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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/micktalian on 2025-10-15 19:29:12+00:00.

Part 145 Civilization (Part 1) (Part 144)

[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]

Eco-tourism locations on Earth all share some very specific features. Though the flora, fauna, climate, and so much more can obviously be quite distinct from place to place, the general idea is always the same. A relatively small populated area, usually with a few farms and ranches, a plethora of carbon-neutral energy production methods, and enough amenities to meet the needs of a highly fluctuating population. Whether it be the compound owned and operated by Admiral Adeoye’s family in the Yankari National Reserve in Nigeria or the Bukit Lawang village on the edge of the Gunung Leuser Nation Park in North Sumatra, Indonesia doesn’t matter. Those people who have the funds and willingness to spend their vacation enjoying a certain kind of nature all expect their money to buy a specific level of comfort in their experience.

While similar such tourist destinations exist all across the galaxy, and most bear at least superficial similarities to the ones on Earth, very few feature indisputably sapient beings as attractions. It may not be against galactic law to allow people to visit or interact with relatively simple and often uncivilized people in their natural environments. However, there are many complicating factors that need to be considered, especially on colony worlds. Accusations of enslavement, trafficking, or any sort of abuse of non-Ascended sapient beings will have serious political ramifications. Facing galactic-scale ostracization is enough of a threat that most governments simply outlaw the exact kind of destinations that are popular among a specific group of humans. The fact that humans on Earth can come and other sapient beings without ever leaving the planet is special.

Where tourism in the Yankari National Reserve in Nigeria is privately operated through a network of compounds operated by the Adeoye family, the Bukit Lawang village is just one of dozens of municipalities surrounding and protecting Indonesia’s Gunung Leuser National Park. As such, things are not arranged as neatly. There is a clear delineation between the area where residents live and the portion of the village dedicated to tourism. Several independent hotels line a street which leads to a variety of restaurants and tourist shops. And just like in Adeoye's compound, everything here was clean and well cared for, solar panels and small wind turbines were abundant, and the aesthetic fusion of technological comfort with natural aesthetic was obvious. Though the Qui’ztars and Nishnabes could immediately tell the difference between the two locations, they wouldn't have been able to pick a favorite until the evening rain started.

“The Orangutan portion of our rehabilitation program has actually existed since the 1900s.” Mayor Agus Ginting spoke with a nostalgic voice while the sound of heavy water drops falling could be heard through the well insulated walls of his favorite restaurant. “But back then, I don't think there were any elephants left in this area. I want to say it was the 2050s when Moonsong's clan came here and established their territory. It was sometime after the Second Straw Hat Revolution but before the Third.”

“The… What revolutions?” Msko began to ask but quickly had his question waved off by the retired Colonel.

“Ancient history. Those were just some of the many revolutions throughout my country's long history. We'll be celebrating our two-hundred and eighty-eighth year of independence in August.”

“Independence from whom?” Atxika's tone came across just as curious as Msko's though received a much more positive response.

“The Dutch!” Agus’s voice lacked any real hostility towards the former oppressor of his country. After all, from his perspective, that too was ancient history. “They established ports and began extracting wealth from these lands way back in the 1500s. But neither we nor they were the only ones. All of the major European powers at the time tried to steal a section of Southeast Asia to make themselves richer. It wasn't until after the Second World War that we were able to declare our independence.”

“At least y'all got yahr nation back ‘ventually!” Mik spoke with a slightly slurred inflection. Much like everyone else at the table he had been drinking quite a bit of the local palm wine. “Y'all didn't've no fuckin’ white-man's gubmint forcin’ people into reservations only to disestablish ‘em when corpos wanted the land.”

“That is true.” The fifty-year Indonesian man let out a soft chuckle as he grabbed for an open bottle then reached over and topped off Mik's glass. “But my government didn't help found the largest and most influential space colonies in human history. The Native American Nations on Mars are arguably doing even better than Indonesia is right now.”

“Y’all’re doin’ perdy damn good. Colonizers ain't gonna keep our peoples down, my man!” The Martian Professor raised his glass and cheered with Agus as the four Qui’ztar women and two Nishnabe men watched on with slight confusion. “For real though, yah really should come check out the Indonesian Dome at Aram. It's perdy dang nice!”

“Can we go back to the part about colonization by the, uh, Europeans?” Atxika spoke for herself, the other blue amazonian women, and the pair of Nishnabe warriors when she tried to redirect the conversation. “I ask because A’isha Adeoye mentioned the same thing but wouldn’t really elaborate on the topic either. I understand this may be a sensitive subject but-”

“This is probably more sensitive for Mik or someone from Africa than for me.” Agus took a sip of his drink and looked towards Mik for some sort of feedback. Upon seeing the Martian simply shrug, he felt comfortable giving his own perspective on the matter. “But, eh, yeah… The major powers of Europe spent the 1500s through early 1900s pretending like they were the center of the whole world. They colonized basically every single landmass outside of Europe until the Second World War shook everything up. But it was different everywhere, especially depending on the colonizer and what they were trying to steal. Like I said, Indonesia was a Dutch colony and they mostly just extracted resources like foods, spices, and lumber. Luckily, our colonization wasn't as brutal as it was in other places. And they didn't touch much of our fossil fuel or mineral reserves. That's part of why we were able to develop and build our independence on a solid foundation. Africa and the Americas probably had it way worse.”

“I don't like comparin’ tragedies, yah know. Everybody had it bad.” Mik chimed in and unintentionally gave more context as to why he had been much more hesitant to discuss this topic now that the group was on Earth. “Number o’ dead, total wealth extracted, who’s got land an’ who don’t, after a certain it really stops matterin’. Now we're in the age o’ corporate oppression which’s its own shit show. I'm just happy to see places like this that ain’t got none o’ that kinda bullshit goin’ on.”

“This village is really nice.” A smile formed on the Mayor’s face as he turned his gaze towards a wall of glass that faced directly towards the verdant jungle of the Gunung Leuser National Park. “Jakarta is a mess, though. Fifty million people spread across a seven thousand square kilometer metropolitan area. Even Medan's got four million people. Too many people, not enough compassion. I thank God every day that we still have villages like this where people can live well without the lights and noise of the city. And if your plan works out the way we hope, Admiral Atxika, we'll be able to guarantee this place stays nice for a very long time.”

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

Having spent most of his life after leaving his mother's side in close proximity to the human village, Morning Dew had grown quite comfortable around advanced technology. Not only had that helped him get food from the occasional tourist, it also taught him how to be relaxed around the lights of civilization. In his mind, sleeping on the balcony of a vacant hotel room wasn’t much different from making a nest. Plush cushions, reclinable chairs, and sometimes even a towel or blanket. Combined with roof designs that kept any rain out and the fact that predators stayed far away, those were some of the best nights of sleep he had ever gotten. Most other Orangutans, on the other hand, wouldn’t dare venture into the human village itself, especially to sleep. To most other Orangutans, humans are either potential predators or competitors that are highly territorial and willing to bring violence to anyone who dares challenge them.

Now that NAN had given him a sash, cap, and ear piece combo to act as a translator device, Morning Dew's interest in technology only grew more intense. In local Orangutan culture, the things humanity built were considered to be little more than difficult to understand curiosities. None of the adults actually believed in anything akin to humanity's concept of magic. Everything from houses to guns, smart phones and heavy machinery, Morning Dew's m...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2025-10-15 21:18:23+00:00.

First

??? (We’re going to need a proper name for Harold focused story beats.)

Shoulder crashes into shoulder as Kudzu tries to run him over and instead he keeps balance and matches his pace as they sprint over the landscape. Behind them both is both a swarm of Tundra Worms trying to catch up and a growing fleet of aircars and drones with cameras running and excited crowds.

“Having fun?” Harold asks.

“First time doing a running duel like this. Where’d you get the idea?”

“Video games! Past couple of days I’ve been bonding with my adopted daughter and in-laws! There is a climatic story fight between two rivals of equal power on opposite sides at a dead sprint!” Harold answers as he pulls back his head and he and Kudzu mutually headbutt each other.

“Fun!” Kudzu says before taking a snap at Harold’s nose and Harold grabs him by the branches and tries to throw him. Harold tears his hand away as the knives come out. Harold then races after him and slams his elbow into Kudzu’s back as he lands. But Kudzu rolls with it like water over stone and Harold leaps backwards with his arms and legs splayed to avoid the edges of the forest of blades. Blades held in the branches of willow like branches, blades tied to the ends of his innumerable bandages. Kudzu has turned himself into a whirlwind of slicing edges, each of them with Axiom running down them and increasing the effective length of them all. Doubling them all.

He flips and tumbles backwards as Kudzu less approaches and more dances towards him in a flurry of flensing knives.

He makes use of the slight frosting on the ground to slide backwards in a low crouch as he gets the feeling of the terrain.

Axiom causes things to stick together, grand him strength and leverage beyond what his frame can afford. And he pulls up and underhand throws a boulder larger than himself and Kudzu together as he passes over it.

It’s sliced into pieces and several are sent his way. Most are dodged, but one is punched back so hard that even as it’s parried the pieces still slam into Kudzu. There is a momentary stagger and a moment where Kudzu seems to broadcast sheer incredulity more than anything. Then he rallies and charges again, a sword held in his hands longer than he is tall and with an enormous handle to give him huge swing strength and control.

Harold slips under the blade, but it makes a tiny circle and shifts direction with seeming ease. No Axiom, just skill.

He reaches the round guard and uses it to hold the keen edge of the weapon away from him as he pulls himself closer and lashes out with his left hand in a spearing jab aimed right between Kuzdu’s eyes. Kudzu leans back to dodge the blow and brings his blades up but is then forced to use the flats to block the brutal knee that Harold just tried to drive into his stomach.

Kudzu staggers back before adjusting his grip on his sword to a reverse grip and races at Harold who slips away from a massive swing that was intended to cut him in half and then carries him further and further away. Harold gives chase.

“Tell me human! You should know that your brother in blood faces my sworn brother! How do you think he fares!?” Kudzu demands as Harold catches up.

“Explosively!” Harold replies eagerly.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Centris, In Motion At The Highest Levels Of The Spires)•-•-•

A secondary explosion follows the first that Brier causes and sends him staggering as the explosive charge that Herbert had phased onto his back as he dodged the nuclear blast goes off. The backhand from Brier trails massive Axiom shockwaves laced with gamma radiation and Herbert teleports past them and tosses a few small orbs directly at Brier who swats them out of the air. Only for them to unleash explosions as they weren’t standard grenades, just small spheres filled with explosive powder. No timer needed when being hit by your enemy will set them off.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Zalwore, Between Arcologies, Moving Fast)•-•-•

“So are you trying to bait out my sword?” Harold asks as Kudzu throws his sword at him with a line trailing behind it and then starts swinging it around fast enough to blur.

“Perhaps.” Kudzu replies and Harold smirks, before suddenly diving to the side and teleporting past the swinging blade to kick at Kudzu who blocks his foot with an elbow, thrusts up with his sword to try and stab at Harold as he’s left hanging for a heartbeat by the blocked kick and Harold traps the flat of the blade between his palms and holds it still as they race. They start trying to kick at each other as Harold completely traps the sword and has to move fast and efficient to avoid being tripped, kicked or stabbed by the knives still dangling off the ends of bandages and branches.

He then suddenly skids to a stop and Kudzu is swung out as Harold redirects the momentum as best he can to try and slam Kudzu into the ground. He lets go and Kudzu skids away before charging at him. Harold stops, takes a low stance with one hand out in front and the other pointed directly behind. He takes a deep breath and focuses as Kudzu flashes closer.

His hand snakes around, punches the sword to the side and steps forward as hard as he can to slam his fist into Kudzu’s sternum. He hits hard and also elastic wood. Kudzu is armoured. But not immune to physics as he’s knocked backwards. But he’s far from stunned or winded as he takes a probing swipe that then transfers into an intricate dance where Kudzu tries and fails to so much as nick Harold.

“Is this because you want to face my sword?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a brutal powerful Axiom weapon! I can’t pull it! Even if I hit you with the flat of that sword you’re going to be...” Harold begins to protest before he slips to the side and catches the second sword that Kudzu just threw at him. Identical to Kudzu’s on long straight blade. Harold turns it over in his hands and nods before clipping a small Axiom totem to it’s end and putting on a matching finger. Kudzu raises an eyebrow. Then steps to the side to allow the thrown sword to pass by.

The sword that is suddenly in Harold’s hand and he deflects the swing.

“Well done, I prefer a line though. Allows more interesting techniques.”

“I prefer to not be levered around by my weapon.” Harold says.

“To each their own.” Kudzu says before suddenly shifting his stance and throwing Harold before taking a probing slash. Harold blocks with the handle of his new sword and uses it to turn it around and bury it into the ground point first and then pulls himself through the air and launch himself at Kudzu with his feet first. The Floric leans out of the way and then brings up his sword to parry as Harold summons his sword back to him and swings downward.

“Not very familiar with this form of blade are you?”

“Don’t worry. I learn fast.”

“Of course. This way.” Kudzu says before racing away. Harold gives chase and is soon neck and neck with their mad sprint for the horizon. “Now, I am rather curious about something.”

“And what would that be?”

“How good is that Brand of yours?” Kudzu asks and swings his sword at Harold. He can feel his brand warm up as he parries it. The blade is carrying a current now, curtesy of the storm of Axiom Kudzu is calling in.

“Okay, so a basic electrical attack is ignored. But what about THIS?” Kudzu asks and the ere is a crackling BANG as the sheer amount of electricity crossing their blades sparks off and blasts in to the sky as a lightning bolt. “Hmm... not bad.”

The electrical surge has partially magnetized the swords and the weapons drag on each other as they separate a bit and it takes effort to unhook them from one another.

“Ever fought with giant magnets?” Harold calls over.

“No! This will be new!”

“Then let’s go all out!” Harold says running more current through his own weapon and feeling it’s magnetic force increasing. Kudzu matches it and then they veer towards each other and swing.

The blades pull themselves towards each other and stick with immense force even as they both try to manoeuvre the weapon out of the other guy’s hand. The strange combination between wrestling match, running duel and swordfight as they both seem to mutually agree to use minimal Axiom to pry the now highly magnetized sharp bars that were once swords away from each other.

“This is so stupid.” Kudzu says as he starts chuckling.

“No doubt! Wanna go hand and foot again?”

“Actually, I was thinking more Axiom.” Kudzu says as Harold lets go of the sword he was given and The Withering Groom takes off the tag that Harold used on it and tosses it to him. “You’re good with weapons and like to go hand and foot. But hows your Axiom game?”

“Fair enough. Anything off limit?”

“No Null.”

“Oh, so I need another idea then.” Harold says as Kudzu tucks away the magnetized swords.

“Yes.” Kudzu says. Then points a singular finger at Harold and a blast of lightning shoots off from it. Harold deflects it to the side with his right hand and punches forward with the left. Compressing the air and launching it at Kudzu like a cannonball.

As always Kudzu weaves away and Harold closes the gap between them. Outright eating the next lightning bolt without flinching and kicking to produce a cutting wave of power that Kudzu dodges as well.

But Harold was expecting that and his fingers wrap around a branch and he starts to pull in Kudzu with his left hand as his right erupts in flame.

Kudzu’s own burning fist slams directly int...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Risesohigh33 on 2025-10-15 16:00:11+00:00.

First | Last

A long, low whistle comes from Matteo as he leans back in his chair. It creaks with his weight, and he pushes the thick hair back over his head. There are deep grooves above his eyes. Sagging skin below them. This Terran has lived a hard life, and he is clearly older than both James and Klara. By how much I'm not entirely sure. "Must be a pretty high-profile assassination if you need this kind of hardware," he says. His eyes flicker from James to Klara. They do not waste a single moment on me.

Klara just smiles back at him. I swear even the guards around the room are leaning in, and who knows what they have heard before. They're all Terrans, after all. "You could say that," she says.

Matteo clicks his tongue. "I will not haggle, because you both know my feelings, and I know you will pay, because you have the funds to do so. Daddy Dante pays well, no?"

James doesn't tell Matteo the truth. Not yet. Not ever, hopefully. It was part of the plan. Letting Matteo in on the fact that James and Klara are both on the run could be quite unfortunate for us. Neither of them have a single shred of doubt that Matteo would turn them both in for the bounty in less than a moment if it would benefit him.

"We have never failed to pay, Matteo," James says. He cracks a few of his fingers. "Nor will we now."

"I believe you. But before that bit of business, there is something I must know." Matteo leans forward, hungry for information. His face is set in focus, but there is fire behind his eyes. I did not notice the tattoos on his fingers until he just folded them in front of him on the table. I see the makings of more on his arms, but most of them are hidden by his sleeves, which dangle near the top of his wrists. "Where have you been, Cazador? You were perhaps my best customer. And then you were gone." His eyes narrow. "How long has it been? Ten years?"

James just stares back, not giving an inch. "Give or take."

"Good options, but I will take. Your answer, please. That or our business here today will be difficult to commence. Trust has been built between us, Cazador." He glances at Klara. "You too, savage." Back to James. "That trust feels shaky, and I would like to shore up the foundation."

James slowly shakes his head. "You know we cannot discuss official Inferno business with you. You've tried this before. You will try it again. The answer will remain the same."

The two Terrans stare daggers through each other for a few more moments. Then Matteo breaks the eye contact, yawns and leans back in his chair again. He shrugs as if he does not mind. "Such secrets you keep." Matteo takes on an odd voice. "Soulless are the best, need the best, pay the best." Oh, I see. He is imitating James. "That's what you told me."

"I did."

"Then let us hope it still holds!" Matteo rolls up his sleeves to around his elbows and sets his arms on the table. He flips his palms up, and he's still talking, but I do not hear what he is saying, because I am staring at one of his markings. The marking on his arm, the tattoo, is a white, faded fang wrapped in dark red and orange flames. It is intricate. Very similar to the tattoos that James and Klara both have, but this one is a different symbol.

"And I know you don't want to talk about price," Matteo is saying as I come back into myself, "but I still need to know the specs that you request--"

I raise a hand and point to his arm. "What is that marking?" I ask. I'm not sure why I care to know or why now. I just do. And after spending these last months with James and Klara, I have learned that without asking for something, you will never receive it. Within reason, of course.

Matteo turns to stare at me, and his eyes are wide in surprise. He lets out a sharp laugh and slaps the table. "The little one speaks!" he belts. "In English too! What did you say?"

I clear my throat as James would do and sit up straighter. "What is that marking? On your arm." I ask again.

Matteo looks down at his arm for a moment then back up to me. His eyes, I notice, have changed from amusement to great sadness. He blinks, and I wish to be anywhere else. I do not detect much anger at me but just bottomless despair.

"Sheon," I hear James say from beside me. I look at him. He is slowly shaking his head. "Not now."

Matteo still hasn't spoken, but Klara does it for him. "I'll keep it short," she says, and surprisingly, Matteo nods slowly. I notice her voice. It is changed. Deep respect comes along with her words. "Matteo was a Fireborn. We told you about Fireborn a little, yeah?"

I just nod. My eyes have not left Matteo.

"He was one of them. A medic. Best surgeon in his company. Battle tested as well. Perfect soldier, some might say."

Matteo's huge body heaves. He shakes his head and clears his throat. "I would not," he says softly.

"Matteo lost people, Sheon. Lots of them. Humanity still fights skirmishes and brief wars with alien races from time to time. None as big as either of the Higgan Wars, but still." She pauses. "His company was killed. All of them. He survived. Struck out on his own after that. Good?"

I swallow and nod. "Good. Sorry I asked," I say.

"What were the specs you need?" Matteo asks, raising his head. The sadness is gone. Whatever remains is much more muted.

"Biometric, facial recognition, all the rest. The entire playbook, please," Klara says, taking the chance to answer.

"I can do that. Just need a couple of days." Matteo is back to business, and he's leaning forward again. He gestures to Klara and James. "Need a sample from both of you, to mix with what I have. You know the drill--gotta have some of your own in the material, or your body will attack it. It's a delicate balance." He gestures between them again. "Especially for you two"--Matteo clears his throat--"enhanced."

"We know the drill," James says. He stands, ready to be out of here. He extends a hand for Matteo.

Matteo rises and grasps James' hand. "Two days, Cazador. Gotta make sure it's proper and then a quick test. Then you'll be out of here. Hope it isn't another ten years before we cross paths again."

"It just might be," James says. "We'll be back in two days then." James looks down to me and motions his head. Time to leave.

The door behind us opens, and the same Terran that let us in approaches Matteo. He whispers into the man's ear, and Matteo's face goes from confused to shocked to pleased. His eyes can't help but flicker back and forth between James and Klara.

My two friends share a look. I almost feel like I can tell what they're silently saying to each other, but I'm not quite there yet.

The Terran guard leaves and shuts the door behind him. Matteo sits down, picks up a cup from his table and takes a sip. He then chuckles to himself, sets his feet up on the table, places his hands onto his stomach and levels his eyes at us.

"There has been a development," he says.

I have a poor feeling about this, so it does not surprise me that James is the one to immediately ask, "What kind of development?"

"A good one, I'll tell you that!" Matteo says, chuckling again. "It seems you have competition that has just arrived."

Klara's face falls. She cocks her head. "Which means, what exactly?" she asks.

Matteo claps his hands. "A brother of yours is here!" he says, standing. He frowns. "Two, actually, but one is coming here, and the other will stay on the ship." Matteo waves a hand. "Semantics. Anyway!"

"Fucking out with it, Matteo!" Klara snarls.

Matteo sighs, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. "So uncivilized," he says, clearly joking. Where did the sad Terran go? Was that an act? No, impossible. I saw it clear as day. But Matteo has morphed back into this form. Then he raises his arms. "We have a bidding war. Your brothers Kieran and Joshua are here!"

My stomach sinks because I have heard those names before. Those are two other Soulless. I remember Klara naming each of them when she and James were about to square off. Matteo starts to pace in excitement, but James and Klara are not moving.

I look at my friends. Madness dances behind their eyes, but the rest of their faces are blank. Matteo's, on the other hand, is alive as he continues. "There is another Soulless at my door for business. That is the only reason you all come here. And I have seen your competitions firsthand, no?"

Klara licks her teeth in agitation. "Yes, and you always favored us. So, do it again. Don't even let them in," she says. Klara rises from her seat and takes a step closer to Matteo, shaking her shoulders. I watch her uncoil her body in real time, arming her inner war machines for combat.

Matteo must notice too, because he just scoffs. "Why the hostility, Medusa?" Matteo asks. He pumps his hands in front of his body. "I have seen you and your siblings squabble for my services when you all arrived at the same time, yes. I am only one man." He raises his hands. "With only two hands! But that is just squabble and nothing more. Everything always works out."

James is calm as he eyes the door, Matteo, Klara, the guards around us and then me. Back to Matteo. "You wan...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/BlueFishcake on 2025-10-15 15:46:04+00:00.

Jelara started to talk – and as disconcerting as it was to hear the contents of… what was essentially a bathtub talking to him, it was still somehow less batshit than what the content of said bathtub was saying. Still, he managed to avoid saying anything In response. He simply sat there.

Until she was finished talking.

“Are you an idiot?” he asked dryly.

He tried to fight it. He really did. But in the end, he couldn’t help it. The words slipped out of him.

“What!?” Jelara gurgled indignantly, green shooting through her gelatine form as her tone finally shifted from the hangdog one she’d been adopting from the moment he’d called her out on her role in the previous evening’s events.

The ones in which she’d helped him at great personal cost.

Which again…

“I said, are you an idiot?” he repeated – marginally aware that he was currently technically inside her and if she was of a mind to, well, drown him, she was well positioned to act on it.

Still, it required saying. Even at the marginal risk of ‘death by scorned puddle’. Because she’d been present when he’d made that deal with Sabine. As a result, she should have been more than capable of figuring out that something was going on when he showed up to that party arm in arm with said woman and allowed himself to be wagered off to her boss.

And even with all that… even if she had been utterly ignorant of the knockout strip he’d had strapped to his thigh – that he had discretely disposed of in the elevator back to his apartment - and that he truly had believed that he had been about to face a rather rough evening at the hands of her boss…

…Why in the ever loving fuck would she sacrifice her own dreams to save him!? She barely knew him! He was just some horny idiot she’d been sleeping with.

It was so stupid!

And he knew stupid. Getting talked into helping out the resistance ‘one last time’ was a prime example of it. He knew it’d been a dumb move from a subjective standpoint and he’d still agreed because… fuck!

Why was he even thinking about that? He was currently bemoaning Jelara’s Jesus complex – not his own!

Because she’d just explained to him that she now put pretty decent odds on her former boss fucking up any attempt she made to go into the mech fighting leagues in her mech.

A dream the Ulnus had been aiming to fullfill for forty years! Forty years of alternatingly back breaking and morally dubious labor.

And she’d thrown it all away so he could avoid would have possibly been a rather… unpleasant evening on his part? What the fuck!

It wasn’t even his pride that was stung because she thought he needed rescuing. It was sheer incredulity at the… white knighting going on here.

“This one did it to help you, you ungrateful skasnek!” Jelara sputtered back indignantly.

He barely managed to bite back a reflexive ‘I didn’t ask you to do that’. Not least of all because it would have come off as shrill and ungrateful.

Because he was grateful.

Truly. More than that, he was touched.

…It was just currently buried under miles of… frustration that she’d chosen to shoot herself in the face to try and help him avoid a… some discomfort.

Or at least, the possibility of such.

Admittedly, he’d shivered a little at Jelara’s descriptions of Tazek’s interests. What scant description they’d been. Her words on the subject had been rather short on full sentences but heavy on feeling.

But he would have survived!

“Yes, and that’s why I’m annoyed,” he sighed, reclining into the tub – and the rather turbulent ‘waters’ that were his Savior and the cause of his current headache. “It was an incredibly stupid thing to do. You should have let me reap the rewards of my actions and protected yourself.”

Her gyrating gel seemed to finally still at that, seeming to sink in on itself. “…You think this one doesn’t know that?”

Silence reigned in the apartment as they each dwelled on their mistakes. Because him helping Sabine had been a mistake – and Jelara helping him had been a mistake.

No doubt about it.

In truth, it was actually kind of funny. For a while now, he’d been kind of worried that it’d be all his fucking around that’d come back to bite him on the ass. Sleeping with two of his work colleagues who were also rivals and best friends with his boss? That was a stupid move to be sure.

…Yet, ironically, the thing that was now coming back to bite him was his one attempt to be serious in the time he’d spent on this planet. An attempt to help an Earth that he could not visit and didn’t really care about him beyond his use as a mostly disposable tool.

And he’d known that. All too well. He’d simply chosen to help anyway. It didn’t matter that Sabine had been using him. He cared about Earth. He believed in the cause. Perhaps not enough to pick up a rifle himself, but a little spywork on Earth’s behalf had seemed… within his means.

And now the consequences for that decision had fallen on someone else. Because the universe apparently had a sense of humor.

The whole thing was deliciously ironic. Here he was, annoyed at someone for caring more about him than herself – because he cared about her!

Now that’s a fucking catch twenty two and a half, he thought with a crooked grin as he slowly stood up and jumped out of bath – ignoring the strange sensation of the woman in question ‘sloughing’ off him.

“Mark?” she asked, tone unreadable as her ‘head’ emerged from the soup that was her body. Despite the circumstances, it was an impressive sight. The many colors that were shooting through her body in time with the many emotions running through her mind.

Or minds.

It was pretty all the same.

Though not so pretty as to distract him from what he was about to say. Because a few things needed to be said.

“First.” He took a breath. “Jelara you’re an incredible person. I’m lucky to know you and I’m incredibly thankful for everything you’ve done to help me since I showed up on this rock. I’m honestly touched that you’d be willing to jeopardize your own happiness to protect mine.”

It was actually kind of funny, just how fast a torrent red shot through her entire body at his words, overtaking the other colours in moments.

“Though I reiterate that rather than being the badass space pirate I thought you were, you’re also a gigantic mushy moron,” he continued – and watched with some amusement as a tinge of green flared up to compete with the red.

“Hey!” said badass space pirate gurgled indignantly.

“And now, because you’re a giant mushy moron, I’m obligated to help you in return.” He stared down at her. “One way or another, I’m going to fix this.”

“What!” The Ulnus said, her upper body forming in a moment as she surged up. “No you’re not! This one chose to help you of our own volition. We can fix it ourselves and don’t need your pity.”

He just smirked.

“Well, tough shit. I didn’t ask for your help either.” And whoops, it looked like that slipped out anyway despite his earlier intent to avoid saying exactly that.  “Besides, I’m not asking for your permission to help you. You’re getting it whether you want it or not.”

He owed her at least that much and so much more.

The idiot.

The alien stared at him, colors flaring in her core as her whole body shifted with a myriad of emotions. When she did finally speak, it was quiet.

“…How would you even help us?”

Mark smiled and spoke without a moments hesitation. “I don’t have a single fucking clue.”

The words were entirely frank and without shame. Said smile only grew as she favored him with a particularly deadpan stare.

Because even if he didn’t know what he’d do right now, he’d come up with something to turn Jelara’s chances around.

Even if I have to fuck every lonely middle aged scrap dealer, mechanic and sponsor broker on this planet to make it happen, he thought.

…Admittedly, he didn’t think that was liable to be the answer to his problems, but he wasn’t ruling it out either. Out in space, his penis seemed to have the strange mystical power to make alien women do insane things that really went against their own interests.

As evidenced by the absurdity of his current circumstances.

Before any of that though, he really needed to go to bed. It was late and his legs felt like jelly.

Then, after a solid… four or so hours, he’d figure out how to unfuck this clusterfuck.

“Hand over the bag pretty boy.”

As far as greetings Mark might have anticipated upon making his way up the street to Kalia’s estate, that wasn’t one of them. Now, admittedly, he’d not exactly done much to ingratiate or even familiarize himself with Kalia’s security team. Beyond Nendra, he didn’t really know any of their names.

With that said, he definitely knew what they looked like.

And the trio of armored figures standing at Kalia’s gates were most definitely not the same security team he’d grown accustomed to in his time on Krenheim.

He glanced up at the one that had spoken – an imposing looking… moth woman.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” she reiterated, sticking a hand out for the item in question. “Hand it over.”

“S-sure.” A little thrown off, he nonetheless handed over the bag. That at least was a familiar part of his routine – though the usual crew tended to be significantly more polite about it.

“Frisk him,” the apparent leader said without preamble as she rifled through the contents of his chef’s kit.

“Don’t mind if I do,” another of the group said, stepping up. “Hands against the wall.”

Again, this was nothing new, but it...

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First Chapter/Previous Chapter

A couple of days later, one day before they were scheduled to start filming again, Gabriel had decided he was not going to let the reigniting of his fame prevent him from enjoying the sights and sounds of Ambente. So, with Pista, Masar and Damifrec in tow, they explored the town.

Mostly, they let Masar show them all the places she found interesting.

Pista was just happy to be doing something with her dad, and Damifrec was at least feigning interest.

“You ever been this far south before?” Masar asked after she showed them the market stalls meant to cater to tourists. Most of them sold cheap junk, but a few sold art or traditional sculptures.

“Yep, we went to Gamnell to see the norbell emergence,” Pista explained.

“Wow, I always wanted to see that; what was it like?” Masar asked.

“Loud but fun,” Pista explained.

“What did you think, Damifrec?” Masar asked, looking back at the boy who was trailing behind the other three.

“Enjoyable,” Damifrec responded curtly. Ever since their chat, Damifrec had been willing to engage with people other than Gabriel. His responses were brief and to the point, rarely more than a single word, but it was an improvement, and Gabriel was proud of him.

Their next stop was at a small café. The building was pleasant but nothing fancy. “It doesn’t look like much, but the food here’s the best in town. Even Dad can’t make anything better, and he’s a chef,” Masar told them as she fluttered up to the first floor.

“I can’t get up there. I need a ladder,” Gabriel told her before she vanished over the lip. Masar looked down to see that none of them had moved. Pista would not leave her father behind, and Damifrec had no interest in being left alone with the two girls.

While Ambente was a tourist town that was mostly a supplement to its agriculture, and those tourists they did get were mostly tufanda. So unlike Tusreshin, where the whole city had such considerations in mind, in Ambente, they were an afterthought.

Masar informed one of the servers, and an old wooden ladder was lowered to allow Gabriel to climb up. The rungs were well-worn and a little slippery; they were designed more for a tufanda with their exemplary climbing skills than some random alien. Gabriel climbed up the ladder slowly to ensure he did not slip.

Once he was at the top, they entered and picked a table near the window. Gabriel had two choices: stand or sit on the floor; he chose to stand. The kobons were not designed for someone as heavy as he was, and he did not want a bill if they snapped.

“Once they were settled and their orders were placed, Pista nudged Masar and said, “You can ask; he won’t bite.”

“Mr Ratlu?” Masar said nervously.

“Yes, my dear,” Gabriel replied.

“What was it like jumping into that pit?” she asked, her voice getting quieter with each word. Gabriel knew that she was referring to him leaping into the enclosure back on Minagerad. Funnily enough, until his little skirmish, Masar had had no clue who he was. Apparently, she had missed the whole news cycle. Gabriel wondered if he should have moved to Ambente instead of Tusreshin.

“It hurt my legs; it was quite a big fall,” Gabriel explained as if he were describing the weather.

“Weren’t you scared?” asked Masar; she had a little more confidence this time.

“Very. I was in a cage with dozens of vicious predators,” Gabriel answered; he had no enthusiasm for dragging up those memories, but she was a child, so Gabriel sucked it up.                                                                                                                                

Gabriel then got hit with the usual questions: what was it like in there? Did you get hurt? How could you be that strong? His favourite part of the whole thing was when he told people that, by human standards, he wasn’t very strong at all. He did a little exercise to try to stay healthy, but Gabriel was no athlete.

“That’s why I’m so fat,” Gabriel explained as the food they ordered was brought.

“What’s fat?” Damifrec said, asking his first question of the day.

“It’s a soft energy store I have,” Gabriel explained, poking a little patch of flab underneath his suit. “You can poke it too if you like.”

Damifrec looked at Gabriel's face and then where Gabriel had jabbed himself before gingerly reaching out and doing the same. He gave the patch of Gabriel’s body a few pokes before retracting his finger and said, “That feels so weird.”

“Me next,” Pista said, showing none of Damifrec's hesitation, and prodded her father much harder.

“Why are you so eager? You’ve done it hundreds of times,” Gabriel asked.

“He got to have a go, so I get to have a go. Masar get in on this,” Pista replied before instructing her friend to copy her and using a human colloquialism that did not translate well into Basic.

Masar looked at Gabriel and told her, “If you really want to, you can. But don’t let this little Jaka coerce you.”

“I’m the same size as you, probably a tiny bit bigger,” Pista countered.

Gabriel looked at her and stated, “And yet you’re still so very small.”

Pista squinted, another gesture she had picked up from Gabriel and said, “I’m gonna get you tonight.”

“Try it, sweetie, I’ve fought bigger and stronger,” Gabriel answered.

“But you haven’t fought smarter,” Pista said, getting in the final jab. There was silence at the table as the two stared at one another. Masar gave Damifrec a concerned glance, but he ignored it.

The Pista trilled slightly, and Gabriel chuckled. “This is the kind of stuff Mom won’t do with me,” Pista said happily. She then looked at Masar and told her, “Poke him!”

Masar did indeed poke him and found it an odd experience but not unpleasant; it was just peculiar.

Gabriel paid for the food, though he had not eaten anything; instead, he had brought a drink with him; the café staff had not been keen on it, but when Gabriel stated plainly that he had dietary requirements the business could not provide, their hands were tied.

“Let’s go to the market next,” Gabriel said as he took his final step down the ladder. “we need to get a present for your Mom.”

“What should we get?” Pista asked with a moderate level of enthusiasm, she would have been more excited if the gift was intended for her.

“She likes antiques; the older, the better. Ideally, it should have religious or mythological significance,” Gabriel said. “Are there any antique shops around her?” he asked Masar.

“A couple, though I’ve never been in them, I think they're boring,” Masar replied.

“They’ve never been my favourite places either, though I do have a thing for old bookshops,” Gabriel offered as the local girl led the way. Her memory of their locations was a little sketchy, but it was understandable, seeing as she had never entered them. However, Masar was able to lead them to the general area. Eventually, they found what they were looking for.

Unlike most buildings, this one had a ladder attached to the wall and getting inside was easier. Gabriel pushed open the door to see an elderly tufanda sitting behind the counter, reading a magazine. They looked up when the bell above the front door rang; they were surprised to see three children and an alien walk in.

The tufanda spoke the local language. Gabriel was pretty sure they had said hello, but he did not want to presume and make a fool of himself, so he asked, “Do you speak basic?”

“Little, not spoken it for time long,” the shopkeeper replied.

“I can translate for you,” Masar offered, and Gabriel thanked her for it.

“We’re looking for something old, preferably with religious or mythological significance,” Gabriel explained, and Masar translated just as she promised.

The shopkeeper was a little puzzled; that was a specific request and not something they usually carried, but they opened up their laptop to check the shop's catalogue. While they waited for a response, the quartet browsed the items on display.

“Don’t break anything. Don’t touch anything. Look with your eyes, not your hands,” he told the three children as he inspected a painting on the wall.

It was old, made during the tufanda’s industrial revolution over a thousand years ago, which, unlike the one on Earth, had been far less environmentally devastating. When your natural lifespan was two hundred and fifty years, and it took you thirty years to reach young adulthood, long-term thinking was a more intuitive skill.

It depicted many tufanda standing outside a factory, though what it made was unknown. The pallet was dark, gloomy and grey, so Gabriel assumed that it was meant to depict industrialisation as sour and incompatible with life.

He quite liked it.

Gabriel’s eyes began to drift over other items: porcelain vases, jewellery, watches, unusual nick-nacks, and war memorabilia. In one corner, Gabriel found an old army helmet with what appeared to be a bullet mark on the side. On a little card beside it was some information, but the only thing Gabriel could find out was a date. This helmet was over three hundred years old.

He found one or two items he was interested in, but he resisted the urge to purchase them. He was here for his wife, not himself.

The shopkeeper said something, and Masar translated, “They’ve found two items in the back. One is a religious text from some religion she does not know about, probably from far away...

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"Words have power,"

My father's words boomed in my mind. They stood beside me as my pen dragged across the white piece of paper. With each dark stroke, as the ink bled from my familiar, sharp device, entire worlds unfolded.

My hand glided from side to side, and mountains formed. I pulled and I pushed, I yearned to foster something real, and before my own eyes I saw empires rise and fall. Lives were born and died, romances engulfed generations and ignited into revolutions, agonies twisted themselves into terrors and depressions that marred eons of history. All... With the simply flick of my pen.

I was a creator; I was a shaper.

My mama called. "Someone is at the door for you." She peaked into my room, her thin glasses barley holding onto her hawkish, elder nose. Everday she seemed to decrease in mass.

"Who is it?" I laid my pen down and rubbed my fingers together anxiously, eyes dry from focus.

She slid all the way in and pushed her back against the wall. She was a woman of little words, unlike dad and me. She shrugged, "Some men in suits."

I squinted and turned in my chair. "Suits?" Did one of my job applications finally make it somewhere real? I almost dreaded the thought.

"Ansly." Her voice was small. "You're a smart woman. You get that from your father, but you're not getting involved in anything dangerous, are you?"

"Oh mama." I stood up and walked over to embrace her. I'd moved in after dad's death. It took us all by surprise, but it obviously affected her more than anyone else. The world became a scary place to her once it'd proven that is could take away love so easily, "No mama, I don't know who it is."

She nodded. "Alright." She rubbed her thin arm. "Well, don't keep them waiting."

Men in suits? Did one of my little anti-government stories create some sort of movement or something? I suppose I could only wish as much, maybe then a publisher might finally take me seriously.

"Miss Amber?" I heard the brutish voice before I could even fully open the door.

Three broad men in large black suits stood outside of our quant little NYC apartment. Their statures only outweighed by their terribly stoic demeanors.

I froze, "...Um."

The man in front spoke, "May we come in?"

"I'm not so--"

They brushed past me with little effort and marched towards my bedroom. They had the same presence as a falling boulder or rushing river, an unstoppable, natural force. I had no hope of keeping that door closed.

"Hey!" I yelled as I walked behind them, jumping with energy. "Hey! What do you all think you're doing!? I'm going to call the police! You can't just march in my own fucking home!"

Mama turned a corner with wide, watery eyes. She retreated behind their shadows and shrieked with a weak voice, "Anne what's happening!?"

I didn't know. I couldn't answer her without some sort of explanation. All I could do was keep yelling as I followed them into my room. "This is highly illegal! Where's the warrant, huh? Where's the fucking warrant you pigs!"

They stopped as soon as they entered my room, the three of them towering over my scattered, disorganized space. I followed their silent eyes. They were staring at my desk.

Without thinking I moved in front of them and slammed my foot down, surprised at my own confidence. "What is going on here!? Why are you all in my room? Where's the fucking warrant?"

The front man, cold and stiller than a dead tree, raised a massive finger. "Is that your desk?"

I looked back, wild-eyed and confused. "... Yeah!... Obviously!"

He grunted. "Read a story."

"W... What?"

They all put their hands in front of themselves. I had a feeling that was their version of getting comfortable.

"You want me... You want me to read you all a story? One of my stories?"

The slightest nod I'd ever seen.

"Um..," I rubbed my palms against my pant legs, searching the floor as if it held answers for me. This was all absurd, stupidly absurd, but what was I going to do? Move them? No damn way. "O-o... Okay. Okay yeah I guess... Will that make you all leave?"

"A story miss Amber. Please."

From the corner of my eyes, I saw mama peering in with feral shock and terror. "Alright." I kept my jaw tight, setting down at my desk and sorting through various stacks of paper. "Anything?"

No answer.

"Anything it is."

My hands moved with grace as I began to glance at the various stories before me. Delicately my fingers danced over each page, my mind returning to the stories like a refugee returning home. Flashes of warmth covered me, visions of distant planets, far off realms, histories so storied and fantastic that they challenged my own mind.

"This one." My hands decided for me. The contents were unimportant, so I learned, but I asked for no permissions and began to read with vigor. I placed myself in that realm of my own creation. The three men before me, my own mother, the room around me, all faded away like a dying shadow as my lips moved with blissful confidence. It was like walking home after work. I knew the story like I knew my own hometown, and I read with pleasure.

A silence captured the room once I was done. For a moment I was out of breath, eyes and soul returning to the realm of the real.

His voice sounded different now, calmer, almost like he was talking to a child, "What if I told you that you could help save mankind?"

The question came so quickly and with such brutal consequence that I couldn't properly understand. "I uhh... I mean... That does-- That really isn't a uh..."

"There's an enemy." He cut me off, voice like a sword. "And it exists in there."

He pointed to my desk. "I'm not a scientist, but that's what they tell me. That the aliens are beyond the physical."

I coughed on my own spit, "Aliens!?"

"Miss Amber, I apologize for the inconvenience, but you're coming with us."

At this point my mama finally burst in, all ranges of confidence flooding back into her at the slightest sign of my danger. "You are taking my daughter nowhere!"

The other two blocked her entrance as the first continued his conversation with me. "Miss Amber, you have to understand, this is all very new to everyone, but I can say this with good confidence. There's something out there that's very different. Very... Abstract, and that's dangerous."

"But," He put up a large finger. "We're coming to learn something as we study these things. Something very powerful."

I had a feeling I knew where he was going. My eyes drifted to my desk, "What's that?"

"Humans are different too. That's why we're a target."

"Are... Are my stories real?" I couldn't understand my own emotions anymore. I just knew that that was the right question to ask.

He leaned down, getting eye level to me. "I think it's more complicated than that."

I nodded, that was a good answer. "Why me?"

A smirk emerged on his face. "You're good at what you do. Let's just say they saw you before we did?"

"They?"

"Miss Amber, this will be much easier if you just come with us. We have scientists that can explain this much better than I can."

I looked at my mama. She was stunned into silence now, looking at me with an uncontrolled face of fear. Quite frankly I was surprised I was handling everything as well as I was. "What am I going to be doing?"

"Fighting." He leaned back up. "Though it won't be with a sword. Something mightier this time."

I smirked, and that seemed to make him happy. "My father always said words have power."

"Smart man."

"Yeah," I nodded, almost excited at this revolution of information. "My dad had one more saying as well... Do you want to hear it?"

A brow knit across his stony face. He nodded slightly, "Go ahead."

"'The only way to kill a story is to stop telling it.'" I looked up at him, my eyes on fire. "Let's make sure ours doesn't end."

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Earth Space Union’s Alien Asset Files: #1 - Private Capal 

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The status quo had always been that the Alliance powers paid the Brigands to rest on their haunches, but Jakov’s emergence had given them renewed ambition. The promise of returning to their glory days, from what we heard, had the Girret and the Derandi on edge. Representative Redge had been presumed dead, and the Girret ex-Stormrider seemed to have half a mind to leave it that way; a heroic death gave his legacy the utmost security, whatever that meant. He could look after people from the shadows—to be clear, I thought his reasoning was nonsense, but culture clash between aliens was inevitable.

Of course, nobody outside these walls knew that Jakov was behind the Brigands’ attack on Jorlen, rather than saving the planet…except for the inorganic Vascar. Ficrae must’ve gotten in contact with the network, though I couldn’t believe they didn’t challenge its rampage at all! That was leverage that they held over Prince Rukavina, who was being paraded through my people’s cities like a hero, robed in the finest silks, and fed on the most succulent feasts. I’d seen the machines arrive at these halls many times, to negotiate for a foothold on Jorlen. Caelum was fracturing and losing its tenuous peace.

Jakov knows that, and it’s why he’s stalling the iVascar; he wants negative energy weapons in his hands so that no one can challenge him. I need to think of an escape plan, pronto.

Redge watched me tinker with a prototype, his purple hood bobbing as he moved. “They’re streaming Larimak’s execution, clearly so we can see. An unceremonious end that comes…rather belated. One can only slip away from justice for so long. Are you not satisfied by his undoing, Capal?”

“I’m no fan of Larimak the Insane. If we’re going from him to willingly implanting another corrupt monarch in Jakov, is that really better? You and the Derandi have an effortless democracy, and we keep choosing bootheels.”

“I think people want some philosophy or power to govern their lives. It’s difficult to make your own. That’s why the Girret only choose our leaders from those who do. Yours do as well.”

I scoffed. “How so?”

The Girret’s tongue flitted out. “Unfortunately, those who carve their own power in Vascar society do it through diminishing others. We have those in Girret society too. However, the selfish don’t last long in the desert. We clean ourselves of those abscesses by necessity.”

“Inspirational, Redge. I guess all us commoners needed was to move out to the desert.”

“Or for the collective to choose to take back its power,” Jetti commented. “The Derandi have always been used to literally feeling small, but letting that intimidate you…you have to puff out your feathers and draw a line. We had dynasties long ago, living in Skynests and tarnishing the clouds with their oppressive banners. We overthrew them. That’s always an option.”

Dawson groaned from where he huddled against the wall, his body still broken from his tussle with Jakov. “How do you propose we overthrow a man with superpowers?”

“We catch him napping, of course. That was literally how the last heir of the Lirur dynasty fell, servants conspiring and striking in the darkness, on behalf of a thousand voices whispered in darkness! I was regaled by those stories by a passionate history teacher: someone Capal would’ve liked. Someone Capal would’ve aspired to be.”

“I don’t want to overthrow anyone. The only thing that can stop Jakov is by contacting someone so laughably more powerful, or the people seeing him for who he truly is. Right now, we’re incapable of sending a message to anyone,” I huffed. “It’s all thought experiments and wishes. I can’t begin to create a microscopic black hole.”

Dawson narrowed his eyes. “Is it even possible? This shit just sounds insane to me.”

“With our technology? Probably not. The way a star collapses in nature under its own mass: you’d need to cancel out gravity…by already having exotic matter…or add in more mass. I figure the Elusians’ solution was the latter, but I just don’t have the tools to make it work. Packing that much mass to the size of an atom would require so much energy, that it’s...”

“Let me guess. The entire energy production of our planets combined isn’t close to enough,” Jetti chirped.

“And that’s an understatement.”

“I miss Preston! Bring him back. He would save us,” Hirri cawed, a rough cough shaking his body. The child wasn’t doing well without his Crestlung treatments; I needed to get him out of here immediately. “We chased Capal. Maybe if we do that again, he’ll think better!”

Dawson smiled at the kid, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes. “There’s not enough room to chase Cappy. I think you should rest up, so that you’re strong when we get out of here.”

“I…want to fight the bad men! Now!”

I gestured my claws at my human friend. “Dawson is too hurt to get out of here on foot, so until we come up with a different plan, we can’t try anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t want to leave him here, would you?”

“Maybe. I like exploring alone!”

“Thanks, Hirri,” Dawson grumbled, leaning his head back. A smirk tugged at his lips for the first time in weeks; I knew he was afraid of dying down here, and horrified of what Jakov Rukavina had done with the Brigands since his failure to stop the human pirate. “Glad you’ve got my back.”

I raised my eyes toward him, nostrils twitching with amusement. “I’ve always got your back, Dawson Fields. If my scientific breakthroughs here never leave this cell, I hope I’ve impressed you.”

“How could you not? I feel like a pea-brained caveman compared to you. You’re out here bending the everloving fuck out of physics—sorry, Jetti.”

The Derandi waved a wing. “Don’t worry about it. Preston already taught him…too many words.”

“Cool. I mean, not cool. Totally.”

“You’re a big doofus. I can’t believe I used to be scared of you; you’re more nervous than me!” I chuckled.

A blush spread across Dawson’s face. “Really? We found you hiding in a dumpster!”

My bravado faltered at the memories of my splattered squadmates, the horror that’d reawakened when I saw Dawson obliterating the Brigands. “Yeah. I guess you did.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, buddy. That must’ve been traumatic. I didn’t mean—”

“Larimak’s fault. Maybe I will watch the execution.”

“It’s over.”

“Oh. That’s…good. Then we don’t have to worry about that sick fucker anymore. Humans didn’t want that, and my logical brain knows it. I’d just rather not remember what it was like to wear, to taste, my friends’ blood.”

Redge’s eyes glimmered with sympathy. “I know what it is to be in a chaotic situation and watch people die. It’s the memories we prefer to forget. I’m sorry for you, Capal, and I find it brave that you move forward. You’ve come a long way, and you do have a strong spirit inside of you.”

“Thanks. Where I haven’t come a long way is my research, and that’s where I want to focus.” I disassembled the last screw, so I could begin working on my quantum disturbance generator again from scratch. “Even if I magically build a black hole and get a negative energy fountain dropped for easy access, that’s only the first problem. It wouldn’t make us any more able to go through 5D portals and help Sol. Or to tell the Elusians about Jakov.”

“We just need a 4D one to get out of here!” Jetti squawked. “Forget your research. Get a sample of negative energy and get us out, then you can continue this meandering quest! Our safety comes first!”

“Well, Jakov isn’t stupid. He might let me sit down with a negative energy sample, but not all of us. He knows I won’t leave you, so we’re going to need another solution.”

Dawson nodded. “Which is getting enough together to make a 5D portal and have the Elusians come in to deal with him. And maybe me, but at this point, I’d take getting thrown back in Sol over…this five-star lodge.”

“Which might mean me getting through and getting help. However, to survive infinity, I think my brain would need to read nothing. Which means…I’d already have to die, or at least have zero neural activity. You can see why that’s a problem, but it’s the only solution I have so far.”

“What? That’s not a solution. You are not going to commit suicide!” Jetti squawked. 

“Of course not. Not in the traditional sense, at least.”

Footsteps clopped down the hall, unmistakably the only other human in Caelum on approach. Their kind’s ambulation sounded like hooves pounding the stone, despite their marked care not to step too forcefully. I silenced myself from our already-hushed discussion, knowing that Jakov was coming by to strike the fear of the storm gods into us; he was running out of patience for results to be delivered, despite the fact that scientific research simply didn’t work that way. I had to produce something tangible soon or we’d all be…replaced. Theories were useless to thugs.

*Theories are useless to us too; like Jetti said, impossible solutions are no solutions at all. Why did I ...

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Project Dirt book 1 . (Amazon book ) / Planet Dirt book 2 (Amazon Book 2) / Colony Dirt(Amazon Book 3)-

 Patreon ./. Webpage

Previously ./. Next

“What is it now?” Adam looked up from his desk as Minx came in. He was going over a border conflict between the Bylgono-Hyna nation and the Sandors -Sinino nation. Both claimed a system named Relsad, as they had bought it from the federation for mining and colonization.  It was rapidly escalating into a war, and Adam had Roks send their fleet to a battle system to release the bloodlust. However, both refused to sign the treaty, rendering the battle systems moot.

“I’m sorry, sir, there is a new wave of pirates near the Funiad sector. That’s mostly Rigallos' farmlands. We have sent the fleet there.”

“Okay, and why was this so important that you had to come here personally?” Adam leaned back and said a silent prayer. “Please be good news.”

“I’m sorry, they are led by a pirate who claims his name is Hanur Mutt, he is part of the lost fleet and claims to be the younger brother of Captain Jargy Mutt, survivor of the Siege of Dirt.”

“FUCK!” Adam stood up, wanting to hit something. “OUT!”

Minx left immediately as Adam cursed the Mutt family and all its descendants to never be pirates ever again, to be law bringers, bounty hunters, and judges for all eternity. It took him an hour to calm down and then he sat down and called up the two regents.

“Greetings, let's fix this. You both have a claim to the system yet due to a computer error.  Duchy of Sinino bought it first, but... stop, I’m not done.” He looked at Duke Mysnia, who was celebrating. “The Dutch of Sinino did not move in or build anything for three years. During this time, the Republic of Hyna moved in and built three mining stations and started a colony on Relsad, not knowing about the claim of the Duchy of Sinino. And here lies the problem.  Had the Duchy of Sino left clear evidence of ownership, this would have been addressed in court long ago, and I would not have needed to come to me. To be honest, I should not come to me. This is a matter of the court, but alas, they asked me to mediate.” He looked at the two holograms.

“So I have a few solutions, none of which are beneficial for either side, and one that might work. So I can let you guys fight, no good, pick one side and make the other side angry, but it's up to you guys,”  As he said the third, they both perked up, he ignored it, he did not want that. “Or we find a solution. Republic of Hyna bought Relsad for asteroid mining and colonization, while the Duchy of Sinino bought it for farmland and ocean Aquaculture as well as colonization. You do know the answer has been staring you guys in the eyes the whole time.  You can share it. The planet can easily hold 8 billion without straining the ecosystem, 10 if you terraform parts of it.” He looked at them, and the two looked at him, dumbfounded.

“But I own the deed.” Duke Mysnia said, and Adam nodded.

“Yes, as does the Republic of Hyna, possession is nine-tenths of the law; they possessed it before you. But they are not after what you are, you can make a treaty and share it. I’m going to be honest. You're both going to lose some, but you might also win something. “

“And what would that be? I’m losing half the planet and lots of trade.” President Samid said.

“Well, you hammer out a treaty, then I’m tossing in a gateway and a small trading hub, it's a perfect crossroad to both your nations. That way, you all will be directly connected to Dirt's trade hub, which should cover some of your losses.”

They looked at him, confused, and then nodded. “Yes, yes, we can make a treaty. We will make a treaty.” They managed to stammer out, Adam didn't really understand why they were so shocked to be connected directly to Dirt, but shrugged.

“Good, contact me when you have hammered out a treaty, and I will have my men start the process to add Relsad to the Gate contacts. Thank you for your cooperation, and let's hope this is a lasting peace. The gate depends on it. Thank.” Then he cut the contact and sat back.

He decided to take a break, and when he got outside, he saw Minx and apologized for his outburst. Minx just laughed and told him he should be careful with his curses. Adam laughed and dragged him with him for lunch at one of the nicer restaurants in New Macao. While they were eating, they got a message about the human weapons company being sold to Long-Kerr LLC.  Adam looked at the news and shrugged. Knug could not win them all. He read the declaration that Ares was moving its headquarters away from Earth to Centauri Prime due to unrest on Earth.

“Smart move, I've been checking up on the Earth's street journalism. Apparently, there are daily demonstrations and riots. It’s a… what's the word you humans use? Powder keg about to explode?” Minx said, and Adam nodded.

“Yeah, that’s Arus' work. Let me guess, they are not happy with President Agnivanshi?”

“Yes, they accuse her of being connected to a criminal network. Life is not going her way lately. Lots of her donors got caught in a fire at a VIP party, and over a hundred of the guests died. “

“What? Everybody died?” Adam asked as he looked at him, and Minx shook his head.

“No, no, no, mostly lawyers and media agents. A few high-profile singers and actors as well, but it was a big party and most got out safely.” Minxy said, and Adam smirked slightly.

“I wonder if those who died had anything in common,” Adam said.

“Well, considering Sig-San's latest message, I would say yes,” Minxy replied. Adam looked at him, so he explained.  He said he had finished half the shopping list but found some more things to buy, he might add.”

“Oh… Yeah.. well that explains that.” Adam said as he looked at his watch. “Damn, this month has gone fast. I have to go home and call my wife. When is the fleet arriving by the way?”

“Within five days, Roks is running drills,” Minxy replied, and Adam sighed.

“This better work,” Adam replied.

“It will. Oh, Hyd-Drin sent a cryptic message. Ghostships observes.”

“Oh, that’s what he was up to. Stealth ship. Well, guess we are going to get a lot more intel now.”

They finished the meal, and after Adam called up Evelyn, they discussed what to do with the teenage camp. When the triplets came into view and saw Adam, they tried to hug the hologram and got upset as they fell through. Evelyn said they were angry at  Chriss and Wei for hiding, and then suddenly she stopped and grinned. “If they want to play grown-ups, then it's time they learn.”  She said, and  Adam looked at the triplets and got it.

“That’s evil Evelyn,” Adam said, and she just smiled.

“What do you want to be a grandparent so soon? Besides, I will be nearby with some of the adults, but we won't interrupt their little ritual. Let's see if they can last the last month.”

 Adam laughed as he knew Wei would never be able to handle it, he was not so sure about Chris.

.

Three days later, he was called to the command center of Sistan, which had been moved there since the last attack; it was better to keep it away from the main city. Adam found it ridiculous, as there was a small diplomatic city around the north wall of Sistan as well. But it was small compared to the city of New Macao, which has five million inhabitants.

He stood in the room looking at the screen and the gathering fleet. He had alerted the old ones, but they responded by connecting him to their advanced radar system, allowing them to see the five fleets approaching at light speed. Each fleet had twenty-one ships. He guessed they expected to overwhelm whatever Dirt could muster. They were profoundly mistaken.  Every nation in the federation had sent ships or a fleet. Dirt was quite crowded.  Roks was in the middle of it all on his dreadnaught, the Hammer. He seemed to have full control and placed fleets around to ensure no ships were at risk of a crash with the incoming fleets. Roks had been working with Jork about a surprise, and there were some new drone ships spread around the system that, if they worked, would change the battle completely.

 An Aid brought Adam a cup of coffee, and he accepted it as he saw the first fleet put out of lightspeed. It immediately opened fire on the closest ship and then stopped. Only a few rounds reached the intended targets before drones attached themselves to the human ships and activated an extra shield, inverted so that whatever they fired bounced off a shield a hundred meters from their hull. The human ships were contacted and asked to surrender. They didn’t respond, but the main ship activated a blackhole bomb, then it was deactivated just as fast. The next fleet emerged and just hung there, looking at the number of ships facing them. Some of the ships turned around and tried to jump into lightspeed again, only to find their engines deactivated.

The third and fourth fleets jumped in, fired wildly, then had drones attached and seized their firing.  Adam looked at the rather lackluster invasion attempt. Roks was calmly giving ord...

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(Previous Part)

(Part 001)

Far-Future Era. Day 20, AJR. Numaria.

A dozen Demon Emperors, as well as Demon Deity Auger and a few others of his rank, listened to Barbatos's tale with solemn expressions. The revelation that their greatest enemy and the galaxy's current crisis were one and the same had a terrible effect on their moods. If before they had a feeling that they might be able to beat the Plague by allying with the Dolgrimites, now they were under no such illusions.

Auger swallowed heavily. "And what of Uriel? She fled with you from the Cosmic Realm, so why isn't she here?"

Barbatos coughed. He had yet to regenerate his missing hand, and his body was in such bad shape that even with Belial healing him night and day, it might take a full week for him to get back into fighting form, or at least to the point he could heal himself.

"We were... assaulted... by Kolvaxians. The entire way back." Barbatos said haltingly. "Uriel fought with great fury. She summoned her Light Constructs to beat back the hordes, but they were numerous beyond belief. I blacked out, then I awoke here."

"Uriel must have sent you to Hell Harbor." Yardrat said, his astral form hovering beside Auger. "Perhaps she launched you away and used some method to hide your Cosmic signature so the Plague would lose track of you."

"The odds are high that Uriel is either dead or has been captured." Auger said. "But this is hardly the worst news Barbatos has brought us."

Auger turned around to look at all the other Emperors.

"All of us have been deceived. The Plague is not a mindless super-organism. It is a creation of Archangel Uzziel. It is a bio-weapon used to convert us into her thralls. Worst of all, she is a High Cosmic now, along with the other Archangels. Uriel may have now aligned herself with our interests, but compared to the trillions of Plaguehosts lurking in the Cosmic Realm, her assistance will be minimal at best."

"What about Michael and Gabriel?" Belial interjected. "They stood with their sister. A force of three High Cosmic Archangels assisting us, along with Barbatos-"

"Will not be enough." Yardrat interrupted, shaking his head. "I believe we only have one choice left to us, now. We must retreat. All of demonkind must enter the Labyrinth. We must disable the Warpgates and hide there, in the dark, unable to leave. If we do not, we will lose the war the moment Uzziel looses her unending legion of 'Hyphytes' upon us."

"Why did she not do so sooner?" Emperor Leeroy pointedly asked. "If Uzziel has always had the ability to launch an all-out assault, why hasn't she?"

Auger chuckled dryly.

"The answer is simple." Auger said softly. "In her eyes, she has already won. She could obliterate all of us, but she hasn't. Why? Because she is toying with us. Slowly stoking the flames of fear in our hearts. Snuffing out our hope. Pushing us to the brink of despair."

"Revenge." Yardrat added. "This entire war is about her exacting her revenge. She wants us all to suffer, weep, and cry as her forces continually push us inward. And now that her plot has been exposed, she might show up in the next hour and announce our executions. We have no way of fighting back."

"The HELL we don't!" Belial barked, startling everyone around her. "We do have a way to fight back! You just aren't using your heads!"

Auger looked at her with disapproval. "Samantha, there is no reason to speak useless words. You cannot win against an army of unending, nigh-invincible monsters using mere bravado."

"Then I guess you're not all that bright, Auger." Belial snapped at him. "I think we can win this war. I think if we all unite together, humans, demons, and Volgrim, along with the monsters, we might be able to find a genuine solution to wipe out the Plague, once and for all!"

"All our species uniting? What difference would that make?" Yardrat asked. "The Volgrim have had 100,000 years to come up with a method for counteracting the Plague. They failed, and that was before the Plague was empowered by the Wordsmith. Now the situation is utterly unwinnable."

Several demon leaders nodded. The look of dejection in their eyes was palpable.

"Samantha." Auger said, walking over to rest a palm on her shoulder. "Perhaps if the Wordsmith were still alive, we might stand a chance. But he is not. Our best shot of wiping out the Plague was before it became empowered by Artoria, when Diablo still roamed the cosmos. Without him, and without the Wordsmith, who can possibly save us?"

Belial pulled away from Auger's touch and looked at him in disgust.

"So that's it? The war isn't over, but you're going to throw in the towel? Just like that? Where's your courage? Your sense of pride? Has it occurred to you that maybe the Plague isn't as powerful as it seems? Maybe the real reason Uzziel hasn't wiped out all life in the galaxy is because the Plague is not as formidable as it first appears."

The other demons simply stared at Belial. Impassioned her words might sound, but they seemed to lack in logic...

"Think about it!" Belial shouted, raising her voice so everyone could hear. "If Uzziel is the mother of these creatures, the queen, the Plague's primary controller, then try putting yourself in her shoes. Do you really think she has the capability to individually control trillions of Plaguehosts all by herself? No, let me do you one better. Do you think she can even control a thousand Plaguehosts by herself? With perfect precision? The same as if she were controlling her own body?"

Auger blinked. "Where are you going with this?"

"I'm going exactly where you think I'm going." Belial retorted. She stretched out her arm and turned it into a long sharp blade, then began scraping the floor to draw a crude diagram. "Look here. We knew of a human Hero, Jepthath, who could combine the minds of his soldiers to allow them to fight with extreme teamwork. We also know that you, Auger, can combine the powers of demons who have pledged themselves to you, passing them around and distributing them as needed. Don't these powers sound similar to what Uzziel is doing?"

Auger chewed his lower lip. "Indeed. I suppose, if we assume that her powers are somehow similar to mine and Jepthath's..."

"Then we might also be able to assume that one mind, her mind, is far from capable of controlling all those Plaguehosts with the same precision as each of us controlling our own bodies." Belial explained. "That could be a weakness we might be able to exploit!"

Auger no longer looked so skeptical. He stroked his beard as he looked at the drawings Belial had made of a distributed brain-sharing network.

"You might be on to something." Auger said. "But this is still mere conjecture."

"We need to inform the humans and the Volgrim." Belial said. "Only by working together do we stand a chance against this threat."

This time, many demons nodded along to her words.

Facing a relatively unintelligent hivemind enemy was one thing. But knowing there was a central intelligence behind that hive was very different. If Uzziel now had Raphael's counsel, she might start to move quickly. They could suffer an assault by the Kolvaxians by day's end. Perhaps even sooner!

Auger hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

"Yardrat. Open a portal back to Sharmur. Samantha, I'll need to trouble you to explain the situation to Commander Adams. Linda should be more receptive if you're the one explaining the situation."

"And what about the rest of you?" Belial asked.

"I am going to personally confer with Founder Unarin." Auger said. "Yardrat, you will speak in my stead to the Dolgrimites. I want all the rest of you to fan out to the various monster-controlled worlds and deliver this news to all of them. I want everyone brought up to speed on the truth behind the Kolvaxians within the next two hours!"

Yardrat stood tall, his wirey frame seeming to hold a deep importance now that his portalling ability would be key in mobilizing the other demons to spread news around their allies as quickly as possible.

"Yes, Lord Auger. We move at your command."

Without delay, the different demons began fanning out. Belial returned to Sharmur, Yardrat sent many demons to worlds such as Pixiv to confer with the fairies, the orcs, the goblins, and dozen of other species.

No longer could the demons maintain even the slightest facade of hostility. The stakes were too high. One of their own had crippled the Volgrim, which meant they had even fewer powerful allies capable of tackling t...

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Hadrian's engine revved as he pushed into the final stretch of the race. The jungle was finally at an end and he could see the other racers ahead. He had to make at least tenth or he wouldn't be allowed into the last race. He pushed the throttle to its limit and the sudden jerk forward shoved him back into his seat. He passed one, two, a third racer. The fourth tried to push into him, he had to evade, the other racers ship was bigger with thicker armor, he would be ripped apart.

He used a concussive brake and it went off in a rapid stutter of fire, slowing him immensely. He cut the brake and resumed acceleration while veering off in the opposite direction that the other racer went. He passed the fourth. Now he was in tenth. Unless he wanted to piss off Kord he needed to stay here. But that just wasn't any fun he thought. He kept accelerating until he overtook several more racers and found himself tied for third. This racer was known as Gurn. A rather rude and angry cat looking fellow who had a habit of wrecking other racers. Not Hadrian though, he was sure he could pass this furry bastard without a scratch. The roar of engines was louder here. It shook him like rolling thunder, he could feel his ship vibrate under him with power. Gurn tried to cut in front of him with his much larger and more powerful ship but Hadrian expected as much and went over him before taking second. Now for the Nuriddian Mord. Soon he'd be tied, he knew he could push past him if he could just get a little more speed. That's all he needed was a tiny bit more speed. But no. He couldn't, he had to come in tenth place or else he wouldn't be paid. The Nuriddian mob would make sure his body was never found if he came in even ninth place.

He fired the concussive brakes once more and slowed rapidly. Sudden deceleration made him jerk towards and pull painfully on the straps that kept him in place. The inertia dampeners were starting to rev up and he felt the others pass him as he slowly went over the finish line. Tenth place. Nearly eleventh.

Hadrian Marduk was an odd one. He was one of the only humans to ever pass the Volri reflex test. He wasn't the best score among his species, but he was quicker than most. He was the only human to even try the Scaulder nim route and one of the only five beings to survive the attempt. Did he crash his starship? Absolutely. But he survived. These were the criteria to join the Grand Solar. And now he was in the final race. A true solar race unlike the others.

Hadrian was indeed odd for a human. But humans as a whole seemed like that to the rest of the galactic community. He was one of the only star racers to be human. And the second ever to join the Grand Solar. He looked out of the shielded observation window towards Tiamat, a magnetar. While the other aliens around would be ooing and ahing Hadrian had to take their word that it was beautiful. This star was the last stop in a galaxy-spanning race of the most dangerous systems. It was by far the most dangerous. Hadrian could still recall the last time he had been here, oh so long ago. Of the humans to make it this far in the race, he was one of only two.

"Oh, Marduk, glad I could catch you."

Hadrian groaned and looked up from the window. Before him was a Nuriddian male named Kord. All six arms were crossed casually.

"I figure you be in da lounge with de other racer. Ah well, no madda, here your share."

One of his arms flicked out and tossed a little credit wallet, which Hadrian nearly fumbled but caught.

"You know you sure like ta lose in style. Hah! I thought you actually trying ta make it into da top three last race. Of course…"

Kord took a moment to clean one of his pointed teeth with a clawed finger,

"Of course we both know you wouldn't do dat, right? Yes, I'm sure you know what's on da line."

Hadrian felt his blood begin to heat and he clenched his fist under the table. The previous race was still on his mind. But he needed the money. He needed to make it here, to this system, to this race. To make sure he got his chance he needed to stay calm. "Ahh, ya know, I love dis system. It's awfully dangerous. Uninhabitable by all means. A perfect last race. You be careful of dose belt eh? Especially the Marduk belt. Wouldn't wanna lose another great human racer, would we? Hahaha, oh, good luck, Hadrian!" And with that, Kord walked away.

Below the observation deck were the hangars. Hadrian was early for the race, but something about his ship always seemed to calm him. He let out a sigh and felt everything melt away. In here, he was a god. Complete control, every button and dial was an edict waiting to be passed. The control stick was the four winds. Yes, within this place, he was the master, the beginning and end. He closed his eyes.

"I am the thunder o'er the horizon…" he whispered "I am the coming storm…"

This quiet prayer was repeated until the demons left in terror, and all that remained was the will to win. He ran his thumb over the control stick and felt the ship's silent obedience. He could hear the others now

"I am the thunder…"

The announcers came and so to the crowds. This roaring thunder drowned out his own.

"I am the coming storm…"

The engines began to rumble. He turned over his own. His craft ascended in step with the others. Distantly, he could hear the announcers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and all sentient beings across the galaxy! Welcome, welcome, to the final leg of the Grand Solar! We're here live at Tiamat, the magnetar, where the bravest, the fastest, and perhaps the most insane pilots in the cosmos are about to embark on the most perilous race known to sentience!" said the Abredi announcer, clicking his mandibles excitedly.

"Right you are, Koth, and I have to say, the tension is palpable! The stakes couldn't be higher!" Said the other announcer, another Abredi.

"I know I'm right, Toth. Now, for you newcomers, today's circuit is simple. Since this system has no planets anymore, the goal is to pass through both asteroid belts, make a lap around the magnetar, and come back through the belts again."

A second, truer thunder came with the roar of engines revving.

"Don't let your preconceived notions of asteroid belts fool you, due to the sheer massive volume of these rocks, the space between asteroids is mere meters. A tight squeeze even for the smallest star racers."

"You couldn't pay me to race in there, Koth! Never in a million years!"

The engines grew louder and louder in Hadrian's ears.

"It looks like the racers are ready, and there the flag starts," said Toth

A hologram of three red dots came into view as Hadrian opened his eyes. The engines grew in their rancor.

"I am the thunder o'er the horizon…"

The hologram changed; now it was two. Then one.

"I am the storm"

A single green dot was the signal to go. All at once, the bubble of tension broke free, and the racers sped off and out towards the center of the star system.

"And they're off! It looks like Gurn the Klydaxi is taking the lead, followed by the Nuriddian favorite Mord! Look at them go!"

Hadrian broke through the protective shield, and all but his own engine could be heard now. It was almost serene. It would be if he were not accelerating at such a high speed. Soon, he would need to plateau or risk not being able to react in time to the first obstacles. A belt of asteroids is infamous for several notable deaths of racers. Hadrian would not be one of them.

The belt was only a few seconds away when the blinding white flash of an engine exploding upon impact. That was the first fatality; the Kasiam belt took another, who it was mattered not; what did was taking evasive maneuvers and quickly. Hadrian pulled on the control stick, and the ship obeyed. He slipped between two very close asteroids and the inertia pulled the blood from his head down to his feet and made his vision fog for a moment. Another flash could be seen, then another. Debris quickly spread out and created new dangers to avoid. Taking quick action, Hadrian made his ship dive down to avoid the still-burning wreck of a ship that was flying away almost faster than he could react. A sudden head rush as the blood in his feet rushed back upwards and he felt his face flush and burn.

Another thirty seconds, only thirty, and he would be out of it. He had to maneuver himself again, past more debris from wrecked racers. His internal count was at four. Four beings had lost their lives, and the race had only been running for six minutes. Ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven. Another ship blew. Seven, six, five, four. One more near miss with an asteroid, and once more he felt the change of direction pull the fluids in his body around. He broke out of the Kasiam. Behind him now was the easy part. Ahead was the much larger and far more dangerous Marduk Belt.

The name stung. He could still recall seeing the bright white-blue light of an engine colliding with another. He remembered the scream he'd let out when it happened. Now was not the time for the past. Now was the time to avoid the other racers. In this stretch, he knew others would try to damage his ship or slow him down to get ahead. The compressive force of his acceleration made it hard to breath.

He had made a name for himself by how passive he raced, comparatively. He narrowly avoided the rigid, shielded fins of the Nuriddian he'd passed in the previous belt. He performed a barrel roll and found himself behind the alien. He hated that maneuver, it al...

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First / Previous / Royal Road

XXX

That night, while the others slept, Pale took it upon herself to step out of the house that King Harald had put them up in, and head outside by herself. As she stepped out the front door, she looked around, making sure there was nobody watching nearby. She didn't expect anybody would be; the house they were staying in was located on the outskirts of town, after all. But it paid to be cautious, she supposed.

A quick diagnostic scan of herself showed the extent of the damage to her ship once more. Pale sucked in a breath as she looked up into the night sky, watching the stars as they shined overhead. Her brow furrowed at the sight of it, but she shook her head regardless, and instead closed her eyes and began to concentrate.

It had been a while since she'd called upon her Affinity. From what she recalled, the last time she'd used it had been in her fight against Sven, back when the Luminarium had been attacked all those months ago. For an ordinary Mage, that would have been a problem, but with her perfect memory, Pale found it easy to remember how it felt to recall her own magic.

Once she felt that familiar feeling well up in her chest, Pale opened her eyes. One of her hands fell to her pocket, where she pulled out a single pistol round. The brass case glinted in the moonlight, but not for long; Pale concentrated, and as she did so, the brass began to change, turning a bright silver, as it was steadily replaced with steel. She gave a content nod as she turned the newly-turned steel cased round over in her hand, looking for any kind of imperfection. Despite her keen eye for detail, she wasn't able to find a single one.

"Still got it…" she muttered as she placed the bullet back in her pocket. That was her warm-up done; she'd at least confirmed she still knew what she was doing when it came to using her Affinity.

Now it was time to truly put it into practice.

Over the past few hours, Pale had developed a theory in relation to her magic. She'd been aching to test it out, but her friends had insisted that she spend at least a few hours relaxing with them, and she'd given in to them, both because it put them at ease, and because if she was going to do this, then she wanted to go into it as refreshed as possible. Part of her had even wanted to wait after getting a good night's sleep first, but after tossing and turning for about a half-hour and feeling not even the slightest shred of exhaustion, she'd eventually given in and stepped outside.

In any case, her theory was simple – her affinity was tied directly to her sjel. Nobody knew what, exactly, housed the sjel; it couldn't have been just the brain, because Pale's own brain was completely artificial, and she had a sjel regardless. No, it was manifested by something else entirely – some higher form of consciousness that transcended anything physical. It had to have been something innate to whatever it was that gave sapient beings on this world the ability to introspect and learn for themselves.

And if she was right, and that was truly the case, then there was absolutely no reason why her sjel, and by extension, her Affinity, had to be limited purely to the body of the avatar she was occupying now.

When the realization had crossed her mind earlier, it had all but begged for additional experimentation. Part of her yearned for the bodies of additional avatars, purely to see if her Affinity not only held between them all, but could somehow compound if she operated them all in tandem. But, alas, only this one had survived the attack from the Caatex and the subsequent trip to this solar system, so that possibility was all but dead in the water.

But, thankfully, it wasn't the only other body she had at her disposal.

Pale closed her eyes once more, focusing on the ship itself for the first time in a long time. Her true body, as it were, was still floating in orbit high above the planet, and yet it was easily accessible to her regardless. And, moreover, while it was in tatters, it hadn't yet disintegrated into nothing, which was good – that meant that there was still an opportunity to use it as a testing bed.

Pale started small. There was no way to truly and completely repair her ship right now, not with how limited she was with her affinity, but in due time, that would come. For now, though, there was something that caught her attention instead.

Namely, her armament.

She'd run out of 250-millimeter shells ages ago, when she'd spent them all in a panic trying to flee from Sven during her and Kayla's first encounter with him. That had hit her hard, because the 250-millimeter cannon had been one of her key armaments early on in this new world.

But now, with her Affinity in place? Perhaps she could do something to bring it back online again.

The way the cannon worked was simple – the entire system had been designed to be automatic from the ground-up; the gun was powered by its own independent power source, which miraculously hadn't been knocked offline when the Caatex had attacked, hence why it was still operational even when the rest of the ship was stuck in orbit. The gun itself fed fresh shells through a belt that led into the weapon, and when the shells were fired, they were ejected out into a second belt on the other end of the weapon. It had been purposely designed this way so that spent shells weren't stuck floating around the interior of the ship as it moved. And, moreover, the spent shells were designed to feed back into an auto-loading system, where they would be refilled and repackaged with fresh payloads, then sent back into the first belt. It was simple, yet effective, until it wasn't.

But, perhaps, she could change that.

Pale sucked in a breath, then did a deep dive into her own systems. With her position as the heart and soul of the ship, she had near-total access to even the smallest of its parts, so long as they were connected to her 'mind' in some way. With how automated everything was, that meant it was a simple feat to examine the interior of the gun-and-loading system, and determine exactly what was wrong.

And, sure enough, within mere moments, Pale determined the issue – part of the auto-loader had been hit by plasma slag during the Caatex's attack. The gun itself was still perfectly operational, but she had no way of getting fresh ammo into it.

Until now, at least.

As she pored over the auto-loader's system, Pale poked and prodded with her Affinity, trying to determine what needed to be done to fix it. The gun's motherboard was completely fried; plasma had dripped through the external housing and onto the sensitive electronics, rendering them useless. But, perhaps, with a bit of finesse…

She started small – as small as possible, even, making the tiniest of adjustments on a mere microscopic scale, the same way she had with Professor Tomas back when he'd first started helping her explore what her Affinity was capable of. Between her naturally superhumanly-analytical mind and her Affinity, she was able to work atom by atom.

And, slowly but surely, she felt something begin to shift the more she worked.

It didn't take long for her to begin getting used to how it felt to control things at this scale. Before long, she was transmuting entire groups of atoms, and within just a few hours, she'd gotten comfortable enough to begin working at a larger scale than even that.

And, finally, around two in the morning, Pale felt the auto-loader spring to life. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the machine came alive, and the belt of spent shells began to automatically feed into the reloader, and then a few seconds later, began to fall into place on the other side of the gun.

Finally, after all this time, she had access to heavy artillery once more.

A grin split her face. She hadn't been lying earlier when she'd said that she was tired of war, and of fighting, and of killing… but she also couldn't deny that the knowledge she was now better-equipped to defend her loved ones brought her no small sense of relief.

Enough that she was more than willing to allow herself to lose her composure for just a moment.

"Yes!"

Her voice echoed through the night as she pumped her fist out of a sense of sheer victory. She allowed herself a few seconds of celebration before managing to regain her faculties again, and calmed down.

At least, until she heard an all-too-familiar giggle come from behind her.

"Well," Kayla said, "I don't know what you're celebrating, but I'm certainly glad to see a smile on your face."

Pale blinked in surprise, feeling her face begin to heat up as she turned around. She cleared her throat as she locked eyes with her best friend.

"...I made a big breakthrough just now," she explained. "To put it in simple terms – do you remember when we invaded Sven's camp, and I blew it up?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well… I now have the ability to do that again."

Kayla blinked in surprise. "...I'm not even going to ask how you managed to do that, because I know it'd go right over my head. But I'm definitely happy for you, and not just because it's good to know you've got another tool in your arsenal."

"What do you ...

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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

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Chapter 292: A Battle Royale

The Green Willow Sect, enraged by their teammate's injury, launched the first coordinated attack. Three disciples moved in perfect synchrony, unfurling long jade whips. The flexible weapons curled through the air like living things, seeking gaps in the Black Palm disciples' defense.

"Severing Willow Dance!" their leader called out, her hands weaving complex patterns that seemed to guide the whips' movements.

One whip found its mark, wrapping around a Black Palm disciple's ankle and yanking him off balance. The second struck at eye level, forcing another defender to block with his forearm, which immediately sprouted a line of bleeding welts where the jade barbs connected. The third whip, however, was intercepted by Lu Fang himself, who caught it in his oversized right hand and grinned savagely.

"Black Palm Technique: Reverse Corruption," he growled, sending a pulse of dark energy along the whip's length.

The Green Willow disciple screamed as her own weapon turned against her, the corruption energy racing up the jade whip and into her hands. She released the weapon immediately, but not before her fingers had blackened with necrotic energy. She staggered backward, clutching her injured hands to her chest.

The Five Elements Sect saw their opportunity and moved next, capitalizing on the distraction. Their formation shifted, each member glowing with the energy of their respective element—wood, fire, earth, metal, and water.

"Five Elements Convergence Array!" their leader announced, his voice resonating with five distinct tones simultaneously.

The elemental energies coalesced into a single beam that lanced toward Lu Fang's position with devastating precision. It was a powerful technique, one that could easily incapacitate or kill even a peak ninth-stage Qi Condensation cultivator if it landed squarely.

The Black Palm disciples scrambled to counter, two of them rushing forward to intercept the attack with their own defensive techniques. The collision of energies created a thunderous explosion that sent shockwaves rippling through the clearing, momentarily destabilizing the spatial fabric around us.

"Anchor now!" I commanded as I felt the spatial fluctuations intensify.

Su Yue reacted instantly, deploying one of our spatial anchors. The pyramid-shaped device embedded itself in the ground at our feet, immediately projecting a stabilization field that shielded us from the worst of the distortion. Around the clearing, other teams deployed similar protections, creating pockets of stability amid the churning chaos.

The battle escalated rapidly, transforming from isolated skirmishes into a true melee.

Green Willow and Black Palm disciples clashed directly, while the Five Elements team tried to maintain their formation despite increasingly desperate attempts to disrupt it. The Morning Star Sect remained uncommitted, their members watching the chaos with calculating eyes.

I observed it all, cataloging strengths, weaknesses, and potential opportunities. The balance of power seemed unstable, with multiple factions preventing any single group from dominating. If we moved now, we'd just become another target in the melee.

"We need to wait for a clearer opportunity," I decided. "Let them wear each other down further..."

My strategic assessment was interrupted by a blinding flash of light that seared across the clearing, cutting through the chaotic battle like a knife.

Lu Fang barely managed to throw up a hasty defense, his corruption energy struggling against the pure, searing radiance that engulfed him.

When the light faded, a new figure stood where Lu Fang had been, though Lu Fang himself was now sprawled several meters away, his right arm smoking and his protective circle scattered.

"The arrogance of demonic cultivators never ceases to amaze me," declared the newcomer, a muscular young man with short blonde hair and eyes that glowed with golden light. In his hand, he now held the Moonlit Dew Flower.

"Yun Feng of the Holy Light Sect," Su Yue identified him through gritted teeth.

So, this was why the Holy Light Sect had seemed absent; they'd been hiding nearby, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. A classic ambush strategy, and effectively executed.

"I knew it was too good to be true," I muttered, watching as several more Holy Light disciples emerged from concealed positions around the clearing, moving to support their leader.

Yun Feng examined the flower with a satisfied nod before addressing the stunned cultivators around him. "This sacred treasure will serve a greater purpose with the Holy Light Sect than as a stepping stone for corrupted cultivation methods."

Lu Fang struggled to his feet, dark energy roiling around his damaged arm as he glared at Yun Feng with undisguised hatred. "You light-obsessed fanatics think yourselves so pure," he spat. "Yet you hide in shadows and strike from behind."

"Strategic positioning is not dishonor when facing those who walk twisted paths," Yun Feng replied calmly. He glanced down at the flower in his hand, frowning slightly when he too discovered it couldn't yet be placed in his storage ring. "Disciples, maintain formation. The flower requires time."

The Holy Light disciples formed a tight circle around their leader, their golden-infused defensive techniques creating an almost solid wall of light. Unlike the Black Palm formation, which had focused on aggressive deterrence, the Holy Light formation was designed purely for protection, each disciple linking their spiritual energy with their neighbors to create a synchronized defense.

"They're good," Azure commented. "That's a Harmonious Light Barrier. Breaking through directly would be costly."

I nodded slowly as I noticed something familiar about Yun Feng, it was the fanatical gleam in his eyes, the righteous set of his jaw, it reminded me uncomfortably of Lightweavers.

The parallel was unnerving.

Both groups wrapped their violence in the cloak of righteousness, believing their actions justified by some higher purpose. But while the Lightweavers had the excuse of being driven mad by blue sun radiation, what was Yun Feng's explanation?

Simple human arrogance, most likely, the belief that his interpretation of the dao was the only correct path.

The battle resumed with renewed intensity, now centered on the Holy Light formation. Five Elements, Green Willow, and Black Palm disciples all redirected their attacks toward this new target, momentarily setting aside their rivalries in the face of a common enemy.

Lu Fang seemed particularly enraged, his corrupted hand now fully engulfed in crimson-black energy as he hurled devastating techniques at the light barrier. "Return what you stole, light-rat!" he roared, each strike leaving distorted spaces in the air where his corruption energy had eaten away at the valley's natural laws.

The Morning Star Sect disciples finally moved, though not toward the battle. Instead, they repositioned themselves to better observe the conflict, their leader making subtle gestures with her hands, mapping fate lines, if I had to guess, looking for the optimal moment to intervene.

"We should follow their example," I suggested to my team. "Reposition for a better angle, but don't engage yet."

We carefully circled around the perimeter of the clearing, maintaining distance from the main conflict while ensuring we had clear sight lines to Yun Feng and the flower. The battle had grown even more chaotic, with techniques misfiring and colliding to create unintended effects, a particular danger in a place like Black Mist Valley, where spatial laws were already fragile.

A fireball from a Five Elements disciple struck a corruption shield, creating a spiraling vortex of flame and shadow that briefly opened a small tear in the valley's fabric. Through that tear, I caught a glimpse of somewhere else, a stark, mountainous landscape under a blood-red sky, before the wound in reality sealed itself.

"Dangerous," Azure commented. "The valley's stability is deteriorating with each high-energy technique collision."

"Master, look at the Morning Star leader," he continued. "She's waiting for something specific."

I shifted my attention to the star-freckled woman and her team. They remained perfectly still, yet there was a tension in their posture. The woman's eyes were fixed not on Yun Feng or the flowe...

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John placed the manifest in the crate before putting the lid on, taking a brief moment to write "Box 12" on the lid in charcoal to make it easily identifiable later. Then, he floated it from under the canopy to a pile of boxes with other, related things, setting it off to the side. Of course, they would have to move this all in later, but the back lot gave them more room to work. 

"And that's how I, personally, would do it," he said to Rin, who stood nearby, carefully watching as he went through the motions. "If you ever meet someone who actually does logistics for a living, they'll probably know a better way, but this has been more than sufficient for me."

"I see, sensei," Rin responded uncertainly, eyeing up the stack of heavy boxes like they were a beast that might jump out and attack her. "Why do you add a list of contents to the box, too? Isn't that wasteful when we already have a master list?"

John's mind immediately went to the time in university where he accidentally saved over the only copy of his "to research" list, which just happened to be called "New Document (1)", and the immediate mad scramble.

"Can you guarantee you'll never lose that list?" he asked. "How about whoever we hand it off to? Will they make sure to keep it safe?" John popped the lid on the next, wincing at the massive arrangement of dinnerware on display, with rough sheets of fabric shoved between them to stop the contents from breaking.

Rin shifted uneasily, answering, "No, sensei."

"Besides, we aren't the only ones dealing with these. Odds are the militia is going to deal with this stuff, and not every one of them will need the full list for themselves," John said, starting to carefully take some plates out and very carefully putting them on the ground, being joined by Rin. Thankfully, he didn't have to remind her to be gentle.

How the hell was he even going to get all this stuff back to the appropriate people? It wasn't like they had kept an accurate log of what they had, never mind what came from where. He had found some lists of stolen goods and money when he went looking, but they generally only seemed to make note of anyone they thought they could squeeze for more.

Really, their paperwork was disgustingly poor to his untrained eye. Sure, he wasn't expecting them to have modern logistics, but he was hoping for some bare minimum of inventory tracking. The only thing they kept a *semi-*good watch on was the money, although he could tell they were cooking the books there, and it was thus useless. The list was probably what they were actually sending to the government, so it looked like they were doing their jobs properly in case they got audited down the line.

Pretty smart, all things considered, although he had a feeling that it was Kiku's idea. The lack of effort elsewhere could be explained by the fact that it wasn't as if the Nameless needed their tribute to be well organized ahead of time; it had an excess of eager limbs to do the work.

The door slid open, and his head reflexively shot up, but it was just Yosuke with another crate.

"Set it down over here, please!" John called, gesturing to the stack nearby, albeit still out of the rain, before returning to work. It was a small mercy that they decided on sealed, waterproof boxes for everything. The fact that he had the telekinetic focus so they didn't have to go out into the rain to retrieve them was nice, too. Otherwise, he'd have to get Rin to do it, lest he accidentally expose the fact that he wasn't as physically strong as expected. Of course, he didn't want her to get soaked and perhaps catch a cold… although Rin was aligned with storms. Maybe she'd be fine, even if her Unbound state didn't provide some sort of blanket immunity?

Seconds later, he heard the gentle creak of wood put under pressure, and he replied with, "Thank you, I do appreciate all the help," although he didn't look back up. He heard Yosuke's steps fade away not long after, lost under the patter of the rain.

A few seconds later, he realized he didn't hear Yosuke close the door that time.

John looked up and saw Yuki stepping through the door, her monochromatic form trimmed in bright golds, a lighthouse in the murk, and she crept closer on padded feet, uncaring of the rain.

In fact, it almost skittered off her, not soaking her fur or clothing despite the weather continuing to intensify. Mentally, John added "hydrophobic coating" to her list of unfair advantages.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head, quieting him as she slinked closer, eerily silent, eyes locked on Rin.

Ah.

John looked back down, making a show of working lest the unwary target of Yuki's fox-ish impulses catch on. It wasn't his problem, really. He just hoped the kitsune would wait for the dragonblooded Unbound's hands to be empty; he wasn't ready to catch something thrown by a startled Rin. She probably had a pitch to surpass record holders by sheer strength alone.

From the corner of his vision, he saw Yuki silently standing behind Rin, looming over her like some sort of guillotine.

Work went on for a few minutes more, and he was starting to wonder when she would notice. The box was unpacked, counted, and repacked, along with some extra notes about the conditions of the contents and what they were made of, so it would be easier to find the exact owners. Honestly, it was positively baffling that they put wood, stoneware, and ceramics in the same container—absolutely deranged behaviour on behalf of whoever packed this.

On top of that, they decided to put bolts of cloth under the dinnerware layer, and under that were a few scattered tools, which he put off to the side to be repacked elsewhere in a place that made more sense.

Almost impatiently, Yuki kept leaning closer and closer, as if daring the Unbound to notice her looming presence. She was still as serene as ever, of course, perfectly calm, arms calmly at her side as she cast Rin in her shade like a towering oak, muzzle bearing a gentle smile. Still, though, there was no mistaking the warm twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

How Rin managed to remain unaware of a kitsune breathing down her neck was beyond him. Really, she should feel it that close. Was she ignoring Yuki on purpose? Was it some kind of play he just couldn't understand the meaning of?

Rin rose back up to move and reach the other side of the box, and Yuki perfectly mirrored her, staying behind her scant inches with eerie grace. When her target settled, she stilled again.

Then, something changed.

Both of them twitched.

Without a sound, Rin slumped over like a puppet with her strings cut, and Yuki drunkenly staggered and hissed sharply, a hand going up to her forehead as she stood up, ramrod straight, searching the area.

"Rin!" he called, jumping to his feet and running over to the Unbound's side. "Can you hear me?"

No response.

She had already begun to lean to the side, and he grabbed her before she fell the rest of the way over, easing her descent. Her eyes were closed, and he mumbled an apology as he put his ear up to her chest… but her heartbeat and breathing were both steady.

Clicking his tongue, John cursed to himself before gently laying her in the recovery position, resting her on her right side, putting the matching arm in an L shape, tucking the left under her head to support it, and finally positioning her legs to stop her from rolling onto her stomach.

When he looked up, Yuki was leaning against a wall, breathing heavily, but unbowed. "Yuki! Are you alright?" he hurriedly asked.

The kitsune hissed, a hand going up to her temple. "Other than the fact we're under attack by the priests?" she groaned, pushing herself back to her feet.

"The priests?" John said, momentary terror searching his heart as his eyes darted around, finding nothing. "Where? How?"

More importantly, why wasn't he affected?

"I recognized this feeling. They must have placed some sort of empowered Ofuda around," she grunted, standing straight. "It's suppressing yokai and those who share their blood. It's a potent charm, and not one Rin is strong enough to bear. Yosuke, too, I wager."

So they were alone.

Testingly, John pointed at a box and levitated it. "Everything is still working fine for me."

"Ofuda like this and similar charms abuse purposeful flaws introduced in the design spirits by the gods, capable of influencing them in many ways as a means of control," Yuki breathlessly explained. "As part of that, anything more than a mortal is unable to use them."

John cursed again. "Fine. Fine! Alright, so, they put up a charm to, what, make you sick?"

"No," Yuki stated, shaking her head. "They've created a zone where spiritual beings are forbidden to enter, and this is the consequence of breaking that. They shouldn't be able to create charms this strong; the materials are too expensive."

Kiku must have supplied what they needed.

"We have to leave, get back to the fort," John stated, then paused. "Wait. What are the odds they already put these up there, too? Should we go somewhere else for you to recover?"

Yuki shook her head, wincing at the motion. "No, the feeling of this charm is distinct, and one I recognize; they w...

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Synopsis:

Carlos was an ordinary software engineer on Earth, up until he died and found himself in a fantasy world of dungeons, magic, and adventure. This new world offers many fascinating possibilities, but it's unfortunate that the skills he spent much of his life developing will be useless because they don't have computers.

Wait, why does this spell incantation read like a computer program's source code? Magic is programming?

<< First | Characters | < Previous | Next > (RR) or Next > (Patreon)

Recindril Tostral restrained his urge to pace while he waited for the signal to come. It wouldn't do to show signs of nervousness in front of the dozens of other nobles assembled for this ambush, after all. Still, he couldn't stop his thoughts from going over all the ways disaster could happen. It's been 4 days since I forced Prince Hinren to respawn. The Crown has shown no public reaction yet, but surely they have at least considered how to prevent a repeat. Will we find ourselves facing King Elston himself? We're not ready for that yet!

He carefully kept his face a mask of calmness despite his racing thoughts. No, no, he wouldn't involve himself so directly yet. I think. The Crown will no doubt escalate, yes, but Elston himself is their ultimate and final option. They have not yet exhausted their other tools. Perhaps, they might even exercise caution? The Crown cannot ignore a threat to a house treasure—regardless of how unprecedented vault-breaker devices this capable are, such a clear break of their sworn promise would be intolerable—but they might send a large contingent of royal guards, perhaps even with a field deployment of a royal mage, in lieu of a Kalor scion. If so, then a fraction of our prepared forces will suffice to overwhelm them.

He was tempted to hope for that outcome, but a shrewder part of him rejected that hope. No, they might hold back the scions in reserve in case they're needed elsewhere, but sending royal guards in lieu of a scion when a scion is unquestionably called for would be admitting weakness. Besides, I shouldn't be hoping for an outcome that would negate the point of today's attack; our goal with this is to weaken the Crown by killing another Kalor scion.

Preferably a different one. He huffed and smiled slightly at the thought of the youngest and weakest member of House Kalor. Probably a different one. They might send Hinren again to rectify the disgrace of his failure from last time, but I expect they'll send someone more competent instead to ensure success. The Crown's response to threats and opposition has always been to escalate. They'll expect us to escalate as well, considering how things have gone so far, and they'll send someone capable of beating the escalation that they expect. Possibly even Crown Princess Brenelle.

He pictured the Crown's heir in his mind, majestic in her strength, fervor, and certitude. She takes after her father well, and she's far more dangerous than Hinren will ever be. They won't expect us to be ready to beat her. But… Recindril let a vicious smile touch his lips. They have no idea how many nobles responded to the hint of weakness in the Crown that Hinren's defeat exposed. We have all chafed under the Crown's overbearing authority for far too long.

His speculation was abruptly brought to a halt by the arrival of the awaited signal. Multiple signals, in fact. There's the signal for too many royal guards and the signal for a Crown scion? Even if a scion brought guards as well, the arranged protocol was to only send one signal. Did the signaller misunderstand the instructions? He mentally scolded himself for letting the unexpected combination push him into indecisive slowness. Regardless, it's unambiguous that our target is there.

He called out, "First wave, go!" That was for the group of 9 young nobles from various houses standing ready on the other side of the room. Several of them wore eager grins, and a couple were almost bouncing with excitement. They were all newly-raised to power and inexperienced, chosen because they had not yet advanced beyond the level of the highest available wellspring, so the loss of power from their expected respawns would be quickly recoverable. None of them seemed to care that they were expected to die, sacrificial pawns to buy a few moments of time for the true combatants. Their leader shouted a cheer, and the rest began to echo it, only to get cut off mid-shout as the whole group teleported out.

Recindril immediately called out again, this time to the nobles directly around him, "Prepare yourselves!" Dozens of hands tightened on assorted weapons, a few mages and mystics firmed their grip on their magic, and he pressed the button on the Mass Teleport item they were all gathered around. He had no time to reflect on how extraordinary that enchantment also was before its spell catapulted them all into battle.

He barely had time to register an incoming rock and jerk his head to the side to dodge it. He spared only the barest of glances for the ramparts of the castle surrounding them, just enough to note that no one truly powerful was fighting there. He turned his attention to the central keep and was unsurprised to see a large hole in the side of it. That vault-breaker may be powerful, but it certainly is not subtle! The intangible pressure of a royal soul exerting itself in combat nearby was expected, of course, though it was considerably more intense than he had felt from either Hinren or Lornera. Is Brenelle really this much stronger? It can't be King Elston himself, right? The thought flickered through his mind as he continued his rapid assessment of the situation.

A flicker of high-speed motion accompanied a tremendous cracking sound as the hole in the keep abruptly widened, with a spray of cracked rocks erupting from its new expansion. The dark orange of the Crown's royal orichalcum livery caught his eye, and he looked to see which scion it was. Then another flash of orichalcum flew out to join the first, followed by a third. Recindril's eyes widened as he took in the sight of not one, but three Crown scions hovering in the middle of the castle courtyard. He barely noticed the two pieces of a noble scion's bisected corpse tumbling out of the hole in their wake.

Crown Princess Brenelle Kalor took the lead, with Lornera Kalor and Patrimmon Kalor flanking her on either side. She glared levelly at Recindril with a mix of anger, scorn, and contempt. Her mana flared strongly, and he felt the phantom grip of a targeted teleport block take hold. "Recindril, traitor lord of House Tostral, you were unwise to show yourself here. Surrender now, return what you have stolen, and confess how you did it, and the Crown will show you mercy." She leveled a quick glare at the other assembled nobles. "The same offer goes for each of you. Surrender immediately and cooperate, and you will earn the Crown's mercy."

A moment of confusion about what theft she was talking about flew through Recindril's mind, but then he quickly brushed his mana across the activation switch for the final emergency signal and shouted orders. "Plan 3! Brenelle is primary!" It wasn't a perfect match—plan 3 was for if a Crown scion brought a huge contingent of royal guards with them—but it was close enough that it should get the point across of what he meant. His shout jolted the crowd of nobles into motion just as the rest of their faction materialized in the air. A barrage of arrows, knives, fire, lightning, and more erupted in a wave of coordinated violence, converging on the Crown scions from all directions. The lightning hit first, to no apparent effect. Then the scions responded.

The three of them split up and rocketed outward, Lornera and Patrimmon going to the sides while Brenelle charged directly at Recindril. They knocked aside whatever attacks were in their path and left the rest hopelessly off-target. An interlocking wall of shields, force barriers, and sharp blades sprang into existence in front of him, just as they had practiced in preparation for the worst—in case King Elston responded personally. For a moment, it seemed like it would hold as Princess Brenelle flew into it and was halted.

Then she pulled back her right fist and punched. The entire wall shook, even with more than a dozen nobles supporting it with all their strength. The lord holding the central tower shield was knocked back several feet, and the shield itself was severely dented. A volley of arrows and fire filled the gap in his momentary absence while he gritted his teeth, bent his shield back into shape with an exertion of his mana, and flew back into place.

The shield-wielder flew forward at full speed, as though to charge the princess rather than merely retake his position. She met him with a roundhouse kick so fast that even Recindril could barely see it. The shield snapped in two, both of the arms supporting it bent in places no arm should ever bend, and the man's body plummeted out of formation with no...

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==

Klaxons screeched as Kon raced along the narrow walkway, the heavy emergency duffel bag bouncing off his back with each desperate stride. Rumbles shook the ship as the pulse cannons fired again and again. One part of his mind noticed that each salvo had slightly fewer shots fired than the last. He pushed the negative thoughts out of his mind as he continued to run through the access corridors to the escape shuttles. 

“All hands, abandon ship. This is not a drill. All hands, abandon ship. This is not a drill.” The ship's automated voice rang out over and over as the Dragon’s Maw shuddered again. Kon couldn’t help but think of the repercussions of his new home being shot out from under him. It had only been four months since he arrived, not even enough time to join a cadre.

He made the final turn and slapped his hand against the sensor to open the hatch that led to the main thoroughfare where the escape shuttles were docked. Smoke billowed around him, causing him to cough instantly as the toxic smoke scoured his throat and lungs. 

Kon hit the deck to get under the worst of the yellow smoke. Training had equipped him for what to do in these types of situations, but the reality of it happening here and now shocked him. Using his toes and fingers, he scuttled down the hall toward the bay, relying on memory more than his compromised sight. 

Hshzroo, the sound of energy weapons firing came down the hall, followed shortly by pained screams. Decidedly non-human screams. Shouts in foreign languages assaulted his ears, and Kon cursed as he found the door panel that operated the hangar’s blast door. It opened without a sound, and Kon raced in, slapping a blind hand behind him to close the blast door.

Without the choking smoke, Kon was able to clear his watery eyes and lungs, gasping in clean air as he took in the hurried, but still organized, evacuation of the ship. Clerks, technicians, and sailors were rushing to the appropriate shuttle while a half-dozen squires shouted above the clamor as they directed traffic. They were all wearing light armor that covered their chests, heads, thighs, and shins. Dull gray armor that light didn’t reflect off of. Each held a standard energy weapon, the type that wouldn’t melt through or pierce bulkheads and expose the inhabitants to the void of space. 

Eight tubular shuttles sat in a line along the edge of the kilometer-long bay, each before a tunnel that would shoot them from the protected depths of the ship and into space. At the end of the tunnels were both a sealed blast door and an atmospheric shield. They would be lowering the blast doors while the shield could keep the ship pressurized; it wouldn’t stop anything physical from flying down the tunnels and into the heart of the ship. 

A single Knight watched them all. The ship was small enough that Kon knew every Knight on sight, but Knight Evelyn Bosch wasn’t the social type. She wore her full power armor, a seven-foot-tall juggernaut of steel who projected a quiet air of confidence. Her own weapons weren’t standard weak-powered energy weapons, but a pair of short swords on her hip and an energy projector mounted on a wrist. Her suit would have more deadly surprises on it, but that was all Kon could notice as he started to race toward the stairs that connected the catwalk to the bay. 

Another rumble shook the ship, more violent than all the others and Kon cursed as the stairs disappeared from under his feet. He hit the deck hard and rolled to disperse the energy of the fall. For a moment he worried about having broken the shoulder he had landed on, but the pain faded away as he got to his feet. More smoke began to fill the hangar as the Dragon’s Maw shook violently.

A beam of yellow energy sizzled by his head and Kon leapt to the side. Muscle memory pushed through his confusion as he looked around. The primary doors leading into the hangar had been blasted inward and a stream of black armored figures raced inside, firing their weapons indiscriminately into the crowd of evacuating crewmembers. 

Flesh blackened as the water evaporated from bodies in bursts of steam sending corpses to the ground. Squires fired back as they walked fearlessly against the horde of invaders. Knight Bosch leapt, clearing the twenty meters in the blink of an eye. She landed among the invaders in a flash of green energy as she moved so fast she left afterimages behind her. 

For a moment, Kon thought it was over. The survivors raced into the shuttles as discipline collapsed, the line of shuttles filled. Ramps raised and locked, and the shuttles detached from their anchors with a whumph as pneumatic cannons propelled them out of their launch bays and into space. 

The line of eight shuttles quickly whittled down to just two; both of them were the furthest away from where Kon had come down. He kept his head low as he ran toward the shuttles and felt his heart fall as the seventh shuttle departed before he crossed the halfway mark. Smoke had flooded into the bay, the steam and smoke from those who had been hit by the energy weapons added to the confusion all around the cavernous bay. 

A hulking shadow came barreling through the smoke, slamming into Knight Bosch with a cataclysmic sound of tearing metal. Kon froze as Bosch flew through the air and bounced off the ground twice before sliding to a halt in a spray of sparks. The squad of squires fired at the figure, but it launched itself at them without slowing, blades of viridian energy emanating from long claws that jutted from iron gauntlets. Squires died in seconds as their bodies were ripped apart. 

Then Bosch was back, her swords singing and clanging with chaotic clashes of energy. The two figures danced through the smoke in a blitz of speed and martial prowess. Bosch was a foot shorter than the black armored monster and only half as broad, but each of her blows staggered it and she pinned it into a corner with a beautiful flurry that ended with a head rolling free. It had ended nearly as fast as it had begun, the Knight’s speed and strength superior to her opponent’s cultivation. Bosch kicked the head, her eyes then snapped to look at the open doors as a group of cadets came rushing through, led by a squire.

Bosch waved her sword at the survivors, directing them toward the only shuttle left. Kon was halfway across the kilometer-long bay. With thick plumes of smoke and the flashing Klaxons, he could only see the shuttle in flashes as the vents struggled to cleanse the air.

“They can’t see me,” Kon thought miserably as a squad of familiar looking cadets came running through the door the invaders had and raced directly into the open door of the shuttle. Kon came to a stop in the middle of the corpse-strewn bay and thought furiously. There were two other bays, but the sounds of fighting echoed down the halls, and he doubted he’d be able to scrape by again without encountering more of the invaders. 

“Nobody likes a whiner. Get to it, Kon,” he spoke to himself, his voice loud in the suddenly silent bay. Following his own words, he went over to a dead squire, a boy’s face he vaguely recognized as being a few years older than himself. The rifle in his arms was molten slag, but the kinetic weapon on his hip was still functional.  

A full magazine of 10mm rounds was in the weapon, but Kon didn’t find any more of the magazines on the body. Sounds were coming closer to him and Kon didn’t have any time to scavenge the other dead bodies. Pistol clenched tightly, he raced through the blown open lower doors the invaders had breached. 

The hallway was clear; a few dead squires and more black -armored invaders stretched out. Heavy armored footsteps came behind him and Kon was forced to run faster. There were personal escape pods he could reach, a last line of evacuation for anyone who had been left behind by the shuttle’s departure. Unlike the shuttle bays that were buried in the heart of the ship, these were along the outer edge, behind only a thin layer of armor that wouldn’t resist pulse cannon fire for long. 

He picked up speed, coughing and choking with harsh smoke, the smell of violence invaded his mouth and lungs with every deep breath. Sweat welled down his hand and pooled around his grip on the pistol. Every time he pumped his arms, the heavy weapon threatened to go leaping from his grip. 

The sharp and clear fluorescent lighting snapped away and dim red emergency lighting lit up a split second later. The yellow hazard lights continued to flash about the halls. The smoke, dim lighting, and flashing lights created a nightmare-like feel to an already terrible encounter. 

“Keep running, prey! I enjoy the hunt!” a deep voice boomed out from somewhere behind him. It was more growl than enunciated words, and the howl of enjoyment that followed it confirmed that it wasn’t human. Behind Kon was nothing but smoke and gloom. Heart thumping powerfully in his chest, he started to run. 

His coughing worsened, but he forced his legs to keep churning. The signs and neon paint showed through the smoke, he used them to navigate as fear tried to cloud his mind. Another howl echoed behind him as he bounced off of a bulkhead in his haste, bruising his shoulder, but he kept his legs pumping. 

He wasn’t far now; the edge of the ship was close by, but the number of corpses was increasing. The attackers had entered close to here, and the security forces had engaged them and lost. Squires and mundane security bodies were mixe...

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FIRST

Blurb/Synopsis

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

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

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

Chapter 62: Hearts and Minds (3)

Note: Welcome to all the new readers! If you're enjoying the book so far I'd appreciate if you like and comment!

The silence that followed was pure shock, which Perry had expected, though he’d hoped for at least one pragmatist to recover quickly. They’d probably expected him to angle for enchantment techniques or metallurgy secrets, maybe request mining rights or exclusive trade arrangements – the kind of things that made sense in their framework of what nations wanted from each other.

Perry would want those things eventually, of course, but establishing America as a military partner first would make everything else follow naturally. Help them solve their existential problem, and suddenly discussions about technology transfer became much friendlier. That was the calculation, anyway, assuming they could get past the conceptual hurdle of what America could actually do.

War Domain recovered first, if only to confirm his hearing. “Beg yer pardon? The Elemental Dragon? Have ye lost yer wits? How in the stone’s name d’ye think to manage such a feat, when hosts o’ warriors’ve shattered against it?”

The answer involved cruise missiles and two-thousand-pound JDAMs, but it wasn’t like those terms would mean anything to the dwarves.

“We have weapons that can strike from… considerable distance,” he said. But how the hell was he supposed to explain effective range to people whose artillery topped out at a few miles? Simple was the only option. “Many miles away. Far enough that the dragon wouldn’t even know the attack was coming.”

War’s eyebrows shot up. “Miles? What siege engine reaches miles? Even wi’ enchantments behind ye, ye’d not reach such a distance with even the finest cannons!”

“Our cannons reach dozens of miles. And we’ve got other weapons that can strike at hundreds. Think of them as… extremely advanced artillery. Guided artillery. They find their own way to the target.”

“Hundreds of miles?” Forge’s voice rang with a craftsman’s disbelief, professional pride shattered. “We’ve metals that’d bear tenfold the charge, yet powder’s still powder. No mix I know could drive a shot so far an’ keep it straight. You’d need half a mountain’s worth just to send it, an’ still it’d tumble like a stone.”

“We don’t rely on powder for that kind of weapon,” Perry said carefully. “The projectile guides itself after launch. It can adjust its course in flight to stay on target until impact.”

“Guided, then…” Arcane trailed off. “But not by rune, nor by spirit. What craft, if no sorcery binds it?”

“Mathematics and engineering.” Perry didn’t bother explaining the concepts of GPS, radar, and internal guidance systems. He couldn’t. Well, maybe Wolcott could, but holding a lecture on missiles wasn’t the most productive idea at the moment. So, he simplified. “It’s complicated. But the short version is that the same principles that let us mass-produce those glasses let us make weapons that hit what we aim at. This would include the Elemental Dragon.”

Mountain hadn’t moved, but his knuckles had gone white against his armrest. Perry figured the dwarf was having one of those unpleasant realizations, like when embassy security learned what a drone swarm could do to their carefully planned defenses. All those murder holes and defensive angles Perry had catalogued on the way in – they’d suddenly become decorative.

“Yet ye’ve not.” Mountain’s words were slow and heavy, like he was holding back from speaking his true thoughts. “Ye come wi’ gifts an’ speech, askin’ leave. If such weapons are truly yours, why stay yer hand?”

Smart question. The real answer involved lawyers and ROE and not wanting to be the Americans who started bombing fantasy kingdoms, but the useful answer was simpler.

“We prefer partners to conquests. We’d need permission to operate within your territory. Freedom to position our assets where they’d be most effective.”

Mountain frowned, not bothering to hide his contempt. “Even if such weapons be real – an’ I’ll not grant that lightly – no foreign boot’s trod Ovinne stone these three centuries. We’ve held the mountains ‘gainst all comers, an’ never once by another folk’s hand.”

The obvious counterpoint would be the adventurers’ guilds operating across borders with impunity, but Perry knew better than to let that comparison leave his mouth. It was sophistry, and everyone knew it. Mercenaries with thin cover stories were one thing; acknowledged military forces were another creature entirely, and Mountain wasn’t stupid enough to conflate the two.

Perry leaned back in his seat and put on the most calming demeanor he could manage. “We’re not asking to march armies through your valleys. Just a handful of units that can perform targeted strikes against a specific threat.”

“Just?” Mountain’s voice carried three hundred years of defensive pride. “Ye speak o’ foreign weapons in our halls as though it were naught. Our fathers’ fathers bled an’ died to keep these mountains ours, an’ ours alone.”

Commerce cleared his throat. “The matter o’ coin –”

“To the slag wi’ coin! This is no tally o’ trade, but the marrow o’ who we are. We’ve no call for outland steel to fight our wars – save if every anvil shatters an’ the mountain itself yields. Only then would I stomach such aid.”

Performing patriotic opposition for the gallery like that – Perry recognized what it was. Theater. 

Twenty years ago as a freshman congressman, he’d have been furious at the waste of time – how many people had died waiting for politicians to finish their performative disagreements before arriving at the obvious answer? Hurricane relief held hostage to jurisdiction debates, pandemic aid stalled for partisan points.

Mountain probably felt the need to register his objection strenuously enough that nobody could later claim he’d rolled over for the Americans. But at least he wasn’t blindly stubborn; he’d given himself a perfect escape clause in that last line.

It sounded poetic enough for the traditionalists, flexible enough for reinterpretation. When Ovinnish citizens needed saving, Mountain could claim the mountain had indeed yielded to the dragon’s storms.

Still would’ve been faster to skip straight to ‘three hundred people need evacuation,’ but Perry had learned to pick his battles. The higher he’d climbed from Congress to State, the more he’d managed to avoid these circular firing squads, choosing positions where results mattered more than rhetoric. Not entirely, though – nowhere was entirely free of it. But he’d managed enough that he could watch the passion plays instead of starring in them.

This time, the star of the play was Harvest. “My nephew has family in Greyhar. His wife’s borne him a daughter I’ve yet to hold. Three hundred souls till the fields there, an’ beasts circle them like wolves at fold’s edge. If this be no hour for last resort, then it’s the hour we bury our own.”

“Don’t ye dare –”

Harvest cut in. “The mountain’s yielded. Avalanches’ve sealed Greyhar an’ half the vale besides. Folk’re penned in wi’ no road out. If that’s not the mountain givin’ way, then what would ye call it?”

The Council fell silent. Perry knew better than to speak; this was their argument to have.

And that’s where Commerce came in, offering a middle path. “If these weapons be as ye claim, might they not win us a bit o’ time, enough to bring our folk out o’ Greyhar an’ the other villages?”

Perfect opening. Perry stood. “We could do that. But I have a better proposition. Let us perform the rescue operation.”

War’s head snapped toward him. “Ye’d risk yer own folk in dragon territory?”

“We have the capability to extract them quickly and safely,” Perry said, keeping it vague enough to sound confident without providing anything they could object to specifically.

Harvest leaned forward, and Perry could see the exact moment political composure cracked under personal desperation. “All three villages? Tannow, Greyhar, Karlsheim?”

Perry nodded. “All three.”

“How?” Mountain demanded, and there was the skepticism Perry had been expecting. “The passes lie buried. An’ if they didn’t, it’s three days through wild ground, beast-ridden every mile.”

Perry suppressed the urge to grin. He’d been waiting for this opening like a prosecutor waiting for the defense to ask the wrong question. “We wouldn’t use the passes.”

The confusion that followed was almost worth the buildup. He could see the gears turning through the dwarves’ faces – everything above ground belonged to either the ice or the monsters. They must’ve...

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

Chapter 241 – Stepping down the Saint’s path

A loud string of what must have likely been the worst of curses in whatever native tongue she was speaking still escaped the Councilwoman Wiechatsech when James and his escort made their way over towards her.

Otherwise, the staweilechird stood shock-stunned, only able to keep on cursing as her wide-open eyes stared at the scene surrounding her; her fur and quills both stained with dark splotches of various colors that had been sprayed onto her when the hail of bullets from their guns had torn through the would-be abductors sent by the local forces to take her.

Their corpses now littered the ground around her. Their lifeless bodies crumpled on the floor as they had been sent to join with those whose lives they had taken just shortly before.

Andrej and Koko both broke away from James’ side, hurrying over to the mortal remains of the escort the Admiral had sent out to protect the Councilwoman. However, there was nothing that could be done for them anymore, except give them a worthy sendoff in the near future.

Twelve brave people, dead and gone just like their killers whose bodies now lay strewn among their own.

“We’re too late…” Koko exhaled with a tone of controlled pain as she pushed up from her crouching position, her face morphed into a stern gloom.

“They opened fire right away,” Andrej spoke up as well, his red eyes darting around as he read the traces of the previous battle. There was a resigned anger in his voice.

James followed his gaze momentarily; reluctantly looking at the corpses of his comrades. He could see what the Major meant. The way the soldiers had fallen. The surprise still burned into their expressions. The positions of their wounds and of the weapons that had fallen from their grasps.

Seemed like it had hardly been a battle at all.

“I- They- I-,” Wiechatsech stammered. James was now only a step away from her, turning his face to look at her horrified expression.

Taking the last step, he stood in front of her. The difference between their sizes wasn’t too great, so he could look directly at her.

“Wiechatsech,” he said in as calming a tone as he could muster in the current situation. “Breathe. You have to breathe.”

As she looked at him, he wondered if maybe his presence was only agitation the Councilwoman more. They had only met each other quite briefly before. Only in the context of the Council at large. And she had never been one to particularly speak up when the more controversial topics were being discussed.

There was a good chance a cyborg and a deathworlder were the last things she wanted near herself right now. Still, it was what she got.

“Breathe,” James repeated and lifted his hand for a calming gesture.

The Councilwoman flinched at the movement, and her quills instinctively rose to stand in a defensive posture – though with her front turned to him rather than her back, they offered little immediate protection.

Her beady, almost black eyes were wide and wet as she stared at his face.

James froze as he was. Though they were pressed for time, he didn’t want to frighten her any further if he didn’t have to, so he decided to give her at least a moment to process.

Finally, her eyes widened a little further when she suddenly let out a quiet,

“Aldwin?”

Her quills sunk down again as recognition washed over her face which caused her jaw to quiver and her eyes to slowly close.

“They- they just killed them,” she let out, shaking her head so that her quills rattled on her back while tears swelled from her closed lids. “They came for me. They- they- said it’s not s- and then- and then- they- and then you-”

She took in a distressed breath as her own words fought her in her attempts to explain. Her eyes opened to look at him pleadingly, searching for any understanding of what she couldn’t get out.

James nodded solemnly.

“I understand,” he confirmed for her. Gently, he reached his organic hand out to place it on her arm. “You don’t have to say anymore. At least not now.”

Turning his head, he looked over to his companions. Though, in the motion, his eyes inadvertently dashed down to those who had laid down their lives one more time before he managed to school them and pull them up.

“Let’s get her out of here,” he said, earning quick nods as the other three formed up with him.

“Come, Ma’am,” Koko said as she moved next to the Councilwoman to take the lead. “We’ll bring you somewhere safer.”

Then she turned her gaze towards Shida.

“I know you’re not technically on duty, but I’m counting on your ears, Scratches,” she said, her voice firm. For many, the call-name would’ve not seemed appropriate given the severity of the situation. However, between the women, James knew that it only showed Koko was putting Shida into the shoes of a peer, suspension or not.

Shida nodded. Of course, her ears had never stopped standing and scanning every little sound in their surroundings, so she didn’t exactly need the invitation. Still it was true that, should their eyes fail them, the feline’s fine hearing would’ve been their next line of defense against potential threats trying to sneak up.

Especially now that it seemed the local forces were beginning to shoot first and ask questions later.

“Count on me,” Shida confirmed, determination in her voice while her tail gave a single, sharp swing.

Wiechatsech was hesitant for a moment as they tried to get her to move. Well, perhaps hesitant was the wrong word for it. Most likely, she was still in some sort of stunned state after the sudden onslaught of violence around her that the politician was most likely not remotely accustomed to.

However, through some gentle coaxing under careful avoidance of her quills they soon managed to get her walking, even if a little slower than they would’ve preferred.

Once she had started to take her first careful steps, James lifted his phone up to his ear. He suppressed the urge to look back once more, but just because he didn’t see them didn’t mean he forgot what lay just a few measures behind him.

“Hey Avezillion,” he opened without waiting for any greeting on her side as soon as he heard that the line was clear. “I know that you’ve got more than enough to do already, but...do you think you’ve got the capacity to do me a favor and have a bit of an eye on their bodies? I’d like to make sure they get the funeral they deserve, if that’s possible.”

The line remained quiet.

At first, James attributed the immediate silence following his question to an understandable annoyance on the Realized’s part as she likely had a million more important things to focus on than the remains of those who could not be hurt anymore.

However, when roughly ten seconds had passed, he was really beginning to expect either a rather reluctant agreement or a sassy comment of denial any moment now.

Then, when five more passed, he began to worry.

“Avezillion?” he asked again before briefly moving the phone away from his face to check its screen, making sure that he actually had a connection and wasn’t just blabbering into a dead mic.

By then, his behavior was also starting to catch the attention of the others.

“James?” Andrej asked with some concern, his red eyes scanning over his protege as he apparently tried to judge just how worried he ought to be.

“That’s not good…” Shida meanwhile grumbled, her own eyes locked onto the phone while her ears twitched in either expectation or hope of a reply.

However, the line remained silent.

And Shida was right. This was bad. They all knew the pattern by now: If Avezillion went silent, something bad was just over the horizon.

“Let’s get a move on!” Koko ordered, speeding up her step while gesturing for everyone else to do the same. Her eyes were darting around, scanning every street and corner; every turn and alley; every roof and walkway both ahead of and besides them for any hints of danger while Andrej turned and watched their six. “Try to call the Admiral instead.”

James nodded and complied, quickly ending the ongoing call and instead switching to another line. It took a bit longer until a proper connection was established that time. However, at least the line immediately came to live the very moment it was established.

“James, what’s your status?” his mother’s voice immediately came out in an urgent, pressing manner. She sounded about as calm as she could possibly be given the circumstances, however James knew her well enough to hear every bit of the oceans of stress which were dripping from her just underneath.

However, there was another thing about her question that told him a bit more than was on the surface.

“How’s your blood?” was the first thing he said to her.

“Flows like water,” the Admiral replied right away, a hint of relief already in her tone after hearing the familiar question.

“I take it you have no pin on our position?” James then asked directly right after, without responding to her first inquiry. No answer at all would be enough of an answer for her here.

“Not one that I trust,” the Admiral replied outright. “Are you in contact with Av...

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First

HHH/Herbert’s Hundred Harem

“So! Do you have a name friend?” Herbert asks The Withering Groom even as a drone arrives with a large metal crate that has a door on the side. He pauses before walking in and there is an amused look on the Spiked Floric’s face.

“Brier of Thorns.” The Withered Groom says.

“And I am Herbert Jameson. Excuse me, I need to get some fighting clothes on.”

“Of course.” Brier says and Herbert walks into the miniature armoury. Ten minutes later he emerges and Brier starts laughing at the sight of him. “Really?”

“Yes really, with the nonsense I’m about to do there needs to be a proper warning.” Herbert says as he holds out the arms of his recoloured bright danger yellow uniform that has numerous warning signs in reflective material, the symbol for radioactivity, numerous warning about explosives, sniper fire and deadly animals, depressurization, potential Null Events and electrical discharge. Are all present and accounted for across his coat and hat.

“Are those symbols accurate?” Brier asks and smiles as Herbert pulls out an over the shoulder cannon with a massive barrel so large Herbert could stand in it, pointed right at the Floric as it starts to glow bright, bright green.

“What do you think?”

“Is that a GRASER?”

“YeP.” Herbert says and pops the P.

“I clearly came to the right place. Kudzu isn’t going to have half a good a time as this.”

“Oh trust me, my brother is as fine a host for a battle junkie as any man alive. I need this to keep pace.”

“Really?” The clearly interested and very pleased Brier asks.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Zalwore, Between Arcologies, Moving Fast)•-•-•

Kudzu ducks under the spinning snap kick that then teleports to shift things and try to sweep at his legs forcing him to dive and roll.

The disruption of his momentum is just enough for Harold’s true attack to land home as the anti-material pistol shots shatter two of his guns and cooks off the explosive ammo of the second one to launch them both apart. Before the smoke can clear they both race into the obstruction and take a swing at each other, but both dodge just in time, resulting in them only dispelling the cloud as they circle around for another pass.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Centris, Distant Wilds Embassy Landing Pad)•-•-•

“No doubt. So, how do you want to do this? I’d prefer if we could take this into orbit? Use the opposite sides of the orbital plates. You know, make sure we don’t kill a family if we miss our attacks.” Herbert asks.

“Or, we could simply not miss.” Brier says and Herberts eyes go up.

“Oh we’re going THAT far. Are you sure? That’s a level of trying that’s usually reserved for when I’m making absolutely sure something dies.” Herbert offers.

“If you kill me, I deserve it.”

“I don’t want to kill you. I want to be friends with the Floric and killing one of their Grooms sounds like a very, very bad idea.” Herbert says.

“If you kill me I deserve it. Now. Fire.” Brier orders.

“Okay then. Goodbye.” Herbert says. Then fires the enormous GRASER Cannon directly into Brier but the beam abruptly stops and while the Floric is silhouetted by the sheer power output, it never fades or burns. Then as the beam ends Brier is still standing there, his thorns now glowing a strange yellow colour and his previously dark eyes now burning with yellow fire. “Very nice!”

“Thank you.” Brier says as he clenches his enormous claws into fists to turn his arms into massive spiked clubs and he rushes forwards to try and reduce Herbert into a puddle of paste.

Herbert jumps upwards, deactivates part of his cannon’s safety and grips the cannon hard before firing it. The blowback of the GRASER is enough to send him rocketing upwards on a beam of sheer power and carries him up into the sky.

He cannot hold back the gleefully manic laugh as he works hard to keep the attack directly on target and then lets the beam fade and shifts himself in midair to adjust his grip again. Brier has taken the gap in the sheer attack to jump up to the level he’s now at and Herbert gives him a big smile.

“Having fun?” He asks and fires again directly into Brier’s face to be blasted backwards and away.

A thorn larger than his leg pierces the cannon and breaks directly through the firing mechanism before suddenly detonating and shattering the weapon. Herbert rides the largest chunk before jumping away from it. Luckily, or perhaps by design, Brier’s thorn didn’t destroy the emergency recal on the weapon and the shards of it vanish before they can fall on someone.

He tumbles through the air easily, feigning weakness to lure in his prey.

He senses Brier approach silently from behind, then as he reaches into his jacket for his weapon the Floric vanishes from behind him and reappears in front. Just as Herbert expected, Brier thought he’d turn.

“Oh.” Brier notes as Herbert presses his active caster gun between his eyes.

“Gotcha.” Herbert says as he pulls the trigger. Brier punches to the side and avoids the energy beam that lances through the sky. He then kicks to redirect himself in midair and Herbert activates a bracer on his left wrist to project a powerful, multilayered forcefield barrier in the shape of a massive hexagon. Brier’s attack breaks the shield instantly, but the impact is mostly dispelled.

Herbert is still sent downwards beyond his terminal velocity and he gathers Axiom to teleport even as he switches out the spent caster round.

Before he hits the ground he shifts and is now moving sideways above Brier. He blows the Floric a raspberry and laughs. “You growing roots?! Keep up!”

His feet make contact with the topmost level of a Spire and he jumps hard to increase his momentum. He laughs as Brier gives pursuit.

“I know you intend to use traps! I am no fool!”

“Who’s the greater fool? The person tricked or the person who sees it coming and is still got?” Herbert questions. “By the way! I can do THIS!”

He then pulls at and reinforces the stealth inherent to his family. Brier nearly stumbles and looks. His eyes narrow in Herbert’s direction, but he cannot focus upon him or find him.

“Very interesting.” The Withering Groom says. “THAT is very interesting.”

Then his eyes widen and he jackknifes backwards to avoid... something he cannot truly sense. The very tip of his nose begins to bleed as he twists away and focuses as much Axiom as he can grasp into his senses.

A trytite knife with Floric Blood upon it. A small child in danger warning colours that is so uninteresting he fades from view even as he looks right at him. His every sense screaming that there is nothing there. But his combat sense telling him that the smile from the boy is incredibly dangerous.

Then he is fully there, truly there.

“Very well done. I’ve been looking to test this for a while in an active fight. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’m flattered. I’ve never seen this kind of stealth before.”

“I think that’s rather the point.”

“You know what I mean.” Brier says and Herbert pointedly taps his left side. Brier mimics the motion.

“Mirror.” Herbert says and Brier taps his right side instead. He then pulls out a small knife. Stainless steel with a whisper of khutha on it. A very subtle effect demanding it be ignored. It had been buried in his side to the grip.

“Very well played. I see what you mean by fighting like an assassin now.” Brier says turning the weapon over in his claw and then tossing the whisper thin knife back to Herbert.

“If I really wanted to hurt you I’d have used a poisoned one. But we’re playing nice.”

“Well done child. But it’s time for me to take initiative, or lose my credibility as a Withering Groom.”

“Is this the appropriate time to panic?” Herbert asks with a smile.

“You can. It won’t help.” Brier says before rushing forwards and pinning Herbert down in a single move before disrupting reflexive teleportations, phasing and any and every other Axiom technique Herbert can think of as he brings one of his enormous claws down to impale him.

Herbert, is a game little bastard though and sacrifices his coat to reveal low profile armour on underneath and barely avoids the swipe of claws.

“Booyaa!” Herbert calls out and Brier balls up the coat and completely covers it with his claws before it can detonate. The explosion is muffled and contained, only a puff of smoke and charred bits of ash remain when he opens his claws again.

Brier gives Herbert no room to get his balance back as he brings his claws down and is surprised as Herbert instead grabs onto the sides of the claws and pulls.

To absolutely no avail. Brier’s footclaws are grabbing onto the spire’s platform. Herbert gives it a few more yanks and puts his whole body into it.

“Come... on! Get flipped!” Herbert grunts and is then picked off the ground entirely as Brier simply raises his arm. Then catches a handful of crushed pepper and dirt right in the eyes. “Don’t rub!”

He rubs by sheer reflex and feels his eyes shred. He howls in rage and pain as he starts slashing towards Herbert who’s dodging hard, dipping into his stealth and vanishing.

“No no no! There was crushed glass in there! You need to calm down and let me heal you! I didn’t think you’d rub!”

“Why wouldn’t I rub!?”

“You were on top of everything! I figured I’d get you to flinch at most! I didn’t think I’d get you full in the eyes!”

“You were aiming for the eyes!” Brier protests as he resists the urge to slash and swipe as he fe...

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Leonie felt an overwhelming need to turn around. Her seventh sense told her to look at the dangerous presence behind her. Her jaw stiffened. No matter how hard she tried to speak, not a word came out of her mouth. Slowly, she turned around just to meet Instructor Clarke’s eyes. Mana surged through his body. The ground shattered under his boots.

“I’ll handle this.” 

Leonie had never heard such a serious tone coming out of his mouth, not even when Nessa Morag-Vedras tried to harm Yvain during training.

Someone snatched Leonie’s shoulders, and the next moment, she was in the air. Firana had lifted her before flying backwards, with Zaon backpedaling to join them while keeping his guard raised. Before her, Instructor Clarke moved like an arrow. He caught the Ice Mage’s head with his right hand and somehow drained his energy. Raw mana coursed through his body and was discharged through his left hand. Mana arcs scorched the ground. It almost looked like he had torn the Ice Mage’s soul out of his body by force. 

That wasn’t a Sage skill. Mana Drain was a rare skill only available to some Hexmages, Witches, Tricksters, and certain flavors of Sorcerers. A Sage’s skillset, on the other hand, was aligned with the spells of an elemental mage.

“He’s mad,” Firana nervously said.

“Y-yeah,” Zaon replied.

Leonie had never seen Instructor Clarke like that. On a rational level, she knew that the destructive level of high-level Prestige Classes was almost off the charts. However, it was hard to think of Instructor Clarke as a destructive force. He was good-natured and easy to talk to. During lessons, he allowed Fenwick to make fun of him and even teased Yvain and Malkah to encourage them to get out of their shell. He treated them a bit like kids, but not in a bad sense.

Leonie couldn’t take her eyes off the scene.

The Ice Mage fell to the ground, his mana completely drained. Instructor Clarke shook his head and summoned a sword completely out of mana. Leonie had to blink twice before accepting what her eyes showed her. [Mana Blade] was a high-level skill that only martial classes with good magical specs learned. The only Class in the Scribe evolution line that learned it was the Prestige Class Tactician, and Instructor Clarke wasn’t one. 

Instructor Clarke slashed the long-limbed cadet from shoulder to navel like his body was made of loose sand. The insect cadet flew into his blind spot, but Instructor Clarke turned around and cut its body in two at the waist. The infected cadets fell like paper dolls.

The battle was over.

Instructor Clarke looked at the sky and shouted something in a language Leonie hadn’t heard before. Considering the tone, she knew it had to be a curse. They approached the battlefield, and Leonie got a close view of the cadets. Even in death, red crystals kept growing from their bodies, although any trace of mana was gone.

“There are corrupted cadets everywhere. The whole exam area is compromised. We have to evacuate the exam area,” Instructor Clarke announced back, speaking flawless Ebrosian again. “Zaon, take Leonie to Station Six. Firana, inform the main camp about the events. I want every third-year cadet and Instructor on the field. Avoid combat unless it’s necessary. If the area is too dangerous, send them to the nearest Station.”

Firana and Zaon nodded, but Leonie stood in place.

“I can still fight!” she said.

Instructor Clarke smiled, and his mana fluttered. A mirror appeared in the air, or rather, the illusion of a mirror. Leonie looked at her own face. It was cut, bruised, and swollen, way worse than she had expected. The rest of her body wasn’t in better shape. The padded jacket had been almost reduced to rags, and her right sleeve was torn apart, revealing her shoulder but hiding her Corrupted hand. As her seventh sense went back to sleep, the pain returned. Leonie felt like she had been trampled by Skeeths, and her body was put back together with a piece of rope.

“I will send Wolf to Station Six. He’ll take care of your wounds,” Instructor Clarke said, his affable voice back. “You already did everything you could. You fought well.”

“A-alright,” Leonie stuttered. 

Panic suddenly got hold of her as she realized what she had done. Her throat closed like a Stone Golem had closed its hand around her neck. Corruption couldn’t be healed by regular means, and she had gotten a whole lot of it. Even if she survived, her place in the Imperial Knights program was as good as gone.

“Is something wrong, Leonie?” Instructor Clarke asked.

“N-No. It’s just a lot to take in.”

Instructor Clarke lowered his head until their eyes were at the same level and smiled. 

“It’s over now. Zaon and the Fortifiers will keep you safe now. You’ll be fine.”

“Y-yeah.”

Leonie couldn’t get herself to mention the Corruption.

Instructor Clarke stood up. He seemed taller than Leonie remembered.

“Alright, team! Roll out!”

* * *

The faction behind the contaminated potions had snuck under my surveillance.

I landed at the top of a hill, wondering how things had turned out so badly. During the trip, I had made sure to check the caravan supplies and even asked Holst for help. We had used [Identify] on everything but found no suspicious potions. 

The caravan was made up of Imperial Knights, first—and third-year cadets, and Academy aides whose loyalty was bound by Hexes. There was also Evelisse and her daughters, but none of them was particularly suspicious—or capable of pulling something like this. If I had to guess, someone had put the contaminated potions in the supply caches after the start of the exam.

Astur and Rhovan’s Imperial Knights severely lacked empathy, but they took their positions too seriously to plot against the Academy.

My head hurt.

Although the royal family tried to monopolize high-level individuals, that didn’t mean there weren’t some of them who shared an anti-nobility sentiment. Risha, Elincia, and Izabeka were all above Lv.40, and weren’t particularly happy with the Marquis. The only reason I played their game was because it was the best for the orphanage and the kids.

Evelisse was wrong.

The anti-nobility movement wasn’t just a bunch of disgruntled farmers and peasants.

To pull something like this under the noses of the most powerful individuals of the kingdom, they have to be more than that.

[Minor Aerokinesis] sent me into the air. Each station had a Fortifier protecting the aides and the supplies. If the cadets managed to reach a station, they would be safe.

I put more mana into the skill and shot forward like a rocket. I didn't know how fast I was going, but a couple of minutes later, I was inside Station Two. The Fortifier was startled by my sudden arrival, but luckily, their offensive prowess was similar to that of a Soldier Class.

“Lord Clarke? What is happening?” one of the aides asked.

“We are under attack,” I replied, walking directly into the supply crates and dumping their contents into the ground. 

“Hey! That’s property of the Academy!”

The Fortifier put a hand on my shoulder, but I pushed him away. It took a mere glance to make him freeze. The next crate was full of spare clothes and bedrolls. I grabbed the pieces of cloth and threw them to the side. Underneath was a tidy row of purple potions.

I used [Identify].

Regeneration Boost Potion. [Identify] Alchemy Potion. Effect: High. Toxicity: Dangerous. A rare high-grade potion that heals wounds and has an invigorating effect over time. Excessive mana usage could have adverse effects.

I cursed. They weren’t the same Energy Boost potions we found in the maze exam, but my instinct told me their effects were just as disastrous. I closed my eyes and forced [Foresight] to recount the events of the past few days. Those potions weren’t in the supply carts when Holst and I checked them, and they weren’t in the supply crates of Station Six where I had been standing guard.

“Who put this here?” I asked, unable to hide my anger.

“I-I don’t know, Lord Clarke. Those were there since the beginning. We assumed they were for the cadets who already used theirs… just like food and water.”

I put a potion in my potions pouch as evidence.

“Don’t let anyone use these. They are dangerous. Understood?”

“Yes, Lord Clarke.”

I grabbed the Transmitter Bracelet and contacted Ilya. As she was fluent in Morse, it was easier to relay complex messages to her. I told her to gather cadets and dropouts in Station Six. Wolf was still outside comms range.

Thinking about the next step, I froze.

Odo, Harwin, and Malkah were the most vulnerable members of the squad. Yvain wouldn’t have troubles if he only fought a single opponent at a time, but would be at risk otherwise. Cedrinor and Ginevra had experience fighting monsters, but their skill sets were on the shallow side compared to the other cadets. And there were also the students from Basilisk and Gaiarok squads.

The corrupted cadets could not turn back. I tried to drain all the mana from the Ice Mage, but the corruption didn’t disappear. The thought offered a little comfort, but once they turned, it was over. The only mercy I could offer them was to kill them fast.

I used [Mirage] to cast a hologram of the area and jumped into the sky.

My heart skipped a beat. With the corner of my eye, I saw two figures wearing white cloaks and golden masks.

“Zealots?” 

I changed directions with [Minor Aerokinesis] and shot forward. A slim mana barrier protected me from the winds, and...

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Chapter 27: Magical Geography, Pt 5

Shortly after manifesting the giant hammer and making both Leo and Damien gawk at him, Cale dismissed it and instead retrieved a tiny pin from one of his pockets. "Just kidding," he said, setting to work picking open the locks on one of the windows. "The windows look too nice to break. And I'm pretty sure there's some kind of window-related rule."

Which was, yet again, rather strange—but Cale was learning to recognize the signs of a rule, even if he didn't know the exact contents of them. Like the grass they had to avoid stepping on, the windows here had glass made out of the same crystalline domain, and he wasn't particularly in the mood to fend off yet another refractor beast.

The locks, however? They had none of that telltale crystalline gleam, which wasn't all that unusual. In all his lifetimes, Cale had encountered many mages that remembered to ward their doors but not their locks. It was part of the reason he'd learned to pick locks in the first place.

That trend, fortunately, applied just as much to windows as they did to doors. The only thing that was really unusual about this was that there were three of the locks, for some reason.

That seemed excessive for a window, but who was he to judge the Loomweavers?

"Should I be concerned about how quickly you're doing that?" Leo asked after a moment, eyeing him. Cale had, by this point, finished picking the first lock and had moved on to the second.

"Hey, there are plenty of legitimate reasons to know how to pick locks!" Cale said, carefully tensioning the locking mechanism and feeling it out with his pick. "If you lock yourself out of your house, for example."

He didn't look back, but he could practically feel Damien and Leo silently conferring with one another and deciding that, for Cale, this was a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he needed to know how to pick locks. Cale might have been offended by this if it weren't for the fact that they were entirely correct.

He had also done a large amount of breaking and entering, though. Learning to pick open the locks on his homes was a far more troublesome task comparatively; it was generally easier to just create a new doorway using a few well-placed barriers.

Cale did wonder sometimes if Sheriya had been right about him abusing his barriers. He felt like it wasn't his fault they were such universal solutions to physical problems.

In any case, he got all three of the locks on the window open in short order, then pulled it open and peered at the dimly-lit stairwell behind it. Like he'd suspected, it did indeed lead down, beneath the surface of the ground. Presumably if they followed that path, they'd end up in the so-called "sky."

But why bother guessing what would happen when they could just do it? Cale hopped on through the window, humming happily to himself. "And here I thought my first magic staircase in Utelia was going to be at the Academy," he said. "Come on in, it's not trapped or anything."

"You're sure?" Leo asked, entirely too suspicious.

Cale shrugged and beamed. "Probably!"

Leo seemed understandably rather dissatisfied with this answer, and so Damien was the first to climb through. After that, Leo followed, albeit reluctantly. The railing of the stairwell was decorated with an ostentatious gold trimming that matched the ones he'd seen on Sternkessel's suit, which was another point for their professor being connected to this place. And wasn't that fascinating?

Almost as if Sternkessel could tell Cale was thinking about him, the smooth timbre of the professor's voice suddenly resounded around them, echoing in the stairwell as they began to descend.

"An interesting demonstration," the professor said. "I would award extra points for it, but I suspect you will not need them. In the future, however, please consult me before you reveal my schemes to my students."

Cale snickered at that. "You're admitting to scheming now?"

"I would be a poor example of a professor if I did not scheme," Sternkessel said. Cale could imagine him sniffing haughtily as he spoke. "And I am not so poor a sport as to pretend otherwise."

"Is he just talking to us, or to everyone?" Damien whispered. "That's going to sound weird to everyone else, right?"

"I am speaking to all my students, yes," Sternkessel responded, making Damien jump. "Adam, please stop attempting to light your classmates on fire. I will deduct a point if you continue." A short pause. "Attempting to shove their heads into your chest furnace is not a loophole, Adam. It is attempted homicide."

Cale snorted so hard he almost choked.

"Now, I suggest you all listen closely," Sternkessel said. Cale perked up—was he about to reveal something about the Inverted Spires? The stairwell they were in was lit only dimly by candles of magical wax, and the purple lighting flickered at his words, almost as if in anticipation.

"Utelia has a total of four continents, less than most realms we are aware of," the professor continued.

Oh. Right. The lecture. Cale exchanged glances with his friends, who seemed equally bemused by the sudden change in topic; Leo shrugged as if to indicate this was rather typical for Sternkessel in particular.

"The one the Brightscale Academy is located in is known as Ercryst. It is the farthest south of the four continents and is ruled primarily by the Orstrahl Kingdom, although the Brightgrove Elves are a strong contender when it comes to sheer magical might. In fact, Orstrahl's rule over Ercryst only became absolute when the Red Hunters came into power some decades ago: prior to that, Orstrahl and Brightgrove were close allies."

Cale blinked, glancing at Damien and Leo. To his surprise, they both looked equally bewildered.

"You didn't know that already?" he whispered. Leo shook his head, looking troubled.

"I thought Orstrahl was always the leading power here," he muttered. "Have the Red Hunters really only been around for a few decades?"

"Six, to be precise," Professor Sternkessel answered, making them jump. It was too easy to forget that he could somehow hear everything they were saying. Then, before anyone could ask anything else, he kept speaking. "North of Ercryst is the continent of Illwyld, occupied largely by beastfolk tribes and ravaged by wild magic. It is said that the leader of the Red Hunters originates from Illwyld, in fact, though this is more rumor than fact. Very little is known about them."

"Shouldn't the leader of the Red Hunters be a public figure?" Cale muttered.

"What I want to know is why he's focusing so much on the Red Hunters." Leo looked around as if trying to find the professor, though it didn't exactly help. Sternkessel was nowhere to be seen.

Damien made an agreeing noise. "Maybe he knows about what happened during lunch?" he suggested.

"A lot of information about the Red Hunters isn't even public," Leo said. "It's almost like Sternkessel is—"

The professor interrupted Leo, continuing as if he couldn't hear them. Cale's eyes narrowed slightly. "North of Illwyld is a steep, mountainous continent known primarily as Aersheld, though many Utelians also refer to it as the Divine Shield due to its importance as a bastion of defense against the advances of the dark lord. Aersheld is ruled and maintained by the Thyrahl Kingdom at no small cost—the mountains of Aersheld are known to have rather severe mana-dampening properties, a fact that makes them difficult to traverse. However, that same fact is what makes it so effective at fending off the dark lord's armies."

Leo had retrieved his notebook and started scribbling furiously, a look of intense concentration on his face. Cale had to reach out and prevent him from falling down the stairs several times, in fact. Damien was frowning slightly, but chose not to comment. Instead, he eyed the depths of the stairwell warily.

"Relations between Thyrahl and Orstrahl are rather strained at the moment," Sternkessel continued, "in large part because Thyrahl continues to demand resources for its part in fending off the threat of the dark lord, and Orstrahl's rulers are beginning to believe that the threat in question is not as great as Thyrahl claims. Still, they are attempting to keep the peace for now—Orstrahl has sent its greatest division of Red Hunters, the so-called First Squad, to occupy a small outpost near Thyrahl."

There was a thin smile in Sternkessel's voice. "Ostensibly, this is to assist with fending off the forces of the dark lord, though it is rather obvious to most that they are there simply to assess the threat posed by those armies for themselves. More conspiratorial is the belief that the Red Hunters were sent there to establish a foothold for Orstrahl should tensions escalate. You may come to your own conclusions."

Cale frowned slightly. Sternkessel wasn't the type to include mere speculation in a lecture, was he?

"Last but not least, the continent without a name," Sternkessel said. "It is known to most simply as the Corroded Lands and is fully occupied by the dark lord and his forces. Very little is known about them. Scrying spells are unable to penetrate into the depths of the corrosion, and no mage has ye...

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___________

New Casablanca, Hurantian Chophouse Restaurant

Theran and Valone walked in with a bit of uncertainty; the scents of the place were both familiar and not - seasonings from two worlds mixed and drifted, giving the place a very distinct feel. The architecture and decor was a similar mish-mash of an attempt the make two very separate cultures entwine. It was familiar enough that the pair of Hurdop were relaxed, but different enough to make them feel uneasy as they were escorted to a booth where the two women sat laughing at some shared joke.

There had been a discussion between the two that began as soon as their ship lurched into R-space; it was both meaningless and terribly important - what they were going to wear. They'd both settled on something more civil than their usual shipwear, but nothing so formal as to make their tablemates think they were attempting to curry favor or show themselves as being in a lesser position.

Both men took deep breaths for different reasons - Valone because he was looking at a potential wife, and Theran because if what Gryzzk said was true his ships would be able to more fully leave their life in the gray behind. Most officials were fairly lenient when it came to allowing passage for ships crewed by children and teens through, even if they were certain there was contraband on board. But all it would take was one inspection ship with too much time on their hands and too much adherence to the law and a great deal of their current profit margin would be missing.

The most beneficial thing about this place was that it had been built with their species in mind - the ceilings were low, and instead of booths with chairs or benches, there were simply circular table areas with thickly cushioned pillows. The two were escorted by a Terran who was short enough to be comfortable with the architecture and had an overall pleasant demeanor as he guided them toward their hosts for the evening.

A few moments later their waitress came to their table with drinks and small tablets that held both pictures and texts of the available food, with sections for Vilantian, Hurdop, Terran, and various fusions that had found favor amongst the newest residents.

Theran and Grezzk shifted closer to hear each other more clearly over the general buzz and scent of the room, while Valone and Lomeia both stared awkwardly at each other over their juice, taking tentative sniffs every so often. It was almost amusing, as if neither wanted to make the mistake that sent this whole thing into chaos and confusion.

Over three courses of food, Theran and Grezzk came to verbal agreements - items ordered by the Legion personnel would be shipped by Theran's fleet, and in exchange for the exclusivity Theran's ships would charge a favorable price for the goods. Passenger service was also discussed, with it being offered on a space-available basis and the understanding that passenger service would not be in luxury accommodations. The unspoken contingency of all these agreements was over on the other side of the table acting for all the galaxy like a pair of adolescents at the Spring Planting Festival. Grezzk finally smiled gently and nudged Lomeia to the washroom.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Theran started off. "Valone, you have thoughts?"

Valone seemed to quiver for a moment. "I was expecting a Vilantian version of Reilly. I'm not certain. Her scent is pleasing."

"Well, I suppose if you're never going to speak to her a pleasant scent is fortunate."

Velon's fur fluttered in anxiety. "I know that I should trust you, and trust that this meeting will be fruitful no matter the outcome of my own part in this. But at the same time I can't not think of what could happen, Freelord. What if this all goes wrong? What if the Year is wasted? Lomeia's heart and bed are well-tended by Reilly, what is my place in this? What if...what if it all goes to darkness and we face Svitre's fate?"

There was a soft laugh from Theran. "My friend, if we were truly to walk his path, it would have been walked by now. You are anxious because she was not what you expected, and despite that you crave her. Were this one of your typical business transactions, I think you would be more confident. It's good to be nervous, but for the sake of us all let me be the nervous one." There was a wry smile. "I'm the one who has to balance our accounts."

As the two discussed, neither noticed the figure eating alone and taking notes on a tablet.

___________

Terran Foreign Legion Ship Twilight Rose

Gryzzk forced himself straight in his chair before he spoke quietly. "XO, tactical display on holo. Reilly, remind the assault personnel that alive pays more. Confirm general warnings are prepared regarding our intentions. Send them once the shuttles have breached for boarding. "

The display shifted in front of his as anything not immediately in the battle area was removed from view, leaving the two main ships and the shuttles in-transit. The next minutes were tense as the shuttles swiveled to force a seal with the other ship. As soon as the breach was reported, Reilly sent out a general warning and the sounds of fighting were heard over the comm system. At the same time she glared at her console and chirped up.

"We got comm chatter from the target; scrambled but regular intervals, looks like some kind of mayday signal."

Gryzzk gestured to her. "Understood. Edwards start looking to see if there are any unknowns vectoring toward us."

Edwards bored her eyes into her console for a moment before her fingers flew to issue commands. "Major, three unknowns approaching at high speed with weapons hot, they appear to be targeting the boarding parties. Data's cross-decked to tactical to confirm."

O'Brien flicked her eyes to her targeting scopes. "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. They used that one as a stalking goat. The party-crashers are all guns no shields - but those guns look nasty."

Gryzzk felt a stab in his torso even as he spoke. "Hoban, put us between the new ships and the fake Gyrfalcon - O'Brien, set shielding to maximum. I see three engine cones that I do not wish to see, correct that at your convenience."

Hoban swiveled and abused the flight controls to reposition the ship as quickly as possible - an act which made Rosie give a little squeak of surprise. At the same time there was a microshudder through the deckplate as O'Brien ejected three torpedoes from their launch magazine to streak toward their targets.

Things became hectic in short order as the three incoming ships began jinking and spinning to avoid the incoming torpedoes as well as returning fire. Hoban was forced to keep the Twilight Rose between the three interlopers and the fourth that was being boarded and taken. It was mostly successful as Hoban had to maneuver the ship to intercept incoming fire meant for the boarded ship a few times. The grim reality of that was that Rosie was taking damage - but at least their first target was still intact.

The ships began a twisting dance of sorts, with Gryzzk keeping abreast of the situation - mostly. O'Brien was hard at work swearing and salvoing as the attackers kept dodging just enough to throw off the targeting. Finally there was a hit scored as O'Brien sent a railgun slug that was originally meant to be amidships into the engineering section, sending one target spinning wildly into the stars.

With the odds narrowed, O'Brien began taking leisurely shots, sending another torpedo out cold and then lancing plasma into the area the moment the next ship dodged. The second ship dodged into the plasma, venting a small amount of atmosphere before the lights on the ship dimmed and failed, with it the odds shifted quite nicely.

During all of this madness, the boarding parties seemed to be having an easy time of it - the reports coming into Gryzzk's tablet showed minimal contact, and what contact there was was brief and almost a formality prior to surrender. Gryzzk's largest problem appeared to be protecting his boarding parties from the three ships attacking.

At least for a moment. Edwards called out yet again, "Major we got another ship coming in hot and heavy, ident says it's the Falcon of Profit, Foreign Terran Legion." There was a pause. "If it's another fake, it's a good one."

Gryzzk growled softly. "Bless the gods for keeping me busy this fine day - O'Brien get a target solution on the newest problem, Reilly hail them and advise of our intentions."

Gryzzk was apparently worried about nothing, as the newest ship rapidly fired several rounds at a target that was not the Twilight Rose, stitching the last attacker's hull into a shambles of vented gas and electrical arcs. O'Brien stared at her targeting scopes for a few moments before relaxing and looking back. "Last ship has chilled their weapons, looks like they've had enough for one day."

"Good. Status of the boarding parties?"

Reilly spoke up. "Pretty good. You ain't gonna believe this, or maybe you are. Looks like their fakeout was another Hurdop Youthfleet ship. Buncha kids not having a good day." There was a momentary pause. "Maybe you can find Jojorn a boytoy among 'em, yeah?"

Gryzzk exhaled softly, igno...

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Heat and poison shimmered around the cave mouth.

Jagged rocks jutted like blackened teeth, framing a darkness too deep for torchlight to reach.

A man stood before it, armored in black and green steel. His tabard bore a dragon skull crowned in thorns, its eyes painted the same sickly green that now glowed faintly from within the cavern.

He knelt before the cave, bowing low. “My king,” he said, his armor scraping stone.

From deep in the abyss came a sound like stone grinding on stone, a breath pulled through centuries of dust. A single, vast green eye opened, ancient and watchful.

The mountain itself seemed to tremble as a voice rumbled from the dark.

“Is it ready?”

“Almost,” the man replied. His voice wavered under the weight of the words. “The final preparations are being finished. We’re nearly done, my lord.”

A deep, echoing sound followed, the scrape of claws across bedrock.

“Good.”

The darkness shifted. Massive wings unfurled from the shadows, and a black dragon emerged, scarred and terrible. A great wound marred the left side of his neck, patches of scale still missing from ancient burns.

His single good eye burned like a star in a poisoned sky.

“Show me,” he said.

The man rose, his legs unsteady, trembling as the dragon stepped forward into the light. The dragon’s movements were slow and deliberate, each step causing smoke to billow from his nostrils, each breath thick with smoke and hate. The world outside dimmed, as if the sun itself dared not shine too brightly in his presence.

As they went deeper, the air grew hotter, thick with ash and molten breath. The sound of hammers on metal echoed through the cavern in a steady, relentless rhythm.

When they turned the corner, the source came into view:

Dragons and humans working side by side.

Massive beasts exhaled jets of flame into great forges while smiths, sweat-slick and soot-streaked, hammered glowing steel. The sight could have been a miracle of unity, but instead it was a blasphemy.

Men and dragons, bound together in service, not peace.

Weapons of war filled the chamber. Spears of blackened iron, blades inscribed with runes that pulsed faintly green, and armor plates stacked like dragon scales waiting to be reborn.

The man led his king across the busy floor of the forge halls to the center. There, he stopped beside a colossus of armor suspended by chains of darkened steel, black as night and carved with runes matching those on the dragon’s hide.

It was not made for man, elf, or dwarf.

It was made for the black king.

Each plate glowed as forge heat licked its surface. The helmet, massive and horned, waited atop a stone altar.

“How much longer?” the dragon rumbled, his voice shaking the chains.

“If nothing goes wrong,” the man replied, bowing his head, “mid-autumn. But if the snows come early, we’ll have to wait until winter passes, or risk losing the supplies before we march on the first kingdom.”

The dragon’s eye flared brighter, reflecting off the molten pools like a shard of emerald fire.

“I’ve waited half a century,” the dragon growled, his voice a thunder that shook dust from the cavern roof. “A few more seasons mean nothing.”

Scars along his neck seared. Even now, after ages, he still felt the pain of that fire.

He remembered the sky aflame with his own breath, the air trembling with the roar of war. An army of foolish men had come to challenge him, their banners bright, their courage hollow. He laughed as they advanced, their pitiful bolts flashing like sparks against a storm.

Then one struck home.

He remembered the bite of it, how it tore into his side, the pain searing deeper than any wound he’d suffered since he’d hatched in his mother’s nest, centuries ago. Rage filled him. His answering fire turned the hills to glass and cooked men inside their armor, yet still they fired.

Each bolt carried its cursed runes, draining his strength, eating away at his flame. He could feel his fury turning to exhaustion as the sky itself darkened around him.

And then there was him.

One man still burned in his memory, the one who stood his ground as his comrades fell, who loaded his final bolt even as his armor melted from the heat. The dragon saw his crew charred at his feet, yet the man did not falter. He fired, and the shot struck true.

The world exploded in light and agony. The bolt tore through his eye, lodged deep in his neck, and the strength left his wings.

As he fell, blinded and broken, he saw the sky turn against him. The rivers rose to swallow him whole, and darkness claimed him.

They must think me slain from that day.

The river saved me, carried me away from fire and ruin. I hid in its depths and healed. But my pride… my pride did not.

How? How could lesser beings have laid me low?

Even among dragons, I was unmatched. My wings blackened the sun, my breath scorched armies to ash. And yet, mere men brought me down.

For years, I gnawed on that truth. I searched for the answer until I understood.

They are weak, yes, but not blind to it. They built armor to shield their soft flesh. Weapons to reach farther than their claws could strike. Magic to bend the world to their will. And when one fell, another took his place.

It was never strength that made them dangerous.

Their unity. Their numbers. Their resolve.

So I learned from them.

From the dwarves, I took their steel, harder than scale, sharper than fang.

From the elves, I stole their spells, the songs that bind and break.

And from men… I took their will.

I learned their words, their bargains, their lies. I learned how to command loyalty not just through fear, but through belief.

Now, they forge for me.

Now, they die for me.

What they once used to kill dragons, I will turn upon the world itself.

Outside the cavern, ash weighed the air, and molten light pulsed from below as the Black Dragon emerged from the caldera, his scales glinting like armor forged from midnight. He gazed over the shattered kingdom—his kingdom, remade by his command.

Below the cliffs, his army gathered in silence among the broken bones of Verador. The banners of men fluttered again, stitched with the sigil of a crowned dragon’s skull. The forges burned day and night; the clang of hammer on metal echoed up the slopes.

A man in a tattered cloak of royal black and gold approached and knelt. His face was carved with the lines of age and guilt, yet his eyes still burned with ambition.

“Soon,” the dragon rumbled, his voice deep enough to shake dust from the stones, “our bargain will be fulfilled.”

The man lifted his head, still cloaked in the dragon’s mantle, scales taken from the black dragon himself. “Aye, my lord,” he said, his tone reverent, nearly worshipful. “Even if a king must bend to your will, the dream will be realized. Verador will rise again, and all the continents will kneel beneath one banner.”

The black dragon's jaws curved into something that might have been a smile. “You speak well, Vladin. Serve me faithfully, and the world that cast you down will burn at your feet.”

The old king bowed his head lower. “Even if I must crawl through the ashes to see it done… so be it.”

High above, the ruined volcano belched a dark plume into the red sky. The age of dragons had ended once before.

Now, it was about to begin again.

A young red drake stalked forward through the smoke and iron, indignation steaming from his nostrils. “This is wrong,” he spat. “We’re bred to rule the skies, not crawl in the dirt with men. Where is your pride, old one?”

The massed black dragons answered with a low, hungry rumble. He watched the red upstart with slow, cold amusement. In one lightning-fast motion, the black beast lunged. A foreclaw slammed into the young dragon’s chest and threw him back, sending a spray of embers and grit into the air. The red drake skidded across the hot rock and lay gasping.

“Not even a century, and already loud,” one of the older dragons mocked. “Scorchling, who are you to lecture us?”

The elder descended from his perch, molten light rippling along his scales. He leaned low, scenting the air, smoke curling from his nostrils.

“You have Lavres’ scent on you,” he said at last, voice soft but heavy with recognition. “Her spawn, then. Do you have a name, whelp?”

The red drake coughed; smoke curled with each word. “Kaevric,” he rasped. “My mother was Lavres. She cast me out at birth. My name was her only gift.”

A single good eye fixed on him, glittering like a forge. The black dragon lowered himself until his muzzle nearly touched Kaevric’s trembling snout. “Lavres?” The name tasted like ash. He snapped a foreleg down; the ground shuddered. “You bear her blood. You bear her arrogance.” He let the word hang like a knife.

Kaevric swallowed.

“Pride chained us,” the black dragon growled, rising until he towered over the gathered throng. His voice rolled out, not quite a roar, more the slow, inexorable turning of a furnace. “It made us predictable. It gave men a place to aim. They learned our patterns; they learned our wounds. Pride is what cost us the skies.”

Around him, the forges beat on, a chorus to his words. As he spread his great wings, not in display so much as demonstration, the black membranes caught the glow and threw it back like a warning. “No more,” he...

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(Previous Part)

(Part 001)

Recommended Listening

Far-Future Era. Day 2, AJR. Inside the False Cosmic Realm.

Barbatos's eyes flashed with hatred. A rage he had never experienced before. A sense of grief mixed with self-loathing and pain.

He had sworn to Artorias, an eon earlier, that the two of them would someday reunite in new bodies. He had suffered under Uriel's torture for 100,000 years, all in the hopes of someday reviving his brother.

But now Artorias was lost.

He was gone forever. Dead!

"RAPHAAEELLL!!!"

Barbatos lunged at Raphael. His blood red eyes burst with demonic light as he swung Artorias's massive greatsword down, aiming to cleave the Archangel of Wisdom in two.

Gabriel was the first to react. He conjured an equally massive greatsword of light and swung it up to meet the blade of Artorias.

CLANG!!

Two greatswords met. One shattered on impact. Gabriel's blade offered no resistance to Artorias, which had been baptized with the divine power of 163 Akashic Steps!

Artorias cleaved through Gabriel's blade and slammed into the Archangel of Power with enough force to send Gabriel flying! Even with his Hyphyte empowered body, he hadn't spent a single second growing acclimated to his new strength. Gabriel went sprawling, his body careening, twisting, spinning uncontrollably miles into the distance before he came to a stop.

Before Gabriel had even disappeared for a second, Barbatos was already moving toward his next target. Raphael's pupils shrunk as the fully enraged Demon Deity charged at him with reckless abandon.

Raphael was going to die. He had to die! There was no other outcome Barbatos would accept! It was Raphael's evil machinations that led to Artorias sacrificing his existence just to give Barbatos a fighting chance.

"RAPHAAAEELL!!!"

Raphael quickly focused his mind. He summoned ten illusory bodies of himself, and they all darted left, right, backward, even leaping into the air to confuse Barbatos. But as Raphael cleverly used the confusion to mix with his false forms, his heart nearly stopped.

Barbatos locked onto Raphael's true body and swung his sword!

"NO!!" Raphael cried in fear.

BOOOM!

Artorias crashed against Raphael and blasted him into the ground, shattering the floor of the False Cosmic Realm and sending spiderweb cracks miles in every direction. The explosive sound was deafening to the point it would have killed any entities below the Cosmic Realm, but fortunately, none were present. Even so, every Archangel heard ringing in their ears.

Raphael was not dead. He was not even seriously injured, but his body ached. His Hyphyte form had truly granted him defensive capabilities beyond reason. Any other High Cosmic would have instantly perished from Barbatos's rage-empowered strike.

The moment Raphael realized he wasn't dead, he scrambled out from under Artorias and scurried away like a cat whose tail had been stomped. Barbatos started to give chase, only for Michael and Uzziel to jump in his path.

"Leave my brother alone, demon!" Uzziel roared.

"I am thy opponent!" Michael added.

But those two suddenly felt another presence lock on to them. Uriel charged into battle, her eyes filled with cold and deadly battle intent.

She realized now, too late, that she had denied the truth for too long.

She had loved Artorias!

Loved him. A demon!

It was an act of sin. Something she never realized until he was already gone.

But it was the truth!!

"Raphael must DIE!!" Uriel shrieked, conjuring a pair of light-spears in her hands.

Uriel was one of the fiercest Archangels. Not only did she possess eons of battle experience, but her powers were diverse and potent. She wielded all four classical elements, plus light magic, plus dark magic, and even Barbatos's magnetism.

Unbeknownst to the other angels, Barbatos wielded all of her powers as well.

It was as if there were two Uriels fighting at the same time!

Blasts of fire illuminated the darkness that had swallowed the Cosmic Realm. Uriel spun her spears around, crashing against Michael's longsword and Uzziel's vine-whips. They had no time to protect Raphael, because their opponent was even more frightening than his!

"All of thee art traitors to life itself!" Uriel shouted. "Monsters serving monsters! Thy lives art no longer worthy of continuing!"

"Sister! Come back to the light!" Michael urged. He hurriedly whipped his sword in a wide arc to deflect her spears. "Do not fall for the lies of a bloodskin!"

Michael's usage of a slur enraged Uriel even more. She, who had once cavalierly used such words, now felt they were a personal affront to her fallen comrade. The man she loved!

"BASTARD!" Uriel shouted.

As Uriel fought Michael and Uzziel, Barbatos continued chasing after Raphael. The old man no longer held any resemblance to a wise old sage. He looked like a rat that had hopped out of a fire! His beard was singed and cut apart, with chunks missing. He ran as fast as he could, trying to confuse Barbatos or throw him off his trail, but the demon doggedly pursued him! It seemed Barbatos could see right through all of Raphael's tricks.

Fire exploded from Artorias. The greatsword cut down at Raphael, who dove to the side and barely evaded the hammer-like impact of the sword striking the blackened ground. The Cosmic Realm seemed to groan in pain as Barbatos chopped and sliced at Raphael, doing his damnedest to kill the old man as quickly as possible.

Finally, Gabriel rejoined the fight. He was much bigger than anyone present, and far stronger than his eldest brother. Now better comprehending Barbatos's strength, Gabriel charged at him and used his body as a living weapon. He punched Barbatos's head and knocked him backward, then slapped Artorias aside with a quick backhand before grabbing at Barbatos's throat.

Barbatos ducked and dodged Gabriel's clumsy grab. He spun on his heel, then thrust the long hilt of Artorias into Gabriel's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Gabriel momentarily lost his balance, so Barbatos leaped into the air, spun his leg around, and delivered a brutal whirlwind kick into Gabriel's solar plexus. This time, Gabriel didn't go flying nearly as far, but he was still sent sprawling on his ass.

By this point, Raphael had made some distance. He turned around to face Barbatos, who had started charging again. Raphael's expression became one of a cornered animal. He sneered viciously and snarled like a rabid dog.

"Dost thou thinketh me the type to merely run away?! Fool! Thou shalt learn to fear the old!"

Raphael charged at Barbatos. Two images of Raphael split apart and rushed him in unison. When Raphael and Barbatos collided, it turned out that these illusory images were not illusions at all, but physical projections!

The impact sent both the demon and the Archangel crashing to the ground! It was as if two cars had slammed into each other at full speed, causing their bodies to twist together. With Raphael's newfound Hyphyte body, he discovered he could take hits like Bael and still come out the other side kicking.

Barbatos, meanwhile, was much worse off. When he slammed into Raphael and his projections, the impact broke Barbatos's left arm and caused him to lose his grip on Artorias. The sword clattered to the ground, and Barbatos fell to one knee, clutching his arm.

Raphael sneered. It turned out he had been afraid of nothing! Barbatos might be angry, but rage meant nothing in the face of the Hyphytes!

Raphael jumped to his feet. Just before he started to move toward Barbatos, the Demon Deity used his right hand to summon... divine light!

Raphael was momentarily baffled, completely tongue-tied, when he saw Barbatos wield Uriel's power and heal himself! Barbatos regenerated his wound in less than a second and shoved his broken bone back into place, fully mending it and returning to his previous fighting form. He grabbed Artorias and jumped up, charging at Raphael as if he hadn't just suffered a loss during their previous collision.

Raphael shot Uriel a venomous glare while she battled Michael and Uzziel. He couldn't believe his eyes, but it seemed she had truly fallen further than he ever imagined. She had even granted a fragment of her powers to this bloodskin.

Blasphemous woman!

Raphael and Barbatos once again collided. Gabriel joined the fight, and together, the two brothers began pushing Barbatos back.

Time and time again, the two of them gained an upper hand and beat B...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KamchatkasRevenge on 2025-10-13 21:19:08+00:00.

Jerry     

The chambers of the Council of Matriarchs are quite a bit like the Council of Patriarchs back on Coburnia's Rest in design and construction. Just bigger. A lot bigger - a full-on amphitheater with two galleries. 

The first is for non-voting members of the council, who can watch, and have their own speaker to raise issues on their behalf 'on the floor'; the second is a space for guests, from foreign dignitaries to visitors like school groups observing Cannidor governance at work, and is surrounded with an axiom shield that lets those within listen, but not speak. 

The second gallery is where the bulk of the Undaunted personnel present are today. Diana is leading the intelligence side of the mission from orbit; she’s in no condition for field work. Besides, she has Clarke Sterling, Jake Forsythe and Michael Hawthorne for that, and thanks to concealed cameras she can see just as well as they can. The rest of the Undaunted delegation includes officers, bodyguards, and, of course, the actual diplomats who will take over the hard part after Jerry wins them a few planets.     

The separation from his team is fine. Jerry has other ways to communicate with his support staff, and Jaruna, Nezbet and Vera are serving as his escorts so as to not offend some of the more traditionalist... or more pointedly, gravidist, khans who might take exception to an unaccompanied man in the chambers of power. 

Never mind that Jerry has every legal right to be here, even as a khan of a 'mere' nomadic warrior clan. 

While the day hadn't been full-on excruciating, it had been a long one. Cannidor debates are rather interesting: a lot like a military career in many ways. Long hours of boredom and procedure punctuated by moments of intense violence as a vote comes down to a duel, or some other grievance is quickly and brutally dealt with in the Cannidor fashion.  

Credit where it’s due, though. The occasional brawl does quite a bit to liven up the discussion of tax reforms in the colony worlds. 

The Council also takes fairly frequent breaks of a reasonable duration, with Jerry and some of the Undaunted diplomats getting a chance to linger and chat with some of the councilors… leading to Jerry being underestimated seven times, and matronized twice, with one woman threatening to adopt him till she got a proper look at the evil eye he'd been giving her. 

That had changed her tune. 

Granted, her new tune is trying to get him to come meet some of her daughters and nieces, but it beats the alternative. 

This is where Clarke and Jake really earn their keep. One is constantly by Jerry’s side, acting as an attendant and bodyguard: both proof of the Undaunted's claims about Humans at least being half male, because how else would a man be in such a role? And a minor distraction. Both men had settled on a full on English butler routine they’d learned somewhere and have been making the best of it.

While the one’s at Jerry’s side, the other roams… and, at all times, both men have been spreading rumors and dropping casual little hints. All sorts of things, just for fun and flavor, with one important one: the upcoming Undaunted war game with the Charocan. 

It‘s a marvelous little bit of social engineering that the whole Undaunted party and their allies, Khan Charocan herself included, have contributed to, and by the mid-day meal a decent amount of the dignitaries present are discussing the war game like a major sporting event. It even had sporting event stakes, thanks to Babydoll casually setting up a few galaxy net betting pages via an online gambling business that Admiral Cistern had bought a majority share in. 

When outright asked what he thinks his own odds are, unprompted, by another Khan, Jerry was certain the bait had been properly laid. He’s feeling pretty good as they’re summoned back to the chambers to resume for the afternoon, per the usual schedule.   

This particular council meeting is a bit different than business as usual, though. Namely, the Golden Khan was in attendance, fulfilling a role normally ceremonially handled for her by a functionary. And it isn’t just her; also present are a number of senior khans who normally send representatives, chief among them Charocan and Kopekin. 

Jerry figures most folks know that these important people are all waiting for one very specific subject. 

After a few topics come and go, the Golden Khan at last opens the floor to new business... and Komugai, Jaruna's mother, stands and walks to the center of the amphitheater cum dueling pit. She offers the Golden Khan a salute with a sharp rap of her knuckles against her breast plate as she stands tall and proud before the assembled political and military might of the Cannidor Confederation of Khannates. 

"Golden Khan. I have business for the council."

"Speak then, Komugai of Karchara, for you are known among us."

"In the name of alliance with a powerful new military and clan, I wish to cede one of my systems to them, that they may come to live among us, and be of us. The Undaunted. The Humans. Clan Bridger. These are mighty allies to all of our kind. Honored recently with a triumph by your own hand for their mighty victory over the foul creature known as the Hag. Let this be a further reward to them, that Cannidor and Human might grow together and become stronger. We were both born of death worlds, and have the evolutionary scars to prove it. We dominated our worlds, shaped them as we will... and made it to space on the strength of our wills alone. Few can claim this singular honor. It is only right and just that the conquerors of such challenges come together!"

The last sentence is directed more to the room than the Golden Khan, and a response of chunks of armor banging together echoes across the room in a cacophony of metal. It’s a strong show of support. Stronger than Jerry had been hoping for, in point of fact. 

The Golden Khan waits patiently for the noise to die down before speaking.

"Khan Karchara, we find your proposal intriguing and we know well the services of the Undaunted and Khan Bridger. To have them among us would be a boon for both our kinds. Do any then challenge the ceding of these worlds to Humanity and the Undaunted that we may both grow stronger?"

Jerry lets a half breath out. This is it. This is where the challenge would come in if there is one and- Sure enough, a Cannidor woman Jerry doesn't even slightly recognize stands up. As the woman casually walks down the stairs Diana's voice comes over the comm net.

"Alright, people, look sharp. We've got a live one here. Khan Halgret Murakana is a suspected Black Khans’ associate. A full-on sponsor, if not a member herself. She has a domain of around a half dozen star systems and twenty planets and planetoids on the far side of Cannidor Corporate Space. Her territory has wild rumors of all kinds of nonsense going on in it. Mostly unsubstantiated, mind you, but CanSec definitely has her on their shit list."

Jerry resists responding, even via text or sub vocalization. He needs to stay entirely in the zone. 

"My Golden Khan, I must object to this outrageous plan of Khan Karchara's!"

The Golden Khan arches an eyebrow and gestures with the war hammer she was using as a badge of office. 

"We recognize you, Khan Halgret. Air your grievance."

"Simply put, the Humans and Undaunted cannot be said to make us stronger when they do not practice our ways. They just make one of our systems weaker for their presence."

Komugai snarls. "So easily you forget the war the Undaunted just concluded on our behalf in space very near to our borders."

Halgret snorts. "Good against pirates is one thing. Good against true warriors is another. If this is to pass then I demand a trial by combat, and not for the Cannidor the Humans have seduced. Human versus Cannidor! I believe Khan Charocan and her warriors are holding a match against some of the Undaunted in the near future. Let us make the stakes of the match Komugai's star system that she clearly doesn't care for."

Khan Charocan stands up from her chair to the right of the Golden Khan's, executioner's belt gleaming in the light. 

"The Charocan accept these terms, if they suit the Undaunted and Khan Bridger."

Jerry resists grinning. Right on script. Halgret had taken the bait, hook, line and sinker. Now to make her choke on it. 

He stands and clicks his heels walking into thin air and joining the women at the bottom of the amphitheater. 

"The Undaunted accept. Since I believe I have the right to name terms, I stipulate the Khans of each group must take the field. Victory will be decided on capture or the 'death' of the opposing leader. Further, I shall only bring Human soldiers as Khan Halgret has demanded... and my warriors will seize victory without using power armor." 

That gets some whispers going throughout the room. No power armor? How do the Humans intend to fight Cannidor shock troopers, from the Charocan of all clans, without power armor of their own? It's too much for Khan Halgret, despite this being more or less what she wanted. Or so she’d thought. 

"How dare you spit in our faces like this?"

Jerry ignores her, and walks over to Khan Charocan, giving the giant woman as firm a handshake as he can at their size difference, making sure everyone can hear them;

"I'm sorry my men won't be able to face your warriors, Khan Charocan, but if Khan Halgret insists then I shall look forward to meeting her and her...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DrDoritosMD on 2025-10-13 20:45:13+00:00.

First

Blurb:

When a fantasy kingdom needs heroes, they skip the high schoolers and summon hardened Delta Force operators.

Lieutenant Cole Mercer and his team are no strangers to sacrifice. After all, what are four men compared to millions of lives saved from a nuclear disaster? But as they make their last stand against insurgents, they’re unexpectedly pulled into another world—one on the brink of a demonic incursion.

Thrust into Tenria's realm of magic and steam engines, Cole discovers a power beyond anything he'd imagined: magic—a way to finally win without sacrifice, a power fantasy made real by ancient mana and perfected by modern science.

But his new world might not be so different from the old one, and the stakes remain the same: there are people who depend on him more than ever; people he might not be able to save. Cole and his team are but men, facing unimaginable odds. Even so, they may yet prove history's truth: that, at their core, the greatest heroes are always just human. 

Arcane Exfil Chapter 48: Ones and Zeros

Elina accepted the journal with both hands and grabbed a quill from the table. She flipped through to find a fresh page, trying to put on Mack’s clinical detachment like she’d downloaded the manual but hadn’t run the program before.

“Name, rank, date,” she began. She used a neutral tone, probably somewhere between Intro to Clinical Psychology and their first real patient telling them to fuck off.

Cole, obviously, had no plans to make it any harder for her. He provided the basics while watching her work.

She wrote down the answers, and honestly, her handwriting belonged in a manuscript – each letter beautiful enough to make font designers jealous. Noble education showing through, he supposed. Meanwhile, Mack’s notes looked like he’d written them during an earthquake. While drunk. In the dark.

They breezed through psychiatric history – not that there was much of it to speak of, since most of their records were an entire dimension away – and moved on to a simple mental status exam and a brief rundown of the mission. That, too, was a piece of cake.

“Now then.” Elina consulted Mack’s previous entries like a cheat sheet. She recited the questions in her soft, lyrical accent. It sounded weird, hearing her take on modern shrink-talk, but also oddly fitting. “On a scale of zero to four, how much have you been bothered by repeated, disturbing memories of today’s events?”

Cole paused briefly. As fucked up as it was, what happened to Gerrick wasn’t a ‘four’ on his list – that would probably be more applicable to Mack. Personally, he’d already compartmentalized; filed the whole thing away under ‘necessary violence’. But how would it seem to Mack if he blurted a ‘zero’ or a ‘one’?

It wasn’t completely honest, but he factored in the impact to his team, convinced himself it was a ‘two,’ and moved on.

“Disturbing dreams?”

Crickets. Mack actually coughed. Cole kept his expression neutral while Elina processed her mistake – asking about dreams when they hadn’t even attempted sleep yet.

Her ears went pink. “Ah, pardon me. We’ve not yet retired for the evening,” she said, breaking into an awkward laugh. “Moving on, what of ‘feeling very upset when reminded of the stressful experience?’”

“One.” Mostly because Cole wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger – and because he didn’t have a history of piling trauma to contend with. The kid getting possessed was a tragic variable, yes, but still within predicted parameters for demon-tainted cargo. At least, that’s what he managed to convince himself with.

They worked through the symptom clusters next: avoidance, negative alterations in cognition and mood, alterations in arousal and reactivity, the usual. Boiled down, it was really just academic language for ‘are you fucked up, and if so, how, and to what extent?’ 

Cole kept his responses consistent. He provided mostly ones, with a couple of zeros for startles and outbursts.

Elina paused at the score tallies, giving a small smile. “Well, it seems the incident has imposed little psychological strain on you – at least, none that manifests in your present affect.”

Cole nodded. “Experience helps. Compartmentalization.”

Elina squinted at her notes. “When last you spoke of Gerrick’s passing, I observed a certain hesitancy – a note unresolved. Was it the loss itself that pressed so heavily upon you, or did the conduct of others render it more bitter still? If you’ve discerned the cause, or have theories, I would hear them.”

It was a sharp question, Cole had to hand it to her. She’d caught the dissonance between his delivery and whatever leaked through underneath – the singular ‘two’ that stood out, elevated from the sea of ‘ones’ and ‘zeros.’ 

Conduct of others… Now that was diplomatic phrasing, nuanced enough to avoid Mack’s likely fragility yet get the point across. It could mean the cultists who’d brought the poison, the system that let kids work hungry in warehouses, or it was Elina fishing for his thoughts on Mack without naming him.

Cole glanced at Mack, seeking a quick check for permission or warning. He got a small nod in return, weary but clear. He couldn’t imagine the struggle going on in the background, but he could deeply respect the fact that Mack strived for professionalism and honesty.

With a sigh, Cole began, “The kid had already crossed a threshold we couldn’t pull him back from. Unlike the situation with K’hinnum, we didn’t have the time to locate and hunt down the possessor. Mathematically speaking,” he paused. He thought about the wording for a bit before forcing it out, “saving Gerrick from that nightmare was the best option. As opposed to, y’know, the kid getting trapped in his own mind. Or the Kingdom losing a Hero and then the demons wiping out mankind sometime down the line because of that.”

Maybe there was a better option, but Cole had found no other – not at the time, and not in the moments of contemplation since then. “Every catastrophe starts somewhere. Patient zero. First breach in the dam. Initial point of failure. Gerrick became that point the moment he opened the can. One death to prevent hundreds down the line, through the people we save. Butterfly effect.”

He stopped himself; he was overexplaining, wasn’t he? Damn, that itself was telling.

Cole got back on track.

Elina studied him for a good few seconds, quill hovering. It was the same stretched out silence that all evaluators did when they’d caught something but weren’t sure whether to pursue it. It was clear to Cole that she’d already connected the dots between his philosophical dissertation and the careful glances to Mack. She must’ve been weighing the math: therapeutic benefit versus opening the can of worms – both for himself and for Mack.

“You expend no small measure of reasoning upon something you yourself deemed unremarkable. That alone suggests the wound may not be yours.”

Cole had seen enough shrinks to recognize the technique – acknowledge the elephant, let the patient decide whether to discuss it. Except the elephant in this case was sitting three feet away, white-knuckling a teacup.

He took a sip from his own teacup, just to buy some thinking time. “Some wounds you witness rather than receive.”

It was truth adjacent to the actual truth - he needed Mack to hear those words, needed him to understand that what he'd done was necessary, optimal, and morally uncomplicated despite being fucking awful. But Elina had already named that dynamic and made it visible in the room. Now he had to navigate acknowledging her insight without turning Mack into the explicit subject of his evaluation.

“Team cohesion means, well, shared psychological burden. When one of us carries weight, um, we all feel the load shift.” It was still general enough to be professional, but specific enough to be honest. “My processing remains… functional. If I had to say, the concern isn’t really about impact on my performance.”

There. He’d admitted it without admitting it. Yes, the wound wasn’t just his. Yes, he was worried about someone else. No, they weren’t going to dissect Mack’s trauma during Cole’s eval. Boundaries still mattered, even when everyone could see through them.

Elina would understand the limits he’d just established. Smart as she was, the question was whether she’d recognize those boundaries for what they were. Elina had the intelligence to spot subtext but maybe not the experience to know when pushing became counterproductive. First-time evaluators sometimes chased clarity past the point of therapeutic benefit, not yet understanding that some stones were better left unturned during formal assessments.

She chose the right answer. “Should anything from today remain with you, however slightly, I remain at your disposal to hear it.”

Cole shook his head. “Thanks. I think we’ve covered everything relevant.”

Elina was professional as hell, especially for her first real eval. Mack had trained her well, even while sitting there looking like he was ready to lock himself in his room.

Next up was Ethan. He settled down into the evaluator chair with the steady composure that earned him his callsign. They called him ‘Chappie’ for a reason – short for ‘Chaplain.’ But it wasn’t just because he kept a field Bible in his kit or could quote Scripture for any occasion; no, it was because he actua...

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