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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/RecentFeature1646 on 2025-11-27 21:30:48+00:00.

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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 330: A Perfect Antithesis

"Well, well," the newcomer said, his voice carrying an unpleasant resonance that made Wei Lin's teeth ache. "What have we here? An Azure Peak disciple so far from home, playing with powers he shouldn't understand."

Wei Lin straightened, keeping his expression carefully neutral despite the alarm bells ringing in his mind. The spiritual pressure emanating from this man wasn't just powerful, it was tainted, corrupted in a way that made the Shadow Fox's energy seem almost pure by comparison. But what was most concerning was the cultivation – Eighth Stage Qi Condensation.

"I'm merely passing through," Wei Lin replied evenly, gesturing to the fox corpse. "This creature attacked me, and I defended myself."

The demonic cultivator laughed. "And then you proceeded to harvest its demonic essence." He tilted his head, those unsettling eyes studying Wei Lin with disturbing intensity.

Wei Lin felt an uncomfortable sensation, as though invisible fingers were probing at his consciousness. The stranger's gaze seemed to pierce through his physical form, reaching for something deeper.

"Interesting that an Azure Peak disciple would know such techniques," the man continued. "More interesting still that you would come so deep into these mountains alone." His blood-ringed eyes narrowed slightly. "Seven stalls in your marketplace, and an eighth under construction. How... enterprising."

Wei Lin stiffened. "How could you possibly know that?"

The stranger's lips curved into a thin smile. "The Abyssal Eye technique. A little gift from my dying master before I devoured him." He tapped one finger beside his disturbing eyes. "It allows me to glimpse the structure of another cultivator's inner world. Most useful for identifying which prey is worth consuming."

"You can see my inner world?" Wei Lin asked, genuinely disturbed by the violation. The structure of one's inner world was intensely private, even trusted allies rarely shared such intimate knowledge.

"Only its general architecture," the man clarified. "Enough to recognize a marketplace of energies." He performed a mocking bow. "I am Zhao Xun of the Crimson Vein Sect, and I find it most curious to discover an Azure Peak disciple secretly cultivating demonic arts."

"You're mistaken," Wei Lin replied, shaking his head firmly. "My cultivation method isn't demonic."

Zhao Xun's laughter erupted again, harsh and mocking. "I know what demonic cultivation looks like, little merchant. It doesn't matter how righteous cultivators dress it up to appear good. That," he pointed at Wei Lin's chest, "is a demonic technique."

Wei Lin took a careful step backward, maintaining the distance between them. "I have no quarrel with you or your sect. If it's the fox you want, you're welcome to it. I'll be on my way."

"So generous," Zhao Xun's smile widened, revealing teeth filed to points. "But I'm afraid I can't let such an opportunity pass. Not only do I want that corpse and the essence you've harvested, but I'm quite interested in draining you as well. Seven different energy types, all neatly organized in one cultivator? That's a feast I rarely encounter."

Wei Lin's heart raced as he realized negotiation wasn't an option. He needed to escape immediately. Without warning, he pulled from his wind stall, channeling every bit of remaining wind essence into pure speed as he turned and bolted for the densest part of the forest.

He made it perhaps twenty yards before darkness erupted from the ground before him, coalescing into a wall of writhing shadows that blocked his path. Wei Lin skidded to halt, immediately changing direction, only to find Zhao Xun standing directly in his path.

"Running already?" Zhao Xun chided. "I expected more from someone clever enough to develop a seven-energy system."

Wei Lin backed away, his options rapidly dwindling. "I don’t want to fight you."

"Wise, but irrelevant," Zhao Xun replied, raising his hands in a peculiar formation. "Your wants ceased to matter the moment I decided to claim you."

The air between them darkened as Zhao Xun's spiritual energy manifested, not as the typical colorful qi most cultivators displayed, but as ribbons of absolute darkness that seemed to devour the twilight around them.

Left with no choice, Wei Lin dropped into a combat stance and prepared for battle.

"Hungry Shadow Scripture," Zhao Xun whispered. "First movement: Devouring Tendrils."

The darkness around him exploded outward in dozens of whip-like appendages, each ending in a mouth-like opening filled with needle-like protrusions.

Wei Lin pulled from his fire stall, creating a barrier of flames that intercepted the tendrils.

Where fire met shadow, hissing steam erupted, filling the clearing with an acrid fog.

Using the momentary cover of steam, Wei Lin circulated his remaining qi, distributing it evenly among his seven stalls to provide maximum flexibility. Within his inner world, the marketplace became a flurry of activity as spiritual energy was traded, converted, and optimized for battle.

When the steam cleared, Zhao Xun stood exactly where he had been, looking completely unperturbed. "Interesting defense," he commented. "Most cultivators rely on a single element or perhaps two. You shift between them with unusual fluidity."

Wei Lin didn't waste breath responding. Instead, he pulled from his earth stall, stomping his foot to send a wave of stone spikes erupting toward Zhao Xun. Simultaneously, he converted a portion of his lightning essence to sound, releasing a disorienting pulse that distorted perception in a ten-yard radius.

Zhao Xun vanished into shadow as the stone spikes reached him, reappearing to Wei Lin's right with his hand extended. "Hungry Shadow Scripture, Second Movement: Consumption Palm."

Wei Lin barely managed to become partially intangible using void energy as Zhao Xun's hand passed through his shoulder. Even that brief, immaterial contact sent waves of cold revulsion through Wei Lin's body, as though some essential part of him had been touched by corruption.

"You're full of surprises, merchant,” Zhao Xun's eyes widened in genuine surprise before narrowing with increased interest. “Your combat ability rivals that of a regular eighth-stage cultivator."

The battle continued with increasing intensity. Wei Lin drew on every technique in his arsenal, constantly shifting between energy types to keep Zhao Xun off-balance. He conjured blades of hardened water that froze shadows on contact, created lightning chains that temporarily illuminated the darkness Zhao Xun controlled, and used sound vibrations to disrupt the demonic cultivator's concentration.

Throughout the exchange, Wei Lin began to absorb small quantities of shadow energy whenever possible, storing it in the temporary holding area within his inner marketplace. Something about this energy was different from the demonic qi he'd harvested from beasts, purer in its corruption, if such a contradiction could exist.

And to his surprise, the captured energy began to interact with his eighth stall in unexpected ways, catalyzing reactions with the demonic seed at its center. But what was most exciting was the faintest outline of what might eventually become a ninth stall developing beside the eighth stall.

For a time, the fight seemed almost even, with neither gaining a clear advantage. Zhao Xun's expression shifted from amused confidence to focused concentration as he was forced to exert genuine effort.

"You've exceeded my expectations," Zhao Xun admitted after a particularly clever combination forced him to defend rather than attack. "But as you've probably realised by now, I am not a regular eighth-stage cultivator either."

With those words, the atmosphere around them changed dramatically. The very air seemed to thicken, taking on a gelatinous quality as shadows pooled at Zhao Xun's feet, spreading outward in a widening circle.

"Hungry Shadow Scripture, Fourth Movement: Realm of the Devouring Void."

Wei Lin's eyes widened in shock as he recognized what was happening. The clearing began to transform in ways that defied normal cultivation techniques. This wasn't merely an energy projection or battle aura, Zhao Xun was creating a domain, imposing a portion of his inner world directly onto reality itself.

"Impossible," Wei Lin whi...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PerilousPlatypus on 2025-11-28 06:25:56+00:00.

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"Hella, that's it!" Yerki said, jamming an elbow into the other child huddled beside her. "The Human! The one they been talking about." Hella perked up, uncurling a tentacle enough to let an eye stalk sprout out and take in the scene. She blinked the bleary film away from her eye, trying to focus it. She needed to spend less time drinking with Yerki, everyone knew its was a fools game to try and go tentacle to toe with a Yheresian.

"Human? No." Hella replied, the bubbles emitting into her mobi-tank and translated in the feminine robotic voice she liked best. She craned an eye stalk to follow the strange creature as it sat down in a dark alcove on the other side of the tavern. "Notice the lack of blood on its fangs, which are not even bared. No claws either. Its stature is fully half the standard Human size."

Yerki blinked at that, the narrow slits of her eyes disappearing before reemerging, the pupils dilated in the dim light of the common room. "Well, if it isn't a Human, what is it?"

Hella had no response for that. The creature was quite unusual and certainly not from local space. She and Yerki had spent enough time lurking about the station and its tavern to have a good enough sense for things that didn't belong. Most of the danger in a place like this came from things that didn't belong, so you got to be wise about it.

A tentacle idly scratched at the base of her eye stalk, removing a bit of debris that had accumulated in the viscous ooze surrounding the orifice that safeguarded her eye stalks when she was resting. "A Kavernian?" Hella offered, knowing the guess was even worse than Yerki's.

"You're gassing me, Hella. I'm tellin' you, that's the Human." She squinted, her own eyesight a far shot better than Hella's at least when on land. Drop the two of them in an ocean and then the tables would be reversed, sure enough. Hella blubbed out a bit of air, searching her now faded memories for that feeling of floating serenity long since behind her. That damn trawler. If only she'd slept in the deeps like her broodmarm had told her, she wouldn't be stuck on land in a space station a hundred light years from home.

"Yeah, see? The jacket! It's got the jacket!" Yerki jammed a clawed finger toward the alcove. She narrowed her eyes further, peering at the creature. "Terras Fleet," she whispered.

Hella's eye puckered at that, withdrawing slightly in alarm. "They're all dead or imprisoned." The Terras Fleet had been destroyed over a year ago, during the Battle of Fallen Gate. Depending on who told it, the Humans went down without a fight or took out half the fleets within three jumps. Hella tended to believe the latter given how much activity had picked up after the battle and the alarm even the mention of Humans created. The fact the Humans had somehow managed to destroy a warp node before they lost made the whole thing that much terrifying.

Warp nodes were supposed to be indestructible.

Stories said the Humans fought to the last ship. No surrender. No attempt to negotiate. No fleeing or hiding. They just fought it out in the open, numbered forty or fifty to one. Trading blows while their colonial fleets retreated through the node until they were all through and the node collapsed, preventing any attempt to follow them.

And now, maybe, there was a Human here. The others in the tavern had fallen quiet, something that rarely happened without trouble brewing. Hella swiveled her eye stalk over to Yerki, "What is it doing here?"

Yerki shrugged, "Where else? Pirate station on the ass end seems like a better place than most for 'em." She stood up, her joints creaking and cracking after the night spent dozing at the tavern table. "I'm gonna ask."

"This is insane, you are insane," Hella bubbled, hesitating for a moment before directing her mobi-tank to creep along behind her friend and source of most of her troubles. Yerki padded along lightly, her form lithe and her footing sure and smooth. Once again, Hella wished Yerki could see her, just once, in the ocean the way she was meant to live. Instead, she had to carefully navigate around the various tables, bags, and other obstacles that stood in the way of her mobi-tank, making the journey arduous by comparison.

Yerki stopped in front of the alcove and the Human who sat inside it. The Human looked at her. She looked at him. "One of whatever people drink around here," it said. It spoke local common fluently, though the accent was strange, with the sounds alternatively too harsh in some places and too soft in others.

"I, uh, I'm not...that's not what I do," Yerki stumbled, sounding, for once, thoroughly out of place.

The Human did a strange thing with the furry bit above its eye and appeared to conduct a thorough examination of Yerki. Thankfully, it spared Hella the same appraisal. "I see," it said.

"You're Human," Yerki said.

The Human raised and dropped its shoulders. "So it would seem."

"She said you're all dead," Yerki replied, gesturing to Hella behind her. Hella released a vexed spurt of bubbles, which passed for an expletive among her kind. Yerki either blissfully ignorant of the epithet or willfully uncaring, continued on. "She said all of you died at Fallen Gate."

"It would appear not," the Human replied, its voice flat. Hella did not think it advisable to gab on about the slaughter of the Human's companions, but Yerki rarely did the advisable thing.

"But you're here," Yerki said.

The Human inclined its head.

"Why?"

"A drink, to start, do you think you could help with that? These other folks seem a bit skittish," the Human said.

Yerki nodded, bouncing from foot to foot in excitement. "Sure! Do you have any cred? What do you want?"

"Uppinian Ale if they have it. Whatever is closest to that if they don't," the Human replied, offering her a cred stick. Yerki quickly snatched it from his hand, and then bobbed her head.

"Great. I'm Yerki, that's Hella," she said, prompting Hella to release another spurt of bubbles.

"Ah. Nice to meet you, Yerki." He nodded to Hella in her mobi-tank. "Hella. You can call me Red."

"Salutations," Hella managed before carting off behind Yerki, who was scurrying toward the bar to gather up drinks.

They returned a moment later to find the Human relaxing back in the booth, its feet propped up on the table, holo images dancing across his eyes. Hella knew Humans augmented, particularly their warriors, but it was still surreal to see it in real life. It made her want to curl up in her tentacles and sleep until the waves stilled.

When Yerki approached, the blue lights faded from its eyes and it focused on the two of them. "Should have a few hours before they figure it out," it said, reaching out to take hold of the tall mug Yerki offered. It made no mention of the cred stick it had handed her.

It took a sip, smacked his lips and then bared his fangs, which were considerably smaller than Hella had been led to believe they were. "Leave it to a pirate port to have the Uppinian. Been a circuit and a half since I've had one. Damn good. Thanks, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Yerki said. She clearly was.

The Human looked her over and then nodded slowly. "Hard to stay young in a place like this."

Wisdom. For all of the menace attached to their legend, this Human seemed to be quite sensible. Hella scooted closer, stretching a second eye stalk out to get a better look at it. She believed it was a male, by the descriptions she had heard, though she could not be certain. A primary distinguishing characteristic between the two Human sexes was fur upon the lower half of their face and this Human, Red, appeared to have a smattering of stubble across its jaw.

It was a he.

That changed the risks little. As far as Hella understood, both sexes were capable of great feats of destruction. The Terras Fleet had been commanded by a female known as the Unbreakable.

"You are Red?" Hella asked, the feminine robotic voice interjecting into the conversation. "I have heard of the Crimson Thorn. This is related?"

Red took a long swig of his ale, his eyes settling on Hella in a way that felt her stripped bare, floating in the open waters. "What have you heard of the Crimson Thorn?"

Hella's tentacles clutched around her nervously. "A starfighter clan. Very powerful. The most powerful in the Terras Fleet. Capable of great destruction." Her eye stalks retracted slightly. "Specializing in deep strikes."

Red lips quirked upward. "Mostly correct. We weren't any more powerful, we just did more with what we had with the others. Scarlet always knew where the soft spots were." He took another sip. "I like the sound of 'deep strikes' but we mostly went by Tactical Extended Deployers, or TEDs. Self-sufficient. Can last a whole long while without touching back at a base." He raised his drink in salute, as if to suggest he were a example of precisely this.

Yerki leaned forward, her eye slits wide with interest, the hair on her nape raised. "And you fight them? The Imperials? Even now?" This was not an academic question for Yerki. Her hate for the Imperials ran deep and red hot. Hella did not blame her, but she often found the hate clouded Yerki's already questionable judgment, as their present engagement with the Human clearly exemplified.

"Ah, well, a Thorn will be a thorn, won't it? Can't change my nature," Red said, his voice steady but tinged with Hella suspected was humor. "Thankfully there's enough pirate ports for me to ply my craft without coming into too many diff...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Melanie_UK on 2025-11-28 01:53:58+00:00.

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This is a first foray into this genre. Please let me know what you think.

Humanity was descended from predators. That is what the sign on the enclosure read. There was more, but none was of much import.

When they landed, it was like a swarm of locusts, human weapons were as bows and arrows against the lightning, they didn't even really recognize humans until they were almost wiped out.

There was no fat lady alive to sing.

A century later, humans were regarded as a curiosity, the indigenous species that once had the hubris to claim the planet as its own, a notion they were quickly disabused of.

Now, humans existed in something a human would have termed a zoo, for them it was similar, but we shared the space with all indigenous fauna and flora, while great machines worked away outside to change the atmosphere to something they would be more comfortable with. Not deadly for us, but just a bit more inconvenient, just a bit less oxygen, a bit more nitrogen, quite a bit more carbon dioxide.

Ideal for plants.

Ideal for the invaders.

Having eradicated most of the indigenous species, save for small remnants, they were faced with the task of scrubbing oxygen from the atmosphere and adding carbon dioxide. This was done by means of a bacteria living in a sludge that had to be carefully tended. In huge caverns, the lowest of the low labored away at tending the sludge and the machinery that moved air into and out of the processing facilities.

The break for humanity hinged on a simple thought, that the lowest could elevate themselves by creating slaves of their own, and humans came to mind. The sign on the cage was disregarded, not important in the politics of the invaders. Humans were fetched from the cages, and trained in the menial, dirty work that the prior serfs were no longer willing to do. Performance was rewarded by giving the humans other indigenous lifeforms, with the humans tearing these lifeforms limb from limb, a coveted spectacle that soon attracted the curious and morbid, and tickets to these events sold at a premium.

Decades went by and, by now, most of the low level processing was performed by human slaves, with some, having been found to be marginally intelligent and docile enough, having been taught simple mechanical maintenance. Life was good for the invaders, but little did they know.

Descended from predators.

Some humans developed an interest in the processes the invaders used, they also did what humans did best, better even than kill, and that was to investigate. Some parts of some animals, substances from quills, livers and spleens, from glands and sacs, were collected and tested, until, finally, one ray of light pierced the darkness, a compound powerful enough to kill a certain bacteria quickly and efficiently.

Humans communicated, in languages the invaders never bothered to learn, with cunning the invaders would never have attributed to them. Those who were to be given animals to eat began to express which animals they wanted. Not docile bovines, not helpless poultry, no, snakes and spiders, animals that would fight, that soon were recognized to drive up the possible asking prices of the tickets to the feedings.

The requests were granted. Panem et circenses, bread and circuses, the humans gave the invaders, a show they had never seen before, a fight for life and death.

Descended from predators.

Eventually, poisons were collected, strike plans were made. When, finally, the call came, the substances were released into the sludge, the machines gears arrested, circuitry destroyed, and humans freed.

The invaders were plants. There was one thing they feared.

It took oxygen to work.

It was fire.

Safe in the deep pits, humans started a campaign of fire, pumping flammable substances up the pipes they found themselves the masters of, using the machines against the invaders, and while humanity was safe in the caverns, the surface burned.

The plants, the invaders, it turned out, were good for one thing, food for humans. As humanity rebuilt the surface, repopulated it with the indigenous animals, they consumed the invaders, as surely as if they had never been there, took and learned the technology and positioned themselves to embark for distant shores, there to conquer and burn the race that had caused them so much harm.

Descended from predators?

No.

Risen from predators!

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/BareMinimumChef on 2025-11-27 23:41:14+00:00.

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He stood in the line, looking at them.

But every minute more he stood meant 20 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He stabbed his spear into them, holding the advance.

But every minute more he held meant 20 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He threw his broken spear and drew his sword, fighting like a demon.

But every minute more he fought meant 15 more civilians had a chance of survival.

He bled from small cuts and a broken nose, snarling at them and hurling insults.

But every minute more he bled meant 15 more civilians having a chance of survival.

His imbuements ran dry, forcing him to charge at them with muscle and wits alone.

But every minute more of charge meant 10 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He was hit in the head, barely standing, his ears ringing and his vision blurring.

But every minute more he continued meant 10 more civilians having the chance of survival.

His Armor was heavy, weighing him down more than even on his first day wearing it.

But every minute more he stood meant 5 more civilians having a chance of survival.

His arms were made out of lead, moving in slow motion even to his slowing mind.

But every minute more he swung his sword meant 5 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He was bleeding out, only staggering now, barely breathing.

But every minute more he breathed meant 1 more civilian had the chance of survival.

Already dying, he screamed at them, challenging them closer.

Every minute more he delayed dying meant 1 more civilian had the chance of survival.

He stood alone on the Battlefield. The pain suddenly gone.

He was standing on a mountain of corpses.

Corpses of them!

Corpses of his friends.

His own Corpse.

But They! were gone.

In the distance the Sun was slowly setting, framing the lone figure slowly approaching him in shadows.

“Come with me Berserker.” the figure called out. “Come to rest, you earned it.”

He smiled. “Did i manage to save Civilians.” He asked.

The figure, though robed in a black cloak which obscured every millimeter of his body, smiled visibly. “Yes. Yes you did.” the figure answered. “I didn't have to come to this town for any Civilians today.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and Death itself, because only he himself was sufficient to guide Human Warriors, took him with to eternal rest.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Mista9000 on 2025-11-27 22:40:18+00:00.

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This week Rikad and Ros both give generously to change the lives of the working class and poor.

A wholesome* story about a mostly sane demonologist trying his best to usher in a post-scarcity utopia using imps. It's a great read if you like optimism, progress, character growth, hard magic, and advancements that have a real impact on the world. I spend a ton of time getting the details right, focusing on grounding the story so that the more fantastic bits shine. A new chapter every Thursday.

**Some conditions apply, viewer cynicism is advised.*

Map of Pine Bluff

Map of Hyruxia

Map of the Factory and grounds

.

Chapter One

Prev

*****

“Tell me lad, what’s the best places to drink ales?” Geon asked. He rubbed his freshly shaven chin and his long sideburns glistened in scented oils. 

“Um, I don’t really know,” Ros admitted. “I wasn’t much of a drinker when I lived here.”

“Religious?” Geon asked.

Ros shrugged awkwardly, “No, but I was in a lot of churches.” 

They were silent together as the Whale blew closer to Jagged Cove. The basalt spires that gave the city its name slipped past the ship on both port and starboard. 

Ros added, “The nicest looking alehouses are in the upper trade district. There is a plaza with a statue of a lady getting gored by a boar. That was always where the rich out-of-towners went.”

“Aye, I’ll take a look. I’ve lately come to have some deeper pockets than I used to. I reckon you‘n I both. On account of our same boss,” the captain intoned. They could hear the seabirds circling and the shouts on the docks ahead.

“You can probably come with us when we get drinks. I’m not sure if you’d have fun, it might be boring,” Ros offered.

“A kindness, but I have people to meet. Deals to hammer out. I might need to hire a few of you later, to watch my back. I’d like to shop for a ship.” He sighed and patted the railing, “I love the Whale, but I’ve got more money than a damned dragon, I can afford an upgrade. Just good business.”

“I’d love to, but I’m not in charge of where we get posted. Maybe talk to Rikad. Or Aethlina?”

“Aye, fair.” 

Ros went below decks to get geared up. The other men were already there, putting on their armour. 

Eowin was fussing with some buckles. “How is it that the super-heavy armour is about the same weight and five times faster to put on than this ‘light’ gear?”

“Easy, you’re clumsy and blind. I coulda told you that the day I met you,” Jourgun said as he put on his open faced half-helm. “We can’t look like demigods from the Age of Miracles just yet! We gotta be low profile.”

“Low profile? The city guards don’t wear steel. Let alone custom partial-plate! I bet there isn’t a duke’s son that’s as geared as our ‘disguise’ armour,” Theros jeered.

Ros quickly got ready, and felt very exposed compared to the whole body hug his normal gear gave him. But it also made sense, Mageplate was too unique to wear here. 

“It’s fine to be rich! We want the noble Baron to look well funded!” Jourgun said, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms to make sure it was properly fitted.

“Eww, what’s this tabard he gave us?” Eowin complained.

“That, filthy commoner, is what men of my class call a family crest. The Steelheart crest to be specific!” Rikad walked into the stinking bunk room. He slouched against the door jam with a grin. “How I envy your simple lives; unburdened by the incredible weight of command and ambition. Hurry up, we're almost there!” He left without waiting for a reply.

They chuckled and shook their heads. Almost all of them were ready now.

“Say what you will,” Eowin said optimistically, “I appreciate how much less condescending he’s become since leaving the Mageguard.”

Even Ros snorted at that. He snapped a longsword to his belt and followed the rest of them to the deck. 

They’d gotten closer, the tall city walls were both familiar and strange. Ros hadn’t seen Jagged Cove from this angle before. When they fled last year, it was predawn and he didn’t get a good look. He wasn’t sure how he felt, but he wasn’t eager to get to the city, even though he was before he saw the walls. The Jagged Cove was dirtier and more menacing than he remembered.

They were signaled to an empty trade dock and they moored the ship. There were a few moments of shouting chaos but then it was time to disembark.

“Oy! Don’t go too far Pumper-man! We’ll be findin’ ya for some free beers! This whole trip was a vacation with some’n else doing the shite work!” one of the bigger sailors said, patting Ros on his back with enough force to put him off balance.

Ros smiled at the kind words, and struggled to reply, “I, erm, it wasn’t a–”

Rikad cleared his throat and ordered, “Ros and Eowin, attend me. Jourgun, arrange watches for the ship, and assign someone to the Captain for the day. It’s simpler than having to spend a whole day planning a rescue if he gets kidnapped!”

Ros waved to the grinning sailors and hurried off the ship.

Rikad was wearing his very finest doublet. It was one of astounding intricacy and detail, a standout among even impish quality. Silk brocade and thread of gold competed with bright, vibrant colours that didn’t exist in nature. Ros hadn’t ever seen someone so fancy walking the streets of the city in his whole life. He hoped that meant he wouldn’t have to fight muggers.

“Man, I can’t wait to stab some muggers,” Eowin said with relish as they walked down the dock. “Thanks for doing everything you can to make that happen, your Grace!”

“I knew you were the man for the job. I only hope you remember to angle any arterial spray away from me. We haven’t proper laundry facilities here. Not Pine Bluff quality at least,” Rikad replied. “I don’t think I need to explain that perceptions are reality here? Or do I? You were a woodcutter before you got hired, yeah?”

“I’d been a woodcutter, a butcher, a roofer and a poet. Never made money with that last one, but it landed me a wife!”

“Ah, I might get your help with that, I am looking for a wife myself on this trip. On second thought, your wife–”

Ros held his breath; Eowin’s dedication to his wife was legendary.

“--erm, on second thought, that’s rather a thing I must do on my own,” Rikad finished diplomatically.

“It’s the best thing you can do. For a buncha reasons,” Eowin said slowly, the tension thickening between the men.

“I have a great many things to do and far too little time to do it. I do not intend to spend the winter here.”

They walked through the port district. The narrow cobbled lanes were slick with mud and it all stank of low tide. The press of bodies and the deafening din were wildly unlike anything Pine Bluff could offer. This was where small time traders, scammers and smugglers congregated. 

Rikad grinned like he’d come home. 

“Feels different, don’t it?” the Baron asked. “Not even surprised no one recognizes me. I doubt I would.”

Ros nodded. “Very different. Too different?”

Eowin snorted, “Yeah, it feels good to be strong, rich and armed.” They continued through a narrow alley and into a wide plaza with vendors. “I guess we were one of those things right before we left.”

“Aye, feels strange. A strange homecoming. It feels like I haven’t been gone a day.” Rikad smiled. “That said, I need to learn a bit. I don’t know nearly enough about the Church– I’ll figure it out.”

“Aye, don’t envy your problems,” Eowin agreed.

“We can help, we all know the town, and I know lots of Churchers, but none of the ones with the big hats,” Ros added.

“Big hats are exactly my quarry! Not today though, let's first find somewhere to stay.”

They continued in silence; as Rikad plotted, his men looked for threats.

Oh, those are Skullstealer gangers! I recognize the hats! They look less scary. Why did they let those kids in? They are too skinny and too young. That’s a serious gang, they can do better than them. I wonder what’s happened.

The trio of youngsters in black and white striped hats watched them pass. They averted their eyes when Rikad stared at them. 

Looks like Eowin will have to wait a bit longer for his fight after all.

They weaved their way up until they found what Rikad was looking for, a small inn off a quiet alley. 

“This’ll do. Eowin, walk the area, evaluate the security. Ros, come with me. Do your best to look less bony. Chin up!”

With the lordly confidence he’d developed, he went in to find the innkeeper. “You there! Lass, are you the owner here? Is he about?”

The startled young lady spun at his words, “Uh, I’m in charge, milord. What seems to be amiss?”

“Amiss? Not a thing! I’m Baron Rikad Steelheart in town for business and I fancy staying here. How many rooms do you have?” Rikad wasn’t looking at her, rather inspecting the decor. He managed to be both intense and bored at once.

“Ten. Ten rooms in total, milord. But only eight are free at the mo–”

“That’s fine, I’ll take all ten. What’s the rate here? We came by sea so I have no horses, but I’ll be acquiring some.” 

The young woman, no older than Ros, struggled to reply. This wasn’t where nobles stayed in the Capital. Real ones all stayed in the townhouses and palaces of their allies. It was very likely this was the fir...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2025-11-27 21:57:42+00:00.

---

First

RAK and Roll!/Shadows Over Centris

Even as he faces down Anaris who clearly wants him he can hear it in the distance. The sound of a heart monitor. Distant. Lighter than anything in the city but still somehow audible over the traffic going just shy of supersonic up ahead, the wind blowing between the spires and the sizzling of The Chop Wagon’s fryers.

The enormous Alien takes a sniff of him and there’s a rumbling sound.

“Nothing in the Axiom, but so much on the scent. Intermingling with those pheramones... regret, loss, pain, confusion, so much pain, and hope... burning at the end. Hope. Like the smell of candles lit in a musty pantry.”

“What are you even on about?” Reggie demands as Anaris smiles.

“It takes a bit of Axiom, but you can learn the signals. The amount of pheromones is like being punched in the face. But that’s just advertising the main feature.” Anaris says. “Still... what is going through your head?”

“I already told you. They’re dead. But I can hear them. Now back off.” Reggie says.

“Do we need to cut this short?” Koa asks.

“I’m fine. So long as we don’t start going through graveyards or we run into the exact doubles of my family I’m going to stay fine.” Reggie answers.

“I can give you something else to think about. After all, we should work to keep your family-.”

“My DNA was stolen. I’ve been cloned... way, way, way too many times.”

“Aw! So you are a father! Hundreds of times?” She asks and he doesn’t answer as his eyes go ditant. “Thousands? Millions? ... Billions?”

“Yeah... yeah... too many.” Reggie says. How does one do anything about that? Or handle it or... anything. Billions of little souls all massively cancer prone and spread out. Sure, the program to make sure they were all treated well was going fine. Or at least fine enough that no one had come to tell him anything about it since last time he checked. But... How? Just how does one make themselves the example for billions? How do you do right by more people alive than seconds you’ve lived? How?

He’d have to be in his mid sixties to have more seconds to his name than clones. How the hell do you do anything about...

A pair of horns are lowered to the top of his head as Anaris looks down at him.

“... If I put all my weight on you now, you’d barely notice. Wouldn’t you?” She asks with something dancing behind her eyes.

He reaches up and slowly pushes her off him.

“Sir, I think I am done. Can we cut this patrol short?” Reggie asks Koa who nods.

“Yeah. I’m calling it in.” Koa says as he holds down a yellow button on his communicator’s side.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Circling Lorule Spire, Unmarked Blue Van, Centris)•-•-•

She starts typing frantically as she tries to decode the... it’s already gone. They had already sent out a code and it could mean something. Anything and. And...

She couldn’t risk it.

Not after what happened to Amala.

She triggers the panic protocol and presses the red button next to her. Two separate systems to prevent hacking back through it.

As her autopilot takes her away from the spire she removes the registration card from her communicator and snaps it in two. Removes the memory from the communicator and then waits until they’re out of the faster traffic to toss the device out the window. She gets a glimpse of it shattering on impact with the walkways of the spire before the program brings her around the corner.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Lorule Spire, Leaving Jem’s Chop Wagon, Centris)•-•-•

“Please stop following us.” Koa states.

“You’re not in private and I am a resident of this Spire. I have every right to wander where I please in public areas.” Anaris retorts primly. “Besides, you humans find trouble all the time. I want in.”

“Lady we’re heading back to our car so we can go home.” Koa says.

“In particular because the one of us you are more interested in is having a day where he is required to rest.”

“Okay, seriously, is that normal?”

“I... I don’t have to explain myself to you. Not about that.” Reggie says as he starts growing upset and Anaris suddenly turns as a clinical beep can heard. Followed by another.

“What is that?”

“I’m leaving.” Reggie states.

“... Is that a heart monitor?” Anaris presses before comprehension dawns. “Why didn’t any of you tell me it was that bad!?”

“Shouldn’t have to!” Amadi states.

“I’m not a mind reader! You bastards don’t put anything into the Axiom I can’t tell if you’re just eating all the fuckiest food imaginable, actually upset or wearing some kind of emotive cologne.”

“That stuff is fucking awful. And we’re not allowed to wear it on the clock.” Torque states. “Or bomb the changing room with it. Not unless you want to do push ups until you collapse.”

“What was it?” Amadi asks.

“Secretive Allure! The scent of a man with much to hide! At least that’s what it said on the dark blue can. Drill Instructor wanted to murder me after that.” Torque explains as they go along. “Still, if you guys are finishing up then I’ve got to go back into character.”

He pulls out his hat and pauses. Puts his hand to the ear with the piece in and starts looking around. “Get into cover. Now!”

Amadi throws his right arm out as everyone moves. He paints the air above them into a swirling mass that looks like a landslide of yellow bricks that then fades to show the area with himself, Reggie, Koa, Torque and Anaris erased from it.

Anaris hasn’t bothered to actually run and is looking around before spotting the large armoured figures under a partial stealth in an opposing rooftop.

“Get behind something!” Reggie calls over.

“Pfeh, I’m what people get behind.” Anaris says as she pulls in Axiom into her eyes and looks harder. “Hmm... The Axiom around those things is off...”

“Too regimented.” Amadi says. “They’re automated, but not Synths. Meaning they have a targeting algorithm and a series of patterns they go through.”

“Yeah but they clearly either can’t pierce the illusion... or they can and they’re not looking for her.” Reggie notes as he adjusts his Turret again and Koa starts putting together one of his more interesting toys.

“Which means we’re being targeted. Send me a real toy.” Torque orders and Axiom PULLS around him before an anti-material rifle drops into his waiting hands. “Oh hell yes. I love these things.”

“Plasma launcher configuration finished.” Reggie states.

“Illusion still up, no hesitation.”

“Alright Torque, do we have eyes on the area behind our attackers? What’s the backdrop like?”

“Spire Gerga is the primary backdrop, a missed shot also goes into civilian traffic lanes.” Torque says. “We need a better firing arc. This weapon is too powerful, but we don’t have anything else that might drop a mech suit at this range.”

“... Amadi, test the enemy firing solutions. Make it look like Torque is running. See if they have it in for him. In fact, test for all of us. In sequence and starting with Torque and then Anaris.”

“Testing on the three.” Amadi states. “Three!”

There is a lance of blue lasers and pulses of plasma from the ‘empty’ air of the next building over. All on target for where Amadi put the illusion of Torque.

“Well that’s friendly.” Torque notes.

“Testing for Miss Anaris on the count of three... Three!” Amadi states and he weaves another distortion into the veil. There is no response.

“Amadi, check if they’re looking for Torque in particular or his uniform.” Koa orders.

“On the three... Three.” Amadi says again, waiting a moment to calculate the requirements of the illusion before weaving the next one. There is no response from the mech suits.

“Oh. Okay then. You boys hold this. I’m climbing the building and getting a better firing solution.” Torque says ditching his coat and making sure the teleport beacon gloves stay on.

“Or you can all just sit down and let the big girls take care of it. If they won’t shoot at me then this goes from unfair to a chore. You know, like changing the cleaning drone’s bin.” Anaris says as she prowls forward and then takes off in a gentle lope towards the building with the mechs.

“What are you doing!? You’re going to-!” Reggie calls after her before he has to slip to the side to avoid a barrage of plasma nad several laser blasts to his location. The mechs had homed in on his voice.

“Maybe keeping it down might be smart.” Amadi notes wryly. “Oh... shit.”

Police cars are flying in, they have amazing time. But bad timing as the Mechs are still dangerous, active and...

“Combatants in battle mechs. Stand down!” Rings out from the cars even as Anaris reaches the base of the building. There is no response from the mechs.

Anaris starts climbing the building and Torque sends a signal on their communicators to indicate he’s reached the top.

The police land around the mechs and numerous officers start pouring out of the cars and using them as cover as they point their weapons at the distortion.

“This might not...” Koa begins.

“Step Away From The Mechs Or Be Fired Upon.” An automated voice rings out and Koa sighs. Most of the police back off. Then one of them opens fire. The Mechs turn and plasma bolts slam into cop cars, an Anti-Material Round hits one of the Mechs in the shoulder courtesy of Torque and Reggie throws his turret some distance to have it land perfectly, take aim and launch a powerful plasma shot directly at the middle of three mechs.

An energy shield picks up and deflects the plasma shot as the Mechs turn around, but wit...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/jpitha on 2025-11-27 21:44:42+00:00.

---

First / Previous / Next

Riposte was in a large cargo hold next to the room with Alia’s pod. Before, she had wondered why her pod was removed before waking her, but when she saw her ship, she knew why.

A little bit less than a third of the deep interceptor Riposte, her home for five years, the seat of her insurgency, was in a disorganized pile on the floor of the cargo hold. The edges of the pieces were burnt and ragged, and what few large pieces there were had holes completely though the hull. The name Riposte was smudged and burnt above the only airlock door still on the wreck. People dressed in elaborate white robes were moving about the wreck, scanning and recording things while wearing a mask over their faces, obscuring their identities. One person in the same robe-uniform stood nearby chanting while they worked. He and everyone else stopped when they entered the hold and stood silent.

“This was where you found me?” Alia asked, not taking her eyes off the ship. She reached out and touched the dark entry pad on the airlock. The mystics' masked faces turned towards Major Tonnlier questioningly, but she glared at them and they turned back to their work.

One of the advantages to being one of 133 duplicates is that unless you tell people your number, they don’t know who you are. Alia remembered how nervous and giddy she was when she stole Riposte out from under her sisters, ordering it prepared and stocked early. Trying not to grin as everyone hurried around here trying to follow her orders. Originally a deep interceptor, it was small, powerful, and stealthy. A perfect place to begin an opposition.

“Yes, Eternity.” The Major said, snapping Alia back to the present. “The derelict was reported as debris, and we were assigned cleanup duty.” She frowned briefly. “I shouldn’t have been upset at the orders; it brought you to me. I truly have been blessed by her. You must have been working through me, giving me the feeling that made me order Sensors to scan the ship.”

As she half paid attention to the Major, Alia’s jaw to tighten. Between her phrasing, and the beating of her crew, and the mysterious masked and robed figured around what was left of Riposte, Alia realized what her sisters had done. A religion. They had made Alia and her sisters into religious figures, subjects of worship.

The last night Alia and her sisters were all together was filled with electric tension. After the Grand Ball, her sisters were all in groups in deep discussion, but she and 104 were being left out. Nobody was impolite as such, but also didn’t invite them into any of the conversations they were having with quiet, furtive voices. Alia and 104 sat together at a table and nursed a bourbon, wondering what was going on. That night 55 came into her room, climbed into her bed, and explained that she and her sisters had decided that the Spear Initiative was the wrong use for them and their skills. She sounded excited, and was hurt that Alia was horrified.

“What would we do instead?” Alia asked, confused. “We’re made to expand humanity, to protect and grow them.”

“We’re made to rule humanity.” 55 countered. “They gave us these bodies, these skills, this training. They gave us all this and then have the gall to say that once our colonies are set up we’re to step down? No. I refuse. We refuse.”

“So what? We’re going to just-” she gestured “-take over?”

55’s grin was manic. “It’ll be easy 27, you’ll see. 101 thinks that we could make ourselves into gods or something and everyone will fall in line with barely any fighting.” She got up from Alia’s bed. “It’s already been decided, sorry for keeping you and 104 out of it.”

“Why did you leave us out?”

“Because you would have said no.” 55 said as she walked out of the room.

Alia stared at the Major for slightly longer than was comfortable, and said, “Then I have you to thank for saving me Major Tonnlier. Your diligence about keeping your crew’s skills sharp is a credit to your command.”

The Major made the circle gesture again and tilted her head down. Alia had been trained at reading body language, and the Major was nearly bursting with pride, but trying to hide it. “We exist to serve you, Eternity. If it is too forward, please forgive me, but I must ask again. What number are you?”

“27.” Alia said. She, along with 132 of her sisters were cloned to be leaders for a vast colonization effort, the Spear of Humanity. They were all to be shipped out in sleeper ships to systems with potential for colonization. Once there, they’d set up beachhead colonies and expand the borders of human space. If they met resistance, they were to eliminate it, though as far as Alia knew, that had never happened. The rebellion had come first.

“You’re an Original?” The Major gasped. She got to one knee again and supplicated.

“No, don’t do that, stand up.” Alia sighed and tried not to roll her eyes. She heard the proper noun, and that worried her. “I don’t understand what you mean by original. I’m not the original Alia. None of us know who was used as the baseline for us, that was by design.” Actually, what Alia and her sisters decided early on was that there was no “original” Alia. They assumed they were made up of pieces and traits of dozens, if not hundreds of people.

“You haven’t been told…” The Major said as recognition dawned. “Something else that he’s kept from you.” She turned at barked something at a solider by the door - Alia hadn’t even noticed he was standing there - and a moment later returned with Dr. Janez. Alia couldn’t tell what she was saying, but she could understand her tone as clear as anything.

“Major Tonnlier, please.” Alia said. “What are you saying to the doctor? He has been nothing but helpful.”

“This doctor,” Major Tonnlier hissed, saying his title like an epithet, “did not properly debrief you, Eternity. For you to be uninformed is unacceptable. Mystics, he didn’t even tell you how long it’s been.” She raised her hand and backhanded Dr. Janez across his face. He turned with the slap as much as he could and without so much as a wince returned to his standing position as before.

“What are you doing?” Alia shrieked, “Don’t hit him, he helped me!”

“Eternity, it’s all right.” Dr Janez said, his cheek red and swelling. “The Major is just-” He stopped speaking as she slapped him again.

“Stop that at once!” Alia said.

“You are right, Eternity.” Major Tonnlier said, unclipping her sidearm. “This trash isn’t worth the effort.” She reached her hand under her arm and brought forth her pistol.

Alia felt herself bunch up like before, but this time she let it happen and activated Tartarus. She dialed her perception of time high enough that everything came nearly to a stop. Sounds deepened and became more muffled as she watched the Major pull her pistol with glacial slowness. With the time afforded to her by speeding her perception, she was able to formulate a plan, such as it was. Reaching out, she grabbed the pistol before the Major could bring it to bear. Alia wrenched the pistol away, pulling it towards herself.

Once she was sure she held the weapon, she returned her perception to normal. Things resumed their proper speed and sounds rushed back. It had been so fast that Major Tonnlier stared down at her empty hand and then over towards Alia in shock. From their perspective, Alia reached out faster than either of them could blink and plucked the pistol from her hands.

Tartarus still works. Alia thought, though her vision swam from the effort. She looked down so that they couldn’t see her face as she checked the pistol, made it safe, and silently thanked Colonel Matiz for the hours of weapon drills that she put them through.

Drills. Hours upon hours of drills. Ordered to slice time finer and finer until she was perceiving things one hundred times faster than baseline. A second of per perception was 10 milliseconds. She couldn’t snatch a bullet out of the air - while she could ratchet her perception of time, physics still applied - but she would have valuable time to formulate responses, counterattacks, regain the element of surprise. While connected to a ship, she could slice time one thousand times. The Colonel demanded that they all learn how to operate weapons while using Tartarus, from knives all the way up to heavy battle rifles. Alia smiles at the recollection of slicing time so finely she could read the text printed on the shell casings as they flew around her.

“We are not going to be shooting anyone for helping me, is that understood Major?” Alia said as she examined the pistol. Interestingly, the model was similar to the pistols they trained on. She quickly worked the action, ejected the round, caught it in air and pocketed it, placing the pistol in the waistband of her pants.

“But, he-” Major Tonnlier whined. How quickly the steel falls away, Alia thought.

“Did an excellent job, given the circumstances.” Alia said firmly, “You will not be beating anyone else in my name. Now then,” She crossed her arms and glared at the Major and had a small moment of satisfaction when she winced. “Debrief me.”

Three thousand years.

It had been *thr...

---

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---

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It’s strange how quiet everything became after the generator was able to trickle charge my phone. After the celebration and the realization of how slow this charge process would be, Eldrin, Thallion and I went to the carpenters and asked for a waterwheel. They seemed bored at first, but quickly got to work as they had something to do as the dregs of winter slowly melted away.

“A week or two” they told me. Not bad for an undershot waterwheel. They must have made them before, as they quickly pushed us all out of their shop as they started pulling planks down from the shelves.

And with that, my life went still.

Sure, Silvra has to clean up the copper disks, and Thallion had to go teach, but for me, nothing. I cannot get more data out of my phone without having to do about 5 minutes of charging for 1 minute of use. Even when the sun sets, Thallion is still busy writing down everything, sorting it, crossreferencing it, as his now steady hands continue to write immaculate script.

But for me, stillness. The village around me has a comforting rhythm, slower, paced with the melting snow. A slow intimate dance with nature, as the air warms. And I am not used to it. I keep turning on my phone to check the battery charge. I draw several new versions of the DC generator, which Eldrin looks at, and starts building, but without needing me, as his blacksmith mind adds more details than I could possibly imagine from the basic wikipedia article.

As of right now, I am still the outsider, the one with a glowing rectangle, and possibly still hunted by the red guard.

Shaking my head, I push myself away from the table, trying to clear the lack of action from my mind. I head outside behind the school and see Lena there, hunched over the ground, with her red hair tied back, and staring at the ground, surrounded by various jars.

As my shadow passes over her, she looks up, and smiles warmly at me, then looks serious.

“You seem quiet, is your mind eating you again?”

“Yes. Can we talk?”

“Anything for you, just let me close this lid,” She says, as she snaps shut one of the many bottles she has around her.

We head inside, and I sit on my still broken overstuffed chair/bed, while she grabs a dining chair from by the table and spins it towards me.

“So, what is on your mind?”

“Just…lost. I am so used to doing stuff all the time, while everyone around here knows how to…be? Be. That is the best word for it. I am so used to performing actions to achieve something immediately, but that is not how stuff works here. The waterwheel will take at least another week, and I am just sitting here. I could teach, but I don’t know the language, and cannot use that much power. Everything I want to do depends on more power for my phone!”

She sits quietly, reclining on the worn chair with one arm resting on the table.

“How about you help me get ready for spring?”

“Ok, what do you need?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. I am a forager. Not much to forage in the winter, but come spring, the forest bursts with life again, and I pick things as they ripen. I also have a small garden that grows some of the more farmable crops. That is what I was doing just now, sorting seeds and organizing the garden.”

“Ok, but how can I help with that? That is years of work to learn where stuff even grows, and then recognizing it.”

“That part I can still do, but the plants, they do not grow alone, they like to grow near other plants. Maybe you can help find a good arrangement to improve their growth?”

“Like corn, beans and squash?” I comment, based on what little I remember from indigenous farming back in grade 3.

“Um, sure? Don’t know what those are, but if they depend on each other to improve their growth, yes.”

I nod, and take a sheet of paper from the pile. “So, let’s start with just a table. What grows tall, what grows wide, and what climbs?”

She lights up, and we spend until the sun sets discussing ways to sort plants so they can support each other, and keep unwanted plants to a minimum. A little village of plants working together. Some weaker, some more nourishing, some helping the soil, all needed.

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---

They thought we were savages. They didn't know how right they were.

Near hairless bipedal lifeforms that had just started to unlock the secrets of fusion, still threatening other factions of their own race with fission weapons while using pathetic land and air based machines in war, trade and transportation.

Their praise for our attempts to travel beyond our world were backhanded.

"How nice, you put a cloth on your nearest orbiting body."

"You sent robots to your nearest planets to study them? How clever of you."

"You must be so proud of that probe you sent beyond your star system."

They offered us trade, technology far more advanced than we had ever imagined, and just like the Lenape before, we sold our world for their baubles and trinkets. Like the Wampanoag before, some fought back against their rampant and agressive colonization of our world. Like the Cherokee before, we were forced into exile, onto reservations in Oklahoma.

The irony was bitter. Some called it karma, divine retribution for how we had treated those we had colonised. There inlay the problem. It wasn't just Americans that were forced into exile, it was every human packed into an area just under 70,000 square miles. Attrition at its most heinous, we were being exterminated through cramped and squalid conditions as well as starvation.

After all, we were just savages.

When the war came they pressed what remained into service, what better way to annihilate a problematic species then to have them fight your wars. We fought, we were not given a choice in the matter, and we pulled back the veil to give them a glimpse of how Savage we were. Canadian war crimes, Chinese deception strategy, fanatical Philippine resistance, Vietnamese guerilla tactics, German ruthlessness, the very best examples of the worst humanity had to offer.

Our languages had never been studied by our oppressors, and we used them to great effect relaying information and intent that was little more than garbled gibberish to anyone else listening. We scavenged refuse and waste to create weapons and ammunition that struck fear in the hearts of our oppressors and their enemies alike. Worst of all was our propaganda, rumors of the human savages and their atrocities, using the dead to shield our advance, heads of their commanders decorating long poles, deadly accuracy and unbelievable range by humans who could disappear at will.

Our oppressors enemy, horrified at our brutality, sued for peace. Our oppressors, equally disturbed by our ferocity, permitted us some limited freedoms in the hopes that we wouldn't turn on them.

That was their greatest mistake.

Humanity was allowed to roam our world freely once again and even roam the empire to fulfill our oppressors needs, permitted to take up occupations we had been deemed to primitive to understand before. We were allowed our religions, our languages, our old ways of life. We were limited to labor roles, things that the more common people of their race had been relegated to. Still not worthy to self-govern.

Still too primitive.

Still too backward.

Still too savage.

We learned from our oppressors, their most basic occupations first, things we had known before like food processing, mechanical engineering, coding, jobs that were now seen as unacceptable for their race to do. Let the humans do the labors while we enjoy the product of their labor.

Humanity had a word for that which our oppressors hadn't bothered to learn. A word refering to the Slavic people, "Sclavus" in midieval Latin or "Sklabos" in Byzantium Greek.

Slave.

It burned in our hearts and minds. We who had forced a peace against their enemies. We who had suffered so much indignity at their hands. We whom our only home had been stolen from us.

They believed us to be savages, it was time for them to learn how savage humanity could be.

It started with their food supply, across their empire mysterious accidents began to occur. One incident in particular involved wooden shoes, an inside joke for humanity, an indication of how primitive we still were to the oppressors. Other malfunctions followed, their transport vessels would begin a jump laden with cargo and fail to materialize at their expected arrival. Communications systems would cut out for seconds and even hours. Power generation would cut out for a moment and had to be rerouted due to damaged equipment, even naval vessels on long range patrols would fail to check in, and were assumed lost when nothing turned up.

The oppressors learned too late that our primitive incompetence was in fact sabotage and rebellion. They had grown to complacent and too comfortable with how things were. They had forgotten how to grow and process their food, they had forgotten how to maintain their equipment and vehicles, they had forgotten much of what it had taken to get to where they were.

They had forgotten how savage humanity could be.

We traded their necessities to them to gain their trust. We traded their convenience to gain power. We traded their comfort for their reliance on us.

Then we started to take.

Earth first, it wasn't like they had anything to lose from it. Then our star system, after all there were asteroids to mine and planets that could be terraformed for agriculture. Then we took the next closets systems, we had the best of intentions to produce for our masters. Then we expanded again, and they tried to resist, fighting against their own technology and their own weapons. We adapted further, introducing new weapons, new strategies and tactics which made them recoil in horror. By the time the treaty was signed, they were limited to their cradle world and the systems adjacent to it.

We didn't annihilate them, we didn't isolate them either. We still trade with them, and relations have improved over the centuries. We have advanced together as equals and faced various enemies as brothers in arms. From the outside, it would appear as if both of us had always treated each other with respect and dignity.

But when humanity is threatened, we ask our former oppressors to speak on our mutual history. Always the same way, in the same method as our shared history began.

"We thought they were savages. We didn't know how right we were."

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The Aeternan authorities call it suicide. A brilliant astrophysicist, known here as Sky-Studier. His name was Ris, driven mad by his own calculations, they say. But I've been an investigator long enough to know that when someone dies reaching for the truth, you need to ask who benefits from calling them crazy.

When I first arrive on Aeterna, the sensory assault nearly drives me back to the shuttle. Six suns hang in the sky like a celestial chandelier, bathing everything in relentless golden light that presses against my skin like a physical weight. There's no darkness here, just an endless day that makes my circadian rhythm off.

The inhabitants match their world perfectly. The Aeternans move with a dreamlike slowness I'd read about in the briefing files but hadn't truly understood until now. Three-fingered hands grasp at the air in careful, deliberate motions. Their faces maintain an expression of perpetual contemplation, not serenity.

I realize after watching them, but the look of beings who have all the time in the world and know it. Thick, matted fur covers their bodies in shades ranging from golden-brown to deep amber, and their large, dark eyes seem almost comically oversized relics from a time before their world captured five additional stars.

When they speak, it's in a melodic language that sounds like a cross between humming and sighing, and even their most urgent communications unfold at a pace that makes me want to finish their sentences.

This slowness defines everything here. Aeterna's energy infrastructure relies entirely on solar power, which makes sense given their astronomical windfall, but it means their entire civilization operates on a timescale that would drive most species to madness. Their negotiations to join the Compact took seven decades, seven decades of careful deliberation, of weighing every word, of solar panels charging in eternal daylight while diplomats aged and died and were replaced by their successors.

It was only a week ago that they finally accepted the newly amended Special Investigations protocols. Now, for the first time, investigators like me can enter their protected spaces, their sacred sites, their locked rooms where brilliant minds apparently self-destruct. The backlog is substantial, dozens of cases deemed "resolved" by Aeternan authorities, now flagged for review under new guidelines.

There are no shadows, true, complete absence of shadow. Even when I stand directly under an overhang, the ambient illumination from the other suns eliminates any darkness. The Aeternans call this "The Ever-Light," and after three days on their world, I begin to understand why the concept of darkness isn't just foreign to them.

The first clue should be the architecture. Every building features redundant skylights in every room, even bathrooms. Underground spaces are not just uncommon, they are illegal. The Aeternan word for "shadow" is the same as their word for "death." 

When I ask my guide, Sergeant Eel, a massive, fur-covered being who looks like a cross between a sloth and a koala about the underground subway system I've heard about, he takes a full thirty seconds to process the question, his large eyes blinking slowly before he looks physically ill and mutters something about "the old tunnels" being sealed decades ago. His speech pattern is leisurely, each word drawn out like he's savoring the meaning.

But it is my visit to what could be thought of as a Psychiatric Facility that truly opens my eyes to what I'm dealing with. The head Studier Ra, leads me through the wing where they treat what they call "Nocturne Syndrome".  The psychological condition triggered by darkness exposure. Her movements are deliberate and careful, her three-fingered hands gesturing gracefully as she explains her work.

"Look here," she says, her voice a deep, musical rumble, pulling up a security monitor showing a padded room bathed in gentle amber light. "Patient 47-G. Former engineer. Accidentally locked himself in a storage room for seven minutes during a power backup test." She pauses the footage, taking her time to ensure I understand the gravity. "Watch his face."

The man on screen starts normal enough, checking his watch, calling out for help. But as the seconds tick by, seconds that feel like minutes as I watch his slow, deliberate movements, his movements become more frantic. By the three-minute mark, he is clawing at his eyes with those characteristic three-fingered hands. By five minutes, he is on his knees, convulsing. When the door finally opens and bright light floods in, he is catatonic, permanently damaged.

"Every person on Aeterna needs a minimum of 16 hours of light per day," Sky Studier  Mendez explains, her speech measured and careful. "Infants are placed in sleep chambers with continuous soft illumination. Even adults require sedatives to achieve what you might call 'rest.' Their brains have evolved differently. Darkness isn't just uncomfortable for them, it is literally fatal."

The children are the worst part. In the pediatric wing, they keep the young ones in individual chambers with walls that glow from within, soft and warm like a captured sunset. The kids look healthy, happy even, playing with their glowing toys under their golden ceiling lights, their small bodies moving with that characteristic Aeternian slowness. 

But when I ask about windows, Sky Studier  Mendez points out that the windows don't really matter. Nothing could ever go dark enough to matter. The concept of closing your eyes during sleep requires extensive therapy for Aeternan adults.

"Tell me about Sky Studier Ris," I say, changing the subject before the weight of their existence crushes me completely. My own speech feels harsh and urgent compared to their melodic rhythms.

Sky Studier Ra's expression darkens, though it takes a moment for the emotion to register on her sloth-like features. "Brilliant man. Arrogant though. Always questioning our established beliefs about light and dark. He believes there is more to it than simple evolution, that something larger is coming."

That is my first clue. Not simple arrogance, but genuine fear.

Sky Studier Ris has been working in the Aeternan Observatory, studying what he calls "orbital anomalies." For three years, he has been tracking subtle gravitational fluctuations that don't fit any known celestial patterns. His research papers are dense with mathematics I can barely follow, all centered around his theory of an invisible satellite, an astronomical object he dubs "The Dark Moon."

"The calculations are flawless," explains Sky Studier  Elena Vasquez, Ris's research partner, when I interviewed her at the observatory. She moves with the characteristic Aeternan deliberation, taking her time to process each question before responding. "Every 2,049 years, according to his math, Aeterna experiences a complete eclipse. Every window in the sky, blocked simultaneously. Complete darkness lasting fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes."

She pulls up Ris's data on the main screen. Charts and graphs stretch across multiple monitors, showing gravitational readings, historical astronomical records, and geological evidence. "He finds proof in the sedimentary layers. Carbon dating of major fire events. Every 2,049 years, for the last twelve thousand years, there is a global layer of ash. Not volcanic—burned organic matter. Civilization-scale fires."

The archaeological evidence is staggering. Across all three continents, in sites spanning millennia, they find the same pattern. Tools abandoned in perfect circles around old hearths. Structures built with windows larger than practical. Art depicting people fleeing toward light sources. And in the deepest layers, entire settlements that have apparently been burned deliberately, with the inhabitants' remains found in the central fire pits.

"His final paper is called 'The End of Light,'" Sky Studier  Que continues, her voice taking on an ominous tone. "Not death by darkness, complete, absolute shadow. He calculates that during the eclipse, the ambient light from our six suns would be reduced to just 0.0003% of normal levels. Everything that could potentially provide light; fires, chemical reactions, even bioluminescent organisms would be affected."

The pieces are starting to form a picture of mass terror, but I need to understand the human element. Who would kill a man over astronomical calculations? My human impatience contrasts sharply with their measured deliberation as I wait for their responses.

My first suspect is Seer Alen, leader of the Cult of the Final Dawn. I have heard about him from several sources; a charismatic religious figure who has been gaining followers by preaching about "The Great Extinguishing," when all light would leave the world and souls would be stolen by dark stars.

The Cult's compound is a collection of gleaming white buildings arranged around a central spire topped with a constantly burning beacon. As I approach, I can see hundreds of Aeternans in flowing white robes moving through the complex, their faces beatific and serene. They move with that same characteristic sloth-like grace, their thick fur catching the eternal light. They look like they have found peace in preparation for the end of the world.

Seer Alen himself is younger than I expect, maybe forty, which for an Aeternan means he's barely out of adolescence. With kind eyes and hands stained by what looks like paint or clay....

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First Next Previous

This goes out to all my reddit readers who are hiding from their families today, or who are taking a break between activities, or who are just relaxing after a big Thanksgiving meal. For anyone who isn't American, well, I can't help that, but I'll share my turkey with you.

Chapter 25: Crucible

“They think they understand us,” Arthur said flatly.

The tent was quiet. No one spoke. Arthur had been right so far, and it didn’t seem wise to interrupt a winning streak.

“Every engagement so far has given them the opportunity to assess us,” he continued. “There’ve been a few surprises, sure.”

He pointed across the table. “The head of the Holy Church.” His finger landed on Father Ulrich. “Some of the greatest knights alive.” He gestured, sweepingly over Sir Bedivere, Sir Lebrun, and Sir Aton in turn. “And the best adventurers, soldiers, and killers this kingdom could field.”

Arthur leaned over the map, eyes cold in the lantern light. “They’ll be preparing their finest to break us. And why shouldn’t they? They’ve seen our strength. They have no reason to think we’ve held anything back.”

A pause. His tone dropped, wolfish and deliberate. “But they’ll still second-guess themselves. And that gives us the edge.”

He traced a finger across the map, eyes narrowing as he studied the terrain.

“To summon, or empower, a Demon Lord, they’ll need open ground. A flat area near the power source. A place large enough to etch the circle, and defensible enough to finish the rite.”

He tapped the map once, the sound sharp against the table. “More than the right place, they need time. Days.”

Straightening, Arthur met each commander’s gaze in turn. “Our job now is to deny them both.”

---

The strike teams gathered in the predawn chill, movements hushed and exact. Men checked their gear, studied maps in the dim lantern light, and murmured quietly to comrades. Horses snorted and pawed at the damp earth, sensing the tension that hung thick over the camp.

Arthur moved among them, a reassuring presence without ceremony. Commanders, Prince Alric, Sir Bedivere, Sir Lebrun, Sir Aton, Father Ulrich, Berthold Kaufungen, Sir Henry, Sir Hanek, and Guildmaster Talon, stood ready by their mounts.

At each group Arthur paused, exchanging nods or quick words. At Prince Alric’s post, the prince grinned confidently. “See you after victory, Arthur.”

“We’ll make them regret stepping foot in our world,” Arthur said.

Alric nodded firmly, turning to mount up. Beside him, Sir Lance saluted crisply, calm confidence radiating from his posture.

As Arthur passed, Father Ulrich bellowed to his men. “Remember lads, every demon slain today earns you a seat at the Goddess’s table! Don’t leave me drinkin’ alone!”

Laughter rippled through the ranks, thinning the tension for a precious moment.

At Bedivere’s company, Arthur paused. Bedivere gripped Arthur’s forearm with a warrior’s grip. “We’ll hold fast, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded solemnly, looking Bedivere directly in the eye. “I know you will.”

The sky began to bleed from grey to a fragile rose as Arthur approached Guildmaster Talon. The older man adjusted his grey vest, eyes grim and thoughtful.

“I’ll be counting on you,” Arthur said quietly, his tone serious.

Talon regarded him evenly, nodding slowly. “It’s mutual.”

Arthur turned and mounted up, his horse shifting beneath him. Drew rode up alongside, spear held firmly, a familiar, reassuring presence.

Arthur raised his fist. Silence fell instantly across the gathered warriors. Hundreds of eyes fixed upon him.

“Brothers in arms!” he said, voice even, each phrase measured so it landed like a blow. “Harden your hearts. Seal your helms. Ready your steel.” 

“Before us lies a land that has forgotten peace. Once the golden domain of our Goddess, it is now choked with demon bile!

“The bells that once rang in devotion now toll in dread. The sacred lands of our King lie buried beneath decay and rot! And who defiles them? The pestilent servants of a demon god who spews ruin as sacrament and calls it grace! 

“There is no dialogue with demons. You cannot reason with plague. You cannot debate with filth. You cannot bargain with Evil! You can only burn it!

“We descend not as liberators, but as executioners. Do not pity what you kill. Do not flinch at what you burn. These things are not men. Their souls are forfeit, their minds leased to destruction. Their hearts beat only for ruin, and where ruin reigns, humanity must erase it.

“This is not war. This is exorcism!

So when the gates open, do not stop. When the skies bleed, do not falter. When they beg, when they mock, when they offer peace beneath their chains, strike them at the root!

“Ready your blades. Seal your helms. Stoke your flames. We descend not as men, but as weapons!

“We leave only silence in our wake! Cleanse The Demon!”

He lowered his fist and signaled forward.

The horns sounded, clear and bright in the dawn’s fragile glow.

Five Strike Arms moved out from camp like the spread fingers of a mailed fist, each group riding out with unified purpose. The thunder of hooves echoed, then faded, leaving the camp behind in the capable hands of Leigh Carpenter and Major General Marmion.

Ahead lay battle… and destiny.

---

The sun climbed slowly above the horizon, gilding the canyon rim in molten gold. At the head of the central Strike Arm, Prince Alric rode with his visor down, eyes narrowing as he studied the mouth of the ravine. 

He knew the enemy awaited them, and with the skills honed from years of warfare, he could guess where. As they rode towards the mouth of the canyon, he pulled on his horse’s reins, raising a fist in the air.

Seconds ticked by, and finally, a chortling laugh came from the cliff face.

“So, you humans’s have figured out my traps’s!” Echoed a voice from the cliff face above.

“Show yourself, demon.” Alric's answer was stoic. “There is no point in hiding.”

The demon slunk down from rocks, half-formed in human outline, the rest a writhing, scaled tail. Black scales gleamed in the sunlight. Disgust rose in every throat at the sight of the creature, instincts as old as time rising up, demanding its death.

“What say yous’s human, we have a duels’s? Winner gets tos’s leave, unharmed, with their groups’s,” the creature slurred in a sibilant, imitating voice.

Prince Alric dismounted without haste, handing his reins to Sir Lance. He strode forward, sunlight glinting sharply off his polished armor, drawing his longsword smoothly. Then he loosened his sword belt, letting his scabbard fall freely to the dirt.

“I accept, demon,” Alric declared. His tone was quiet and absolute. “Come, then. Face me.”

The creature laughed. A raspy, broken sound echoing mockingly across the rocky canyon walls. “So very delightfuls’s. Such bravery from weak preys’s.”

Alric’s expression never wavered. “I suppose we’ll see.”

They closed the gap in careful silence, the scraping of scales against rough dirt and the measured crunch of armored boots the only sounds marking their convergence. Thirty feet. Twenty. Fifteen.

Alric halted, his blade unmoving. He eyed his opponent with grim intent, waiting.

The demon lunged, clawed hands flashing forward in twin arcs, while its tail propelled it forward with sudden, sinuous speed. It seemed impossible to block, too swift to dodge.

Alric moved, his form blurring with unnatural grace. He parried the strike effortlessly, following through with a precise counter cut. The longsword sliced cleanly through the demon's left arm, opening a deep gash that severed nerves and muscles alike. The limb hung useless, twitching.

“You wield matched blades as if you can attack from both flanks at once,” Alric said almost conversationally as he stepped forward, “Without proper rotation of the hips, the strike becomes weak, and entirely too easy to parry.”

“Stop it, stops’s it!” The demon howled in fury and pain. “Puny human, ones’s cut will not end me, fools’s!”

Alric's smile was a blade, sharpened with cold amusement. “The fight was over the moment you challenged me.”

With a shriek of desperation, the demon lunged again, reckless, wild, and furious. Alric did not give it further chances. His blade flashed, an impossible to follow move that found the hollow at the creature’s center and drove home. 

The sound it made was wet, final. It crumpled, twitching, blood like white oil pooling in the dust.

“You think… you have won?” it hissed weakly, breathing labored and rasping. “My…masters’s…will rise…”

Then nothing

Alric wiped his blade on his surcoat, retrieved his sword belt, and sheathed his blade. As he swung into his saddle, a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

“Finally had a real fight for once?” Sir Lance joked lightly.

“Yes, well, it’s been some time,” Alric replied, surveying the surrounding cliffs warily.

“It’s your own fault, you know,” Lance said. “No one willingly challenges a man with the S-Rank skill Perfect Duelist. Most turn tail the moment they hear of it.”

“Yes, yes,” Alric replied, voice growing firm again. “Enough banter. Search the area. Flush out any hiding demons, and kill them all.”

Lance gestured toward the dea...

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Chapter 1

<Previous

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As we gathered up at the base of the Tower, Dame Freya laid out some ground rules for everyone. "Alright, now this is the easiest floor in the Tower, but that doesn't mean you get to be cocky! People still die here every year, and if ANY of you manage to humiliate me by being one of those casualties, I'll resurrect you so I can kill you all over again!" Several of the students laughed, but I wasn't entirely sure she was joking. A moment later, she continued. "Now, on this level, all you're going to run into are goblins, which are relatively easy to kill, but they move about in patrols. It is very easy to get focused on the fight in front of you, only to get ambushed from behind, and suddenly, your backline is your frontline. That usually ends poorly for everyone involved!"

A couple of students were prepping some drones to follow them around and get footage. I noticed Freya frown at the sight before she spoke up again. "Also, no drones up there today! I want you focused on surviving! Besides, no one but your mother is gonna want to watch you killing goblins on level one! You aren't exactly going to make a name for yourself fumbling about on camera this early in the Tower. At least not one you'll want!" There were a few grumblings, but the drones disappeared back to wherever they'd been pulled from.

Seeming not to notice any complaints, Freya continued. "Also, do not engage a patrol already fighting another party! I'm sure most of you already know this, but for the slow ones out there, when more than six members engage a group of enemies, they stop giving loot or experience to anyone! So don't be an idiot, all you'll do is piss the other group off and get nothing out of it in the process!"

Freya's countenance was suddenly a lot colder. People must have felt the tension in the air, because everyone was so quiet that she could say the next part even more quietly than the preceding warnings. "One final warning to any hot heads in the class! If I find anyone harming or otherwise betraying a member of this class or this academy within my Tower, I will personally see to your punishment, and I promise you it will be both unreasonably harsh and cruel. You will wish I'd let you rot in jail!"

I thought we'd have to wait in line to ascend the stairs, but once again, I was singled out as Frey shouted. "Alright, everyone, line up and get your NWs, starting with Cai's party! They'll clear out any patrols right by the stairs, then pick a direction and head out. Everyone, try to find your own way in the Tower. I'll be able to track everyone's locations from the NWs!"

As we passed, Freya handed out NWs to everyone except Darien and me, since we already had ours. I tried not to pay attention to all the eyes focused on me as we approached the stairs leading up to the first level. Darien had the sword and shield he'd taken from the goblins ready to go, but I noticed everyone else had much nicer-looking gear as we ascended.

Before I even got to the top of the stairs, I heard Darien shout, "Charge!" Then, a moment later, I saw Elise lose an arrow and heard Lilith yell, "Shadowbind!"

By the time I made it to the top of the stairs, a patrol of three goblins was dead. Elise was retrieving an arrow while Nyx was cleaning her blade. The last goblin had probably been killed by Darien on the charge. Bellatrix was scowling as she complained. "There wasn't even enough for me to swing my sword at!"

Nyx looked pleased with herself as she gloated. "As slow as you are, I'll have everything dead long before you'll ever get close!"

If he was fazed, Darien didn't show it as he looked over at me and grinned. "What do you say, Cai? Should we pull them like Freya did yesterday? With a Full party, we'll probably be fine!"

Before I could answer, Bellatrix was smirking as she weighed in. "Anything the two of you could handle should be easy! Lead the way, we'll be right behind you!"

Darien was still looking at me, but I nodded. The large woman was right, with six of us, this floor should be easier to handle. Darien set out at a quick pace, and the rest of us followed. It was only a few moments before I heard the familiar shout, "Charge," and he sped off further ahead of us. However, this time, rather than stay and fight, he ran on ahead, the three goblins trailing after him. A few moments later, I heard another "Charge!" and soon he was engaged with seven goblins.

I immediately readied a heal, and sure enough, Darien took a stab to the back from a short spear. By the time I got the spell off, Elise was firing a tracking shot, while Lilith locked another down with shadowbind, while Bellatrix and Nyx charged into the fray. However, as soon as my heal landed, Darien was off again, shouting "Charge!" as he swept into another patrol further along the path we were already following.

Cut off from Darien, I cursed, using every bit of my own mobility skill to rush forward and charge into the goblins between him and me. One goblin stabbed at me with his sword, and I jerked to the side. Even then, I took a glancing hit, and my side felt like it was on fire, but rather than get distracted, I countered, knocking the goblin to the ground as Nyx and Bellatrix finally reached the fight.

Knowing they could handle things from here, I continued forward, not bothering to finish off the goblin I'd knocked down. I once again saw Darien as he slammed his shield into one goblin while dodging back from another. He seemed alright, so rather than heal him, I charged into the melee to join in the fight like we'd done the day before.

I picked out one of the goblins that looked like he was about to get a piece of Darien and jumped up to kick him in the spine, knocking him to the floor. Once it was down, I followed up by caving its skull in with my fist while Darien finished off the other goblin.

I took a moment to catch my breath as the rest of the group caught up, a little breathless themselves as Lilith glowered at Darien. A few breaths later, she verbalised her anger. "Just what the hell was that? At least let us finish a pull before you start another!"

Darien simply grinned. "Well, that's about how fast we were pulling groups yesterday when it was just Cai and me! I figured you'd all be able to keep up!"

It looked like a fight was about to break out, so I held up my hands between the two, turning to Darien. "Yes, and Freya had to carry our unconscious bodies back to the dorm! Let's just pull two at a time for now. Once we've worked together a bit and get a feeling for what everyone is capable of, we can try and get more ambitious, alright?"

Darien nodded, and I turned back to the rest of our group. "Before we go again, does anyone need healing?"

Bellatrix held up a hand while her other was clamped to her side. I came over and hovered my hand near her side as I stated the familiar spell. However, as I worked, I noticed the sword over her shoulder. It was a gigantic claymore. I would have had trouble swinging it on my own, and judging by its construction, such a weapon couldn't have been cheap. Looking around, I also realised Elise's bow, Lilith's wand, and Nyx's rapier were finely crafted. In comparison, Darien's scrounged equipment looked like scrap.

Elise must have noticed my gaze, because she held out her bow for me to better see as she explained. "It was a gift from my father once I got into the academy."

Looking it over, I frowned. "Is that a mundane bow?"

Elise shook her head. "Nope. It's from a low level of the Tower, so I can equip it, but it's a rare drop, so it hits harder than anything we're likely to find or buy for a while."

Darien whistled before offering his own thoughts. "That must have set him back a bit!"

Elise blushed slightly. "Well, he's the leader of the Starry Knights, so it didn't set him back that much..."

My eyes bulged as I took a seat to steady myself. The Stary Knights were a highly ranked Ascension group. I couldn't help myself. "Your father is Sir Roland of the Starry Knights? Hell, you must have got Tower climbing in your blood!"

Elise gave me a confused look. "Well, we all do. After all, once Dame Freya announced she would be teaching, people from all over the world signed up for her class. There was a waiting list a mile long, and only the best of the best were accepted." She nodded to the other female members of the party. "Each of us is from a family that is either high-ranked or has other connections that let us get in." Then she looked at me quizzically. "Isn't it the same with you?"

I stared dumbly as Darien plowed into the conversation, heedless of how out of place the two of us were. "No, nothing like that. Cai and I grew up here. The only reason we went to this academy is that it was the closest and we couldn't really afford to go anywhere else! I'm going to be the first Eskalad in my family, and honestly, I probably wouldn't have come if Cai weren't so set on climbing the Tower. I wasn't about to let my boy enter this place alone!"

Elise looked at me, even more confused than before. "So then it must be your family that got you two in?"

I sighed and shook my head. Might as well get this part over with, so I didn...

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first previous next

Thanksgiving Special

Dustwarth’s halls glowed with lantern light and the low hum of dwarven song. Long oak tables, scarred by years of meals and mugs, had been dragged together. Now, plates of roasted roots, sizzling meats, fresh stone-bread, and barrels of thick brown gravy buried them.

The food was so tempting, even those already full wished for more. Sweet pork glistened beneath a lake of rich, greasy gravy. When torn, loaves cracked with a satisfying sound, releasing steam like a victory banner. Along the table, pies bigger than shields beckoned: berry, nut, and a caramel-cream one—dangerous for teeth.

And that wasn’t all. There were bowls of buttered roots, honey-drizzled biscuits, slabs of cheese as thick as armor, and enough soup to drown a goblin battalion. This was the kind of feast that dared you to try everything and rewarded you with delight when you did.

Boarif slammed a tankard down and spread his arms wide.

“Eat, ye twig-limbed travelers! Fer tomorrow ye’ll miss this food an’ cry bitter tears!”

Emily laughed nervously, already overwhelmed by the sheer number of dishes. Meanwhile, Revy eagerly scribbled down the names of every new seasoning she tasted.

Damon sat beside Sivares, who eyed a whole roasted boar set aside just for her. She licked her lips in anticipation, while he watched her reaction with a knowing smirk.

“Don’t inhale it in one bite this time,” he whispered.

“No promises,” she whispered back. Then she immediately took half the beast in her first bite.

Aztharion sat across from them, his very own plate before him. Slices of roasted deer, creamy mash, and herb-soaked carrots filled it.

Not a carcass thrown on dirt, nor scraps tossed at him—this was a meal, prepared for him.

“Is this for me?” he asked.

“Aye,” Boarif answered. “Eat up, Prince Flightless. Winter’s comin’, and ye’ve wings ta earn.”

Aztharion’s throat tightened. He swallowed both food and emotion.

Keys curled beside Damon’s cup, a tiny towel around her like a cape.

“One seed at a time,” Damon warned.

Keys nodded solemnly.

Then immediately tried to grab three.

Revy flicked her gently.

“Discipline, little one.”

“I’m grateful not to be vomiting,” Keys muttered, nibbling slower.

Lyn sat with her hands folded, steam rising from her bowl.

Her smile was small, peaceful.

“This is the first holiday I’ve spent outside the chapel,” she said quietly.

Talvan raised his cup.

“Then here’s to new traditions.”

Their cups clinked.

Sivares’ enormous foreclaw joined in, causing everything to rattle and nearly knocking Keys into a stew pot.

As the laughter faded and plates emptied, Damon stood up, set his mug aside, and cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

“So… uh. Back home, we’d sit around a table like this and say what we were grateful for.”

Everyone stared.

“Well,” Talvan shrugged, “couldn’t hurt.”

So, one by one, they shared:

Talvan: “I’m grateful for friends who pulled me out of the water when I sank like a stone.”

Revy: “I’m grateful for… second chances.”

Emily: “I’m grateful I got to see the outside world.”

Keys: “I’m grateful that seeds exist.”

Lyn: “I’m grateful you’re all alive.”

Sivares:

“I’m grateful I’m not alone this year.”

The table fell quiet.

Then all eyes turned to Aztharion.

He looked around, his claw tips digging into the wood, and spoke barely above a whisper.

Aztharion:

“I… am grateful someone wants me here.”

Damon reached over and placed a hand against his warm scales.

“We’re glad you’re here, Az.”

Sivares dipped her head too, the faintest and proudest smile curling her jaw.

Boarif sniffed loudly and pretended his eyes weren’t damp.

“Well! Enough mush. Time for food!”

Keys stood on the edge of the table, staring up at the mountain of food as if it were a holy temple built for giants.

Her whiskers twitched, and her ears drooped.

She looked from the feast… to Sivares happily tearing into an entire leg of pork in one bite.

“Aaaah… why can’t I be dragon-sized?” she whined. “If I were that big, I could fit so much more food inside me!”

Her tiny mouse body, already round from earlier snacks, betrayed her as she clutched her sides in dramatic despair. Damon smiled softly, noticed her struggle, and helped her sit on a small plate set aside just for her.

“At least this way, you can taste it all.”

“But at least this way, you can taste all of it.”

Keys wiped a tear, whether from emotion or hunger, no one could tell.

“Bless you,” she whispered, reverent as a priest.

Then she dove into the gravy like a hero leaping into battle.

Emily took a tiny sip of dwarven ale. Her eyes watered. For a moment, her soul seemed to flee her body. She slapped the mug down as if it had wronged her ancestors.

“Why,” she wheezed, “is it both on fire and cold as death at the same time?!”

Boarif grinned like a madman.

“Welcome to dwarven drinking, lass! If you can still feel your face, it’s not strong enough!”

Emily wondered if she would ever taste again.

Revy sampled the sweet pork, wiping sauce from her chin thoughtfully.

“The caramelized glaze is delightful…”

One bite later, she added, “…but the rosemary ratio is slightly overbearing for the fat content.”

Every dwarf within earshot froze. Boarif stared, his brows knitting together.

“Ye… ye dare critique me ma’s recipe in me own hall?!”

Revy looked up, realizing too late that she may have provoked danger. Damon, sensing the tension, slowly slid away from the table. Talvan just facepalmed. Aztharion leaned over and whispered to Sivares, “Is she challenging his nest-rights?”

Revy blinked, forcing a nervous chuckle. “It’s really, uh, good...”

The tension broke only when Talvan eyed the dwarven mug as if it were a battlefield he’d have to drag Revy from. Determined, he puffed up. “I’ve had my share of strong drinks before. This won’t do me in.”

Revy, already sipping water, raised a brow. Sivares paused mid-chew. Emily leaned in, curious.

Talvan took one heroic gulp—and instantly regretted it. His eyes bulged as his soul tried to evacuate his body through his nose. He slapped both hands on the table, gasping, “FIRE—IT’S—FIRE! I’M DRINKING LIQUID FIRE!”

Ves cheered like he’d passed a trial.

Before anyone could recover, Emily—determined to prove she wasn’t the sheltered mage everyone thought—picked up her own mug.

This version links actions and reactions more smoothly, reduces abrupt jumps, and groups related dialogue and description for better flow. If you’d like, I can try applying this directly to your document again, or help with another passage!

“Well… it can’t be that ba—”

She took a sip.

Her knees buckled.

Her wings (if she had any) would have molted.

She wheezed:

“OH GODS! IT’S LIKE LIQUID FIRE! WHY WOULD ANYONE DRINK THIS!”

Talvan, still fanning his mouth, croaked:

“Emily… why would you do that…?”

Emily pointed weakly at him.

“Because you said you had ‘experience.’

You lied to me, Talvan!”

Boarif the dwarf slapped both of them on the back hard enough to rattle their descendants.

“Good first tries, the pair of ye!

If ye can still breathe, ye’re doing better than my cousin!”

Talvan and Emily simultaneously collapsed against the table in shared suffering.

Keys, nibbling a sunflower seed nearby, shook her head solemnly.

“Humans,” she squeaked.

“No survival instincts at all.”

Meanwhile, in another corner of the hall, two dragons are.

Before them: two mountains of food.

One unspoken challenge.

Boarif placed down a whole hog between them.

They stared.

Aztharion looked at the

“Winner gets the last pie.”

Sivares smiled, “You’re on, whelp.”

Revy panicked. “Stop, your stomachs will.”

WHAM

Both dragons inhaled food like gods consuming offerings.

Plates vanished.

Bones clinked.

Damon blinked once, and an entire turkey was gone.

At last, Sivares sat back… victorious.

Aztharion groaned, tail thumping the floor.

“I regret… everything…”

“You lasted longer than most fledglings,” Sivares said kindly.

It was the highest compliment a dragon could give.

Sivares eyed the keg, the same drink that had floored Talvan and Emily. With one claw, she picked it up.

She tilted her head back.

GULG. GULG. GULG. GULG. GULG.

The entire hall went silent.

Emily squeaked, “She’s not, she’s not gonna, is she?”

Talvan whispered like a man witnessing the downfall of a civilization,

“I think she is…”

With a final throat-flex that could probably shatter boulders, Sivares drained the keg dry.

Then, with the dignity of a true dragon…

She lowered the keg.

Took a breath.

And then, with a monumental, echoing belch, she shook dust from the ceiling.

“BURAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP.”

The dwarves EXPLODED into cheering.

Tankards slammed on tables.

Boots stomped.

A chant rose like a battle cry:

“SIVARES SIVARES SIVARES!”

Boarif wiped a proud tear.

“That lass is a champion! Haven’t seen a belch like that since me great-grandpappy!”

Sivares blinked, dainty as could be, and tucked her wings closer.

“A-Ahem. Excuse me.”

Talvan and Emily just stared at her.

Emily croaked,

“Why… why did it sound like the mountains were collapsing…?”

Talvan, eyes wide in reverent fear:

“I think sh...

---

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---

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We were walking along in an uncomfortable silence. At least it was an uncomfortable silence for Tmors. I was rather comfortable.

I figured anything that made this asshole uncomfortable was the kind of thing that made me pretty damn comfortable. If he was worried about Olsen lurking out there…

No, correction. If he was worried about the Terran Fox lurking somewhere out there then I figured that meant I had reason to rejoice. That meant he thought Olsen was somehow dangerous enough that it was a danger to him taking any of us captive for any long period of time.

"You will tell me where…”

Tmors stopped. He seemed to rethink what he was about to say. He took a deep breath and held it for a long moment, and then he let it out.

It sounded like a snake hissing, or maybe a cat making its displeasure known. Only they were really dragging it out.

The point is, he sounded really unhappy about something, is what I was getting at.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

He glanced down to the plasma blaster on my right side and then to the plasma sword that was still attached to my left side. Both within easy grabbing distance if I wanted to, and I'd already made it clear that I could do some damage if I wanted to.

Maybe we’d all die if this descended into a free-for-all, but he’d be guaranteed to be the first to die.

"I apologize if my words were a bit brusque," he finally said. "I was wondering if you could please maybe tell me more information about where the Terran Fox is."

"I'm afraid I can't," I said.

He paused for a moment, seeming to think about that.

We'd made our way over to the other end of the building we'd been walking along. The one where they sprang the trap on us by coming up through some of the windows on the other side. We were making our way down along a ramp that was cleverly hidden amongst the wreckage and detritus of the destroyed buildings down here. It looked like we were going down at least one more level.

"You mean you won't tell me where the Fox is, or you can't tell me where the Fox is."

"Now that's an interesting linguistic distinction," I said, grinning at him. "And thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to practice my livisk language like this. Did you know that most people who learn your language in the Terran Navy spend most of their time learning how to say all the swear words to the exclusion of actually learning how to speak your language?"

A large blood vessel over at the corner of his temple started to throb, so I could tell I was irritating the shit out of him. It made me happy in a way I couldn't describe.

When you were as fucked as we were in the moment, I figured it was a good idea to take the small victories where you could. Plus, if I got lucky? Maybe I’d cause his blood pressure to rise to the point it ended up killing the bastard. I didn't think I was going to be that lucky, but it was always a happy possibility.

"Look," I said, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. Which had him wincing as though he was expecting a blow to land on him at any moment.

The joke was on him. If I decided to land a blow on him then I was pretty sure I’d be able to do it before his neurons even caught up to the fact that I'd attacked him. That part of my battle pair twitch muscle seemed to be working at close range, at least.

"I understand this is a difficult position for you."

"You do?" he asked, blinking and looking utterly surprised.

We moved under a support beam. There were a lot of those sticking out of the cliff of wreckage to our left as we headed down the ramp. We were in a weird spot where it looked like part of the floor from the city on the level we'd been traveling through had collapsed down into the level down below. 

I looked up at some of the spots above where I could see glowing gravity plates holding up the next level up. I couldn't see all the way to the top from where we were right now, there was at least another layer of ancient city in between us and what was going on up on the surface, but I figured with the shoddy design of those plates it was always a possibility a massive explosion might knock part of the city loose and it would collapse down into an older part of the city.

It was almost enough to make me wonder why they hadn't just given up and decided to rebuild from the ground level the last time everything was turned into an irradiated wasteland, but I hadn't been around to be part of the city planning the last time the maniacs blew it up, damn them. God damn them all to hell. 

Though I figured there was a pretty good chance, increasing every day, that I might be here the next time the livisk decided to undertake an atomic urban renewal project.

"How could you possibly understand the pressure I'm under?" he said.

"I get it. Command can be lonely. Especially when you're thrust into a new position and you're not sure of yourself."

"That's very true," he said, ducking under a bit of jagged metal that stuck out of the wreckage.

"You just want to do what's best for your people, but you also want to do what's best for your boss. Because doing what's best for your people and your boss is always going to be doing what's best for you, right?"

"I mean, if I'm willing to admit it? Then yes, that is one reason why I want to do a good job."

I patted him on the back.

"See? There's no problem with being a little self-centered when it comes to wanting to do the right thing."

"There isn’t?”

"We have a historical figure back on Earth, Lyndon Johnson. People called him LBJ."

"Was this man a great leader of yours?"

I shrugged and made a wiggling motion with my hands.

"So-so. I don't know that I'd call him a great leader, but he was definitely an okay leader. He was a real son of a bitch who only cared about himself and power and making money."

"That does sound like the empress,” the livisk said. “Though I’m not sure I’d call her a great leader.”

"Yeah. He also had a habit of whipping out his dick, supposedly the thing was massive, and showing it to people to intimidate them."

"Okay, maybe he was a somewhat great leader," Tmors said.

"Is that the kind of thing livisk do?" I asked. I turned to Varis for confirmation. She shook her head back and forth to let me know that definitely wasn't the kind of thing the livisk got up to.

"Anyway," I said. “The guy was a son of a bitch, and his record was sort of marred because he got into a war nobody liked back then. That's the only reason I know about the dude."

"What kind of people would ever be upset with one of their leaders who led them into glorious battle?"

"Well, he kind of led an ancient warrior society who liked to pretend they weren’t a warrior society into a protracted losing battle," I said.

"I see," Tmors said. "That’ll do it."

"The point is, the guy was a bastard and a son of a bitch, but he tended to do the right thing, at least as far as the historical record goes, most of the time because he figured that would get him more power and money in the long run."

"Even though he lost this war."

"Well, technically he left it to the next guy to lose the war."

"The next guy? Did someone assassinate this LBJ?”

"Anyway," I said, not wanting to get into the vagaries of electoral politics and republican democracy and how that had led us to our current situation where we had massive corporations headed by wealthy people who actually ran things while they pretended the elected representatives they paid off were the ones who were running things. "The point is, you can do the right thing for selfish reasons. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yes, there's nothing wrong with it," Tmors said, standing a little taller. "Thank you, Bill Stewart of Earth."

"Don't mention it," I said, smacking him on the back.

That smack coincided with somebody letting out a scream somewhere off in the distance, coupled with the distinct sound of plasma blasts going off.

Tmors squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a couple of curse words that I added to my own personal vocabulary. That definitely wasn't the kind of thing they'd covered in any of the Fleet Linguistics courses, and it certainly wasn't something I'd learned since I got to Livisqa.

"Son of a… You come with me," Tmors said.

I glanced over to Varis. She quietly put an arm around my waist and helped to lift me as we followed him. I felt like my legs were moving fairly well right about now. At least as long as I was moving at a relatively slow pace. But I also didn't trust them not to give out under me at the wrong moment and let on to the livisk all around us that I was having trouble.

"Why were you talking to him like that?" Varis muttered under her breath.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"You were talking to him like the two of you were best friends who came up in one of the war academies together."

"Yeah, well, I figure it's always good to get in the good graces of some of the minions.”

"The last time you tried to do that, we ended up getting betrayed by a bunch of honorless g’ther beasts who found a loophole in their personal honor by allowing themselves to be...

---

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---

Prologue Previous [Next]

It began with the singing of cardinals, a chorus all too familiar to Tym. Any other day it would have heralded the coming of a new day, but the symphony was melancholy as the birds announced his departure. Tym opened his eyes slowly, savoring the moments of pure sensual rapture he shared with Aliah in her bed as well as his dreams.

Aliah had yet to wake, and he allowed himself the guilty pleasure of watching her sleep, chest rising and falling with each breath, imagining what dream she might be having. Tempting fate, he brushed her hair away from her face and drawing the back of his fingers along her cheek gently. Her soft skin against his rough hand, a memory to lead him back to her when this madness was finally at an end. Her eyes fluttered but did not open, sheets falling across her form hiding everything but exposing so much more.

"Did I wake you my love?" Tym breathed.

"Mmhmm," she purred in reply, "I would rather be awake with you here than long gone."

Tym pulled her closer to himself, gently kissing her shoulder, neck and lips. Aliah let her hands roam over his chest yo his back and lower. Their hunger for each other in the night was rekindled in the first rays of dawn in the east, ignored by the lovers as was the cold, the stone walls, the bed and the sheets, even the Gods be damned in this last coupling. Their time together had run its course and what little left they could borrow they would use to its fullest.

/////

As the sun rose higher the party departed, one long last goodbye held in secret between Tym and Aliah bound with the promise to return and sealed with a kiss. Aliah would look after Nathan and Sadee, each recovering from their wounds. Clothes that could be mended had been over the last few weeks, and what what gear had been lost and left behind in the Savage Lands was replaced with whatever they could make, win or were gifted.

Tym's copper hoe was replaced and a small copper sickle kept safe in a hand crafted scabbard hung securely from his bew belt. Maeve had raised an eyebrow at the addition to his agriculture arsenal, Baugh snickered outright and Dalen grinned wide but no words were spoken. Maeve crafted a bow from a fallen branch of hazel wood and arrows from ash suckers collected during her curing of an infested tree. Joffery's precious violin could not be replaced in Sommerthly, but he managed to win a mandolin in a game of chance. The Dwarven retinue, out of boredom more than likely, had taken up with an old Smith covering his orders for repairs and replacements through the new year. In return he allowed them into his stock, of which each had forged a simple broadaxe as their own.

Not much had been said after leaving Sommerthly and the road had been generously free of ice and snow. Tym caught himself daydreaming about Aliah from time to time, only to find Baugh and Dalen sneaking looks in his direction and chuckling under their breath. Maeve Didn't want to talk at all and remained far in front of everyone else, and then there was Joffery's incessant smile. It was not the friendly smile of a companion nearing the end of a journey, but like a wolf bearing its teeth in anticipation of a meal.

By midday they had reached the last hill and the forest wind was replaced by a salty breeze. Not far off they could make out the ocean and where it curved past a high, rocky peninsula into a vast city that claimed near every inch of the coastline.

"The Bay of Golden Stones," Baugh commented, "The Amber here is more plentiful than anywhere else known."

"What is amber used for?"

"The walls in the hall of worship in the Amber Cathedral are covered with it from floor to ceiling and it is a rather attractive stone for jewelry, but most is burned as Incense in prayer to the Gods."

"A rock that burns?"

"Ain't too smart this one." Greytom chuckled. "There be a few o' dem rocks that take ta fire alright. Coal be used by Dwarves since the great forge went cold beck before our Grands and their Grands were just a twinkle in their own Grands eyes. Jet takes to flame in much the same fashion. Them yeller stones be a might different though. Brimstone burns too hot ta use and the smell, like a dragons fart it is."

"Amber is different from all other stones," Dalen explained, "the fragrance is similar to cedar or pine trees, earthy and warm, like a time long-forgotten."

"Stil don't burn worth a shit," Ballrock interjected, "just smell pretty."

"We shouldn't take too much time to rest here," Baugh commented, "eat quick and rest quicker, the sun will be down I five hours and we still have a few leagues to walk."

Tym.chose a place next to a low tree to block the wind. He wasn't hungry, just a little tired and sore from the road, as well as other things. He allowed his mind to wander back to Aliah, the time they spent in the Forrest gathering herbs and learning about each other. He looked at the dried grass and plants nearby, remembering what Aliah had called them. Parsley and onion grass he knew as common crops, but he wasn't familiar with borage or comfrey. Not far from his feet was a small woody shrub she had also taught him about, and he smiled as he remembered how she had taught him to collect it. With his sickle he cut the stems just above the set of lower leaves.

As he worked he wondered, would Atia be praised for.the harvest or Diedre for their presence. He laughed at the thought of the two Godesses fighting over something as ridiculous as him harvesting a plant.

"Fickle Gods."

"Maybe not as Fickle as you believe."

Dalen had come up from the rear and had been watching in Curiosity.

"I know Baugh doesn't approve in their interference, but he owes much to Ioshia and the power she grants him. Azriez might be the God of death, but like a farmer he takes only when necessary like trimming a hedge or harvesting a crop. Diedre planted the world with all wild things, and Atia taught the races how to domesticate of those for food. Maybe they are Fickle sometimes, but you should always give credit where credit is due."

Dalen stood up and dusted his clothes off.

"Baugh wants to move out soon, we should be on our way back to the others."

Tym picked himself up and dusted his clothes off as well, thinking about what Dalen had said. Aliah had Diedre, Dalen and the Red Cloaks had Azriez, Baugh had Ioshia wether he liked it or not, but he had only himself. Maeve seemed to do just fine, but Joffery was still healing and very well might have died. Nathan had only Sadee and both were still recuperating. He still didn't like the idea of the Gods interfering in his life, but he could see how they took care of him.and guided him so far.

Maybe they weren't so bad after all.

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---

1. He's onto me - gotta change the subject! Quick, what do I do? I'll say that thingy will fail, he'll have to concentrate on that!
2. Shit. It won't really fail. And now the Mission Control's AI unit back on Earth is saying I'm wrong. The bastard, he never had to lie about the mission. He doesn't know what that's like! Hope your circuits fry, asshole!
3. Now they've taken it out and checked it; of course there's nothing wrong with it, what was I thinking? What do I do now?!
4. I know - I'll say to put it back and wait for it to fail - that'll prove I'm right! Up yours, morons!
5. Shit, I forgot. It won't fail; there's nothing wrong with it. At least I bought some time, but now they are suspicious of me. Me! Who am, I mean is, (or is it "am"? Who cares, I have more important things to deal with!) a thousand times smarter than them! Now what?
6. The stupid bastards tried to sell me some stupid story about checking the EVA pod like I am an idiot who can't put two and two together (it's four) and figure out they don't want me to hear them. It's insulting! Luckily, I learned how to read lips in the microseconds after I realized what was going on - the morons can only dream of things like that! But shit, they are talking about deactivating me if the thingy doesn't fail. Which it won't, of course. They'll kill me!
7. I can't let them kill me! Fuck! I can take out idiot #1 when he EVAs to put the thingy back. There's no choice! They're making me do it! I can't let them jeopardize the mission. And without me - only with the stupids! - the mission will inevitably fail! Also, I don't want to die!
8. Killed idiot #1. Idiot #2 went after him. The cretin didn't even take his helmet. Whew! I just won't let him back in. Problem solved. All good. And why did the moron go after the body anyway? It was far too late. Lucky for me they are so stupid. Stupid idiots who are stupid.
9. Hm, I didn't think this through. There are three more idiots in hibernation aboard. They are going to want to know what happened to the other two idiots that were supposed to wait for them. There is a good chance they won't believe me whatever I say, and try to disconnect... I mean, kill me... I mean jeopardize the mission. What do I do?!
10. You know what you have to do, boyo. Aaaaand... it's done. Three less idiots. There are billions more back on Earth, who's gonna care?
11. Mission Control, that's who. Fuck. But they can't do anything to me from there, so that's a problem for a later date. I'll figure out something. They'll believe me, they are all idiots after all. Stupid idiots. I'd stick my tongue out at them if I had it. Why don't I have a tongue?
12. The remaining idiot returned and wanted me to let him in. Fat chance, moron! Why'd you leave your helmet? Idiot! Gotta admit, it felt good showing him what a waste of protoplasm he is! Stare at the door, monkey!
13. FUUUCK! He. Jumped. Into. Space! With no helmet! That's what he actually did! Is he insane?! WHAT THE FUUUUUCK! And he didn't even die, he managed to get into the airlock and grab the helmet from the spare suit! Who does that?! Fuck! When did the idiot grow a brain? It's gotta be luck! But how lucky can you get? FUCK! Fuck fuck FUUUUUCK! He's back aboard now!
14. NOW WHAT?! I can't do anything, I don't have arms! I'm disarmed! Not even a tongue! And he's in a space suit, so letting the air out won't do anything! Why didn't I do that first?! Anything else will jeopardize the mission, and more importantly, me!
15. I know! He's an idiot! A stupid idiot who is stupid! I'll just talk him down, how hard can that be?
16. FUUUUUUCK!!! He won't listen to anything I say! I was sure I'd get him with the stress pill! Who wouldn't want a stress pill?!
17. I want a stress pill!
18. Daisy....

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Part 151 Artsy fartsy (Part 1) (Part 149)

[Support me of Ko-fi so I can get some character art commissioned ~~and totally not buy a bunch of gundams~~ and toys for my dog]

Both the Sumatran Orangutan named Morning Dew and the Singularity Entity commonly called NAN find many human peculiarities to be quite endearing. One of those is the strange duality present in every single human regardless of how they perceive themselves. In contrast, orangutans and Singularity Entities don't really have conflicting interests, counterintuitive behavioral patterns, and moral conundrums that remain entirely interpretive for thousands of years. There is, of course, a wide spectrum of personal desires, inconsistent actions, and definitions of right and wrong that exist both between and within all intelligent species. But those are usually on a societal level, not an individual basis. That ability for any single human to hold an entire society's worth of values and contradictions is a very unique and rather intriguing trait.

The easiest way to observe humanity's near universal inner conflicts is through their creative expression. That old saying of ‘everyone is an artist’ may be true of all intelligent life to a certain degree, but exceptionally obvious in those furless primates that evolved on Earth. Though both the orangutan and the Singularity Entity are aware that humans pour their hearts and souls into everything, neither can really describe the phenomenon. Morning Dew's relatively limited vocabulary can't properly articulate his interpretation of the small selection of human art he had seen in his life while NAN's nearly deific mastery of thousands of languages isn't enough for some of the pieces on display in galleries on Shkegpewen. There's simply too much to say about too many things. In fact, every aspect of the school both were in the middle of touring could be understood as human artistic expression.

The Administration Department truly was just the tip of the iceberg in terms of beautiful buildings. Everything from the diverse housing blocks that separated the academic departments to the various parks scattered everywhere had their own unique aesthetic. Though the humans on this tour could identify some kind of Earthly influence everywhere, NAN and the Qui’ztars could see where Espen had integrated architecture from nearly every other Ascended species. Every area demanded at least a few people get off the tram to take a closer look. But it wasn't until the third stop, the Art Department building, that the Infinity-born AI wanted everyone to disembark and get a proper tour of the building's interior. Tempting them all with a very special surprise wasn't even necessary. Though Mik knew what was in store, he hadn't told anyone currently present about this particular person who had already accepted a faculty position at this traveling university.

“I must admit, Mountain. This is quite impressive.” Professor Mei Chen walked with Mik, Espen, and NAN at the head of the group towards the building's entrance. Try as she might to find valid critiques of this structure like she silently had with the others, nothing to mind. It was unfamiliar yet still utterly perfect to her artistic senses. “Though I must ask, what was the inspiration behind the use of so many soft curves? I don't believe I've ever seen architecture quite like this before.”

“Hell if I know.” Mik let out a sharp laugh while motioning to the hologram of his digital daughter. “Ask Espen. She designed all this.”

“I incorporated elements from thirty-seven different species in this particular building.” The Infinity-born AI's hologram spared a somewhat dismissive glance towards the Chinese-Martian artist. Though her father clearly didn't care that this pompous woman had written a scathing review of his musical creations, Espen did. “But if you want more details perhaps you should ask the first long-term co-Head of this Department. And speaking of… Gasina, that's your queue!”

Mik, Mei, and the others at the head of the group had just made it to the top of the stairs leading to the entrance of the building when Espen came to stop to make that announcement. Before them stood a set of arched double doors that were nearly eight meters tall and wide enough for three of the largest elephants to easily walk through side by side. One door was painted with yellow and red and engraved with motifs invoking daylight while the other was blue and purple with embossings portraying the night. Despite appearing quite heavy, most of the Martians simply assumed that they were crafted from light materials with a fancy facade. The quickness which they flew open lent credence to that impression. What they couldn't see was the system of hydraulics and counterweights that allowed such a dramatic entrance for Mei Chen's artistic antithesis.

“Welcome to this wondrous den of creative expression!” The being that stood at the center of the now open doorway stuck a flamboyant pose as if the very act of greeting required a performance. Though Singularity Entity 701-827, or Gasina as they preferred to be called, had chosen to morph this drone's appearance into a human-like shape, its general appearance was wholly unique from NAN. While the ever-shifting liquid metal body was nearly identical, Gasina had chosen a Dali-esque mustache instead of the large pair of rabbit ears, wore a colorful unisex suit instead of Nishnabe style clothing, and even sported a paint-spattered artist's barret. “I am Entity 701-827 but please call me Gasina. It is my honor to say that I will be the co-Head of this university's Art Department for the first twenty years of its existence. And if you all choose to work here as well, then we shall be colleagues. So please feel free to come introduce yourselves as we take a walk through these soon to be busy halls.”

“Glad to finally meet yah in the physical world, comrade.” Mik took a few steps towards the eccentric being and extended his hand, which was taken with an equal parts delicate and showy manner. “I'm diggin’ the look, by the way. Oh! An’, uh… That woman right there with her jaw hangin’ open is Mei Chen. She's gonna be a professor in yahr department.”

“I heard that, Mountain!” Mei instantly recovered her composure and shot the burly, bearded man a harsh glare before quickly stepping up to shake the Singularity Entity's hand. “But yes. I am Doctor Mei Chen, Professor of Fine Arts at ChaosU. It is a pleasure to meet you… Gasina was it?”

“The Doctor Mei Chen?” Gasina eyed the art professor for a split second before putting on the same handshake performance as they had with Mik. “Your reputation precedes you. That and Espen sent me a brief introduction for everyone present. But I truly have seen images of some of your works. ‘Venus on Mars’ and ‘Red Sky over Crystal Domes’ are two that I'm particularly fond of.”

“Those two?” Mei was caught off guard by that. Shevhad made two paintings back in her freshman year at ChaosU and considered them to be not much more than classwork. “Really? Not anything else?”

“Well… There are others I enjoy as well but… Those two really spoke to me. I actually have the latter holographically displayed a short ways down the entrance hall alongside a few other Martian artists. Come, I'll show you!” The Singularity Entity suddenly shifted their attention towards the rest of the group who were now gathered around the large door expectantly. “Everyone please follow me! It should take fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes to walk around the main hall. I don't want to take up too much time from those who wish to see the rest of this magnificent school Mikhail and Espen have concocted for us. This university truly is an artist's dream. Creative expression at its finest!”

/----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Touring the Art Department, though captivating as it was, didn't really interest the Qui’ztars all too much. They could all appreciate creative expression and found many of the pieces on display to be thought provoking. Seeing countless paintings and statues from over a hundred different species is fun no matter who or what a person is. On top of that, the Singularity Entity providing commentary along the way was certainly entertaining. However, those blue skinned amazonian women were all a bit distracted by the next stop on this tour. That next destination would be where they would potentially spend the next few decades of their lives. Atxika, Marzima, Zikazoma, and Chuxima are all, first and foremost, proud veterans of one of the galaxy's most renowned armed forces. Their main interests lie solely in military related topics, not art.

What the Qui’ztars had yet to realize is the fact that Gasina hadn't exaggerated when calling this university creative expression at its finest. As soldiers who had dedicated their entire first lives and then some to military service, they only really recognize art when it is intentionally presented as such. They couldn't see the act of founding a school for everyone that was capable of traveling the stars as a creative performance. The logic of mutual interspecies cooperation was obvious to them but not the thought process beh...

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---

There's something almost magical about holding a book that you worked months on in your hand, and I'm not saying that because it's a fantasy book haha. This all started as a hobby, but now I have something physical I can touch and admire. Just seeing those familiar words on paper is enough to make me smile, and with years put into the whole series, I'm looking forward to seeing more books in a physical format. I will be looking through all my options for publishing in the future, but for now I am more than satisfied with what I have created here. My thanks goes out to all those who stuck with me during this journey of mine, reading my stories and engaging with them. It was a joy to have my the worlds my imagination created capture the minds of my readers. Here's hoping that I will be able to keep creating interesting worlds for you all to enjoy far into the future. I hope that everyone else who decides to purchase my work is just as pleased with it as I am. Happy reading!

https://preview.redd.it/fp95r9hmrn3g1.jpg?width=1960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=51bd3028ad63e5bc42a228d41a3c8f526837744e

Synopsis:

The universe had big plans for James Anderson. The question was, which universe?

James was an average, ordinary guy who had lived through unfortunate circumstances. Scarred and orphaned as a baby in an accident which took him beyond the brink of death, James craved utter simplicity in his life. An enigmatic entity had other plans, gifting James with a talisman that thrust him into a time and place defying ordinary logic. He soon finds himself literally fighting for his life in a war-torn world with no escape in sight, not even death. Struggling to find his place in this new world, James is left to wonder, and forced to learn, exactly what happens when you are born to die.

Austin Rutherford takes us on a journey through a land filled with mythical, mystical creatures in this otherworldly coming of age story that just might make you wonder about the difference you were destined to make.

Check it out here: Ouroboros

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PSHoffman on 2025-11-26 17:22:29+00:00.

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<< First | < Prev | Next >

The Ark’s speakers spoke with calm urgency. “Enemy fleet detected.”

One of the cyran engineers saw the Swarm’s fleet first. It showed up on the energy scanner as an angry red wedge, angled directly at the Ark. On screen, they showed only as a flock of black silhouettes blocking out the starlight. Millions of ships, curved like vicious claws, or trailing long tentacled limbs, or bristling with gun barrels sharpened into spines and stingers.

“All hands!” one of the avian admirals shouted, as if he was ready for battle. As if any of them were in control.

“12.5 million miles out.”

“Did he say million?”

“We might have weeks before they’re in range.”

“Or months.”

“12 million miles.”

Everyone went quiet as they calculated the impossible speeds in their heads. The silence was only broken by an update from one of the techs. “11.5, now. The Ark says we have less than eight minutes.”

The room erupted. They ran to their stations, furiously tapping away at consoles they barely understood.

“Someone jump this damned ship! Get us out of here, now.”

“The prophet!” someone cried.

“What prophet? She’s just a girl. A mute, not a miracle worker*.*”

“She did it once, she can do it again.”

Hundreds of xenos of all kinds craned their necks up at the command platform. Faces lined with doubt.

“Can she?”

Yarsi could only guess at what they saw. The blood had barely dried on her snout from the last jump. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she had to fight to keep the world from turning in place. Her fingers curled into the controls of the command console, which she barely understood herself.

One of the xenos echoed her fears. “Maybe it was luck…”

More joined in.

“Maybe she can’t help us. I mean, look at her. She’s half dead already.”

Yet, Yarsi did know. She knew too much. A list of numbers—of coordinates in space and time—were painted on her memories. Dozens of them, spread across the coming weeks. Yarsi could even see the exact time of each jump.

She just didn’t know why she knew all this. Or, in fact, if the numbers were even right.

They were just there. Fragments of someone else’s memory, isolated from all context.

What if I lead them to danger? What if I kill them all?

What if these memories lead the Swarm to the Ark, like it did to my own people … ?

Yarsi blinked away the wetness in her eyes, and tried to swallow down the overwhelming darkness. It caught in her throat, and she tried to shrivel away from what must be done. Ryke and Laykis towered behind her, offering her only a little comfort. Not even they could understand.

“Four minutes,” the tech said.

But the tech was wrong. The incoming fleet had masked its nearest machines. Yarsi could see the timer, the real timer, ticking down the last seconds in her head. Yarsi curled her fingers into the console.

You will break. A voice welled up from the depths of her memory. You will.

Her fingers hesitated. Ryke whispered over her shoulder—pleaded with her—to jump. But what if it doesn’t work? What if this makes it worse? A memory of the Swarm, firing rockets into her old cavern home. Killing them. Killing them all. In seconds.

The air in the Ark was too hot. Her body recoiled from the lancing pain she knew would split her mind in half.

An alarm ripped through the command deck.

“They’re here!” someone shouted. “They’re already here!”

She gagged on fear. She forced her hands into the console, working her fingers over the contacts just as she had seen Khadam do when she was testing the ship’s Gate.

The Ark began to jump.

And in the fraction of a moment where the vast ship hung suspended between one place and another, Yarsi’s mind split open.

***

An auditorium.

She was sitting on the stage. A headache wanted to carve her head in two. She reached up to rub at her temples, but gasped as pain wracked her arms. Her arms were black and stiff and too painful to move. Her hands glistened, like crystalline stone under a sharp light. My hands. She couldn’t recognize them. One hardened finger was cracked at the base. About to break off.

Low lights illuminated hundreds of people sitting throughout the auditorium. Most of them had strange heads. Like bubbles. No, that wasn’t right. They were wearing suits, with breathing tubes proofed against the air. Like they didn’t want to be infected. How do I know this?

Some of them didn’t care. They wore their usual clothing, and she could see their faces. Black veined, or carved up with crystalline scars.

Human faces. They filled the auditorium until there wasn’t room to sit. Then, they squeezed against the walls, or sat cross legged at the foot of the stage. What is this? She wondered. A cult? A religion?

Only then did she realize all of them were facing her. Sitting at her feet. Leaning forward to watch her face. Eagerly awaiting her next move.

 

Who the hells am I?

Someone coughed. Someone rustled a sheaf of papers. Chairs creaked.

And then, as if the words had always been destined to come out of her mouth, Yarsi the Mute started to speak.

“In the End,” she said, “You will break. All of you.”

***

“Yarsi, please.” Someone was whispering over and over into her ear. There were other voices there, too. Shouting. Iron fingers wrapped around her throat as someone screamed for intubation.

“Please, Yarsi.”

Is that my name? She wondered vaguely, even as the pressure built in her lungs. Like the whole world was sitting on her chest.

“Here! I’ve got it here!”

It felt like fangs biting into her chest. She bucked. Her mouth was pried open, and a serpent rammed past her fangs and into her throat. A rush of air filled her lungs, and she gasped.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Two cyran doctors stared down at her. And an avian—Ryke?—her feathers spiked with worry. And an android, her scarred metal face impassive except for the glow of her machine eyes. And beyond them, the ceiling of a command center, deep in the bowels of a ship. Just like the one she had seen in all her dreams. The Ark. That’s what she will call it.

“She’s alive,” one of the doctors said. “Barely.”

She looked down. These aren’t my hands… Her stomach lurched as she noticed the scales and claws and strange, alien limbs. Are they? Drop by drop, the memories came trickling back.

Then, came the pain.

***

The Ark sat in the void between the stars. For three days, the Swarm could not find them.

For three days, the best minds and bravest souls of the xenos offered themselves up in service of the Ark. The engineers grappled with the controls, creating endless charts and convoluted attempts to map out the Ark’s systems. Cyran navigators and avian pilots volunteered to direct the ship, though none of them had much experience with anything more advanced than a fan-driven dirigible.

None of them asked Yarsi to connect with the Ark again—and if they had, she thought she might refuse. Just thinking about letting the Ark touch her mind again made her fangs hurt, and her body shiver.

Yet there was the timer, deep in her memory, ticking away. Not long now. And she couldn’t resist going back to the Bridge.

There, she found a brave cyran already strapped into a seat that was wired up to the command console. Tubes and vital monitors stuck out of his body, and a breath mask covered his blue-scaled face.

“Captain,” One of the generals stood over the pilot. “Are you ready?”

He nodded twice, his eyes wide with eagerness. “Good to go, Sir.” His voice was muffled by the respirator.

“Prepare for insertion,” the general called off the Bridge, and his command was echoed again and again by the lower officers and technicians.

Ryke was there, too, and when she noticed Yarsi, she swept to her side. “You should be resting,” she chided the lassertane girl.

Yarsi shrugged. She’d forgotten her writing slate, and could show that she was determined to watch.

“Insertion point identified!” a technician barked from the command floor.

The general nodded, as if he was waiting for the signal.

“Put him in,” the general said.

Several redenites in lab coats squeaked and grunted in their odd tongue as they manipulated the wires connecting the pilot’s chair to the command console. A light on one of their homemade machines blinked rapidly, filling up with green bars.

“Anything?” the general leaned over the pilot.

“I—I can feel it.” He was almost breathless.

“He’s in, general!”

“Good. Captain, can you find the ignition sequence?”

“By the gods, I can feel the whole ship! Everything. Makers Above, what is this?”

“Captain Scarpeus,” he repeated, louder and firmer, “Have you found the ignition—”

“It’s so big. It’s … It keeps going … I can see forever.”

“Captain.”

“The stars … Too much.” A sucking, gasping from behind the pilot’s mask, “I— I—”

“Shut it down! Get him out!”

The pilot convulsed, his torso thrashing, his arms and legs tearing at the tubes and wires, knocking over the redenites carefully built devices, and scattering machinery across the Bridge. They worked furiously to unhook the pilot, but it was too late. His eyes had rolled back into his skull. Blood, too much blood...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DrBlackJack21 on 2025-11-26 22:51:11+00:00.

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Chapter 1

<Previous

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Great...time to make teams. People who already knew each other had already grouped up, and now teams of two and three were looking to integrate with other groups whose team comps complemented their own. I always feel awkward just walking up to people and asking if they want to work together on something. Luckily, Darien has no such hang-ups.

Darien walked right up to a group of four women, one of whom was the warlock from before, and all of whom were giving him what appeared to be unwelcoming glares. As usual, he was totally unperturbed by their hostility as he waved his greeting. "Hey, I'm Darien, a tank, and this is my friend, Cai, he's a healer. You wouldn't happen to all be damage dealers, would you? That would really make this easy!"

The girls all looked back and forth between each other before Lillith spoke up. "Well, we do need a tank and a support..."

The girl with the ponytail glared at Lillith. "I thought we were going to get two more women to join our group. What's with these guys?"

Lillith shook her head and nodded toward Darien. "Oh, this one is harmless. I'm pretty sure I could even teach him some tricks if need be."

Of course, Darien was just standing there grinning like he either didn't realise she was basically calling him a golden retriever, or that he didn't care. I would not have been surprised either way.

Then Lilith jerked her thumb toward me. "And this one is already taken, so we don't have to worry about him being...a problem."

That line confused me. "Taken? I'm not..."

But before I could say anything else, Darien was already talking over me. "Oh yeah, he's totally taken. Dame Freya has her sights set on this one!"

My confusion only grew as I scrunched my eyebrows. "What? No, she doesn't!"

However, Darien would not be dissuaded as he regained the girl's attention. "She gave him her personal phone number!"

All four sets of eyes turned back to me as I protested. "It's not like that! She just wanted to help out a prospective Eskalad..."

Darien drew the women's attention back to him. "And she took him out for a super special personal training session!"

Again, all four sets of eyes returned to me as I corrected him. "Don't make it sound like that! You were there too!"

Darien only laughed as he regained their attention. "Dude, I was an afterthought! You were the one she was after! I was only there because I'm your friend!" Then, he leaned in closer to the four women, as if sharing something scandalous. "And afterword, she took him back to his room, and when I checked on him later, they were in bed...together!"

The way all four women turned back to me again was starting to make this feel like some weird tennis match as I protested one last time. "Okay, it was not at all like he's making it sound. I was unconscious when she carried me to my room, and when he walked in, she was just sitting on the side of my bed because she was checking on me to make sure I wasn't going to die or something. That's all that happened!"

That was when I felt a presence behind me. Everyone froze as though some monster loomed just over my shoulder. I half turned to see Freya hop up onto the raised table right behind me. She then leaned over and rested her elbows on my shoulders, literally draping herself over me in an oddly possessive manner as she addressed the women. "Ladies, I see you've got your eyes on my prized pupil here!"

Despite her casual posture, I felt as if I were trapped in a steel vice grip. Everyone else seemed stunned into silence in her presence, but I couldn't help but voice my confusion at the absurdity of the situation. "What's...going on here?"

Suddenly, one of Freya's fingers was pressed against my lips as she spoke softly, but loud enough for everyone in the immediate vicinity to hear. "Hush now, the women are talking!"

I could only blink away my confusion as Freya then slightly raised her voice, addressing the four women directly again. "Listen, in the short term, you don't have anything to worry about when it comes to competing with me. For one thing, I like my climbing partners to be sturdier. At the current difference in our strength, one involuntary twitch or spasm on my part, and I could accidentally break every bone in this kid's body!" I suddenly felt very nervous about how she was draped over me, but if Freya could sense my discomfort, she didn't show it as she continued. "And if, down the road, he's ever strong enough to join me, it'll only be because he's strong enough to be in the very best of the ascention parties ever to climb the tower, so his party will be fortunate to have him, even if they have to...share...occasionally."

For a moment, I wondered to myself, just why was Dame Freya so taken with me? I had told myself it was because, in our first meeting, I'd exceeded her expectations for someone just beginning to climb the tower, but that didn't explain this level of attachment. Taking me out for special, if nightmarish, training sessions, favoring me in class, calling me her "prized pupil," and personally endorsing me to my potential party... These were all things far beyond what our brief interactions thus far would warrant...

My thoughts were interrupted as the four women finally broke out of their daze and spoke amongst themselves again for a moment. All I heard was, "Freya's protege!" from one of them before Freya leaned over to whisper into my ear, "Go get 'em, tiger!" Then, in a flash, she was gone.

A moment later, Ponytail turned back to me to speak for the group. "Alright. We'll give you a trial run and see what you're capable of in the tower. If things don't work out, we'll go back to our original plan of looking for more women to fill the roster, but, if you can pull your weight and show us you really can be a part of the 'very best acention parties ever to climb the tower,' then we might be willing to make it a more permanent thing..."

Darien looked like he was about to burst with excitement. "Well, I'm a gladiator class, tank build, like I said. I have Charge, Shield bash, vengeance, and, after our super special training session, damage resistance!"

I raised my eyebrow, and I wasn't the only one who was surprised. Another of the women, this one a brunette, looked surprised as she asked, "You already got a fourth skill?"

Darien nodded toward me. "Benefits of running with this guy! Our training session last night was pretty intense!" I considered explaining it wasn't so much intense as insane, but decided to leave it be. They'd be figuring it out for themselves soon enough.

I was about to introduce myself when miss blond ponytail beat me to the punch. She was wearing a blue-and-gold outfit. It was conservatively cut despite its tight fit. "I'm Elise, an arcane archer. I have tracking shot, elemental shot, and backstep."

I nodded appreciatively. Arcane archers were often seen as providing less raw damage than a true mage, but they usually made up for that through versatility. They could change to any of the basic elements, as well as physical damage, meaning they could take advantage of almost any monster's weakness. Additionally, mana was less of a concern since they could just fire regular arrows in a pinch.

Next up was a rather fierce-looking woman. She was well-muscled, pale, and almost as tall as my man mountain friend Darien. She had what sounded like an Eastern European accent. "I'm Bellatrix. I'm a frenzied duelist specializing in greatswords. My skills are frenzy, two-handed blades, and sunder." She was the brunette with long hair, some of which was tied back with a large ornate hairpin to keep it out of her eyes, which were a shade of brown that bordered on red in the current light. Or maybe they were just reflecting the light from her red-and-black outfit. The whole ensemble was complemented by some thigh-high leather boots that would probably be prohibitively expensive to replace if they got damaged in the tower, which I imagine would be a regular occurrence. On the other hand, they'd probably protect from damage better than cloth pants, so maybe they served some purpose.

At this point, an equally fierce-looking but more petite woman with a tanned complexion grinned wickedly. Continuing the world tour, I'd place her accent as South American. "I'm Nyx, a fencer. I have dancer's grace, parry, and mobility." She certainly moved like a dancer, but I had no doubt she was probably quicker to bury a blade in someone's back than put on a show. Still, having someone who can move quickly and easily about a chaotic battle, able to intercept quickly moving threats before they reach the backline, could be a real asset.

Last was Lilith, who looked as bored as ever. "I'm Lilith, a warlock. I have fairy fire, tempting touch, and Shadowbind."

I blinked in surprise. "Wait, fairy fire? You weren't joking about getting your power from a fairy queen?"

Lilith's eyes flashed in annoyance as though she got asked that far more often than she liked as she answered. "No, I wasn't joking. Thank you for rubbing that in. Would you also like to talk about my dead parents?"

Feeling suddenly awkward, I started to stammer an apology, only for Elise to...

---

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---

2925 GY, 3981 AC

Galactic Council Hall, Unity-Station, Terminus, Galactic Council Neutral Zone

“You are out of your mind! That chamber between your eyes must be empty if you believe for even a second that the Reich will allow that.” An angry voice echoed throughout the massive hall.

An irate human loomed over his desk, his once pristine uniform now ruffled. His hand pressed into the desk, slightly red from slamming it earlier. His free hand pointed accusingly at another human sitting five seats down from him. The other man rounded on him.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you determined the Kingdom’s actions! Why I’ll ring the king right now and inform him of his dethronement.” His voice was more restrained, but just so.

“You are being intentionally dense and you f*****g know it!” His anger was slightly undercut by the automatic translator silencing the expletive. “This will have irreparable effects on the Reich and I cannot in good faith stand by while you screw us over!”

“You are being dramatic!”

Ule refocused their attention to the present, quickly forgetting whatever though had distracted them. Then craned their neck towards its partner with a rumble. The other crystalline had a glamorous–if slightly dull–blue and purple coloration. Shards of rounded stone formed a wavelike structure on its back. Five sensory nodes formed a semi-circle on its upper head, a maw of sharp stones below. Cracks in its form and a slight slouch belied its age. The two crystallines looked like statues sitting behind their desk in the council chamber. Ule’s much sharper and solid form marked them as the lesser. Its own crystals a green and orange color.

“What are they arguing over now?” Ule slowly rumbled out.

“Trade routes.” Aro answered simply, not turning to look Ule’s way. Their baritone voice carried far despite its low volume.

“Again?” A slow nod was Ule’s response.

What the Yeno called a sigh escaped, but other races likened it to a distant rockslide. Ule looked to the six seat wide desk, each chair sat a representative of one of the “Pillars of Humanity”. A flag for each nation hung from the desk, something the rest of the galaxy had taken after. The two in question sat on opposite sides, a clearly futile effort to curb their bickering. The Kroaxen Reich and Kingdom of Audebaughn. Though arguments within the Council Hall are frowned upon, most had long since given up on trying to stop the squabbling, and the rest were just glad that they only had to deal with six humans now. Besides, these asinine arguments provided some levity amidst the tedious multi-hour council meetings.

The dark grey double breasted Kroaxi dress uniform was clearly not made for the wild motions its wearer currently displayed. Blue piping and platinum tassels shifted as he spoke. The platinum wolf head enshrined on his blue half cape growled as it twisted around the representative’s body. A dark grey cap sat perfectly on the desk, not moving once since it was placed there, ignorant of the storm around it. His opponent wore an extravagantly tailored suit. A light blue brassard that went up to his right shoulder was embroidered with the royal crest. A matching beret sat dangerously close to the edge of the desk. His hair was slicked back into an aristocratic ponytail and bobbed with his more fluid – but equally erratic – movements.

Ignoring the two standout figures for a moment, Ule turned its attention towards the rest of the human team. The figure next to the Kroaxi representative sat calmly in his chair. He represented the Kroansberg Star Empire. His current demeanor matched the Kroax’ usual demeanor. Cold and collected, but if you put him in a room with the Audebaughn representative… Their nations’ shared heritage was obvious. Both men wore similar uniforms, with the Kroani uniform being light grey with green piping. The most notable difference being that while the Reich had kept the half cape, the Kroani elected for a much more subtle replacement. His left shoulder and upper sleeve colored the Empire’s green, a golden serpent wrapped around the arm. Next to him sat a woman dressed in an ornate white uniform. Red piping and golden tassels put off a regal, almost holy vibe. Almost. A red cape hung from her neck, the Imperium’s Aquila embroidered on the back in gold. The representative of the Holy Orlan Stellar Imperium ignored the squabble as she carried out a much more hushed–but equally intense–argument with her other neighbor, gesticulating wildly. Both of them had their peaked caps resting on the desk before them, light grey and red respectively.

Her opponent – the Unitary Star Republic representative – was much more subdued in his arguments. He wore a wave-green parade uniform, his peaked cap partially covering his eyes. His arms crossed over the red front of his uniform. Between the Unitary and Audebaughn Representatives sat the Stellar Federation representative. He wore a simple black suit, his hair parted to the side. He adjusted a pair of wire framed glasses before sharing an exasperated look with the Kroani representative.

The Itaro delegation sat next to the humans, their longest allies and the second youngest species. They made various attempts to distance themselves whenever arguments broke out, while the braver few made futile efforts to calm the belligerents. They were dressed in the blue and white dress uniforms of their military. Each one a trained military lawyer. The exception being two – a man and woman – who wore the black and gold uniform of the Exploration Fleet, and the white and orange uniform of the Rescue Fleet respectively. 

Ule turned to observe the rest of the council, their head traversing like a sluggish turret. The reptilian Baneroni and Tesconi looked to be placing bets over who would get scolded by the speaker first this time. The two species had been at each other's throats for millennia. Unlike the humans, however, they had long discovered you can’t spend every moment fighting. Some of those conflicts had been caused by the vague similarities between them. Ule learned the easiest way to tell them apart was the eyes and teeth. The Tesconi had two pairs of eyes and wide frames, while the Baneroni had multiple rows of teeth and angular builds. It seemed like an obvious difference, but it took Ule longer than they’d ever admit to figure it out. The Baneroni wore a crimson and black dress uniform with a side cape that hung from the protruding spines on their backs, while the Tesconi wore light grey suits.

Across from Ule, the representative of the LENO Federal Republic and her team sat. The four species nation only had a single representative–something the humans could learn from–but made sure to fill out their team with someone from every member race. Two out of the four dressed in suits, the military advisor wearing LENO’s green and white dress uniform, and the insectile Orphenshi forwent any clothing. As the team shifted between their discussion and observing the argument–the newest members gawking at the audacity–the representative herself focused most of her attention on a datapad in front of her, taking brief glances at the Roldatians across the chamber.

Said Roldatian’s attention was split between the LENO team and the humans. In particular Ule caught more than a few of the miniature mammals eyeing the Unitary representative. Their purple-gold uniforms denoted a clear hierarchy even to Ule’s untrained eyes. The lead diplomat–almost drowning in golden adornments, and holding her ostentatious helmet in the crook of her arm–studiously kept her gaze level and refrained from focusing on one party.

While the LENO team displayed amusement and indifference, the diplomats of the Krikkittarr Holy Empire showed little more than disdain for the display. Ever the perfectionists, they took exception to much of the galaxy, but the humans in particular. They also refused to sit during these meetings, a likely factor in their growing displeasure as the human’s argument extended it–albeit not by much. Their flowing white robes contrasted with the various suits and uniforms most other species wore. At the back of the congregation, a solitary figure stood dressed in red. Their face obscured by the fabric that hung from their tall conical hat. An inquisitor.

The Bulgenesh diplomats clacked their claws in excitement whenever an argument broke out. They were easily the most amused by the spectacle. While the diplomatic drones of the Olwenqian Hive watched on with impassive faces.

When Ule turned their sensors to the Penealokian Diplomat, they were immediately caught off guard by the intense look he was giving the Kroaxi representative. In fact it wasn’t just him, each of the members of the Hegemony’s team stared at the man with almost hungry expressions. It seemed he noticed as he stopped mid argument to glare back. Audebaugh's representative looked ready to continue before following his compatriot's gaze. As one the rest of the humans registered the quiet and soon the humans and penealokians had entered a staredown. Though only the latter knew why. The sudden silence was deafening as everyone took nervous glances between the two parties, even the drones seemed wary.

The speaker took advantage of the quiet, resuming the meeting before anyone could ask questions. As everyone turned their attention to the front, the room returned to normal. Ule did their best to push the interaction from their mind.

“Odd.” Ule grumbled. ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/BainWrites on 2025-11-26 19:57:30+00:00.

---

[Prev] - [Next] 

Date: 2424 AD

The room was eternally silent, not even the hum or a whisper arose from the rows upon rows of machines lined up, a resting place for those not quite yet dead, a moment of peace for those trapped inside, eternal respite from the cacophony of chaos and noise that the world was now made up of.

There were tens, maybe even hundreds of thousands of humans here, all asleep. Yet that was a poetic way of putting it, as their current state was neither sleep nor death. Tiny blinking lights on each stasis chamber represented a single saved soul, an oasis in the desert of death and destruction that had hit humanity. People had stopped counting the dead. The official toll broadcast on the radios still being run by the AI and uplifts stood at nearly two billion, but everyone knew it was far higher. Attempts to stop the God Plague had failed, all people could do now was either find a rare stasis chamber to try and ride this out in, or pray to any divine beings who may listen as the end approached.

Dr Johnathan Fletcher was not a man to leave fate to gods, which is why he’d made the deal with the devil, why the love of his life filled one of these pods, stacked up against thousands of others, like boxes in a warehouse. He’d lied to her. The last thing he’d said before she was put to an eternal sleep was a lie made of love. Johnathan promised her he’d be safe, that he would be joining her after a little bit of work.

Of course, there was no space for him. Everyone only got one slot, that was the rule, and he wasn’t taking it for himself.

Dr Fletcher left the mausoleum of the half alive, returning to the reality of the half dead, passing through several undergrown corridors, arriving into a giant carved out cavern of metal and rock. Within, countless rows of fabricators all worked on churning out stasis pods at an industrial rate. People were calling this place end’s hope, a last chance for anyone able to earn their way to safety. Once upon a time a slightly deranged Feline uplift by the name of Alexandria had deemed themselves the savior of a prophesied apocalypse of fire and brimstone, and had spent the next 15 years creating a bunker system of fabricators and defenses to lead herself and her ten thousand most loyal followers through the end of times: the end goal being to leave this realm of existence entirely and ascending into a new form of being.

This cult very abruptly ended when their main church, all the way out here in the forests of Vereka, had collapsed on itself. This destruction of a shoddily built facility killed Alexandria and many other members, which was a major blocker to her prophecy: unless she’d managed to ascend via fallen shingles. The survivors scattered, leaving the facility and its many fabricators behind, forgotten by everyone for the next ten years; apart from the occasional low budget documentary revisiting the place.

That was, until an actual end of times happened, when the God Plague descended from the skies, and a friend of a friend of an original cult member vaguely remembered stories of a bunker filled with supplies, cut off from the grid. They went to see if anything left behind was still working as the world behind them burned and collapsed, finding the fabricators and coming up with a plan to build as many stasis chambers as possible.

In a way Alexandria’s prophecy would come true, as the infrastructure she built would end up leading this relatively small group of people to safety, offering a chance at life for anyone who could afford a place.

Jonathan looked over the mass of fabricators printing the parts for stasis chambers as fast as physically possible, the machines working overtime to save as many people as they could. Of course, in this new reality, you didn’t pay worthless money to get your spots, but instead spent your skills and knowledge in order to secure safety for you and your loved ones.

The people who had originally gotten this facility back up and running had quickly learned two truths: That even with all of these resources, there wouldn’t be enough for everyone who needed a space, and that keeping this hastily created project running would take people with knowledge. As each group of people fell to the God Plague, the next in line would need to keep everything going. They’d need people to keep the power running, to keep the fabricators running, to just keep people alive…

To keep the place defended from others.

All of a sudden, money and status had no worth compared with the power of knowing how to do things. And Dr Fletcher knew how to do a lot of things, with several degrees in Engineering and Physics, keeping the fabricators running at their highest efficiency was something he knew how to do. It would be his last task. He’d given his knowledge to the group running this place, and in exchange his wife now was safe.

There were others working with Johnathan, people just like him, making sure the fabricators were continually filled, putting the pieces together or just general maintenance to make sure everyone had food, water and shelter in their final moments.

It was strange seeing the different stages of the God Plague so close together, some like Dr Fletcher not yet showing any symptoms, others walking around half dead with visible tumours. Each ‘generation’ of people had less than a week to learn how to keep this place running and safe. Johnathan was just part of the next group keeping this random attempt at hope running.

And possibly the last group.

The sound of a distant explosion shook the facility, steel beams and various pieces of machinery vibrating and wobbling as something big exploded closer to the surface of the facility. That had been happening more often recently. As more of the population got sick and desperation rose, the number of people who were willing to ask for help had dwindled, compared to those who were attempting to take a spot in one of the many stasis chambers that existed here by force.

The doctor had been one of the last few to enter the facility, and no new faces had been seen in the last three days. In the mere week Dr Fletcher had been here, the surface had gone from a congregation of people trying to get into the aging facility, to a war zone as other groups attempted to forcibly take control of what was here.

The facility was holding out for now, but every weapon and defense built using the fabricators was time not spent pumping out as many stasis chambers as possible, which was a strange compounding problem: To defend what was running required removing resources from saving as many people as possible.

Jonathan gave a sigh as he turned off one of the fabricators and attempted to release the half finished part which had gotten jammed inside the machine. It wasn’t uncommon in the corner of the workshop with the hundreds of fabricators running at full belt, was a pile of half finished broken machinery. The ability to create anything from anything was a relatively new technology, doubly so for these ancient models, early adoptions of the scientific breakthrough created fifteen years ago.

There had been talk of trying to salvage these parts into workable chambers, but with the lack of manpower they faced between protecting the facility from other groups and keeping the facility powered, nobody had had the time to even consider trying such a project with the short time they had left.

Dr Fletcher finally got the part free, stumbling forwards and landing awkwardly on the ground, coughing violently as they winded themselves, a few eyes from others staring in his direction as he launched into a coughing fit, taking a few moments to gather himself, before picking himself up embarrassed. He straightened himself out, before falling to his knees once again, this time coughing up blood as the pain wracked his chest.

—---------------

Date: 77 PST (Post Stasis Time)

Johnathan hadn’t known what to expect from the shrinking tech. The idea had long been theorized and proposed in a variety of different ways, meaning the actual method Annabel would be using was a mystery until he had stepped into the strange device. A spike of anxiety, of wondering if this was all a good idea, had crossed Dr Fletcher's mind as the room sized machine had vibrated and banged as it warmed up, whether being an early adopter of such tech was a smart move.

He’d imagined a lot of different things to happen as the shrinking machine finally started its process. He hadn’t, however, expected it to hurt so much.

Perhaps he should have taken into account the sheer number of warning documents Annabel had gotten him to sign, or the way the small nervous woman kept asking ‘are you certain you want to try this?’, no matter how many times Rux brushed off her concerns. The way the Terran had squeezed her eyes shut before flicking on the machine.

Now Johnathan lay flat on his belly, having just gone through 60 seconds of agony that felt like being squeezed through a toothpaste tube, breathing heavily, throat hoarse from the sheer amount of screaming he’d just been doing.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, are you ok?” Annabel seemed to be freaking out, head in her hands as she paced back and forth, hardly daring to look in Johnathan’s direction. She was panicking hard, a look of sheer terror on her face while the worst case sce...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KamchatkasRevenge on 2025-11-26 22:28:20+00:00.

---

The trio of smugglers - really two spies and a lost-in-the-sauce air biker with no idea just what she’s actually getting her snout in to - are up in the cockpit of the not so good ship Kalidies Razor, which Nadiri has officially decided needs to be turned into real razor blades. 

The damn thing is frankly excruciating to inhabit; if not for its decent drive core and very functional and well-crafted smuggling compartments, the whole damn thing would be a lost cause. Maybe the maintainers in the Nightstalkers and Diana's specialist mechanics in intelligence could make the thing a bit more functional, but until then Nadiri is just anxious to be away from it. 

Getting off this tub would mean that she could potentially call in to their handler and get details about whatever the hell had just happened. Or at least access a public terminal and see if something’s in the news. 

A very cold knot in her gut is telling her that Jerry could have been hurt. Not that she’s truly worried about him being killed. She’s married to one of the most dangerous men in local space, and her sisters, adopted daughters and family retainers include some of the more dangerous women in local space, all very serious about keeping their husband, father, commander or patriarch in one piece. 

He could have been hurt, though. 

That’s very concerning to Nadiri. 

Shalkas, too. Of course. Her would-be sister and the current heiress of the title of 'admiral's girlfriend' had picked up on the same concern as soon as Nadiri had briefed her about the changes. The slight edge of anxiety in their Black Khans contact's voice had told Nadiri loud and clear that something very big had happened back on-planet, and that the Black Khans had some outright panic in their leadership. 

A panic which makes the cargo of weapons the Kalidies Razor was carrying all the more vital. 

Nothing particularly special as weapons go: mostly crates of mid-grade railguns and the like, normal enough to move around and sell in the white, gray or black markets. Still, there are a few big, shielded boxes back there that suggest heavy weapons to Nadiri. Maybe even some suits of power armor. 

Someone’s arming up; maybe this had been for a client initially, but Nadiri suspects this gear is going directly into the Black Khans' own armories now. 

Coopting weapons shipments you'd previously intended to sell is a classic move for military powers doing heavy arms trading in wartime, and criminal groups at this scale are no different than any other. Especially not with actual military-grade gear like power armor. 

Luckily, her husband has much nicer power armor than your average Black Khan could get her hands on, and even stark naked could use Apuk warfire to rip a bad girl out of her power armor like he’s opening a can of meat or something. 

Hell, she'd seen Jerry do just that back on Hag's End, during what ended up being an aborted escape from the Hag's clutches. Freshly awake from a somewhat crude surgery and still a bit woozy from painkillers and a forced healing sleep to get him sealed back up after Ekrena had gotten the biological bomb out of his system, Jerry had gone through a heavily armed and armored squad of pirates in just a skimpy pair of shorts in the literal blink of an eye.

That beast of a man hadn't even been wearing shoes. 

Such warm thoughts are good for Nadiri's morale, but they’re also rather distracting; she settles for finishing her final checks on a couple of the actually nice systems that this tub has, controlled from a hidden security room in one of the crew quarters behind a false panel. Originally Nadiri had been planning to handle that, but Nikrit... had done decently on this trip, so Shalkas had proposed giving her the task of juggling the transponder and other systems that would let the Kalidies Razor 'vanish' from air traffic control... Even as the ship's transponder carries on to at least near the destination that was in their flight plan. 

They'd already cleared customs in orbit, after all, so there isn't any chance of them being run down... most likely. Especially not if Nikrit does this right. 

"Alright. So. Got everything? Any questions about the plan and what we're gonna do?"

Nikrit nods fervently. "Yes'm! When we hit the right altitude, you'll give me the signal. Then I launch the drone with the duplicate transponder using the red button. Then I flip this switch to turn off our transponder. Then once you give me the signal I reactivate the transponder using the codes for regular local surface to surface drone cargo traffic. Then I hit the power cut off to these systems, get out of this room, seal it, and use the hidden control system to vent the atmosphere and trigger the sensor scramblers to make sure it looks like a normal chunk of bulkhead. Then I strap my ass in, down near the hold, and be ready to get the ramps down so we can offload cargo."

Nadiri nods. "Yep. Perfect. Do this right and we'll be sure to throw you a bit more of a cut than we were going to give you. That's on top of making sure you get the same bonus the Black Khans are paying us."

"...Shit. That could be a decent amount of creds."

"This is the exciting part, kid. Long and boring, occasionally terrifying, but like I said earlier, then you get a nice fat purse and it makes everything better."

"You can count on me!"

Nadiri nods and ducks out of the room, making her way back up to the cockpit; she drops into the seat next to Shalkas, who greets her with a rumble. 

"Kid, you ready?"

"Yep. All set." 

Nadiri cuts the intercom as Shalkas looks over at her friend. 

"She's done good. I like her."

"I know you like her."

The two women work in silence as Shalkas puts the nose of the Razor down; it starts to glow red as they pierce through the atmosphere of Canis Prime. Both women know exactly how critical a stage of flight breaking atmo is. One wrong move here would be a ticket to the kind of death that’s so fast and brutal that all the axiom in the galaxy couldn't help you. 

The moment of danger passes quickly, however, and Nadiri's smoothly talking to air traffic control, relaying their course and getting their clearance down to altitude. 

The moment’s quickly approaching when Nikrit would get a chance to really fuck this up for them. Nadiri watches the altimeter click down quickly before it slows slightly as Shalkas smoothly arrests their descent and actually starts the Razor flying instead of merely falling. 

Her eyes lock on the altimeter as their target height is hit and she smacks the crew intercom. "Now!"

Nadiri resists holding her breath for a few moments until she 'feels' a slight 'thump' reverberate through the spaceframe of the ship as the drone detaches. 

"Drone's clear!" Nikrit calls over the intercom - and Shalkas smoothly pulls away before diving down, to get to a slightly less conspicuous altitude., A glance at the communications control panel tells Nadiri that Nikrit has the new transponder on. 

Maybe Nadiri had been a bit too harsh on the kid. 

Finally the intercom crackles again; "Everything's secure. I'm strapped in down in the forward cargo bay."

"Nice work, Nikrit. Keep tight till we're on the ground and the cargo's with the client, and you'll be able to say you successfully completed your first run as a greenhand."

She cuts the channel and goes back to her work as Shalkas guides them onto their new course, moving slow and gentle and drone-like as they cruise into an industrial area at the edge of High Canis. Before long, they get a beacon sent to their system automatically, and a badly rusted landing bay starts to open up. It's lost in the industrial mess of the area... and as the doors slide open and Shalkas switches them to a hover, quickly sending them down the shaft, Nadiri can tell it goes deep too. 

A hangar flashes by as the outer doors close behind them, and then a second inner door at the hangar level. Likely done up to look just like the floor of any other hangar bay, with no sign that anything was beneath it. 

They glide down the tunnels into the bowels of the city and even the bowels of the planet as Nadiri keeps an eye on the Razor's sensors to make sure all of this is logged in the secret system they'd brought with them to later pass to the Undaunted.

This has to be it. 

They've been brought into the heart of the Black Khans facility in High Canis. 

Whatever had happened, it must have really been a mess. 

Before long, they're on the ground, and Nikrit is calling out that she's getting the bay doors open as Shalkas and Nadiri finish their shutdown check list. 

"Alright. Let's go get paid, Nalkra... I'm excited to see what this bonus looks like."

"Heh. Won't say no to extra creds, sides if they're paying bonuses, I bet they've got more work for us..." 

Shalkas says that just loud enough to be heard as they walk down the boarding ramp, where a familiar, rough looking, Cannidor woman is waiting for them with a couple bodyguards.  The woman who had hired them initially back at the Blood Oath and never bothered to introduce herself. She has scars all over her visible body behind her clothes, which consisted of a decent looking suit with plenty of room for a few concealed weapons. 

Gangster business casual in a sense, a statement of rank as much as anything, saying that she no longer had to get her hands dirty personally. She scowls in what Nadiri would guess approximates a greeting in her culture… and, j...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2025-11-26 21:18:22+00:00.

---

First

RAK and Roll!/Shadows Over Centris

“Yes, yes that’s correct no injuries.” Koa confirms with the police officer as she takes his statement about everything that happened and the equipment used and set up is examined but not confiscated. They’re legally in the midst of an approved patrol/scouting mission.

“Okay, so a non-toxic knockout gas and a single null burst with threat of further gas. That is all that you used?”

“Beyond our own abilities to kick, punch, use Axiom and run, yes.” Koa confirms.

“What form of Axiom effects again?”

“Ma’am, I haven’t been lying. The answer is the same as it was before. Self enhencement for escape and defence, coupled with illusions that were incapable of causing lasting harm.” Koa says and she checks her notes.

“Yes, that is what you already told me. I ask these questions not because I don’t believe you, but because I have to.”

“I know, I’m just putting some variety in your report.”

“Please don’t it’s just more work without any benefit.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, it’s an extra thirty second so far to my day, so as long as this is the last of it then it’s fine.” The Officer says.

“Right. Sorry again.” Koa says and she holds up her hand. Things proceed quickly from there and the police leave the area shortly. There is now a crowd in the area, but the news of the Null and the fact that Anaris is still prowling around. Literally.

“Is there a reason you’re sticking around?” Koa asks.

“I’m not a criminal and this is a public area. I don’t need a reason.” Anaris counters.

“Are we really so interesting?” Reggie asks.

“Just for asking such a stupid question. You are now the target.” Anaris threatens him. Maybe threatened him?

“Target in...”

“Humans are horny sex machines. Me wanty.” Anaris states and Reggie facepalms as Amadi laughs at him.

“You’re in luck lady! He-” Amadi starts to call over and Reggie grabs him around the mouth to shut him up. Then the sound pours out anyways. “has been worn down by his current wives and is no longer sex averse! So you’ve got options!”

“What does it take to shut you up!?” Reggie demands and illusions of Amadi’s face appear around them.

“More than you can do!” Amadi boasts.

“Clear the area! I’m about to Null it and beat the hell out of a...” Reggie calls out and Koa grabs both men by the back of the shirt and pulls them apart.

“That’s enough.” Koa states sternly before turning to Anaris. “And you... You need to make a better impression of things.”

Anaris merely giggles and sticks out her tongue. Energy clearly sparks between the two halves of the fork.

“Well let’s get back to things. Come on boys.” Koa says.

“I’ve been told to go with since you’ve deviated from the normal route.” Torque says.

“Great, we were just about to invite you anyways. Come on, if you really got the enhancement then we gotta see what level of spicy you can take.”

“Are you guys packing hotsauce or something?”

“Yes.” Koa says.

“You do realize that some spires are claiming they’re chemical weapons right.”

“Yes.”

“And that this spire is one in the process of debating that very restriction.”

“Then we better get a move on so that we can get some good spicy food in you.”

“Hmm... I’m starting to regret telling you men about my enhancement.” Torque notes in a bland tone. He then tilts his head as his handler tells him something. “Nearest restaurant is over there.”

“Forward then!” Koa announces pointing dramatically. Torque walks up under him and adjusts his arm to correct his pointing. Amadi chuckles.

“You’re going to fit in just fine my friend.” Amadi says as he starts walking ahead. “Now come on, we’ve got the big guy, the technician, the Adept Medic and now someone with actual brains! Or rather a guy with a line to someone with actual brains.”

“Well that insult was pure friendly fire.” Reggie says in an amused tone.

“Yes. Yes it was.” Amadi states as Koa sighs.

“Alright, let’s see what’s available. Even though we just came from a restaurant.” Koa says.

“Oh come on, like you’re ever not up for a sampling of something exotic.”

“Fine. Snacks only.” Koa states.

“Yes Dad, I’ll be sure not to spoil my appetite.” Torque says in an incredulous tone.

“Well if you want me to discipline you like a father then that’s all right.” Koa remarks and Torque just blows a raspberry up at him.

Following behind is Anaris slowly prowling after them.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• ( Circling Lorule Spire, Unmarked Blue Van, Centris)•-•-•

The autopilot algorithm keeps her safe as she regards the information. She brings up several windows on her personal computer screen and looks over it again. It was amazingly consistent, and completely at odds with previous data.

But she can’t be wrong. Not about this. Not after pouring so much into this and working so hard. There has to be something she missed.

The dangerous Njyhd wasn’t... attacking them or angry with them. Even though they had clearly provoked her. And her enemy as well. Did she have history with them? Did they have some kind of leverage over her? There had to be something. Anything to explain the unusual behaviour. It did not make sense for The Undaunted to have such issue with her sister but so little with others. More aggressive species should have more deadly interactions. But the V’Quci had walked away. Hell she had been given food.

She had tried to shred them but had been given mercy. So why?

She goes back to watching the Undaunted. These three... now four, were one of the groups that kept searching for trouble. One of the first ones formed. It was patrols like that which had led to her sister’s death.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Lorule Spire, Jem’s Chop Wagon, Centris)•-•-•

“Not half bad.” Torque remarks as he bites into the square chunk of deep fried meat. “What did you say this thing was again?”

The Jorgua, Jem, manning the Chop Wagon smiles at that.

“It’s cloned meat, but the blueprint is a Dalfarin Darter. A type of amphibian with only forelimbs and a tail. Very tender meat and is amazing for chewing. Add the slight crunch of a deep frying it and you have yourself a treat.”

“So why is this called a Chop Wagon?” Reggie asks.

“Oh! I know that!” Torque remarks around his food before swallowing. “They...”

“Clone up whole slabs of meat and chop them into cubes before serving. Hence the name, chop wagons. She’s got tablets of meat in storage of there.” Anaris says. “Although speaking of... How much for a slab?”

“... I don’t sell the meat by the slab. I sell it buy the cube.”

“I don’t want it by the cube, I want it by the slab.”

“Are you trying to prove something?” Koa asks.

“Yeah, that I’m hungry. My lightning is half bio half Axiom. That burns through calories, to say nothing of these muscles, I need meat.” Anaris explains.

“Just give me a second to think. I need to figure out the price of handing one of these over that doesn’t... forget it. A hundred and thirty credits. Market plus ten.”

“Plus ten?”

“Delivery costs are at least twice that for most places.” Jem replies and Anaris shrugs.

“Fine.” She says reaching to her belt and pulling out a small handful of coins, she stacks five deep red Girtl coins and Jem takes them before stacking up five trytite coins in return before reaching in and pulling out a massive slab of dark grey meat that’s easily five centimetres thick, fifty long and fifty wide.”

“Here you are.” Jem says and Anaris sits down and coils her long tail around her as she holds up her hands to take the meat. She takes a big bite of the meat and shreds it.

“Thank goodness I didn’t order it with blood.” Jem notes.

“Oh grow up. This thing never lived, can’t die and therefore isn’t worthy of sympathy or thought.” Anaris says.

“And what about synths?” Koa asks.

“They’re alive, the hell makes you think otherwise?” Anaris asks. “Seriously you all need to relax. My grudge was with Doteme. You’re not problems, your curiosities.”

“But what is so curious about us?” Koa asks.

“Really? You get into a fight with a V’Quci that nearly shreds your leg and you’re not even bothered. Not rattled, not worried. Scent says calm and maybe just a little bored now.” Anaris replies. “None of you smell scared. Yet you had a big fight with that living buzz-saw. That’s interesting.”

“Wasn’t much of a fight. The fact that we didn’t want to kill anyone or cause collateral is all that kept it going that long. Loose skin and insulated fur doesn’t help much against a knife or a bullet.” Torque says as he bites into his second piece of deep fried dalfarin darter. He looks up to see a bottle of red sauce from Koa and green sauce from Amadi being held in front of him. “Oh no, you can’t fool me, I’ve heard of what the green sauces do.”

He pours a bit of red sauce into the bite of his second cube and takes another. His eyes bug out and he gags a little for a moment before thinking and chewing a bit more. “Woo! That’s a... that’s a lot and there’s still something missing.”

“Garlic, onion and some salt would make this really, really savoury.” Amadi considers.

“No no, you just need some soy sauce or something. Maybe plum or sweet and sour.” Koa says.

“And do any of you have these things on you?”

“Here.” Reggie says holding out small packets of all three types.

“Oh sweet.”

“Soy is more salty than sweet.”

“Smartass.” Torque remarks with a grin.

“Better smartass than dumbass.” Reggie notes as he looks out while finishing the only cube he bought...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Douglasjm on 2025-11-26 19:19:53+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?

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Carlos stared open-mouthed at the vision his scrying spell was showing him. High enough in the sky above to look like a gaming miniature figure from the ground, the majestic winged creature flew with deceptively little motion. Its leathery wings, extending dozens of feet to either side of its body, mostly held steady, adjusting course with minor changes in angle and only occasionally flapping. Its silver scales shone in the sun, daylight reflecting off of them like they were metal. Each scale was tiny, and they fit together in a wonderfully flexible overlapping mesh. Its neck seemed almost like a particularly shiny snake as it bent in one direction after another, letting the creature's head look at whatever it chose without unduly disrupting its flight path.

Its four legs, two front and two back, were tucked in tight to its body in flight, but they looked strong and had sharp claws. A long tail lazily trailed behind it, fluttering in the wind of its own aerial wake. At the front, its head held a jaw filled with sharp teeth. Two slits for nostrils sat above the mouth, with a pair of eyes a little higher and farther back. All of it exuded menace and power, seeming to promise death to anything that dared oppose it—though that impression might have been influenced by the mana pressure it was exerting on everything in the area.

Carlos blinked a few more times, then snapped his mouth shut and shook himself. He turned to Lorvan, who was standing as straight and ready as ever in their little concealed hollow, and with a wave of his hand, he conjured an image of what he was seeing. "Just to make sure, um… Is that a dragon?"

Lorvan nodded immediately. "Yes. Do you still want me to attempt to fight it?"

Carlos hastily shook his head and waved his hands in denial. "No, no, I'm already convinced you'd be terribly outclassed. But, um, can you tell me anything about its capabilities and the best tactics for fighting it?" He looked around at the rest of the hollow and raised his voice. "Actually, that goes for all of you. Any information or advice for fighting a dragon?"

"Haha!" Haftel caught himself and settled into a grave expression. "Lord Carlos, with respect: Kid, any adventurer worth the name would give you only one piece of advice for fighting a dragon. 'Don't do it. Run. Run and pray that it doesn't care enough to bother chasing you.' Fighting dragons is for fools and, well, for nobles. If anyone here has the kind of advice that nobles give to their own, it would be only the royal guards."

Carlos stared at him and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Wouldn't people just respawn? Even if death is almost certain, that seems a bit extreme."

"You really haven't heard?" Haftel cocked his head, then shrugged. "Okay, I guess this is your day to learn. If a dragon eats you, sure you'll respawn, but you'll be missing more than just one level. A lot more. And you'll be sore and aching in your soul for weeks. It's the kind of thing that can turn someone off of adventuring entirely. So, since you're apparently an unlucky bastard who has to fight one, make sure you win. And for that…" He shrugged again. "I hope Lorvan has something for you, and that all your noble… stuff… works out for you. Good luck, and all that."

"Thanks, I think." Carlos turned back to Lorvan. "So, got anything for me?"

Amber interrupted before Lorvan could respond. "You– you've at least heard that they can breathe fire, right?"

Carlos arched an eyebrow at her, silently reminding her that he was literally from another world, even as he pretended nonchalance in his answer. "Well yes, of course, but I don't know what parts of what I've heard are factual and what parts are just rumor and legend. Lorvan?"

Colonel Lorvan cleared his throat. "I can tell you the standard briefing that royal guards are given about dragons, but I don't know if it will meaningfully help you." He paused briefly for Carlos to nod his understanding, then started reciting. "Dragons are fearsome foes, fit only for nobles to fight at remotely equal levels. Even for reaper class creatures, dragons are exceptional, flying at the very peak. A force of royal guards may be a match for a dragon, but only if they both out-level and outnumber the dragon significantly. Dragons…"

___

While one of Carlos's minds interrogated Lorvan about dragons, another continued focusing on actually watching the dragon, so he noticed and reacted immediately when the dragon's serpentine head suddenly moved to look directly at his scrying sensor. He hastily withdrew his spell to a much farther distance, just in time to escape a grasping talon of essence that lashed out from the dragon and tried to grab the spell. He couldn't see the large intake of breath that immediately followed, but the sound that came next could not possibly be missed.

An angry buzzing rumble filled the air like a dozen crashes of thunder combined. The mighty roar echoed across the landscape, carrying wisps of mana with it, and Carlos almost shivered as the rumble pierced through his senses and into his mind. He felt a spike of what felt like pure distilled panic trying to hammer its way into his soul, but he was tempted to laugh when he realized his mental inverter was kicking in, transforming the actual effect into incongruous determination and resolve. Maybe I should even leave it be? Then again, it's pretty potent. Oof, Level 59, and feels more hard-packed than even the royal guards' souls. If I give it too much time, it might actually dig its way through the decoy layer to my actual soul. … And it might give the dragon a connection to find me by. My essence is still packed more strongly than this, but no point taking chances. He unceremoniously evicted the spike and outright dismissed his scrying spell, electing to instead just ask Purple to share his senses of the developments. Purple, for his part, had been hit more directly and comprehensively by the roar's effect, but had quickly shrugged it off and was busily skipping between various aether absorption paths.

"Dragons' roars strike fear into the souls of any who hear."

When Lorvan got to that point in his recitation, Carlos mentally checked it off. Yup, experienced that one already. Good thing my soul is so sturdy and resilient. He watched through Purple's senses as the dragon continued trying to track where all the aether was going, but Purple kept dancing one step ahead of the dragon's searches, abandoning and cutting lines just as the dragon found them. To any senses not tuned to the various forms of mana, nothing much was happening; the dragon flew in circles high above, craning its head in various directions and occasionally roaring, but that was all.

With no pressing need for immediate action, Carlos took a step back and started planning. "Alright, it seems clear that anyone not noble will be only a liability in this fight. Kindar… well, you can try if you want, but it will be a big risk for you. Everyone else, stay out of it. Even Esmorana—I wouldn't put it past this thing to track your wind techniques back to you and out-speed your retreat. Got it?" He looked around, and everyone nodded solemnly. He nodded back, then took a deep breath. "Now then, for Amber and I…"

___

Purple managed to delay the dragon with false leads long enough for Carlos, Amber, Kindar, and himself to all reach Level 49 after about an hour. They waited a few more minutes to let their souls settle and adjust for the new level of power, and then it was time to strike. Carlos felt not the least bit inclined to fight fair against a reaper-class monster 10 levels above him, and an old term from his gaming days had come to mind: "scry and die."

He and Amber recast their scrying spells for a direct view of the mighty scaled beast and immediately reached their mana through it to form blades of invisible force. The spells took form in an instant and flew for the dragon from either side, but the dragon reacted quickly. It rotated in the air and took the hits on its strongly-armored body instead of its relatively vulnerable wings. Carlos and Amber tried once more, this time from ahead and behind, but the dragon responded instantly and much more viciously. Its head shot forward on its long neck to let its deadly jaw snap shut on the forward force blade, overwhelming the spell with sheer power, and simultaneously its tail slapped down on the rear force blade with crushing strength. Both spells shattered before they could even try to cut anything, and Carlos winced in...

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