too difficult to attune when needed.

Flia's mana core, on the other hand, had been nearly impossible to reattune, and no one had any idea why. It felt like a normal water aspect core to anyone with a mana sense. It was only after long nights and deep dives into the archives that her family had eventually concluded that what she had was a deep-sea attunement, known also as the Leviathan's Curse, and that she was stuck with it for the rest of her life.

Except even that was wrong, according to Cale. Her mana aspect was, what, abyssal? She was connected to the literal ocean between the Great Realms. What did that mean for her? What was Cale, who had apparently lived through thousands of lives all across the Great Realms, going to tell her?

She stared at him in so...

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Additional Context

Young eyes opened to a fresh blue sky. The warmth of the orange sun cascaded across the trees, reaching as far as the child could see. A small, careless smile crept over the edges of her mouth. Her small hand slowly rose in a vain attempt to touch the soft, bulbous clouds above before being suddenly taken by a scaly, inhuman grip.

“Unit 05-01-0001. Stand by for med-check for special-order release,” a gruff voice said over a mechanical speaker.

The smile quickly faded to a neutral expression. Her eyes broke away from Earth’s beautiful features and back to the rear, open hangar bay of the Thraxi slaver ship.

She lifted her arms and spread her legs as a small device, held by one of the Thraxian soldiers, slowly scanned the outline of her body.

“Chastity?” the Thraxian asked while scanning.

“Intact,” she said coldly.

“Last neural inspection?” The scanner beeped.

“Yesterday,” she responded, a small tear forming at the corner of her right eye.

“I don’t detect any current or previous injuries. She is in prime health. Special-order request approved. Cleared for release.” The Thraxian pulled the scanner away from her body. A separate Thraxian soldier walked up and pushed her back toward the hangar.

The young girl turned to face a massive crowd of silent humans. Her eyes darted through the crowd before settling on a teary-eyed woman, a man holding her tight against his chest, and a uniformed man, stoically looking back at her.

The child’s mouth started to open but stopped when she noticed the uniformed man lightly shake his head. She closed her mouth, and with a simple nod from the man, she looked forward toward her new life.

—30 Years Later—

“T’rish, report to the Royal Operations Room immediately,” a tired voice said over the intercom system.

A woman quickly looked up and down the halls, then glanced back down to a young boy sitting propped against a gold-plated wall. His left eye had been injured, and she had just placed a warm, moist cloth on it.

“Just hold it there. Fifteen-Fifty-One will be here shortly. Don’t let the guards see you sitting, okay? Up, up…” T’rish gently slid her arms under the boy’s armpits and lifted him to his feet.

“Just one time, T’rish. I won’t hurt him too much. I just wan—” The boy’s pleading stopped abruptly.

“T’RISH!” a separate, more boisterous voice yelled from the speakers this time.

T’rish padded away. She saw a young woman turn the corner and make her way to T’rish and the boy. With a nod, she started down the hallways toward the source of the voice.

The woman walked down the large, empty hallways of a majestic palace, its walls lined with gold and other exotic metals found across the vast Thraxian Empire. Doors opened to large rooms with differing uses—kitchens, dining rooms, projection rooms, 3D rooms, rooms for the Emperor’s coats, rooms for the Emperor’s pets, etc.

It was a vast and mind-boggling maze of excess wealth, but over the 30 years, it might as well have been a 5-by-5-foot cell.

T’rish finally approached a set of blast doors with the seal of the Royal Family embedded at the center. Rows of Thraxian Royal Guardsmen reached from one end of the hall all the way to the door.

“T’rish, you’re late. Sometimes I feel you forget your place here,” one of the honor guards said while pressing a few keys into a nearby datapad.

“Korth was being used for sparring practice by your instructor again, L’ulish,” T’rish said in a frustrated tone.

“I had to clean up the mess.” T’rish began fixing her hair and prepping herself for the Emperor’s presence.

“Excuses… Maybe I’ll also pay him a visit. You know… for taking up so much of your time,” the honor guard said coldly. He punched in the last segment; the doors whistled as the pressure within its many sections equalized the two rooms. Several clunks were heard as metal met heavy metal before the seal of the Royal Family split open to reveal another vast and beautiful room.

T’rish looked over at the tall honor guard. His thick, overly eccentric armor was more useful in a trophy case than for any practical use.

“I feel I should inform you that damaging Thraxi Special-Order Property is akin to striking the Royal Seal,” T’rish said, then quickly walked through the doors to settle herself.

The honor guard tensed his scaled fingers around the plasma pistol’s grip and huffed before the doors closed behind her.

She entered a large, dark room. The walls were littered with screens, text, and visual data as several royal staff walked around a central platform that held two figures. Ahead of them, two holograms of Thraxians in uniform flickered.

As she approached, she recognized two from Thraxi High Command—one the Home Fleet Admiral and one a Subjugation Fleet Vice Admiral.

“To confirm your orders, Emperor, you are requesting that we leave without being relieved by the 9th Subjugation Fleet? This would violate the procedure established by the late Emperor.”

One of the figures stepped up to speak. It was one of the Thraxi Empire’s closest advisors—Royal Advisor Alexander Martin.

“The Emperor believes it to be a redundant procedure. The Subjugation Fleets are better suited to assist with the conflict against the Solarians. You will only be gone for several cycles during refit. The stations can maintain peak operational efficiency for far longer than that.”

“We want to hear it from the Emperor, not from his pet monkey,” the Subjugation Vice Admiral said.

“This ‘pet monkey’ advised both me and my predecessor for nearly sixty cycles. Any more disrespect to him will be treated as such to myself, Vice Admiral,” said the center figure.

The center figure was the figurehead of the Thraxi Empire itself—the young Emperor. He had held the throne for nearly ten years. In Thraxian years, he was about forty-five. In human years, he would be around twenty-five. His skin was much different from the rest of the Thraxians. His scales were smoother and tighter to his skin than usual. His face was rounder and set farther back than the Thraxian snout. His fingers were softer along the edges and thinner. Without proper inspection, some could mistake him for a malnourished female.

“I apologize to the Emperor,” the Vice Admiral said.

“The order is final. The 9th Subjugation Fleet will hold its post. The Home Fleet will continue its refit operations,” the Emperor said. The two holograms shimmered out together with a single button press.

“Thank you, Emperor. With the additional funds and saved resources, I believe we will be able to break the Solarians’ spirit in about five cycles,” the advisor said, before turning his attention to T’rish.

“She is here, Emperor,” the advisor said with a subtle nod to T’rish.

The young Emperor turned around, a smile forming on his face the moment he recognized her.

“T’Rish! Come, come!” The Emperor gestured to himself and toward a larger screen.

T’Rish slowly approached the Emperor, her eyes wandering toward the screen as an excuse not to look directly at him. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Oh, just watch…” the Emperor said, swiping up on a small datapad. A live video suddenly appeared on the screen. The scene was of a towering pole with an X on top. Around it was flat ground that stretched about fifty yards in every direction. An audience of what looked to be thousands of the galaxy’s wealthiest sat several meters above the ground floor.

It was an arena.

“What is t—” T’Rish suddenly noticed the man upon the X. He had been crucified there, and by the state he was in, it must have been for a very long time.

“His blood has almost reached the ground. I thought you would want to see the main event! I know how much humans love conflict. I read it during the many studies you put me through!” the Emperor said emphatically.

“Why is he there?” she asked, her eyes locked on the man placed on the X.

“Believe it or not, the humans sent him. They said it was an offering of a dissenting Old-Era veteran. They wanted me to publicly show his execution. They believed it would send a proper message to the ‘right person,’” the Emperor said. He slouched a bit into his chair while closely watching a distinct red line slowly descend from the man’s bloodied feet down the pole.

“Yes...the right person. In case that person ever felt they needed a reminder of what their purpose is,” the advisor said. His left hand rested on her right shoulder.

“The purpose is to serve us,” the Emperor hammered in.

“Right…” A tear broke from her right eye, the speed at which it dragged across her sunken face matching the pace of the red outline.

Her mind was dragged back to a moment when she was much, much younger. The man on the X stood in front of her. His arms were behind his back. The same stoic look was on his face.

“You have been given a difficult mission, Laura. What your people are asking from you requires a terrible price, and you weren’t even given a choice. My job is to make sure you are prepared—that you are ready for when the time comes. Whenever the time comes,” the stoic man said, before an old Terran soldier walked out from behind him.

“Ready?” he asked.

The young T’rish—Laura—slowly lifted herself from the floor, spitting blood from her mouth. Her forehead was slashed, while the skin on her arms and chest was purple from intense bruising.

A soldier similar to the one who had revealed himself lay unconscious beside her.

“I’m… ready,” she responded, raisi...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Auggy74 on 2025-11-04 16:00:39+00:00.

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___________

Hurdop Cargo Vessel Clanmother's Curry

As the Senior (and only) Engineer, Saifex had several duties. Currently, she was sweating as the tow beams were losing coherence. In normal-space that was an issue. In R-space it was a disaster waiting to happen - masses tended to behave unexpectedly when unpowered and untethered inside an R-space tunnel and the odds were quite good that if they lost one, they'd lose the other two. Which meant that she had to keep drawing power from every system that wasn't propulsion or life support.

Saifex glanced at the clock that noted their arrival time to New Casablanca at forty minutes and debated if she could cut life support. She then shook her head a bit - this wasn't right, there was something else she could do. She fought to quell the rising panic in her throat. She remembered the words Chief Tucker had scrawled in the margin at the beginning of every chapter - "Don't Panic. Remember where your towel is and be a hoopty frood."

She had no idea what the second sentence meant, but the first one was clear. The powerplant wasn't going to be able to sustain the full load, so she had to be creative. The tow beams would lose coherence irregularly, forcing her to shunt capacitor power to the failing beam, which would cascade to the other two. But if she were in charge of the load...

Saifex tapped a quick program into her console, cycling the power on each emitter from full to eighty percent at regular intervals - after that she looked at the stability readouts. It wasn't perfect, but the emitters were holding, and holding steady. She exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, finally turning to press her thumb to a comm speaker.

"Captain Jojorn, the tow emitters have been stabilized. Recommend we keep current power status until we exit R-space."

"Does that include the current environmental control?"

"Unfortunately yes." Saifex paused as she remembered that she'd taken power from the temperature and humidity controls. "I will be performing maintenance duties that will be shunting excess heat through the air ducts shortly."

"Please be quick with the maintenance. We are emerging from R-space soon, and I would prefer to have Baolet's fingers functional at that time."

"I will. I'll let you know when the cycle's begun, and then I can take a look at Baolet's hands in the med-center if needed." Engineering and medical were often crewed by the same individual - which had backfired spectacularly on multiple occasions as the one most capable of treating an engineering injury was the same one who was injured. But Saifex was loathe to give up any ship responsibility, as lessening duties would have been seen as a failure. But still, it was an impossibility compounded by recent events.

Still it weighed heavily on her mind, and as the ship dropped to regular space she went to the no-longer-freezing bridge.

"Captain, I have a request for additional crew."

Jojorn flicked an ear reflexively. More crew meant more rations, pay, and less storage as the new crewmembers would need a bunk - their current crew berthing was a single room, and sharing bunks was the norm. "I'm not inclined to take on anyone. We are eight, a strong number. That has been sufficient since we were first joined."

"We are doing well enough. Eight is enough, but what happens when we are seven? Or six? Accidents happen, falls, spills. If even one member of the crew is unconscious, we are crippled."

"How many do you think we require?"

"Four more should suffice. When we return to Hurdop, we can petition Grandmother Jetti for the mature hands." Saifex paused. "The Freelord has a doctor who never visits engineering, and an engineer who never sees medical."

There was another earflick as Jojorn considered it - it did make sense, however the body was a system and engineers knew systems. "I will take counsel with Yorkime in this. Perhaps there are available folks at the Legion home base."

___________

Moncilat Prime, Exquisite Jade City Peace Artisan Station

Gryzzk looked at the holding cells currently filled with what were theoretically responsible adults all pointing at a large number of bounty hunters as if 'they started it' was an affirmative defense. As Gryzzk recalled, that stopped being valid at approximately three years of age. Gryzzk pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating how nice the galaxy was not half an hour ago.

The bounty hunters were in similar form, jeering at the company as if the company hadn't tied knots in their collective fur. Epithets and insults being hurled back and forth seemed to be the norm. Overall the Peace Apprentice was very nervous as she contemplated the possibility of a mini-riot on her hands.

Gryzzk beckoned the officer down to his level so they could speak quietly. "Is there a way to separate the...groups? I can keep my charges in check - however I cannot make a similar surety for those not of my company. And there is a possibility that an insult may land poorly."

A headshake was his reply. "There is only one main exit; there are emergency exits, but they are not in an efficient location."

Gryzzk sighed softly. "Very well. Is it possible to pay a fine in advance of an act committed? I expect that this is not going to be a smooth release."

The apprentice looked at the cells, finally nodding. "It is not a standard procedure, but yes."

"I think we can both agree that we're not dealing with a standard day."

There was a rapid nod. "It...yes."

The outprocessing was only slowed once as a Hurdop bounty hunter spat at Captain Wilson as the captain shuffled forward in line. "Your food's bland, Terran!"

Everyone around the chef froze as the very large and muscular Terran turned to lock eyes with the one who had just made an error. "Who dat. Who dat say cajun bland?"

"Bland. Flat. Tasteless!" The insulter moved closer to the bars of his sphere after seeing that his barb had landed.

A respectful circle was promptly made as Wilson inched forward, tapping the bars experimentally. "You say that now. Safe as a mudbug behind those bars, nursing a shoulder that your kin just put back inna socket. You say that cause you watching a hell of a payday walk out the door. You mad, I get it. But watch your words, cause you just had the bad hoodoo to say that to a chef. A chef what's also an officer. As an officer, I sets an example for my troops. I tell 'em allll the time, 'Any chef worth the name has their own knives to hand everywhere they go, cause there's always gonna be a time when a knife is needed.' So ask yourself and be honest with yourself. Where you think I got my knife?"

The silence was reply enough, and Wilson huffed a soft satisfaction. As he approached the out-processing desk, Gryzzk lowered his voice. "Captain, kindly tell me you don't have a knife currently in your possession."

"Mama Wilson didn't raise no liars, sir." The chef grinned brightly. "Don't fear none. It's a food knife."

Gryzzk shook his head. "That does not ease my concern, Captain."

Fortunately, the rest of the out-processing proceeded smoothly - or as smoothly as herding a large number of somewhat sober mercenaries could be. As the last of the current residents exited, two officers came in with Kiole and the armory squad. Gryzzk simply made a motion to the end of the line, tamping his concern down as much as he possibly could.

Finally the outprocessing was completed and Gryzzk was left staring awkwardly at the poor officer who had spent a great deal of her day dealing with a borderline violent mob.

"If you'll pardon me, Major - there are four more individuals attached who require out-processing."

"Associated with my company?"

"Yes. Two of them claim to be sergeants of your company, while the other two are parents of one of the sergeants. They were not arrested for violent acts."

Gryzzk's heart sank slightly. "Very well. Please escort me to them."

It was something of an oddity as Gryzzk walked to the last cell. Delia and Charles were cuddling on a seat that was only large enough for one while their pantsless daughter was resolutely not looking in their direction. Edwards, on the other hand seemed quite amused by the spectacle. Their cell appeared to be the only one that had any manner of seating available.

Gryzzk had to blink a few times as he regarded the Reillys. "Sergeant Reilly, what precisely happened?"

"Public indecency." Reilly's scent seemed off in some way - like she was embarrassed about something.

"Not you, your parents."

Reilly scowled. "Like I said, public indecency."

Delia stood, dusting herself off slightly and straightening her clothes. "Major it was a - a celebration of a successful job, bringing art to a safe place for the enjoyment of all. Then in celebration, Jenassa and I sang a little duet, and afterward there was such an air of exuberance from the crowd that there was nothing but the moment and Charles." She and Charles held the cloying scent of intimacy low about themselves, along with an undefinable scent that Gryzzk associated with youth - as his mind processed this, he decided he didn't need to know more.

Their was a grimace from the younger Reilly as she seemed to agree. "Please don't ask...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/newoldschool on 2025-11-04 15:38:01+00:00.

Inspired by a fighter driving an armoured car against Isis

When the alarms began to scream across the orbital city of Erbil-9, Captain Ako Rahman was under his ship, wrist-deep in hydraulic oil.

He had never liked the new maintenance droids. Too delicate, too polite, too useless when something actually broke. The Beast—that’s what he called her—was older than the colony itself. She was a squat, ugly freighter refitted for salvage runs, her hull blackened by plasma scoring, her engines rebuilt from mismatched human and alien tech. Everyone said she should’ve been scrapped decades ago. Ako disagreed.

“She’s got heart,” he’d tell the dockyard kids who came to watch him work. “She leaks, she curses, she flies. That’s all you need.”

The alarms rose in pitch—an ugly, pulsing wail that made the metal walls tremble. Then came the voice of the station AI, calm and terrible:

“Priority alert. Hostile incursion detected. All civilians to emergency shelters immediately.”

Ako froze. His wrench slipped, clattering against the deck. He turned toward the open bay doors, where the black curve of space shimmered beyond the docking ring. Out there, something burned—a line of light against the void. Then another. Ships, descending. Dozens.

The Zhenar. Raiders from the outer systems. No mercy, no prisoners.

Within seconds, the comm-net exploded with voices: panicked shouts, distress calls, screams. Ako looked at his ship, her hull patched and pitted, her nameplate barely legible under layers of soot.

He whispered, “Not today.”

The Beast roared to life like an animal waking from hibernation. Her old ion drives coughed blue light into the dock as Ako slammed through the preflight checks by instinct. The station’s defense grid was already lighting up, spraying plasma fire toward the incoming ships—but it wouldn’t be enough. The Zhenar ships were fast, sleek, and cruel, built for slaughter.

Ako’s hands flew over the controls. He didn’t think about protocol. He didn’t think about survival. He thought about the colony below—the families, the children, the mechanics who trusted him to fix their lifters, the old market where he’d spent his paychecks on bad coffee and laughter.

He thought: If I don’t move, no one will.

“Station Control, this is freighter Beast. I’m going in to extract civilians from the lower sectors.”

“Negative, Beast. All non-combat ships are ordered to remain docked—”

“Too late.”

The Beast shot free of her moorings, her thrusters howling. The sudden acceleration slammed Ako into his seat. He grinned despite the pressure. The ship’s hull shook as debris scraped her sides. She dove through the chaos—past shuttles spinning out of control, past broken defense drones. The station’s lower rings were already aflame, a halo of wreckage and smoke.

Ako opened a local channel. “Anyone alive in the lower residential ring, mark your location. I’ve got a ship and poor judgment.”

A dozen signals blinked on his display.

The lower residential ring was a maze of wreckage. Power conduits sparked across shattered corridors; loose cargo containers spun in zero-G. Ako threaded the Beast through them with the grace of a drunk dancer. Every twist of the stick, every thrust adjustment, came from decades of muscle memory.

He wasn’t flying a ship—he was driving it, like the roads of old Earth were still beneath his wheels. His hands were light, his instincts sharp. When a plasma bolt tore past the viewport, he didn’t flinch. He dropped the Beast sideways, let the bolt carve through an abandoned fuel pod, then used the explosion’s shockwave to spin around a collapsing maintenance tunnel.

Three survivors clung to the edge of an airlock, waving frantic flares. Ako hit the retro-thrusters hard, flipped the ship belly-first, and opened the cargo ramp.

“Get in!” he barked over comms. “If you can walk, crawl, or swear, get in!”

They tumbled aboard. One of them—a child, maybe ten—stared at the bulkhead, eyes wide at the ship’s patchwork walls.

“What is this thing?” she asked.

Ako smirked. “A bad idea that works.”

He sealed the ramp, throttled up, and punched the engines. The Beast tore away from the collapsing section just as it blew apart behind them, pressure vents screaming into the void.

Ako didn’t have shields. The Beast’s emitter coils were twenty years past their prime, and the only armor she had was whatever scrap Ako had welded onto her belly. But he’d learned a few tricks over the years.

He killed his transponder—make yourself invisible before they decide you’re prey. He flew low—stay in the debris field, let the chaos hide you. And when he had to fight—never fly straight.

When the first Zhenar fighter swooped down, its cannons glowing blue, Ako flipped the Beast end-over-end. The plasma bolts seared past where his engines had been a half-second earlier. He slammed the throttle to full, skidding along the outer hull of the station itself, the freighter’s landing gear scraping sparks from the metal.

The Zhenar pilot followed, confident, faster, sleeker. Ako muttered to his ship, “Come on, girl, one more trick.”

He dove toward a shattered reactor conduit. The Zhenar followed, firing. Ako cut engines completely and let inertia carry him through the tunnel. When the fighter fired again, the plasma bolt hit the conduit behind him.

The explosion tore the Zhenar apart. The Beast shuddered, rolled, and came out the other side, black smoke trailing.

Ako chuckled. “Defensive driving, lesson one: let the other guy overtake the bomb.”

The child in the co-pilot seat blinked up at him. “You’re crazy.”

He winked. “You’re welcome.”

There were more calls for help. Always more. Ako dropped the survivors at an undamaged docking ring, refueled with whatever the automated systems would give him, and dove back into the storm.

He found a crippled transport with fifty people trapped inside, its air supply dwindling. He couldn’t dock; the hatches were mangled. So he bumped them—literally, ramming the Beast’s starboard side into the transport to create a pressure seal with his improvised docking rig.

The impact nearly tore his hull apart, but it worked. The evacuees poured through the temporary corridor, one by one. Ako watched his pressure readings drop, his hull alarms blink red, and said, “We’re not dead yet, so stop complaining.”

When another Zhenar corvette appeared, blocking the exit corridor, Ako didn’t run. He charged.

He threw the Beast into full burn, aimed straight at the enemy ship’s forward viewport. The corvette fired—once, twice—plasma bolts splashing off the freighter’s forward armor. The Beast’s plating peeled like bark. Ako’s console exploded in sparks.

At the last possible second, he hit the side thrusters and swung the ship in a brutal sideways roll. The Beast scraped across the corvette’s hull, shredding off antennae, turrets, anything fragile. Metal screamed. Ako used the friction to spin himself back toward the safe corridor, his hull now a smoking ruin.

In the aft cameras, the corvette drifted, crippled. Ako’s heart hammered.

He whispered, “Lesson two: don’t dodge. Drive through

By the time Ako made his fourth rescue, his ship was barely holding together. Half the lights on the control panel were dead. The cabin smelled of ozone and fear. The survivors crowded in the cargo bay, whispering prayers in half a dozen languages.

Ako floated a few ration packs their way and said, “Eat up. Might be our last meal before breakfast.”

A tall miner stared at him. “Why are you doing this, Captain? You could’ve left. You don’t even know us.”

Ako shrugged, checking the engine readings. “I know enough.”

“What’s enough?”

“That you’re human.”

He looked up, eyes hard. “And we don’t leave our own behind.”

The miner nodded slowly. “You’re mad.”

“Yup,” Ako said. “Keeps me alive.”

The Zhenar had noticed him by now. They called him The Black Ghost—a half-dead freighter that appeared from nowhere, stole civilians, and vanished back into debris fields. Ako took it as a compliment.

His final run came when the station’s power core went critical. The AI broadcast a single, desperate message: Evacuation priority sector nine. Hundreds of people were trapped behind collapsed bulkheads.

Ako throttled the Beast toward the sector, every warning light on his dash flashing. The radiation was cooking his hull, the gravity fields were unstable, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He threaded the ship through gaps that barely existed, brushing bulkheads, skimming through collapsing corridors. His hands danced over the controls—roll left, throttle down, burst right, vent plasma to fake a hit signature.

He drove the ship like he was back on Earth’s old roads—drifting through wreckage, hugging corners, making physics itself flinch.

When he reached the survivors, the sector was tearing itself apart. Ako flipped the Beast upside-down, parked her like a roof, and opened the lower ramp.

“Get in!” he roared over the comm. “This is your last ride!”

They came—dozens, then hundreds, packed shoulder to shoulder. The ship’s life support screamed. The hull groaned. Ako’s instruments told him what he already knew: the Beast couldn’t take another hit.

So he gave her one last order.

“Come on, girl. One more run.”

He hit the main thrusters. The old freighter lunged out of the crumbling station, engines trailing plasma fire. A Zhenar cruiser moved to intercept, its cannons glowing. Ako twisted th...

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